Deadout (40 page)

“You think this is funny?” Brecker said, cocking the brow over his good eye. He had an UZI tucked under his arm, and I didn't think that was the least bit funny, especially not when he swung it hard against the side of my head.

Suddenly, I was on my knees, with blood streaming down the side of my head. I tried to say, “Hilarious,” but it came out more like “Urk.”

Fortunately, no one was paying any attention to me anyway.

Brecker had his hands in the air, his good eye staring like a laser. When I followed his gaze, I saw Darren Renfrew standing off to the side, looking like hell but holding a massive revolver. Apparently, the situation had changed while I'd been distracted. I actually did think this was funny, but I kept that fact to myself.

The ringing in my ears cleared enough that I realized Renfrew was speaking. “You people think you can just do whatever you want, ruin people's lives. You've got another thing coming.” The corners of his mouth were flecked with spit. “You can go to hell. My great grandfather built this company, and I'm not going to let you take it from me, take everything I've worked so hard for.”

Sumner held up his hands. “Sorry, Renfrew, but your beef is with Pearce.” He smiled, a kindly sympathetic smile. “I understand where you're coming from. That bastard bought me out, too. I had to sell my soul to save the company I'd spent my whole life building. And now I'm under his thumb, just as much as you are.”

Renfrew faltered, the gun sagging in his hands.

“He's on the island, you know,” Sumner said. “Right now, at Katama, making a big announcement about my Bee-Plus project, taking the glory while I'm doing all the work.”

Sumner flashed a look at Brecker, a slight nod of his head. I could feel Brecker tensing to move, and as he grabbed the UZI and swung it toward Renfrew, I drove my shoulder into him, slamming him against the metal wall behind us. He fired wildly into the air. Renfrew screamed, spinning in our direction and squeezing off shots. I let my momentum carry me behind the building. I shook my head to clear it, realized I still had my gun, and turned back around the corner of the building.

But everyone was gone.

One of the metal cases lay on the ground where the pickup truck had been, its lid half off. The box was filled with coarse brown powder, but when I looked closer, in the fading light, I could see the powder moving.

It was mites. Sumner was moving the mites.

I nudged the lid back into place with my foot, then stepped back. I know the mites didn't normally feed on humans, but I had no idea what to expect with these things.

I could hear someone running headlong through the brush to my right. To my left, the pickup truck was speeding away. I ran after the truck, reaching the main driveway just in time to see a burst of machine gun fire from the pickup tearing into the front grill of the Jeep. I took careful aim and squeezed off one shot, but it pinged off the metal frame of the truck's rear window. Then the truck was through the gate and out on the street.

I took two steps after them. Then I pivoted and ran the other way, back toward the chemical truck, wondering if I could hot-wire it. I saw something shiny behind the front tire and when I dropped to my knees, I saw it was the keys Teddy had dropped when I surprised him as he was filling his chemical tank. There was one long key, a Chevrolet logo on it. I jumped into the truck, jammed the key into the ignition, and started it up.

The radio was already turned on, and when I started it up, the truck was instantly filled with the sound of Archie Pearce and a background of angry protesters trying to shout him down. The sun was setting, and I could picture him in the perfect-for-television golden light. He sounded like a sweet old man, explaining how the special exemption would allow Stoma to bring the benefits of Bee-Plus to the rest of the country, bringing down food prices and ultimately saving a third of our food supply.

I stomped on the gas pedal and sprayed gravel as I took off after them. The truck shimmied violently, and when I turned onto the driveway it tipped up as the liquid in the tank sloshed against the sides.

I barely straightened it out before I reached the gate, and when I slammed on the brakes, the whole truck rocked back and forth.

“Nola!” I called through the open window.

She emerged from the trees carrying the shotgun, and I wondered if I was having a bad influence on her. She hurried over, but stopped halfway.

“Come on,” I said. “They're getting away.”

“You're kidding me, right?” she said, a look of horror on her face, pointing at the back of the truck. “Not in that.”

