He's A Magic Man (The Children of Merlin) (30 page)

He needed a gun. Instead of going for the beach, he headed after the two thugs.

 
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Dead calm. I mean not a whiff of a breeze anywhere.” Drew’s father stared up at the slack canvas as though he could will the sails to fill. The boat rocked gently on the glassy sea a few hundred yards from the beach. Drew wanted to scream.
So close and yet so far from the sword.
From Michael.
Rhiannon’s crew had returned to the beach, carrying loaded gunnysacks. They must have found the sword. “Tris? How about that motor?”

Tris crouched over the motor in the stern, tools scattered around him. He stood and shook his head. “She took it out like she could aim that lightning. Fused solid.”

“Can you use your power to make it run?” Drew asked.

“I already tried,” he sighed. “There’s nothing to run. It’s just a big hunk of metal.”

“It’s Fight Club time.” Kemble was staring at the beach with binoculars.

Drew’s heart leaped into her throat. Michael? “Give me those.”

He easily shouldered her away. “Nothing doing.” He winced. “Boy, that hurt.”

“Kemble, you give me those binoculars right now,” Drew ordered in her most menacing voice.
Tris and her father had come up behind them.

“Uh, I’m not sure you should see this.” Kemble made a face.

Drew panicked. “Are they hurting Michael?”

“Looks to me like he’s hurting them. Oh, boy. That one’s down for the count.”

Drew realized she’d been holding her breath. To her chagrin, Kemble handed the binoculars to Tris.

“Guy’s got moves,” Tris muttered, as he worked the focus knobs.
“Impressive.” Tris handed the binoculars to their father.

They all heard the several loud cracks from the beach. “Oh, my God,” Drew gasped.

Several more shots.
Drew grabbed for the binoculars, and miraculously her father let her have them. She twisted the focus knobs frantically, which only made the scene on the beach a blurry collage of beige and green. At last it flashed into focus.
Several bodies on the beach.
Oh, no! But
there
... her eye caught movement. She recognized Michael’s broad back and black hair. He was running into the trees with a decided limp. He disappeared from view.

“He’s alive,” she reported, her voice tight. “I think he was hit, though.” She handed the binoculars to Kemble and sat heavily on the hatch that covered the ladder down to the galley.

“Looks like our Finder found the sword, but they had a falling out,” her father mused.

“Maybe they reneged on their promise to bring Alice back.”

“Maybe,” her father said. But she wasn’t sure he believed it. He probably thought the worst of Michael. Like maybe Michael wanted the sword for himself. Why wouldn’t her father think that? He didn’t know Michael like she did.

“Kemble, get below and see if you can find the launch for this thing,”
her father ordered.

“You think it has an inflatable launch?” Drew bit her lip and looked around as though the launch might be hiding in plain sight.

“I hope so,” her father said, as Kemble handed him the binoculars.

*****

Michael made his way carefully through the underbrush, his thigh and hip burning. He was making more noise than normal, what with the limp, but still a helluva lot less than the two goons off to his left. They’d gotten lost in the hundred yards back to the beach. They hadn’t come back to his blood trail, but were now about twenty yards north. Damn. They were going to make the beach before he could get to them. No gun for him now.

“Where the fuck did he
get
to?” Danny was complaining.

“No idea. He melted into the jungle.”

They came out onto the sand and looked around. “Hey,” one yelled. “Where you think you’re going with our treasure?”

Michael moved up to stand just inside the tree line, where he had a full view of the beach, now cast in shadows. It would be evening soon. The beach was empty except for the three bodies and the smaller of the two gunnysacks of treasure. Guess he’d finally taken out the pierced guy. Just a little late. Rhiannon stood on the deck of
The Purgatory.
St. Claire was at the wheel.

Great.

“We’ll be back for you, Finder.” Rhiannon scanned the jungle. “In the meantime you might want to reconsider your position about serving Morgan.”

“What about us?” Danny cried. Michael saw pierced guy move. Three remaining.
Though probably not for long.

“If he leaves you alive, we’ll pick you up too,” Rhiannon shouted. Then she grinned, and the grin turned into a laugh. The engine turned over and roared into action.
The Purgatory
turned its prow out to sea. She shouted something else over the motor. Michael thought he heard something about “Seer.”

She was going after Drew. Of course she was. Beyond
The Purgatory
Drew’s yacht floated helplessly. The world seemed to contract and grow black at the edges. Shit. What was he going to do?

“You let this happen, you
sonofabitch
,” the thug he didn’t know yelled at Danny.

“Yeah? Like you didn’t?” The shouting turned to shoving.

Rhiannon unwrapped the sword. Clouds boiled up behind the yacht. She was going to use that sword, whatever it did, on that yacht. She might want Drew alive, but whoever else was on the boat was toast. And who was to say Drew wouldn’t get killed or hurt in the process?

Michael did the only thing he could. He ran for the waves. If he had to swim to her, he would. He’d never catch Rhiannon. But he could pick up the pieces, if there were any. And there was nothing else to do.

“There he is!” Danny yelled behind him.

He hit the edge of the water and splashed through the waves.

“What do we care? She can go fuck herself.”

“Yeah, hope he drowns.”

It was tough going through the waves, dragging his leg. He dove into the shallow water as soon as he could, and struck off in the direction of the yacht. He had a pretty strong stroke. But he was going to lose his kick any minute. Once he passed the breakers, he could see
The Purgatory
closing on the yacht every time his head turned to breathe. Damn it, didn’t anybody on board have a gun?
Shoot the bitch dead.

