Something is wrong.
Very wrong.
Chapter Twelve
I finish buttoning my shirt, pull on my boots and reach for the handgun on the nightstand beside the cot. The weight of the weapon seems lighter than usual. I slide the magazine out. The chamber is empty. The bullets are gone. It is a useless piece of metal.
I grab the case for my knife and pull the Velcro back. The case is also empty; this makes me angry. Jeff Young gave it to me for Christmas, before he was killed in action during the Battle of the Grapevine.
I strap the empty case to my belt and slide the gun into the holster.
Apparently my rescuer doesn’t trust me enough to allow me to be armed on his ship. I can’t say that I blame him, but I’m going to need my knife back, at the very least. I check the inside of my right pant pocket. I have a small knife in here, and it looks like Jonas has missed it.
Good.
I keep it in the bottom of the pocket. It’s not much, but I may need it later.
I stand up. I feel fine aside from a dull headache. I walk to the cabin door, push it open, and tense as the cold ocean breeze hits my face. The deck is quiet and dark. A couple of lanterns dangle from the ropes above my head, illuminating the small fishing rig with a dim, orange glow.
“Jonas?” I say.
“Over here, missy.” The old man standing on a higher deck, behind the ship’s wheel. The space is not enclosed like it was on the Coast Guard cutter. “Feeling up to walking, are you?”
“I feel great, thanks,” I reply. “How far are we away from Monterey Bay?”
“No more than an hour. Don’t worry, I’ll get you back to the mainland safe and sound.” He pauses. “Although judging by the weapons on your person, you’re probably quite capable of taking care of yourself.”
I say nothing. I only watch him.
Jonas clears his throat and I walk to the railing. The fog is thick. I can’t see the shore from here. In fact, I have no idea which direction we’re headed, although I’m assuming it’s east. I shove my hands in my pockets and settle back on a wooden crate. Although I don’t see any fish on this ship, I can smell them. The stench is pretty rank, permeating the wood and the cloth in the sails. The slight putter of the motor propelling the little vessel through the water is the only sound aside from the waves lapping at the side of the boat.
I settle into my spot, silence hanging between Jonas and I.
I’m sure that Chris and the rest of the National Guard and militias have discovered the destruction of the Coast Guard cutter and the demise of Captain Adams and his crew. They won’t find my body among the dead in the water, so I wonder if they will assume that I am dead, as well. I wonder, briefly, if search aircraft was sent to look for the wreckage of the Golden Shark… and if there were, why didn’t they find me?
I curl my fingers into fists.
Chris is going to be angry when he finds out what happened.
The minutes pass. I find myself wandering back into the cabin to escape the cold temperatures. I sit in the chair in the corner, closing my eyes. I am still tired from the hypothermia, and I know that I am lucky to be alive.
“Miss Barton?” Jonas calls. “We’re coming into port in a few minutes.”
I stand up and leave the cabin once more. Jonas has cut the motor back a few notches and we are sidling up slowly to a long wooden pier. I see no lights or buildings onshore.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“Back,” Jonas replies.
“This isn’t the bay, and it’s not Cannery Row,” I tell him.
“It’s where I dock my boat. You’ll have to walk a ways to get where you want to go.” Jonas shrugs. “I’m doing my best, missy.”
Guilt tugs at my heartstrings. This man saved my life — he didn’t asked to be ordered around by a militia commander. So I shut my mouth as he brings the boat alongside the dock and ties the Mia Bella up.
“Home sweet home,” Jonas announces, grinning widely, showing off four or five missing teeth. “Thanks for riding along with me, missy. I hope you make it back okay.”
I nod.
“Thanks.” Then, “Can you tell me where I am so I can find my way back to city? It helps to have a starting point so I know which direction to head.”
Jonas’s smiles fades, turning to a small twitch.
“Well, you’re about… let’s see… maybe twenty miles north of the city.” He reaches for his pipe. “You’d probably better find a vehicle…”
“Or you could ride with us.”
That voice.
My blood runs cold — colder than the water in Monterey Bay. The fog is so thick, I can barely make out the figures standing along the dock. Four… five… ten… twenty. Raw fear shoots through me — this is a trap. What have I allowed Jonas to do to me?
Never trust people. Never, never, never…
“Cassidy, it’s been too long. Last time we crossed paths you were laying waste to my prison, and I was scrambling to clean up your mess.” A pause. “My, how the tables have turned.”
I take a step away from the railing as Harry Lydell steps out of the shadows of the fog, the lantern-light casting a glow on his fine English features. He’s wearing an Omega uniform, dark curly hair combed back.
“Harry,” I say, breathless.
“Yes,” he replies. “Charmed to see me?”
I frown.
He laughs, amusement in his face.
“You know, when we were informed that you survived the terrible tragedy that befell the Golden Shark and its crew,” he says, “we had to meet you here. It’s only polite, don’t you think? So glad to see that you made it.”
I look at Jonas. The old man’s expression is crestfallen — he is completely pale, almost sick. I glare at him.
“You radioed Omega?” I say. “You’re a spy.”
“I’m just a fisherman,” he mutters. “I’ve got to stay alive, just like the rest of you.”
“Well,” I say, lifting my chin. I ignore the terror in my heart, the feeling of helplessness. I know that Harry will kill me. I know what this means. “Shall we go, Harry?”
“That’s General Lydell, actually,” Harry corrects, lifting a finger. “And yes. Let’s go. There are some people who will be very interested to know where you’re staying the night.”
The smug smile on his face is like a bullet in the chest.
The Omega patrols near and around Harry have their weapons trained at my head. If I move, I’m dead. There’s nowhere I can go, anyway. The water? Nope. The dock? Occupied. I am trapped, this is it.
Three Omega soldiers, dressed in their dark uniforms — the signature white O stitched into the sleeve — jump onto the boat, still holding their guns to my head.
“Time to go,” Harry says.
Jonas starts to say something, but decides against it. He shrinks back onto his boat as I turn my back on him, kicking myself for failing to trust my initial instincts. I could have forced him to tell me where we were going — but instead I made the fatal mistake of trusting someone.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I blame the hypothermia and the shock of the attack on the Golden Shark for trusting Jonas.
Oh, God. Help me survive this.
Please.
It is early in the morning, and I am sitting in the corner of an old elementary school lab. My bare feet are covered with mud. I am filthy. My short hair is matted with dirt and leaves from fieldwork. Harry is sitting beside me, staring at the wall.
“You think we’re going to die here?” Harry whispers. His voice comes light and breathy, like something out of a British movie. “If we live long enough to get on Omega’s good side, we’ll be worked to death. What’s the point of living?”