"Yes, two red lights."
"No trouble, then."
"Yes, there's trouble."
All the shadows turned. In the dim light from the binnacle they gaped at her. "You men listen. Johnny can't go alone. Not in the water. Not after all they done to him."
"Shut up, woman."
But she didn't. "You can't let him do it, Leo. Willie. Bo, you're his friends. It's like killing him—"
Turner moved then, pushing his way past men who moved quickly aside. "What you sayin', woman?"
"Johnny, you can't. Not alone."
"Get out of here. What you doing on this boat anyways?"
He'd hurt her now, she knew. Even… before, he never let her contradict him, to give him sass. More than once she'd carried bruises to the House for being "uppity." So she lifted her head, steeled for it. "Johnny—"
The slap rocked her back, and the night suddenly danced with light. Before she could recover he hit her again, and she caught her breath and sank to her knees on the rough deck while he stood over her.
He don't mean it, she told herself, struggling to breathe. It just the way he grew up. He had to be hard to go through prison and what the Man done to him.
She dragged herself up. He waited till she stood, then hit her again, in the face. She fell back against the side of the boat. Couldn't strike back, that just made him madder. And pleading, crying, that wasn't Vyry Lewis. But he'd never hit her so hard before —
She gasped as his fists crashed into her again. These weren't slaps, not punishment. "Johnny!" she screamed. She felt his arms go around her, and started to relax, to lean into them for the kiss, the apology, but felt herself lifted instead. Lifted high, like a child's broken toy, about to be thrown away —
Suddenly there were other hands, hands that pulled at Turner and at her. "Damn, Johnny, put her down!"
"That's Vyry, Johnny!"
She felt herself being lowered. In the dark she couldn't see his face. Someone pulled her away from him. Willie. "Hey, Vy — come on away from him. He done gone crazy. I don't think he knew it was you there for a minute."
She backed away, shaking. He'd tried to throw her into the water. If the other men hadn't come — "Willie, that ain't Johnny," she whispered.
"It don't hardly seem so." There was fear in the fat man's voice too. "They done something to him, all right. I thought China done brought him back. But maybe not."
Leo was with Turner now, talking soothingly, coaxing him back into the wheelhouse. The others drifted in after them. She was left alone on the stern with Willie as the lights of Willoughby Spit moved by, cold and hard and brilliant. When the trembling eased she felt her face. Bruises, but no cuts. There was some pain when she breathed, but she didn't think anything was broken.
The pain in her heart was worse. "Willie."
"Yeah, Vy."
"Will they… do that? Let Johnny go in the water alone?"
"Sounds like the only way, to me. He's right, we can't just run up alongside."
"How much longer do we have?"
"A while. This a pretty lively boat, but Finnick, he taking his time." The fat man took her hand. "Now look, don't go getting no ideas. About stopping us, I mean. This here's more important than one man. Even Johnny Turner. And if any one nigger can take over that boat… he the one."
"I know," she whispered.
But inside, she feared he was already dead.
"I need a good knife."
"Take my work blade, Johnny," said Finnick.
They were close to shore, the low-lying shore of Virginia Beach, and it was very dark. Misty, too, with a slight fog, the precursor of summer rain, making the distant lights dissolve into fuzzy patches of glow. For several minutes now they'd watched the two red lights ahead grow closer. Turner, stripped, was a vague blur at the rail. The engines muttered and burbled softly.
"Close enough?"
The shadow nodded.
"Here's what we'll do, then. After you're in the water we'll get moving again. Go on out past them. Run the motors loud to cover any noise you make. Go half a mile down the channel, then heave to an' wait. How'll we know if you need us?"
"If you hear shooting, I need you. If I can do it without shooting — I'll blink them red lights."
"You're sure now," said Leo. "I'm not asking you to do this. Nor is the Road."
There was no answer. Just a low splash, and the shape at the rail was gone.
"Man, I hope he makes it," muttered Willie.
Finnick waited for a long minute, then pushed one throttle all the way forward, the other halfway back. The engines roared and the boat swung. He spun the wheel quickly and it corrected, straightened, and sluggishly forward, engines frothing up foam around the hull.
The red lights drew nearer, and time ticked by.
They were still three or four hundred yards away from the low shape of the Confederate patrol boat, when the first signs of activity appeared. Vyry, staring out at it, saw lights wink on and begin moving about. "Get down," Finnick grunted. "No, not you, Leo. You the man with the white face here."
Across the water a new light came on, yellow at first, quickly brightening to a brilliant white shaft that swung back and forth across the smooth dark water. She stared off to the right. Johnny was out there now, swimming for his life. What if that light caught him? As if in answer the searchlight beam steadied, found them, so blinding that even with her eyes closed the world turned red as blood. "Wave, man," Firmick hissed to Leo. "Let 'em see you."
Leo stood up and waved slowly. The light lingered on him and then moved forward, throwing stark shadows off the fishing gear and the tuna tower, picking out the civilian registration number on the bow. Then, as if satisfied, it went out, dying to a dull red spark and then to darkness. "We're abreast of her," said Finnick softly. "This as close as we're going to get. If we hear any ruckus over there—"
"Better hand those guns out." Leo sounded more confident than he had all night as he explained their use to men who had never held one in their lives. Willie cradled the short heavy weapon lovingly. "You and me, baby," he crooned. "Goin' to talk with the Man. Going to have a little argument with whitey."
"Vyry?"
"I'm not touching them," she said shortly. All her attention was on the other boat. As they moved slowly past, heading now out to sea, the lights on its deck winked out.
"Now it up to Johnny."
"Goin' cut them white fuckahs up. One by one. Never know who done it."
"Wish I was with him."
"Whyn't you go, then?"
"Shit, you know I can't swim. I 'most drown taking a bath."
She touched her face where it was sore. Please the Lord he'd would come back all right. And maybe this was what he needed. To get revenge. To get his own back after what Quidley had done to him.
She hoped it was so.
The boat moved on. Leo and Finnick conferred in whispers in the wheelhouse. "Think he's there yet?"
"How the hell would I know?"
"Let's turn around. It's been too long."
"Only ten minutes. Man go pretty slow in the water. He prob'ly just gettin' there." But Finnick throttled back and again they drifted with the slow tide, pushing them silently toward the sea.
"What's that?" said Willie.
At first it was a light, moving in from the northeast, low above the water. Then the drone of engines reached them. It was headed straight for them, very low and very fast.
"Airship!" said Leo. He caught Finnick as the little man stepped away from the wheel, and slapped the barrel down. "Don't fire, you idiot!"
The drone grew into a roar, vibrating the boat under their feet. The black bulk of the zeppelin came into view, swelling to fill the sky as it passed over them. They caught a glimpse of portholes, running lights, of the long reddish tongues of fire licking from the exhausts. Then it was gone, past, dwindling toward the coast to the south.