Isle Royale (24 page)

Collene whirled on her former lover. She felt her pulse pounding in her head, her bloodstream still surging with the flow of adrenaline from watching the fight. She glared at LeBeck, her eyes ablaze with hate.

But LeBeck saw none of it. Why had she cursed him earlier? Simple hysteria. She would come around, he was sure. Hadn’t he proved himself in combat? Didn’t she see how much he loved her?

“Go get your bags, Collene,” LeBeck said evenly, taking a step toward her. “We’ll wait out the storm on my yacht. Then we’ll get away from this rock.”

Collene snapped then. Without thinking, she flew into a rage and rushed LeBeck, hands and legs flailing, trying with all her might to erase him from the Earth. LeBeck’s men were so surprised they didn’t have time to react. “Leave us alone!” she screamed. “I’ll never love you! Never!”

Taken aback by the assault, LeBeck threw his hands up to protect his face, but Collene began landing solid blows to his head and neck. “Collene, please…”

“I hate you!” she shrieked. Through the flurry of strikes, she managed to get a hand past LeBeck’s defenses and raked him across the face with her fingernails.

LeBeck felt a searing pain shoot through his left cheek. Suddenly, he was in a muddy foxhole back in France, with star-shells exploding overhead, an eerie red incandescent light washing over everything. Someone was in the foxhole with him, a red form that attacked him relentlessly—the enemy. LeBeck had no choice. It was kill or be killed. He snarled and drew his fist back, then struck at the attacking form. He heard a satisfying
pop
as he felt soft flesh give way under the force of the blow.

Collene went down hard, crashing to the wooden floor with a thud. She turned over, sobbing, then saw LeBeck standing over her, his face transformed into the mad beast she’d seen earlier. “I hate you!” she screamed at him again.

“Goddamn you then!” LeBeck roared back at her. He pulled his massive .45 from its holster. “If I can’t have you, then nobody will.” He turned and leveled the pistol at Clarence, who gazed up helplessly. “Damn you all.”

The yellow-red flame from the match burned bright in the murky darkness of the oil house, illuminating Ian’s face. His hand trembled slightly as he cupped his other hand around the match, trying to keep the wind blowing in from the open doorway from extinguishing it. Finally, the flame steadied. Ian bent down and touched it to the kerosene-soaked cloth fuse the teenagers had fashioned. With a
whoosh,
the fuse caught fire, quickly spreading back toward the center of the room where the barrels of fuel oil sat, ready to explode.

Ian scooped up the Tommy gun lying on the floor and then rushed out of the room. As he exited he bumped into Sally, who had just finished dragging the still-unconscious thug outside, placing him against the outer wall of the oil house. Ian grabbed Sally by the arm and tugged her away. “Go!” he shouted. “Go!”

The teenagers took off across the yard, running for Ian’s house. Ian fully expected to be knocked off his feet at any second, but they somehow made it across the yard. Just as they rounded the corner to the house and knelt down, a huge explosion rocked the night.

The roof of the oil house blew clean off, disintegrating under a pillar of fire that shot fifty feet into the night sky. Sally screamed as the window above them shattered from the force of the blast. As the Earth trembled beneath them, they were knocked clean off their feet, landing on the wet ground amid jagged shards of glass.

Inside the living room, Jean LeBeck lowered his pistol as bedlam erupted around him. Screaming filled his ears, and through the shattered window he heard flames roaring somewhere close by. “What the hell was that?” he shouted above the din. LeBeck whirled around, wild eyed. He gestured to his thugs, who stood there in the room with stunned, stupid expressions plastered to their faces. “Get out there and find out what happened!” he commanded, waving his pistol at them.

Back on the lawn, Ian and Sally rose to a crouch. They watched as the thugs came barreling out of the house, like army ants swarming to repel an invasion. Gangsters seemed to be coming out of the woodwork, running out of the forest, the lighthouse, the other house and sheds, all gathering at the burning oil house, trying in vain to douse the raging inferno.

“Come on,” Ian said tersely, hefting the Tommy gun to his shoulder and standing. Amid the confusion, he and Sally crept unnoticed through the front door.

Inside the living room, LeBeck peered out the shattered window, parting the curtains with his hook hand, pistol held tightly in his good hand, which dangled at his side. “What the hell happened?” he repeated, squinting at the flames shooting out of the small round building in the middle of the compound.

