A Dolphin's Gift (20 page)

Runners of pain
shot up the side of Will's head. Aware of the distant sound of a voice, he
opened his eyes. A face swam into view then faded. "Mr. Edenshaw."
The voice sounded thin and far away. "Mr. Edenshaw." The voice came
again. Will's eyelids fluttered, and when he opened them again, his wandering
gaze drifted over a face hovering fuzzily in front of him. "Mr.
Edenshaw," the voice was closer now, more urgent. "You've gotta wake
up."

Will blinked,
and Mike's face came into focus.

"The man
took Mom and Captain Nate," Mike said, his voice cracking with fright.

Will sat up,
and for a moment he felt a slipping, sort of headlong plunging as though the
boat were tipping. Pressing his hand to the sticky lump on the side of his
head, he lay back until the lightness passed. "How long since he took
them?" he asked.

"I don't
know," Mike replied. "Maybe a half hour."

Will realized
his feet were bound, and from the rope burns on his wrists, he knew his hands
had also been bound, though they were now free. "Get a knife," he said,
knowing they had to move fast.

"Here,"
Mike replied, handing Will his scout knife.

"Where did
you get this?" Will asked, knowing the knife had been taken from the boat
when they were in Campbell River.

"Captain
Nate gave it to me just before the man took him and Mom away."

Will sat up
slowly. "Did you see which way they went?"

"No,"
Mike replied. "I was still locked up."

Will opened the
knife. Ignoring the throbbing in his head, he continued sawing through the
frayed rope Mike had been working on. He glanced at the undamaged door to the
fo'c'sle. "If you were locked up, how did you get out?" he asked,
while moving the blade in short, quick strokes.

"Through
the bilges," Mike replied. "Captain Nate showed me the floor panel in
the locker and told me how to get out through the bilges in case I had to get
away or something."

Feeling the
rope snap, hastily Will unwound the cord from around his ankles and pulled
himself up to stand on wobbly legs, feeling the soreness in his back and
shoulders from the fall, and the stickiness of blood where he'd been hit with
the gun stock.

"Come
on," he said, dismissing the runners of pain in his head as he moved. He
staggered onto the deck, Mike close behind, and they jumped ashore and made
their way up the dock.

"Where are
we going?" Mike yelled, as they ran toward the town.

"I don't
know," Will replied. He looked frantically for someone, anyone to direct
them to Vernon Sinclair's house. As they rounded the corner of the deserted
street, Will spotted a bearded man stepping out of a dilapidated house. The
man, seeing Will and Mike running toward him, stepped back onto the porch and
moved behind a post. Catching the apprehension in the man's eyes, Will said,
"I mean no harm. I'm looking for Vernon Sinclair."

"Is he a
messenger of the Lord?" the man asked, brows raised, eyes wide.

Will felt his
temper rise. With Nellie's life at stake he didn't have time to play games. He
grabbed the front of the man's shirt, and said, "Tell me where Sinclair
lives, now!"

The man's brows
slurred over puzzled eyes. "The light cometh down... oh yes, it cometh.
And a messenger of the Lord cometh with it. Do you know him? This
messenger?"

Will looked
into round blank eyes. "Shit!" he said, releasing the man. The only
inhabitant in town was deranged. "Come on Mike." He motioned for the
boy to follow. As they ran from building to building, knocking on doors while
making their way up the street, Will deliberated whether or not to leave Mike
in a deserted building. He didn't want him around when he'd face the gunman.
They turned a corner and ran up a street lined with cottages that looked as if
they'd been deserted only recently—drapes still hanging, furniture on porches.
Catching the face of a woman peering through a window he motioned to her then
stepped onto the porch.

The woman
opened the door slightly, and said, "Can I help you?"

"I've got
to find Vernon Sinclair," Will replied, in an anxious voice. "It's a
matter of life and death."

The woman
looked at him, puzzled. "I don't recognize the name. Are you sure he lives
in Ocean Bay?"

"I'm
sure," Will said. "Has anyone moved here in the past few
months?"

The woman
pondered the question for a moment then replied, "Clay Simpson. He bought
the marina."

