I start to hyperventilate, horrified at the choice that fate leads me to. Time! Time! I wish for more time, but there is none. Every second that passes brings us closer to the resort. Soon we will sail inside the bay, safely beyond the pull of the current. No matter what, I am a dead man, but if I set the boat aflame now my death will not be in vain. I want to be brave, head high in the face of death, but I cannot. I start to weep.
Gwen. I will never see her face again. She does love me, and she does want to be with me, above all others. I know that now. She proved that the night Conner drove me from the resort. Conner—so masculine and strong—offers her food and protection, but still she chose me. Gwen will never know what really happened to me. She will never know I died trying to protect her.
I yank one of the dangling wires out of the wall and fasten it around the doorknob so that no one will be able to open the door and extinguish the fire until it is beyond control. Fighting back the tears, I wear a rueful smile, realizing Action unwittingly put me in the best spot on the boat to enact my plan. The old wood and insulation that surround me will act as excellent tinder for the fire.
I pour the gasoline around the closet, grip the lighter in my trembling hand and pray that I will swiftly lose consciousness as the flames engulf me.
Chapter Twenty-One
In the pitch black of the closet, I give myself a moment for any last thoughts and as I do so, I press my back against the wall. The wall buckles behind me. That is odd. It is difficult to turn in the narrow closet, but I face the back wall and press on it. It is no more than thin plywood wedged in place. I rip it from the wall and feel what must be a layer of insulation. I tear it and put my hand into the opening, expecting to feel a hard wall, but instead I feel… nothing. Air. Open space. I tear the remaining insulation away and shine the lighter inside the opening. It is a crawl space running the length of the deck to the bow. The crawl space is exceedingly narrow, but I see right away that I am slender enough to squeeze into it. Does it even lead anywhere? For all I know it could take me to a dead end. There is only one way to find out.
I touch the open flame from the lighter to the closet wall. Whoosh, the flames spring to life, nearly singeing my eyebrows off. The heat is ferocious. I wriggle blindly into the crawl space, pushing the life vest before me. The clatter I make is horrendous, but there is no need for stealth. I hear shouts and sudden stamping feet above me. The thugs focus on the sudden fire raging below deck, ignoring the scuttling sound of my movement beneath their feet. Above the roar of the flames, I hear men pounding on the closet door, but they cannot open it and the fire spreads. Smoke pours into the crawl space. I look back to what appears to be an open furnace, flames curling into the opening near my feet. Moving in the tight space is hard. I wriggle like a worm. The shouts grow louder as the smoke thickens. Coughing furiously, I reach a wall and can go no further. I must get out of here. Holding my breath, my hands roam everywhere until I feel what seems like a hatch above my head. It will not open. I pound on it, once, twice and finally it flies open. Fresh air blasts my face, which I inhale greedily as I climb out of the crawl space and emerge at the bow.
A column of smoke, flecked with curling wisps of fire and red sparks, rises from below deck. The sparks dust the sails, smolder on the white fabric, and then catch fire. The thugs—having packed the boat in unsafe numbers—have nowhere to go in their haste to flee. They tumble over the rails into the ocean. The inferno casts a blood red glow upon the sea. Many men bob in the water, shouting to their comrades. Amidst the panic and commotion, I don the life vest and begin to untie the flippers from my belt.
“You!” Action points at me. He launches himself over the heads of his terrified gang, knocking several into the sea.
He crashes into me, knocking me down before I can dive overboard.
“I fuckin’ kill you,” he punches my face, but I tilt to the side and only catch a glancing blow.
His hands wrap around my throat, squeezing tight. My feet tuck underneath him, and with all my strength, I kick back, sending him flying. Before he regains his balance I strike him in the jaw, once, twice, and he reels. He stumbles back and crashes against the fire-weakened wall, and it splinters from his weight, collapsing behind him. With an expression frozen in panic, Action falls backward into the inferno, screaming and reaching for me as the flames swallow him.
The stern is a massive fireball now, blowing smoke and debris into my face. Clutching the flippers, I leap into the sea and hurriedly put them on. Some of the men in the water spot me and swim towards me, but with the flippers and life vest, I easily elude them. Those who survived the fire paddle helplessly, struggling in vain against the current. I swim for the mainland and leave them to their fate.
I reach the mainland at the same spot as before, and head straight for Nelson. The door to the house will not open. He must have propped the table against it. I knock.
“Is that you, Phillip?” Nelson practically yelps.
“Yeah, I’m back.”
I hear the table slide across the floor and the door opens. The light of a small votive candle falls on me.
“What happened?”
“Action and his men are all dead,” I step inside. “I killed them all. If they haven’t drowned or starved yet they soon will.”
I detail exactly how I disposed of the gang. Nelson listens in astonishment.
“Phillip! You’re amazing,” he embraces me. “In one stroke you eliminated the worst bunch of murderers on the island.”
I nod with pride. “Exactly. And you know what this means? No more skulking about in terror. We have to meet with the remaining islanders. They’ve probably been as afraid of Action’s gang as we were. Now we can work together, grow crops, work the seas, and survive. First thing tomorrow morning we’ll walk into town and explain to the remaining islanders what has happened. I can’t stay here tonight, though. I’ve got to get Gwen out of the resort, but first, there’s something I need your help with.”
Nelson agrees to accompany me back to the boathouse, though not without some trepidation. A lantern glows within the boathouse. I creep towards it and see the two young women lying together on a crude cot in their filthy bra and panties. Their sole guardian lounges in a nearby chair with a machete in his lap. I linger around the side of the boathouse and motion for Nelson to perform his part of my plan.
“Hello? Is anyone inside?” Nelson loudly calls and steps into the open space.
I hear movement within and motion for Nelson to repeat himself. The door opens and the lone thug steps out.
“Uh, hi,” Nelson stands his ground, forcing the man to come to him.
As the thug approaches Nelson—machete in hand—I creep behind him. The thug hears my steps and turns to confront me, but by then I am already upon him. I smash a rock to the side of his head and he crumples to the ground.
Nelson claps his hands and leaps into the air. “We did it! My God, we really did it!”
I nudge the fallen man with my foot; he is out cold.
“Let’s get a rope to tie him up,” I advise.
I turn to see the two bedraggled women standing in the doorway, saying nothing, absorbing the scene. Hand-in-hand, they slowly walk over, their faces drained off emotion, as lifeless as rag dolls.