I looked back at the chemical tank. “Oh,” I said, “Right. They killed the Jeep. They're moving the mites. I have to go after them. Remember what I said, stay clear of the road—”

She looked me in the eye, set her jaw, and got in. I tried to give her a reassuring smile but she gave me a fast, fierce kiss, then she sat back with her eyes closed and said, “Drive.”

We shot out of the driveway, the truck tipping again as we turned onto the street. Nola's fingers dug into the upholstery. I wanted to hold her hand, but I didn't dare take a hand off the wheel.

The truck was old and it drove that way, but it had a lot of horses and I quickly got it up to eighty barreling down Edgartown Road. I caught up enough that I could see the pickup ahead of us. I didn't know where we were headed, but I had a feeling the chase wasn't going to remain on land. There were two airports on the island, and we were headed away from both of them, toward Vineyard Haven. Toward the ocean.

I saw brake lights flash up ahead, swerving, and I realized we were heading toward a traffic roundabout.

“Hold on,” I said, and Nola opened her eyes, wide, then closed them again.

The tires screeched and we went up on two wheels. I had to jerk the wheel hard and the chemicals in the back sloshed hard. I struggled to keep the truck upright, compensating one way, then the other. I just got it straightened out when it stalled. Ahead of us, the taillights were receding into the gathering dark. I frantically turned the key, and on the third try it started up again.

Up ahead, the brake lights flared again, then disappeared to the left. Toward the water.

“Crap,” I said loudly as I gunned the engine.

Nola looked over at me. “What is it?” She was visibly terrified, and it broke my heart to see her this way.

“They're headed out onto the lagoon pond,” I said. “If they get past the drawbridge and out into Vineyard Haven Harbor, they're gone. It's over. What are we going to do?”

“I don't know,” I said, thinking hard. “I either go after them here and try to stop them before they get out on the water, or try to head them off at the bridge.” I tipped my head toward the tank on the back of the truck. “Hit them with this stuff when they go under the bridge.”

We were quickly approaching the place where they had turned off.

Nola took a deep breath. “I'll do it.”

“Do what?”

“You stop them here. I'll get to the drawbridge. Just in case.” She closed her eyes and took another deep breath. “Just tell me what I need to do.”

I was stunned that she would consider it. Part of me knew I shouldn't let her, but part of me knew I had to. Instead of trying to talk her out of it, I said, “Are you sure?”

She gave a jittery nod.

I paused, hating myself. “Okay, there's a thick hose on the back, with a spigot. Just open up the spigot on the back of the tank, point the hose, and try to get as much of it on them as you can. Try not to get it on you and breathe it in.”

She nodded as we skidded up to the driveway where the truck had turned. I could see their taillights glowing in the darkness.

“Call Jimmy, and tell him what's happening,” I said. I gave her a desperate kiss, and for an instant we looked into each other's eyes. She smiled.

“I love you,” I said. Then I opened the door and jumped out.

 

75

I hit the ground running and headed toward the taillights, listening to the sound of the truck pulling away behind me. Down a short driveway was a small house surrounded by a fence, and beyond it, a gravelly beach and a floating dock with a handful of boats tied to it.

The only movement I could see was out on the water, an old fisherman standing upright in his boat, coasting slowly up to the end of the dock, preparing to throw his line. I had just stepped onto the dock when one of the other boats started, revved, and took off. Brecker was standing at the wheel, looking like a pirate with his black eye patch. I ran down the dock as the boat swerved back and forth, Brecker struggling to get it under control with the throttle all the way up. He was headed straight for the old guy's boat, swerving out of the way at the last second, but sending up a swell of water that almost flipped the other boat.

The old guy went into the water, but he came up immediately, his mouth spraying equal parts salty water and saltier language. He turned his head to keep the invective focused on the boat that had pitched him over, until I jumped off the end of the dock, over his head, and landed awkwardly in his boat. He was quiet for a moment, looking at me. Then I pushed the throttle up, turned the wheel hard, and took off, sending a plume of water up behind me as I shot out into the lagoon. I couldn't hear anything over the roar of the engine, but I'm sure he had something to say about it.