"Simpson?"
Will combed his fingers through his hair. "Tall, gray haired, older
man?"

The woman
nodded. "It seemed odd that someone would want to buy the marina, or even
live here after—"

"You say
he lives here? Where?"

The woman
pointed to a row of houses on the bluff that overlooked a dam, with what looked
to be a swinging foot bridge crossing over it, and said, "He's in the gray
house with white trim."

"What's
the quickest way there?' Will asked.

The woman
glanced up the street, and said, "This road takes you there, but it's at
least a couple of miles unless you leave the road when you get to the top of
the hill and cross over the dam on the swinging foot bridge. I wouldn't advise
it though. No one's been keeping the footbridge up, and the boards are
rotten."

Will studied
the steep embankment below the bluff. "Any trails up there?" he
asked.

The woman
shrugged. "Probably. I've seen some of the residents who live up there
coming to town that way."

"Look,"
Will said. "A woman's been kidnapped, the mother of this boy, and I've got
to find her. Can the boy stay here with you?"

"No!"
Mike yelped.

Will ignored
him, saying to the woman, "It would be just for a little while. There’s a
man up there with a gun and it's too dangerous to take the boy with me."

The woman
looked at Mike in alarm. "Of course he can stay here. He'll be fine. And
my friends call me Maggie. Maggie Dunthorp."

"I don't
want to stay here," Mike whined.

"Sorry,"
Will replied. "You don't have a choice." He nodded his thanks to
Maggie Dunthorp, then turned and raced up a road that led in the direction of the
bluff, pausing a short distance away to scan the steep embankment for an
opening in the undergrowth that might indicate a trail.

Catching sight
of someone in his peripheral vision, he glanced over his shoulder and saw Mike
racing toward him. "Go back," he yelled, waving him away.

"No,"
Mike yelled.

"Damn it,
Mike. Go back!"

"She's my
mother and I'm coming too," Mike cried.

"Like hell you are! You're going back!
Now!"

"Try and
make me."

Will didn't
have the time or energy to deal with an obstinate kid while Nellie's life was
hanging in limbo. Pointing a stiff finger in the direction of Maggie
Dunthorp's
house, he shouted, "Get back there right
now or I'll—"

"You'll
what?" Mike glared at him, fists curled. "I'm not going!"

Blood pulsed in
Will's temples. In his mind flashed Nellie's terrified face, the gunman ripping
off her clothes, hovering over her
…
"Damn it, you'll do as I say."
As Will flailed out a hand, Mike
raised his elbow to ward off a blow that never came. His fist inches from
Mike's face, Will slipped back to a time when he'd cowered, arm bent,
protecting
himself
.

Heart pounding
erratically, he looked into Mike's anxious eyes… And lowered his arm. He drew
in a ragged breath. Would he have struck the boy if he hadn't flinched? Had it
come to that? He closed his eyes to collect himself then said in a firm voice,
"Your mother's being held by a hired gunman who's killed before and won't
hesitate to kill again. Every second wasted could mean her life. Now please,
Mike, go back."

Saying nothing,
Mike backed several steps, turned and ran toward the woman's house.

Satisfied that
Mike wouldn't follow, Will scrambled up the embankment, sending dirt and loose
rocks tumbling below. Halfway up the bank he found a narrow path that led in
the direction of the houses above. Making his way through dense greenery, he
followed a zigzag path until it branched in several directions, then chose a
branch that ended abruptly in an almost impenetrable tangle of undergrowth. He
backtracked to where another trail cut between trees, then followed it a short
distance, coming out on a road in a cleared area that lead to the row of homes.

Spotting the
house Maggie Dunthorp pointed out he crouched and made his way to it, then
peered through a bedroom window. Seeing no one, but hearing voices, he knew
they were in the front of the house. Picking up a fist-sized rock, he crept
around to the porch and up the steps, pausing as the boards creaked beneath his
feet. Bending low, he peered through the window. The gunman's back was to him,
and facing him were Vernon Sinclair, who sat tied in a chair, with Nellie and
Captain Nate standing behind. And that’s when Nellie saw him…

Holding
Nellie's gaze, he showed her the rock and motioned toward the front door, and
she gave him a vague nod of understanding. Moments later, Will hurled the rock
at the window, shattering the glass. While the man was distracted by the
shattered window, Will burst through the front door and lunged for the gun in
the man's hand, dislodging it and sending it skidding across the floor. Will
dove for the gun, grasped it in both hands and rolled away from the man.