“Oil house exploded,” Clarence said. He felt stronger now, at least strong enough to get in one last barb before LeBeck started shooting them. “One of your goons smoking again, no doubt.”

LeBeck turned his head and scowled at the lightkeeper, then returned his gaze to the window.

Clarence opened his mouth to make another quip, but suddenly he froze, choking back his words. He saw Ian and Sally emerge from the shadows of the hallway as they crept silently into the room.

LeBeck, still peering out the window at the spectacle of his men trying to put out the fire, finally turned around. He froze stiff when he discovered the muzzle of a Tommy gun pointed directly at his stomach. He looked up, his jaw actually dropping open when he saw Ian grinning back at him.

“Drop it.” Ian gestured with the Tommy gun. LeBeck, too stunned to do anything else, dropped his pistol to the floor, then stood with his arms raised.

The two families leapt off their seats toward the two teenagers, even the wobbly Clarence. “Ian!” he cried out, despite the pain. “Ach, it’s good t’ see ye, laddie! Where’s the rest o’ the rescue party?”

“We’re it, Dad,” Ian said, keeping his eyes and the Tommy gun trained on LeBeck.

Sally reached in and wrapped a towel around the smuggler’s hook hand. “Don’t try anything,” she said through clenched teeth. He stared at her through narrowed, hostile eyes.

LeBeck, silent until now, finally turned to Ian. He said sweetly, “You wouldn’t still have my locket, now, would you, boy?”

Ian pushed the muzzle of the gun right in LeBeck’s face. “You’re lucky I don’t shoot you right now.”

Sally picked up LeBeck’s heavy Colt with both hands and pocketed it, then gathered the families and herded them toward the door. She stopped just long enough to receive a hug from her grandma and father, who, despite a pale color and awful hacking cough, still cracked a warm smile when she kissed his cheek. “Glad to have you back, honey,” he whispered hoarsely.

Ian stepped back from LeBeck and waved the Tommy gun toward the door. “Out,” he snapped. “We’re going for a walk.”

The group filed down the front steps one by one, Sally leading the way, followed by her family and Ian’s. The grownups were still dazed from the commotion, and followed the teenagers’ instructions wordlessly. Bringing up the rear was Ian, marching just behind LeBeck, gun muzzle jammed into the smuggler’s back. Ian had left the Tommy gun behind, replacing it with LeBeck’s own pistol so that he might conceal the weapon better. Even so, the gun was massive in Ian’s hands; his arm muscles strained from the weight. LeBeck trudged on ahead, quietly, waiting for the right moment to break away and cry for help. Ian was keenly aware of the precariousness of their situation. He kept his trigger finger at the ready, though he wasn’t quite prepared to shoot a man in the back, not even LeBeck (though the thought had flashed through his mind).

By now the storm had ebbed again, though the wind still tore at the group’s clothing. Ian shivered violently, a wind gust smacking him like an icy fist. He’d grabbed two blankets from a hall closet on their way out of the house, giving one to Sally and wrapping the other over his own shoulders. The walk up the path to the lighthouse had got his blood running, but now he was feeling the effects of hypothermia gripping him. Got to stay alert, he warned himself. Escape first, then find someplace warm.

Ian glanced back over his shoulder at the remains of the oil house, which still burned bright. He almost wished he could join the gangsters who were running around, vainly trying to figure out a way to extinguish the flames. Ian sighed. A bonfire would feel good on his skin.

Just then, Ian sensed LeBeck slowing down, which snapped him out of his train of thought. He jabbed the smuggler hard in the back with the pistol. “Keep moving,” Ian growled, trying to sound tough despite his chattering teeth.

Under cover of darkness and the confusion of the oil house fire, the group made it undetected to the edge of the woods and the path leading down to the dock. Just before they were about to descend, Clarence hesitated, then stopped, turning to gaze back at the lighthouse. Perched on the edge of the cliff, with the sound of surf roaring far below, the lamp turned slowly, sending its beam out over the storm-blackened lake.

“Dad!” Ian shouted above the wind. “Come on!”

“The light,” Clarence said, still gazing back. “There’s still ships out there.”

LeBeck spoke up for the first time since they’d left the house. “That’s right, Clarence. Can’t leave it unattended, can we?”

“Shut up!” Ian said, jamming the gun harder into LeBeck’s kidney. The wind picked up, blasting them in the face. “Dad!”

