Storm Surge (8 page)

“Much,” Sharon
said. “Now come on. We’re going to be late.”

On the drive
to St. Anthony’s Day School, Sharon mulled over what she’d seen in Max’s face.
Just when she thought she was getting to know him, another person would surface
briefly. She made up her mind that, once she got her car back, she’d keep a
distance between them. It was hard to totally avoid someone in a place as small
as Pass Island, so she’d be civil to him. But that was all.

St. Anthony’s
was regarded as one of the better church-run private schools in the state, and
the immaculate condition of the grounds and the ivy-covered stone buildings
scattered across them was impressive. The place looked more like a small
private college than a high school. Max parked the truck in the lot next to the
only building on campus that seemed to be open, a large brightly lit structure
that looked like a small cathedral.

“I guess I
ought to wait here,” Max said. “I’m not exactly dressed for this.”

Once again,
Sharon was torn. He was right. In his jeans, work shirt, and ball cap, Max
would stick out like a sore thumb among the well-dressed people she saw filing
into the building. For that matter, she felt underdressed herself, even though
she was wearing one of her best conservative dresses.
But
again, something in her rebelled at treating a co-worker like a servant, even
if she couldn’t quite figure him out.

“No way,” she
said. She didn’t have to look; she could almost feel Glory looking daggers at
her. “Come on.”

The initial
orientation was a long series of boring speeches in the school’s chapel, most
of which Glory fidgeted and sighed her way through. Max sat calmly, hat on his
lap, looking straight ahead. Sharon tried to pay attention, but found that her
thoughts kept drifting away.

After the
speeches, there was a reception in the hall behind the chapel. The place was
crowded and noisy, and Sharon lost track of Max as she met and chatted with the
teachers who Glory would have in the upcoming year. Glory slouched beside her
and answered their bright, cheerful questions in monosyllables. The teachers
seemed to take it in stride, for which Sharon was grateful. She was brought up
short, however, when the art teacher, a bubbly redhead, gushed how interesting
it must be for Sharon to be in the restaurant business.

“What?” Sharon
asked.

“Your
friend.
Mr. Chase.
He said you were in the restaurant business.
Which
restaurant?”

“
Ahhh
…the Pass Island Resort,” Sharon said. She caught a
glimpse of Max as the art teacher babbled on. He was in the middle of a group
of perfectly coiffed and made-up women, smiling and chatting easily.
Well, he certainly got over being shy
,
she thought with a stab of irritation.

Finally, the
reception ended. She took Glory in tow and caught up with Max at the door. She
didn’t speak to him, but walked right past him out the door. She heard him fall
in behind her, his long legs catching him up easily.

“Why did you
tell people that?” she asked when they were out of earshot.

“Tell them
what?”

“That I owned
a restaurant?”

Max chuckled.
“I didn’t tell them you owned a restaurant. I told them you were in the
restaurant business. They assumed the rest.”

“You think
it’s funny?” she demanded. He didn’t answer.

“I’m not
ashamed of what I do, Max,” she said. “I’m not ashamed of who I am.”

His smile
vanished. “Neither am I,” he said.

They passed
the ride home in silence, with Sharon fuming, Glory sulking, and Max driving.
The first time they spoke was when they got to the trailer.

“Still need a
ride tomorrow?” Max said.

“Yeah.”

“Ferry leaves
at 9:00. I’ll pick you up at 8:30.”

“Okay.” She
almost slammed the door,
then
stopped herself. He was
being nice, and right now, she couldn’t afford to alienate anyone who was being
nice to her. Those were few and far between. “Max,” she said, “thanks.”

He smiled at
her. It was a nice smile, she noticed again. “Don’t mention it. I’ll see you
tomorrow.” Max put the truck in gear and pulled out of the driveway.

“That place
sucks,” Glory announced. “I’m not going.”

“Yes you are,”
Sharon said wearily. “And I’m not going to argue about it now.” She turned away
and took the sheaf of mail out of the box, sorting through it as she walked
towards the house. Suddenly she stopped.

“What?” Glory
said as she noticed the look on her mother’s face.

“Nothing,”
Sharon said.
“Nothing.”

Glory looked
at her curiously for a minute,
then
went inside,
Sharon behind her. “I’m going to go change for bed,” Sharon said. She closed
the bedroom door behind her and looked at the flimsy sheet of paper in her
hand. Printed across the top in large red letters were words that had become
all too familiar to her: NOTICE OF INSUFFICIENT FUNDS. It was the check for
Glory’s tuition. Sharon leaned her back against the door, slid down slowly to
the floor. Silently, so Glory couldn’t hear her, she started to cry.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Sealed in
their plywood cocoon, the only way they knew that night had fallen was by their
watches. “Phillips. Worth,” Blake ordered. “Reconnoiter the immediate area. See
if we can start unpacking.” They were back a few minutes later. No one was
about. The bulk of the residents had left, and the few waiting for the last
ferry were far enough away that the team’s presence wouldn’t be noticed so long
as they kept to themselves.

Blake produced
a pair of crowbars and they began prying open the crates. In a few minutes,
Blake, Worth and Barstow were each equipped with their weapons of choice: Blake
and Barstow with a stubby little Heckler & Koch
MP5
,
Worth with the newer
HK416
, which had the reputation
of being able to fire even after being submerged in water.

Each also took
a
9MM
Beretta in a shoulder rig and a long
wicked-looking combat knife in a thigh sheath. Blake held out a pistol and
holster to Montrose, who shook her head. Blake shrugged and handed the weapon
to Phillips. Phillips put on the shoulder holster, then took a pair of large
leather bags from one of the crates and set them down. “I’ll put this together
in the lighthouse,” he said. “It’s a bit awkward to carry down the road.”