Nellie grabbed
a chair, prepared to strike the man, but the man shoved her aside and raced out
the open door, heading toward the dam. Will dragged himself up and was swept by
dizziness. Pausing until it passed, he settled the butt of the pistol firmly in
his hand and started after the man. Lengthening his stride, he closed the gap
while firing a shot over the man's head. His next shot clipped several feet
behind the man. Ignoring Will’s warning shots, the man continued running. But
when the man's foot hit the rickety wooden footbridge that crossed over the
dam, a board gave way and fell into the water rushing over the dam. The man
grabbed the cable handrail to steady
himself
, and
turned to face Will.

Will stepped
onto the catwalk, the gun aimed directly at the man's belly.
"Hold it right there!"
Will
yelled over the sound of the rushing water below.

The man gave
Will a cold, hard look. "You don't have the guts to shoot me or you would
have done it when I was running." He started toward Will.

Will fired a
shot at the man's feet. "The next one will be closer," he yelled.

"The next
one better not miss," the man yelled back, "because that's the only
bullet left in that gun." He continued toward Will, eyes unwavering.

Will cocked the
hammer. "Keep coming and you're a dead man." As the distance between
them closed, the boards beneath Will's feet began to spring with the man's
steps. Will edged back, probing for firmer footing, but when he took a step to
get his footing, a board gave way and his foot fell through. Desperately, he
grabbed for the cable, at the same time releasing the gun, which plunged over
the side.

The man started
toward him. "One of us is going to follow that gun," he said. Leaping
forward, he swung at Will. Will ducked, avoiding the blow. Catching the man
around the knees, he toppled him. Arms in vise-like grips, they fell against
the precarious walkway and tumbled dangerously close to the edge. Will's head struck
the catwalk. The jolt to his wound sent pains shooting through his skull,
momentarily dazing him. Sensing a blow coming, he turned his face, and when he
did, he saw the water plummeting over the dam, plunging into a turmoil of
frenzied spray churning far below. In desperation, he raised his knee and
caught the man in the groin, doubling him over. Before the man could regain his
balance, Will shoved him back and straddled him, his knotted fist pummeling the
man’s face while delivering a series of near-lethal blows.

Without
warning, Will felt a fist below his ribs, the blow forcing a rush of air from
his lungs, nearly knocking the wind out of him. Trying to catch his breath, he
reached for the rusty cable but he seemed to have no strength in his hands, and
when he fell back, a ham-like fist hit him in the jaw once. Twice. Three times.
All around him things were swirling... the water below… the face looming over
him... the rusty cable he no longer held...

Then suddenly
the man was gone.

Through the
confusion of his mind, Will heard Nellie's cries. "Damn you, damn you,
damn you," she yelled in unison with the sound of grunts. Will looked up
to find her standing behind the man, a board gripped in her hands as she
repeatedly struck him on the head, the momentum of one final blow spinning him
around and hurling him against the cable handrail. Staggering forward in an
attempt to regain his balance, the man slammed into the cable, then released a
long desperate cry as he tumbled over the side and plunged into the rushing
water far below.

Will slowly
hoisted himself up, feeling Nellie's hands stabilizing him as he struggled to
stand against the sharp pain shooting up the side of his head.

Nellie held
onto him, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I thought you were going over
the side," she said in a desperate voice caught between
panic
and crying.

"So did
I," Will replied. Hearing boards creak beneath their feet, and feeling the
footbridge springing and swaying as they moved, he reached for the cable to
stable himself, and said, "Let's get off this catwalk."

Nellie curved
her arm around Will's waist and he braced his arm across her shoulders for
support. When they stepped off the catwalk, she looked at him and gasped.
"My God," she said, spotting the gash on his head and the blood
dampening his hair.