Tsunami Blue by Gayle Ann Williams Page B

thud like a sack of cement mix. I stood, my cuffed hand lifting my tiny boat off the sand, and kicked him hard in the ribs, wishing like hell I were wearing a pair of those steel-toed boots instead of the rubber skull ones. I wanted to do some real damage. I stomped on a bent knee with my heel and heard a sickening crunch. The man howled in pain.
    Max flew past me and launched at a second Runner, sending all one hundred and twenty pounds at him. The man went down, but not before slicing Max’s shoulder. Max yelped but continued with the attack, tearing and ripping at the Runner’s throat just like I knew he could. But knowing it and seeing it were two distinctly different things. And if I lived, I’d never look at my Max the same way again.
    Gabriel had the third Runner, a huge, heavily tattooed bald man, in a death grip. He’d put my bowie knife to good use: It was embedded in the man’s heart.
    Blood was everywhere, and my mind flashed on Seamus on this same beach, surrounded by so much blood. My legs went weak and I sank into the sand on my knees and tried not to be sick. My vision blurred as the nightmare of eleven years ago pushed to the forefront, taking over my mind. I felt faint. Not now, Blue. Please, God, help me—not now. I squeezed my eyes shut.
    I was being jerked up by the arm as Gabriel unlocked the cuffs.
    “Hang on, Blue. I’ll get you out of this.”
    I wanted to tell him I didn’t need saving. I wanted to tell him I wasn’t a damsel in distress. But I did, and I was. And right now there was nothing to be done for it.
    He pushed me into the front of my kayak, handed me a paddle, and pushed the boat off with his foot. I hooked the surf and, with an expertise honed by years of repetition, I turned the boat out to sea. I looked over my shoulder just in time to see Gabriel kneel and snap Raspy Voice’s neck. My stomach lurched, and I saw Max wading into the surf.
    I had no intention of leaving my dog behind. Never had. I whistled and paddled the boat parallel along the shore. I paddled in, rubbing the bottom of the boat against underwater pebbles. I glanced at the approaching army of men and dogs, now way too close. The blare of sirens and shouts and barks was deafening, and I frantically grabbed for Max.
    But I’d been concentrating on the wrong threat. So consumed with injured Max, I’d forgotten about Gabriel Black, the biggest threat of all.
     Gabriel jumped into the back of my tiny boat, settling into the second seat like it was made for him. He whistled for Max, who went willingly. I couldn’t help feeling Max was a lamb being led to slaughter. This boat was made for two. Only two. Three would be nearly impossible. In seas like this, it was suicide to attempt it. Gabriel Black had to go.
    Gabriel reached for Max, grabbing him by his collar. The frayed series of old knots stretched and Max slipped out of his collar darting toward me. I reached out for my dog, only to hear Gabriel command him back. I watched as Gabriel bent his head to the dog as if communicating. Somehow, Max calmed.
    “Now go.” Gabriel boomed the order, and Max turned and ran to the shore, ran into the waiting danger, not away from it.
    “Max, no!” I cried out. “Come.” Max paused, looked at me, and whined that signature whine of his, and my heart broke.
    “Go.” Gabriel had the last word as Max, with a final look toward me, ran from the shore straight into the oncoming danger. A dozen or more Runner dogs broke rank and raced to meet him.
    Gabriel pushed off with his foot, and with a forceful thrust he sent us into the surf and swells, gliding into the sea.
    Hot tears streamed down my cheeks as I lost sight of Max when we dipped into a swell.
    “You bastard, that was my dog,” I turned and screamed at Gabriel. I raised my paddle in anger and he caught it easily, twisting it from my wrist like it was a toothpick.
    He pushed the paddle into the angry gray waters and we forged ahead toward the ketch rig and safety.