Clarence looked to his son, hesitated a moment longer, then turned reluctantly away.

Down at the dock, two miserable-looking thugs on guard duty glanced up from their small fire, over which they had been huddling to keep warm. They saw the odd sight of their boss leading the two families down the path toward them. As the group drew near, LeBeck suddenly smiled and waved at the men. “Rough night for guard duty, eh?” he said cheerfully.

The thugs looked at each other, puzzled at LeBeck’s uncharacteristic good-natured banter. Was this some sort of test?

“Thought I’d give these folks a little tour of the yacht,” LeBeck said as he strolled past. The thugs stood aside to let the group pass.

Once on the dock, Ian, Sally, and their families headed for the launch used to shuttle LeBeck and his thugs back and forth to the yacht. They piled into the small boat, which was tied up at the end of the dock, leaving LeBeck to stand alone on the platform. Behind him on shore, the two thugs silently watched the spectacle.

Ian crouched at the bow, keeping the gun hidden under his coat, though it was still trained on LeBeck. He quickly untied the bowline, then felt the boat begin to slip away from the dock. He jerked his head up when he noticed LeBeck take a step backward. “Stop,” warned Ian, causing LeBeck to freeze. “Now stand there and wave until we’re gone.” He flashed his gun briefly and grinned. “If you’re good, maybe I won’t shoot.”

The little boat bobbed up and down on the choppy water as Sally started the engine. Ian reached out and pushed off the pier. Soon the launch was heading out into dark water.

Collene glanced back over her shoulder. For one brief moment she locked eyes with LeBeck, who stood silently on the dock. She saw a great sadness in his eyes, a crushing pain wrought by loss and despair. Collene felt an impulse wash over her, a crazy urge to leap out of the boat and swim to him, wrap him in her arms, care for him, take the pain away.

Then, suddenly enough to make her gasp, she saw the lizard eyes return. Collene sat there, stunned, watching the thing on the dock staring back at her with malevolent eyes, and wondered how she could ever have loved someone with a soul so malignant, so filled with hate and self-loathing. How could she have not seen it? Was she that blind?

She’d lost her way, she finally decided. She’d lost her way in the storm.

Collene felt a hand touch her arm then. She turned and saw Clarence, his face bruised and swollen. He looked deeply into her eyes, then slowly, painfully, curled his lips upward. Though his smile was feeble, his eyes twinkled brightly. Collene, tears welling up in her own eyes, leaned forward and laid her head on his shoulder. She let out a sigh as her lightkeeper held her tightly in his arms.

Sally carefully steered the little boat across the water, purposefully keeping distance between them and LeBeck’s yacht, which sat at anchor in the middle of the harbor. Ian, still at the bow with his gun trained on the receding figure of LeBeck, stole a glance toward the huge boat. The deck appeared deserted, but they were taking no chances. In just another minute, they would be clear of the harbor and onto the open lake.
Out of the fire and into the frying pan
, Ian thought. He looked back at LeBeck and felt a smile creeping onto his face. “At least we beat that bastard,” he said outloud.

Back on the dock, LeBeck stood rigid, trembling, his good hand bunched in a fist, knuckles sheet white. His hook dangled loosely, sharp metal gleaming menacingly in the light from the lighthouse on the cliffs high above.

How could she leave him?
LeBeck pondered the question as he stood there, the wind tugging at him. What had he done to deserve this? Surely, Collene would demand that they stop the boat and return, any minute now. She still loved him, he was certain.
Come on, Collene. Stop the boat. Come back to me. At least give me back the locket.

Then he heard laughter drifting across the water. LeBeck’s heart froze solid when he saw Ian looking back at him from the boat, his mouth open and laughter pouring forth. The boy, raged LeBeck. It’s
his
fault. LeBeck’s face went beet red as his whole body shook with rage. He felt a tremendous pressure build in his head, and actually thought he might burst a blood vessel and fall over dead into the water.

“Get me a gun!” he finally screamed at the two thugs on shore. One of the men rushed up to LeBeck and offered his Tommy gun. LeBeck snatched it from the man and began shooting wildly over the waves, but by then the launch was across the harbor, nearly out on the open lake.

“They’re out of range, boss!” said the thug, his words unheard by the raving smuggler.

LeBeck dropped the gun to the dock and, teeth gnashing, reared his head back and screamed, his voice lost to the howling wind.