A woman in the column screamed as the flock closed on the bridge.
And all hell broke loose.
Chapter Eleven
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Hedy said, her tone conveying her anxiety.
“Quit gripin’,” Hickok declared.
Hedy looked at the man in buckskins. “Listen to me! This is too dangerous! We’ll never make it!”
“We’ll make it,” Hickok assured her.
Hedy stared directly ahead and shuddered. “Oh, God!” she exclaimed in horror.
“Get in the rowboat,” Hickok commanded impatiently.
“I’m dead,” Hedy mumbled, but she complied.
They were on the north bank of Portage Bay, midway between Montlake Bridge and University Bridge. The bluish-green water lapped at the weed-covered bank.
Hickok was pleased at finding the small rowboat stashed on the bank.
Hedy had led him southward after leaving the service station. She had intended to take him across Montlake Bridge until he had spied a large group of men and women heading for the same bridge. Sharks, he had guessed, and he had forced her to veer to the southwest to avoid them. All the water had surprised him. He had had no idea Seattle was divided in half by a series of canals, bays, and a lake. They had traveled along the bank in the direction of another bridge, University Bridge, which Hedy had claimed they could safely cross. And then Hickok had spotted the wooden, rickety boat.
“We shouldn’t do this,” Hedy insisted.
The rowboat was ten feet in length and half that in width. The seats were a pair of wide boards attached to the sides, one in the center and a shorter board a few feet from the tapered bow. Two yellow oars were lying on the bottom of the rowboat.
“Sit,” Hickok directed her.
Hedy reluctantly sat down on the board in the center, her back to the bay, facing the gunman.
Hickok leaned over, placing his hands against the bow. He had already pushed the boat to the edge of the water; now he gave a final shove, then quickly stepped aboard as the rowboat drifted into Portage Bay. “You do the rowin’,” he told her.
“What?”
Hickok rested his hands on his Colts. “You heard me. Pick up those oars and get crackin’. We don’t have all day.”
“Why should I do the rowing?” Hedy asked defiantly.
“Because I said so,” Hickok stated. He didn’t want her to know his shouldes were killing him. His mobility had improved, but shoving the rowboat into the bay had aggravated his injured muscles and tendons.
Hedy snorted. “Thanks a lot! I get to row to my own funeral!”
“You’re not going to die,” Hickok said.
Hedy leaned over to retrieve the oars. “A lot you know, jerk! No one goes on the open water! It’s stupid! It’s suicide!”
Hickok gazed at the tranquil bay. “What are you yappin’ about? There’s nothin’ out here.”
Hedy straightened with an oar in her hands. “Yes there is! There are giant fish, and the gulls. Not to mention the Brethren.”
“The Brethren?”
“Yeah, Mister-Know-It-All! The Brethren are mutants. They can breathe underwater.”
“Breathe under the water?” Hickok repeated skeptically. “You’re pullin’ my leg.”
“You’re hopeless!” Hedy stated angrily. She leaned toward the gunman.
“Please! I’m not pulling your leg! If we row out on the bay, we’re doomed!
Let’s walk to University Bridge.”
“Nope,” Hickok said. “I can’t afford to be wastin’ time arguin’ with you.
We’re already in this dinky boat, so we’ll row to the other side. The sooner I get there, the sooner I can find my pard. So row!” he ordered sternly.
Frowning, Hedy defly inserted the oars into the oarlocks.
“You’ve done this before,” Hickok noted.
“I know how to use a boat,” Hedy said testily. She took hold of both oars and began rowing out from the bank.
“I thought you never went on the water,” Hickok remarked.
“Open water,” Hedy corrected him. “The Brethren are based on Puget Sound and the waters around the Sound, but they’ll also enter any body of water connected to Puget Sound. This bay here, Portage Bay, connects to Lake Union. Lake Union connects to the west end of the Lake Washington Ship Canal. And the Canal leads to Shilshole Bay, which opens onto Puget Sound.”
“So we could run into some of the Brethren,” Hickok speculated.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to get through your thick skull!” Hedy snapped. “They don’t come in this far often, but they do from time to time.” She paused.
“They keep out of the shallow creeks and rivers, and they won’t go near landlocked ponds or the reservoirs.”
“Why not?”
“Because, dummy. They’re afraid of being trapped,” Hedy said. “If we find one in a pond or a shallow river we can kill it pretty easily.” She paused, continuing to row. “The water is their element, and they can move a lot faster in the water than they do on land. But in a pond there’s nowhere they can hide. They’re strong, real strong, and they can breathe air like us, but there are somewhat more of us than there are of them. So they don’t risk straying from their territory too much.”
Hickok admired the Shark’s fluid movements as she expertly rowed toward the south side of Portage Bay. “Why are your people called the Sharks?” he inquired.
“I don’t know where we got our name,” Hedy replied. “The Sharks have been around for decades, long before I was born.”
“You know about boats,” Hickok said. “But what about cars and trucks?
Do you have any?”
“Are they those things that were used to get around on land before the war?” Hedy queried.
“Yep.”
“We don’t have any,” Hedy disclosed. “I’ve seen rusted-out wrecks all over the city, but I don’t know of one in running order. And I don’t think Manta has any, either.”
“Seattle is such a mess,” Hickok commented. “Why do the Sharks stay here? Why don’t you go somewhere else?”
“Where would we go?” Hedy retorted. “Seattle, bad as it is, is our home.
We’ve heard stories about who’s outside the city. Cannibals. Monsters.
Starvation. No thanks. We’re safer here.”
“You call this safe?” Hickok quipped.
“I was until I met you,” Hedy said.
Hickok gazed to the right. They were approximately 50 yards from the north bank, and they had a long way to go before they would reach the south side. He saw the ruined hulk of a huge boat protruding from the water off to the west. When he glanced at Hedy, he noticed she was examining him critically. “Why are you starin’ at me?” he asked.
“I’m trying to figure you out,” Hedy explained.
Hickok chuckled. “Don’t bother. My missus hasn’t been able to figure me out and we’ve been hitched for years.”
“You have a wife?” Hedy inquired, sounding amazed at the prospect.
“Yep,” Hickok said. “The best-lookin’ filly this side of the Milky Way.”
“Filly? Has anyone ever told you that you talk funny?” Hedy questioned.
“Just about everybody,” Hickok admitted.
“Then why do you do it?”
Hickok shrugged. “Keeps me from twiddlin’ my thumbs.”
Hedy shook her head. “You’re really weird, Hickok.”
Hickok grinned. “But I’m adorable too.”
Something splashed on the surface of the water to their left.
Hickok shifted in his seat, drawing his left Python. “What was that?”
Hedy laughed. “Just a fish. A small fish.”
“It’s nice to see you’re relaxed,” Hickok observed.
“Who the hell is relaxed?” Hedy rejoined. “I’m scared stiff.”