Page 77 of Velvet and Valor
“Come on, come on,” I plead and beg as the SUV threatens to slow. Whenever a wave comes in I can feel it push the truck.
At last, I come out of the dip and make it onto a beach a stone's throw from the shipyard. The truck hits an unexpected ditch and lurches hard to the right. I struggle with the wheel, but I spin out and wind up with the back wheels in the water.
I try and power my way out, but a wave hits the truck, lifting it enough that I lose all traction. Worse, as the wave recedes it drags the truck along with it. With mounting terror, I realize I’m being dragged away from shore and into the ocean.
And I’ve had quite enough of that for one day.
I decide to abandon the truck. On a whim I check the center console as I unbuckle the seat belt. I find a bottle of water…and under that, a loaded pistol.
“Holy shit, whose car did I steal? James Bond’s?” I whisper.
I’d probably be afraid to touch the gun under normal circumstances. These are far from normal circumstances, however.
I grab the gun and the bottle of water and awkwardly exit the truck. I stagger through knee-deep water, my feet getting sucked in by wet sand. I lose both of my shoes but keep on going until I make it onto dry sand.
I know time is of the essence, I know Axel could be in danger. But I don’t have any choice but to collapse on the sand and gasp like a fish out of water. I look out over the ocean as the waves slowly devour the truck. Already the breakers are above the roof. If I were still in the truck, I’d already have a tough time trying to get back to shore. I’m lucky I got out when I did.
Laying here on the beach, I'm realizing something. I think I appreciate life a hell of a lot more for having faced death so many times in so short a time. Before, I always felt a little bit sluggish. Like I'd lost something or was missing something I’d had in my more idealistic days at college.
Now I know the truth. It’s easy to get complacent, to forget how precious life is until you think you’re going to lose it. I’ve been dancing around my feelings for Axel this whole time. Why? Because I’m afraid of getting hurt? That’s no excuse not to take a chance, and I know it.
The truth is, I was being wishy-washy because I thought I had plenty of time to do so. But life can end at any second. While I’m holding myself back and not acting on my feelings, the grim reaper could be creeping up behind me and lifting his scythe.
Well, not anymore. I’ve come too close to dying too many times for it not to mean something. Getting my old life back is great and all, but it’s not enough. I want more. I want to be happy. And I want Axel to be the person who helps make me happy.
I have to tell him how I feel. What if he doesn’t feel the same way? No, I’m just looking for excuses not to tell him. I have to get this out of me, or it will drive me crazy.
Of course, first I have to find Axel. And survive long enough to tell him.
I look down at the gun in my hand and sigh. It’s a .38 revolver, not very powerful but reliable. At least, that’s what the master of arms told me on a movie set once. It does have the advantage of being less prone to jamming than automatic models.
It’s so heavy. I look at the bullets inside of the chambers and shudder at the thought of what they could do to a human body. Some people just aren’t meant to be soldiers, and I’m one of them.
I don’t want to hurt anyone, let alone kill them. But I’m not an idiot. I know that, to protect myself and Axel, I might have to use this gun. I might have to kill someone. The scary thing isn’t that I’m afraid that I can’t.
The scary thing is that I’m afraid I CAN. No, I know I can. If it came down to mine or Axel’s lives, or one of Moorcrock’s goons, I wouldn’t hesitate. Does that make me a bad person? Or at least selfish? Why do I deserve to live more than someone else?
Axel would laugh at that question. He’d probably say something likewhile you’re moralizing, the poor bastard you feel sorry for is lining up a headshot.Maybe he’s right in this case.
I drain the bottle of water, then stare up at the shipyard. Here goes nothing.
18
AXEL
The gravel crunches under my feet as I stride up to the base of the old shipyard. Great timber skeletons creak in the wind, testaments to the past when this place had been a booming business.
Now most ships are made overseas, where labor is cheap. This relic is slowly falling apart, and someday it will be overtaken by the sea. I wonder if I’m a relic, too. No longer a soldier, not really a civilian.
I can’t be the one anymore, and I’m not sure I’m cut out to be the other. The only thing I’ve been any good at is keeping June company. Hell, I can’t even do that right. Our last parting was not exactly a good one.
Now I’m worried I’ll never see her again. If Ricky or Moorcrock hurt her, I’ll never forgive myself.
I hope Ezra managed to shake his tail. I have a feeling I’m going to need the backup, even with my clever plan.
“That’s far enough.”
I glance up and spot a man in a tracksuit crouching on the edge of an askew concrete pylon. He pulls up his shirt so I can see the silver barrel of his pistol.
