We were picking up a little more speed, but the Chris-Craft was gaining on us and there was no escaping the fact that he was going to begin laying down rifle fire very soon. I asked Beth, "How many rounds do you have left?"
"Nine."
"You only had three magazines?"
"Only? You're running around with a damned five-shot peashooter and not a single extra bullet on you, and you have the nerve — " She suddenly crouched behind the seat and pulled her pistol. She said, "I saw a muzzle flash."
I glanced back and sure enough, there was Fearless Fucking Freddie in his shooting post. The muzzle flashed again. Shooting at one another from storm-tossed boats is easy; hitting anything is difficult, so I wasn't overly concerned yet, but there would be a moment when both boats were hanging on a crest and Tobin had the advantage of the higher perch and the long barrel.
Beth was wisely holding her fire.
I saw the Orient Point Lighthouse directly to my left and much closer than before. I realized I'd been blown north even as I'd kept an easterly heading. I realized, too, there was only one thing left to do, and I did it. I cut the wheel hard left, and the boat headed toward the Gut.
Beth called out, "What are you doing?"
"We're running for the Gut."
"John, we'll drown there!"
"It's either that or Tobin picks us off with his rifle or he rams and sinks us and laughs as he watches us drown." I added, "If we go down in the Gut, maybe he'll go down with us."
She didn't reply.
The storm was coming in from the south, and as soon as I got my bow heading north, the boat picked up some speed. Within a minute, I could see the outline of Plum Island to my right front. To my left front was the Orient Lighthouse. I aimed at a point between the light and the coast of Plum Island, right into Plum Gut.
At first, Tobin followed, but as the waves got worse and as the wind blowing between both bodies of land got supersonic, we lost sight of him, and I guessed that he'd given up the chase. I was pretty sure I knew what he was going to do next and where he was headed. I hoped I'd be alive in fifteen minutes to see if I was right.
We were into the Gut now, smack in the middle of it, between Orient Point to the west and Plum Island to the east, Gardiners Bay to the south, and Long Island Sound to the north. I recalled that Stevens said that a hurricane a few hundred years before had deepened the seafloor here, and I could believe it. I mean, it was like a washing machine with all kinds of stuff being turned up from the seabed — sand, seaweed, wood, junk, and debris of every type. There was no pretense of me controlling the boat any longer. The Formula was nothing more than another piece of flotsam and jetsam now, going with the flow. The boat actually broached, which in plain English means it spun around a few times, and we found ourselves pointing south, east, and west at various times, but the storm kept driving us north into the Sound, which is where I wanted to be.
The idea of trying to get into Plum Island cove was almost laughable now that I saw what a horrendous place this was.
Beth managed to make her way toward me, and she wedged herself into my chair behind me. She wrapped her legs and arms around me as I held on to the wheel for dear life. It was nearly impossible to talk, but she buried her face in my neck, and I could hear her say, "I'm scared."
Scared? I was terrorized out of my fucking mind. This was easily the worst experience of my life, if you don't count my walk down the aisle to the altar.
The Formula was being tossed around so badly now that I was totally disoriented. There were times when I realized we were literally airborne, and I knew that the boat — which had shown good stability in the water — could actually flip upside down in midair, I think it was only the bilgewater that kept us hull-side down during our launches into the stratosphere.
I'd had the presence of mind to cut the throttles to idle as soon as I saw that the propellers were spending more time in the air than the water. Fuel management is a long-term strategy, and I was in a short-term situation — but, hey, you never know.
Beth was clinging tighter, and if it weren't for our imminent deaths by drowning, I might have found this pleasant. As it was, I hoped the physical contact gave her some comfort. I know it did for me. She spoke again into my ear and said, "If we go in the water, hold me tight."
I nodded. I thought again of how Tobin had already killed five good people and was about to be the cause of two more dying. I couldn't believe that this little turd had actually caused all this death and misery. The only explanation I had for it was that short people with beady eyes and big appetites were ruthless and dangerous. They really had a bone to pick with the world. You know? Well, maybe there was more to it.
Anyway, we were blown through the Gut like a spitball through a straw. Ironically, I think it was the very ferocity of the storm that got us through okay, and we were probably on an incoming tide, I mean, the whole thrust of the sea, wind, and tide was north, which sort of canceled out the usual treacherous swirling of the wind and the tides in the Gut. Sort of like the difference between being caught in a flushing toilet bowl or being in the waste pipe, to stretch an analogy.
We were in the Long Island Sound now, and the seas and wind were a little better. I revved up the engines and headed the boat east.
Beth was still behind me, holding on, but not as tight.
Off to our fight front was the dark shape of the old Plum Island Lighthouse. I knew if we could get behind that headland, we would be a little more protected from the wind and seas, just as we had been when we had Shelter Island between us and the storm. Plum Island was not as elevated as Shelter Island, and it was a lot more exposed to the open Atlantic, but it should offer some protection.
Beth said, "Are we alive?"
"Sure." I added, "You were very brave. Very calm."
"I was paralyzed with fear."
"Whatever." I took one hand off the wheel and squeezed her right hand, which was clamped on to my tummy.
So, we got on the leeward side of Plum Island, and we passed the lighthouse on our right. I could see now into the lantern of the lighthouse, and what I saw was a green dot, sort of following us. I drew Beth's attention to it, and she said, "Night-seeing device. We're being watched by some of Mr. Stevens' men."
"Indeed," I agreed. "That's about all the security they have left on a night like this."
The wind was partly blocked by Plum Island, and the sea was just a bit calmer. We could hear the waves crashing up on the beach about a hundred yards away.
Through the driving rain, I could see a glow of lights behind the trees, and I realized this was the security lighting of the main laboratory building. This meant the generators were still working and this in turn meant that the air filters and scrubbers were still doing their job. It would have been really unfair if we'd survived the storm, landed on Plum Island, and died of anthrax. Really.
Beth let go of me and squeezed out of her nook between my seat and my butt. She stood beside me, holding the grip on the dashboard. She asked me, "What do you think happened to Tobin?"
"I think he continued on around the south end of the island. I think he thinks we're dead."
"Probably," Beth replied. "I thought so, too."
"Right. Unless he has radio contact with someone on Plum Island who knows from the guy in the lighthouse that we made it."
She thought a moment and asked, "Do you think he has an accomplice on Plum Island?"
"I don't know. But we're about to find out."
"Okay… so where is Tobin going now?"
"There's only one place he can go and that's right here, on this side of the Island."
She nodded. "In other words, he's coming around from the other direction, and we'll meet him coming at us."
"Well, I'll try to avoid that. But he's definitely got to get on the leeward side if he's going to anchor and get onto the beach with that Whaler."