Page 81 of The 9th Man

“Nice move,” she called out.

They were moving fast, now beyond rifle range.

The gunfire faded, then stopped.

A couple of minutes later they reached a headland, just as Sue had directed. He rounded it, then steered northwest. They skimmed over the smooth surface like a thrown flat stone. Off their port bow the moon’s glow was a rippling shaft of milky light.

“Trouble,” Jillian shouted. “Right side.”

He glanced that way in time to see an outboard V-hull speedboat bearing down on them.

He turned, trying to get clear, but not fast enough.

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LUKE SHOUTED FOR JILLIAN TO MOVE.

And she dove toward the stern.

The speedboat slammed into their bow, spinning their boat across the surface and graphically demonstrating the dangers of a flat bottom. Luke throttled back and tried to keep them afloat. But there’d been damage to the old hull, lots of it, and water flooded in.

They stopped moving.

Jillian lay curled at the base of his seat, hanging on.

“You okay?” he asked.

“That was different.”

To their right the speedboat was making a wide U-turn.

About to return.

“We can’t outrun or avoid them,” he said. “Into the water.”

“What about gators?”

“One hundred percent chance of getting shot. Alligator? Less than that.”

“Good point.”

She dove over the side. The hull was half full, the boat listing heavily right.

“Move away,” he said.

She started swimming.

He leaned over, grabbed the port gunwale, and threw himself backward. Combined with the canting weight of the engine, the momentum was enough to capsize the boat. He plunged beneath the water, groped until he felt fingers grasp his own, and pulled Jillian toward him. Together, they surfaced in a narrow air pocket in the upturned boat’s stern. Pitch black. He could feel Jillian’s breath on his cheek. He heard the drone of the V-hull’s engine coming closer.

“You do know that this hull isn’t thick enough,” she said. “Their rounds will punch right through.”

“I know. We’re not sticking around. That boat came from an inlet nearby off to our right. Can’t be far. We dive and keep going. Crawl along the bottom, if that’s what it takes to stay submerged. When you hit dry land do whatever it takes to stay hidden. Wait for an hour after they leave. We’ll meet in Hackberry.”

“What about the gato—”

A bullet punched through the hull, revealing a dot of pale light. A second hole appeared a foot to their left.

“Time’s up,” he said. “Big breath.”

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