Page 42 of Storm over the Caribbean
“Oh, but Idounderstand. I understand perfectly.” Placing a hand on his arm, I squeezed it gently. “The safest place on this ship is right beside you.”
I felt him stiffen. “Mrs Ambrose…Lillian, I—”
“Shh!” I abruptly cut him off. My grip on his arm tightened.
“What—”
“Listen! Can’t you hear it?”
He fell silent. I had to admit, it wasn’t easy to hear anything above the howling and roaring of the storm. But…
Thud! Thud! Thud!
There! Distant, muted, but it was definitely there!
“It’s coming from ahead and to the left,” I murmured, close to his ear.
He nodded. With a silent gesture at his men, Mr Ambrose proceeded down the corridor. The closer we got, the clearer the sound became. Along with the sound, it also became clear what exactly it was.
“What the…!” My eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets. “Is that a—?”
“Yes, Mrs Ambrose.” Eyes narrowing infinitesimally, Mr Ambrose sped up his pace. “It is.”
By now, he was almost running. And still, he somehow managed to keep his steps silent and unnoticeable. Only when he reached the very end of the corridor did he slow down, edging slowly towards the very last door.
The door from behind which repeated thuds continued to echo.
Without a moment of hesitation, Mr Ambrose pulled his leg back and…
Crash!
The door slammed open, revealing a small and dingy hold, with some bundles and crates stacked up against one wall. Yet, right then, I didn’t particularly care about the cargo. What was of significantly larger importance was the spot where the outer hull of the yacht had nearly been reduced to splinters, and wherea man was standing with a manic glint in his eyes and an axe in his hands.
“Stop!” In a blink, Mr Ambrose’s revolver was up, pointing straight at the man with wild hair and even wilder eyes, who stood there, the axe high above his head. “Don’t. Move.”
The man froze—for just a moment. Then, panting heavily, he raised the axe even higher. “I…I have to.”
“Are you insane? If you do this, you will die alongside us!”
“I…” Swallowing, the saboteur stared straight into the barrel of my husband’s gun. Then his gaze slowly slid over towards me, resting on my swollen belly with a torn, almost longing gaze.
“They have my family.”
His words had barely registered with me before he moved.
“No!” Mr Ambrose’s revolver flashed. But the axe was already moving.
Crack!
The sound of splintering wood was ear-splitting, somehow even drowning out the gunshot. An instant later, the world exploded into a chaotic kaleidoscope of green, brown, and deep, dark, blue. So much blue. I heard the sound of rushing water, and then…
Darkness.
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Through the veil of sleep, I felt my husband prod my shoulder.
“Hm…just five more minutes,” I muttered, unwilling to open my eyes. For some reason, I felt rather tired.
