“I could do it,” Dean said rebelliously, taking a seat at the stern and straightening his clothes.
Tolerantly Ryan looked at his son. Stubborn as a Shen mule. Pure Cawdor. “Want to steer?” he asked.
“Sure,” the boy replied eagerly.
The Deathlands warrior released the wooden tiller that controlled the hinged rudder. “Head due south. I’m standing guard.”
Snuggling into position, Dean tucked the tiller under his armpit, holding on with both hands.
“Let’s move,” Ryan said, working the bolt on the Steyr. The ship was sinking fast, and there were more things in the sea to watch for than just desperate men.
Sitting side by side, J.B. and Doc took the first set of oars. Krysty and Jak took the next set. Mildred stayed in the bow with a lantern held low to watch the surface for submerged obstructions, a blaster at the ready. Just in case.
Awkwardly at first, then with greater ease, the companions started rowing, the oars hitting the planks and gunwale as the bottom of the skiff scraped noisily across the deck. Then the lifeboat cleared the bow, sinking a good foot into the water. The oars dipped in clean now, without hindrance, and they started moving freely, rapidly building speed.
Barely visible in the moonlight, two more boats pulled away from the sinking giant. Jones stood in one, oddly silent for a change, the short man just staring at the listing vessel. Illuminated by a lantern, Abagail was in the other, along with her team of girls and a few wounded men.
The creaking of the lowering mast mixed with the splashing of the oars, the loose canvas sails fluttering with sharp snaps in the wind. The skiffs were a dozen yards away when a handful of sailors called for the others to wait as they waded through the knee-deep waters on the vessel. Clumsily going into the sea, they started swimming for the moving skiffs. Nobody slowed or waited for them to catch up.
“Damn fools hid until all the work was done,” J.B. growled in annoyance, matching his strokes to those of Doc alongside him. “Lazy bastards.”
“So die,” Jak stated unconcerned. “Plenty more fools.”
“Evolution in action,” Doc muttered, rowing steadily.
“How many are there?” Krysty asked, hauling the oars up from the water, then down to push. The wound in her shoulder started to throb, and she forced the pain from her mind.
“Don’t know, don’t care,” Ryan said, the long-blaster held ready. “This one is ours.”
“I won’t turn away people long as there is room,” Mildred stated firmly. “We can easily hold two more, maybe three.”
“Those who reach us first get a berth,” Ryan replied, “and will do all the rowing. But once we’re full, nobody else. Not going to risk our lives.”
Reluctantly the physician acquiesced to the cold equation. There was no Coast Guard to rescue swimmers, no helicopters to drop supplies and rubber rafts, no Red Cross with coffee and doughnuts and CPR. The companions were alone, and survival always seemed to be a matter of ruthless logic. One died or ten died; there really was no choice to be made.
“And if they try anyway?” Krysty asked.
Ryan leveled his blaster at the approaching swimmers. “Our lives or theirs,” he stated. “But I don’t think it’s going to be a problem.”
“What do you mean, sir?” Doc asked perplexed.
“Sharks,” Dean answered grimly.
Sharp fins cut the surface of the water, converging from every direction. There had to have been hundreds. A man screamed and fell in pieces, blood swirling around his struggling form. Another went under without a cry. A third reached a skiff and almost made it aboard when he was yanked back down out of sight.
Jones fired a flintlock at the monsters of the deep. A shark was hit by the .75 miniball at point-blank range with no noticeable effect.
Suddenly a tattooed hand grabbed the rim of the companions’ lifeboat, and Draco tried to haul himself from the drink.
“Please,” he croaked. “Help…me…”
Recognizing the face seen through his sniper scope, Ryan rammed the stock of the longblaster into the pirate’s face, breaking teeth. The sailor lost his grip and slipped back into the sea, floundering helplessly as the skiff pulled away. The water washed the blood away from his mouth, and moments later sharks were circling the man. Screaming meaningless words, Draco drew a curved knife and stabbed at the dark shapes, then he jerked as something grabbed him from below. Another fin brushed by, and squealing in madness, Draco was hauled abruptly out of sight into the depths.