He heard the shot finally, but
The Purgatory
was idling just out of range. Must not have
long range
weapons. Rhiannon held the sword up overhead with both hands. He’d thought it was too heavy for that. The gleaming metal caught the afternoon sun. And as she brought it down, it glowed with more than sunlight. A corona so bright it blinded him rose up around it, and then out of that inferno shot a ray of energy, right at the yacht. Everything happened at once. An explosion. The whole forward portion of the yacht sheared off. The mast cracked and began to slowly topple. Something inside the yacht exploded. People were thrown from the yacht in various directions.
Drew!
Michael was hit with a wave of sound like a physical blow. He tumbled down through water that glowed, the deafening sound muffled.

He fought his way to the surface and bobbed up in time to see flaming shards of yacht falling from the sky. Rhiannon held the wheel of
The Purgatory
while St. Claire reached over with a marlin hook and dragged something toward the boat. He knew exactly what that was.

Michael struck out again toward the yacht. The sky above him darkened. Waves rippling out from the explosion slapped at him. But he kept going. Now
The Purgatory
cut her engines and rocked as Rhiannon left the wheel to help St. Claire pull a limp Drew into the boat.

It began to pour rain. He was fading. Lightning forked through the black sky off to his right.
The Purgatory’s
engines roared to life and churned a wake.

Michael felt Drew getting farther away. He was so frustrated he wanted to scream. Or cry. He swam harder, though he knew it was fruitless. Wind and rain raged around him as premature night settled over the ocean.

It was over. He’d failed her. He bobbed in the water, gasping as waves slapped over him. Already
The Purgatory
was tiny, caught in the last sunburst beyond this hell-spawned storm. The pain in his chest as Drew pulled away was wrenching. His stomach clenched in anguish even as his vision blurred and darkened. It occurred to him that he might die out here.

What did it matter? He’d killed Alice, and now he’d failed Drew.

Lightning crashed closer now.

He blinked against the blackness growing at the edge of his vision.

No, damn it. It’s not too late. Drew’s not dead, or you wouldn’t feel her like a hot iron in your gut.
He blinked back the water streaming into his eyes, or from them.
You turn around, you bastard. And you swim back to the island. And then you’re going to get off that island somehow, and you’re going to find her. And you’re going to kill anybody who’s hurt her.

He shook his head to clear the blackness. It took all his strength to turn away from the tiny speck of a boat. But he did it. He did it for Drew. He could barely see the shore. The hump of the island was a darker shadow in the storm. Far off to his left he thought he saw some wreckage. He heaved in a giant breath and then another, trying to get enough oxygen to fuel his coming effort. A wave slapped him. He sank for a minute then popped up, spitting salt water. He willed limbs turned to stone to work. It was a long way to the beach.

*****

Michael lifted his cheek off the sand, blinking slowly. Everything was a white glow that hurt his eyes. Had he died? Would he see Alice again? Only if the afterlife was hot as hell. He was sweating. Alice hadn’t mentioned sweating in heaven. His throat screamed at him. What he wouldn’t give for a drink of cool water. The pain of the white light receded as his eyes adjusted. A big shape, darker than the sand, loomed out of the corona of light. Damn, but he hurt all over. Sun beat down on him. That was why he was hot. And what he was seeing was....

A dead body.

It was about six feet away, and already bloated. Sand flies crawled at the staring eyes. Crabs had picked at the soft tissue. His lips and earlobes were shredded, though not actively bleeding, since he was dead. It was the guy with the pierced face. Michael realized he’d never known the guy’s name. Either he hadn’t made it or the others killed him. A crab entered his field of vision, stepping delicately sideways, its claw extended to feel out its next meal.

He pushed himself up as fast as he could, though not without a groan of effort. His body shot pain through his thigh and his hip. Oh, yeah. He’d been shot. He was naked and shot. Probably had one hell of
a sunburn
on his butt. How long had he been lying out here? “Shoo,” he croaked at the crab. It scuttled away, disconcerted. Michael rolled over and sat with his head between his knees until things stopped spinning. Oh, yeah. Sunburned butt.

The makeshift bandage pad and the vines that had held it to his thigh were long gone. Sand everywhere. He tried to brush some out of his wound. He hissed in a breath but kept at it. Not effective, and he just started it bleeding again.

As a matter of fact, the only reason he was probably still alive was the fact that salt water acted as a coagulant. He crawled toward the waves, head hanging, to wash his wounds in the waves. This would hurt like a
sonofabitch
, but that was a small matter.

What was bigger was the fact that he had screwed all chances of giving Alice new life. And he was stuck on this island while Drew was being taken
who
knew
where
to see the future for some bitch named Morgan. He couldn’t feel her anymore. She was far away by now, where he couldn’t help her. He’d failed two women in his life. “Good going, Dowser,” he muttered.
Loser with a capital L.
As soon as he washed his wounds, he’d better find the little stream. That was the only fresh water he’d seen on the island. It should be off to the left, just before that low bluff. He managed to pull his head up and survey his situation.

Several more bodies.
He’d come ashore just where the fight had taken place. But now there were four bodies.
And no gunnysack.
As he watched, one body sat up with a groan. And a guy came limping around the little bluff. Great. Michael was out here in the open, a few feet from the edge of the surf, naked, with no weapon. He’d lost his knife somewhere. The only thing he could do was stand and fight, or
try
to talk them into working together to survive until someone came for them, even if it was Rhiannon.

He pushed himself up, hands on his knees to keep from falling over.
Not exactly impressive.
He stood upright, weaving only a little. He alternated his attention between the one sitting up in the sand, now shaking his head, and the guy silhouetted in the morning sun coming around the bluff.