The lights of the bridge weren't far enough away for Nola to get there in time. I could see Brecker's boat in the dim light, headed straight for the bridge. To my surprise I seemed to be gaining on him.

I glanced up at the bridge, but there was no sign of Nola. I tried not to think about how scared and conflicted she would be. Or what would happen if I was wrong, and she still had chemical sensitivity. Or if it was gone and this much chemical exposure would bring it back. I also tried not to think about what would happen if we failed.

Instead, I focused on the boat in front of me.

I was closing on Brecker, but not enough to catch up with him before we got out of the lagoon. I had a quarter tank of gas. On the open sea, he could simply outrun me. I needed to slow him down.

I steadied the boat as much as I could. Then I braced my hands against the wind screen, and squeezed off a shot. I saw a spark in the darkness as the bullet struck metal on the boat. The lights rocked back and forth and the boat veered off course. I had slowed him down, but I had also gotten his attention. I could see his face in the darkness, turning my way. I hit the deck and got as low as I could, covering my head with my hands as a volley of bullets tore through the boat. Immediately, the vessel started filling with water and the smell of gasoline. I heard Brecker's boat clang off a channel marker, and I popped up to see it veering back toward the right. By the time he corrected his course, I was on him.

The two boats hit, rocking violently, and I jumped from mine onto his. It was slightly bigger than the boat I'd been on, but much of the room was taken up by the metal boxes. I tried not to think about the thousands of tiny parasites inside them. Instead, I focused on the guy with the eye patch, snarling at me and swinging an UZI in my direction. I dove for him, but he got off two shots before I got past the gun. The second one creased my arm. It stung like hell, but reminded me we were playing for keeps. My chances of saving the world were much lower if I was dead. I drove him backward, hard against the windshield. He grimaced in pain as the edge dug into his back. Then he got a hand onto my throat and squeezed. The gun was trapped between us, and I grabbed the barrel and pushed it until it was almost pointing up under his nose.

We were totally off course now, tracing a wide circle in the lagoon. The boat I'd been on was doing the same, in the opposite direction, the two vessels performing a graceful duet.

I looked up at the bridge and saw the truck, right where it was supposed to be, and Nola, looking out over the water, watching us fight.

Brecker spun out from in front of me, and we both crashed into the metal boxes, knocking them over. The entire stack came open, the dark masses of mites spreading out like a living shadow.

I landed on top of Brecker, pinning him against the jumble of boxes. He screamed, his one eye wide in horror. Both of mine might have been, as well. Suddenly, he was an animal, clawing and kicking, almost whimpering. He threw me off of him, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I'd come up with the gun.

But as I pointed it at him, the boat clanged off another channel marker, lurching and tossing me into the water.

I went under when I hit, but came up in time to see Brecker frantically brushing mites off of him with one hand, grabbing the controls with the other. The boat straightened out, heading right for the bridge.

The salt water stung the bleeding furrow in my arm, and for the first time since I'd been on the island, I thought about sharks. The second boat was slowing down, but its wide circle was taking it right toward me. I put the UZI over my shoulder and swam out to intercept it, hoping I wouldn't be cut to ribbons by the propeller. The rope was trailing in the water, and I grabbed it tight and pulled it in quickly, jerking the boat into an even tighter circle as I climbed aboard. I got it straightened out and pointed it at the lights of Brecker's boat, but the smell of gasoline was intense and I could feel the water rising up to my calf. I was low in the water and riding sluggish.

Brecker was almost at the bridge, and Nola was no longer standing there watching.

As the boat passed under, I saw Nola at the back of the truck, one hand grabbing the hose and the other one fumbling with the spigot. Then the hose jumped, issuing forth a torrent of Thompson Chemical Company's worst. She held the nozzle with both hands, her arms fully extended. She averted her face, her eyes tightly closed and her cheeks puffed out with held breath. The stuff splashed onto the bridge, cascading down through the metal structure and showering onto Brecker and the mites. Like a heavy rain, it coated the entire boat in poison.