“What the hell
is it?” Barstow asked.

“Something to
make sure no inquisitive boats or aircraft
are
around
to give away our position.”

“It better,”
Blake said. “It was hard enough to get.”

“You realize,”
Worth said, “that if what you said is true and we don’t get any resistance,
we’re seriously overdressed here. But if we do get any major resistance, this
stuff isn’t going to be nearly enough.”

“So what else
is new?” Barstow said as he slapped Worth on the shoulder.

Worth stepped
around the plywood barrier into the open space. He could look through the holes
where doors and windows would go, out into the darkness. The sound of the sea
was like white noise, topped off by the moaning of the constant wind around and
through the spaces in the unfinished house. He walked to the window and leaned
out.

Streaks of
cloud were beginning to hasten across the sky, the full moon behind them
casting dark, fast-moving shadows on the rolling sea. For a moment, Worth saw
them as monstrous shapes like mighty leviathans rushing below the water rather
than on the surface. He shivered. He didn’t think he’d be getting much sleep
tonight.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The ramp of
the construction ferry clanged down onto the dock. Sharon was one of the first
across, staggering a little as her legs encountered a surface that wasn’t
moving beneath her. The trip over had been awful, the normally placid waters of
the sound rolling with an unaccustomed chop.

The
overcrowding of the barge hadn’t helped; the entire clubhouse staff, from the
food and beverage manager to the maintenance guys, had clambered aboard, and
the ferry had been jammed from rail to shaky rail. Travis the ferry driver had
protested that it was too many people until the sous-chef had asked him exactly
who he was thinking of leaving behind. The looks on the staff’s faces had shut
Travis up. Now, they came off the boat, many of them looking a bit green. At
least no one had thrown up.
Yet.
The group headed
towards the clubhouse.

“I’m
gonna
go look for my iPod,” Glory said.

“Maybe you
should come to the office,” Sharon said, “and check the Lost and Found.”

“I know
exactly where it is, Mom,” Glory said. “I know right where I left it.”

“Okay,” Sharon
said, too weary and queasy to start another fight. “But run. We can’t stay
long. Meet me back at the clubhouse.” Glory just nodded, then turned and took
off towards the beach.

“Where’s she
going?” Sharon heard a voice say. She turned. It was Max, walking behind her.

“She left her
iPod in one of the cabanas.
On the beach.”

“She better
not take too long,” Max said. “I don’t think our captain over there’s in a mood
to wait.”

“Neither am
I,” Sharon said. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be on that damn
boat if it gets much worse.”

Max looked up
at the totally gray sky. “It’s
gonna
get worse,” he
said.
“And soon.”

As if on cue,
it started to rain.

*** 

Glory’s long
legs ate up the distance quickly, and she was barely out of breath as she
reached the big unfinished mansion. She had a pretty good idea where the iPod
was. She knew she’d had it when she went up in the house to smoke pot with
Graeme. She’d start looking on the top floor and work her way down. It had to
turn up.

Her life
sucked so
bad
these days, her music was about the only
thing that kept her from going totally nuts. She looked around to see if anyone
was watching. The street was deserted. She dashed across the yard and up the
stairs to the front door, throwing it open with a crash.

***

“What the
fuck?” Barstow said. He tossed the
MRE
he had been
eating aside and leaped to his feet, grabbing his weapon as he did. Blake slid
off the crate where he’d been eating a similar breakfast and drew his knife. He
put a finger to his lips.

Worth and
Phillips were on their feet as well. They could hear the pounding of feet on
the stairs. Blake looked at Barstow, raised one finger.
One
person.
Barstow nodded. The footsteps drew nearer to their plywood
cubicle. They heard a voice, female, young sounding.

“What…the…fuck…?”

***

Glory stopped
and stared in confusion. She knew that the flimsy plywood walls at the back of
the second floor hadn’t been there yesterday. She approached slowly, like
someone encountering an alien spaceship that might suddenly sprout tentacles or
shoot out a heat ray. There was an opening around one side. She crept up and
looked around it.

***

The moment the
face appeared around the corner, Barstow grabbed a handful of the dark hair and
yanked the intruder into the room. She only got out a short scream before
Barstow had slammed her up against the partition, covering her mouth with his
hand.

“Jesus,” Worth
said, “it’s a kid.”

“God
damn
it,” Blake muttered.

“
Shhhhh
,” Barstow was whispering to the girl. “Hush now.
It’s okay.”

The girl
obviously wasn’t buying that. Her eyes were wide, the whites showing above
where Barstow’s big hand covered her mouth. The other hand was wrapped around
her slim neck, holding her up, almost on tiptoe, braced against the wall. She
made a low keening noise, deep on her throat, like a terrified animal.

“If I let you
go,” Barstow said, “you have to promise not to make any noise. Okay? Can you
promise me that?” he spoke in a sing-song voice as if he was speaking to a
child.

The girl
nodded frantically, to the extent she could with Barstow holding her so firmly.
He took his hand away. As he did, the words spilled out of her like water from
a broken dam.

“Oh shit oh
Jesus please just let me go I won’t tell anybody please
please
just let me go, I promise, swear to God just please let me go…” her voice rose
in pitch and volume, ramping up towards hysteria.

Barstow gave a
low growl of disgust and clamped his hand back over her mouth.

“Lovely,”
Phillips said. “What do we do now?”

“Hey,” Worth
said. “What the fuck is he doing?”

Barstow’s hand
had clamped more firmly over the girl’s nose and mouth. Her struggles grew more
frantic.