"That's the one that brought me here!" Vicky cried.
Jack recognized the rakosh: Scar-lip, making a last ditch effort to get at Vicky.
Jack's finger tightened on the trigger, then he saw that the creature was going to fall short. Its talons narrowly missed the platform but must have caught onto the undercarriage, for the elevator lurched and screeched on its tracks, then continued to rise.
Jack didn't know if the rakosh was clinging to the undercarriage or whether it had fallen off into the elevator well below. Wasn't about to peer over the edge to find out—might lose his face if the rakosh was hanging there.
He carried Vicky to the rear corner of the platform and waited there with the discharge tube trained on the edge of the platform. If the rakosh showed its face he'd burn its head off.
But it didn't appear. And when the elevator stopped at the top of its track, Jack pulled Vicky's hands free to allow her to go up the ladder ahead of him. As they separated, something fell out of the folds of her damp nightgown.
Kusum's necklace.
"Here, Vicks," he said, reaching to clasp it around her neck. "Wear this. It'll—"
"No!" she cried in a shrill voice, pushing his hands away. "I don't like it."
"Please, Vicks. Look—I'm wearing one."
“No!”
She started up the ladder. Jack stuffed the necklace into his pocket and watched her go, continually glancing toward the edge of the platform. The poor kid was frightened of everything now—almost as frightened of the necklace as the rakoshi. He wondered if she'd ever get over this.
Jack waited until Vicky had climbed through the little entry hatch, then he followed, keeping his eyes on the edge of the platform until he reached the top of the ladder. Quickly, almost frantically, he squeezed through into the salty night air.
Vicky grabbed his hand. "Where do we go now, Jack? I can't swim!"
"You don't have to, Vicks," he whispered. Why am I whispering? "I brought us a boat."
He led her by the hand along the starboard gunwale to the gangway. When she saw the rubber raft below, she needed no further guidance—she let go of his hand and hurried down the steps.
Jack glanced back over the deck and froze. He’d caught a blur of movement out of the corner of his eye—a shadow had moved near the kingpost standing between the two holds. Or had it? His nerves were frayed to the breaking point. He was ready to see a rakosh in every shadow.
He followed Vicky down the steps. When he reached bottom he turned and sprayed the top half of the gangway with flame, then arched the stream over the gunwale onto the deck. He kept the flame flowing, swinging it back and forth until the discharge tube coughed and jerked in his hands. The flame sputtered and died. Only carbon dioxide hissed through the tube. No more napalm.
He loosened the harness, a job he’d begun in the aft hold, and shrugged off the tanks and their appendages, dropping them on the last step of the burning gangway. Better to let it go up with the ship than be found floating in the bay. Then he untied the nylon hawser and pushed off.
Made it!
A wonderful feeling—he and Vicky were alive and off the freighter. Only moments ago he’d been ready to give up hope.
But they weren't safe yet. They had to be far from the ship, preferably on shore, when those bombs went off.
Jack grabbed the oars and began to row, watching the freighter recede into the dark. Manhattan waited behind him, drawing nearer with every stroke. Gia and Abe wouldn’t be visible for a while yet. Vicky crouched in the stern of the raft, her head swiveling between the freighter and land. He couldn’t wait to reunite her with Gia.
Jack rowed harder. The effort caused him pain, but surprisingly little. He should have been in agony from the deep wound behind his left shoulder, from the innumerable lacerations all over his body, and from the pockets where the teeth of the savage little rakoshi had torn away the skin. He felt weak from fatigue and blood loss, but he should have lost more—he should have been in near shock. The necklace truly seemed to have healing powers.
But could it really keep you young? And let you grow old if it were removed? That could be why Kolabati had refused to lend it to him when they were trapped in the pilot's cabin. Could Kolabati be slowly turning into an old hag back in his apartment right now? He remembered how Ron Daniels, the mugger, had sworn he hadn't rolled an old lady the night before. Perhaps that explained much of Kolabati's passion for him: It wasn't her grandmother's necklace he’d returned—it was her own.
He took a hand off an oar to reach up and touch the necklace. It might not be a bad thing to keep around. You never knew when you might—
A splash over by the freighter.
"What was that?" Jack asked Vicky. "Did you see anything?”
He could see her shake her head in the darkness. "Maybe it was a fish."
"Maybe."
Jack didn't know of any fish in Upper New York Bay big enough to make a splash like that. Maybe the flamethrower had fallen off the gangway. That would explain the splash nicely. But try as he might, Jack could not entirely buy that.
A cold clump of dread sprang up between his shoulders and began to spread.
He rowed even harder.
37
Gia couldn't keep her hands still. They seemed to move of their own accord, clasping together and unclasping, clenching and unclenching, running over her face, hugging her, climbing in and out of her pockets. She was certain she’d go stark raving mad if something didn't happen soon. Jack had been gone forever. How long did they expect her to stand around and do nothing while Vicky was missing?
He pacing had worn a path in the sand along the bulkhead; now she simply stood and stared out at the freighter. It had been a shadow all along, but a few moments ago it began to burn—at least part of it. A line of flame had zigzagged along the hull from the deck level almost down to the water. Abe had said it looked like Jack's flamethrower at work, but he didn't know what he was up to. Through the binoculars it looked like a burning gangway and the best he could guess was that Jack was, in effect, burning a bridge behind him.
And so she waited, more anxious that ever, waiting to see if Jack was bringing back her Vicky.
Then suddenly she saw it—a spot of yellow on the surface, the rhythmic glint of oars moving in and out of the water.
"Jack!" she called, knowing her voice probably wouldn't carry the distance but unable to contain herself any longer. "Did you find her?"
And then it came, that dear squeaky little voice she so loved:
"Mommy! Mommy!"
Joy and relief exploded within her. She burst into tears and stepped to the edge of the bulkhead, ready to leap in. But Abe grabbed her.
"You'll only slow them up," he said, pulling her back. "He's got her, and he'll get here faster if you stay where you are."
Gia could barely control herself. Hearing Vicky's voice was not enough. She had to hold her little girl and touch her and hug her before she could truly believe she had her back. But Abe was right—she had to wait where she was.
Movement of Abe's arm across his face drew her attention away from the water for an instant. Was he wiping at tears? Gia threw an arm around his waist and hugged him.
"Just the wind," he said, sniffing. "My eyes have always been sensitive to it."
Gia nodded and returned her attention to the water: smooth as glass, not the slightest breeze, allowing the raft to make good speed.
Hurry, Jack...I want my Vicky!
In moments the raft was close enough for her to see Vicky crouched on the far side of Jack, smiling, waving over his shoulder as he rowed. And then the raft nosed against the bulkhead and Jack was handing Vicky up to her.
Gia clasped Vicky against her. She was real! Yes, it was Vicky, truly Vicky! Euphoric with relief, she spun her around and around, kissing her, squeezing, promising never to let her go ever again.
"I can't breathe, Mommy!"