„Then hurry.“ Bassinger turned back to Silver. „She can’t
last much longer.“
Bracken gave a last reluctant glance at Silver and then
hurried down the deck toward the staircase leading to the pilot
house.
A second shot echoed over the river.
„Nicholas must be very perturbed to try anything so futile,“
Bassinger drawled. „It has to be annoying for him to feel so
helpless. But you’re not helping me, my dear. One shrill,
agonized scream would increase his pain tremendously.“ He
drew back his arm. „I’m done toying with you.“ The lash came
down with his full strength behind it, breaking the skin and
causing a tiny river of blood to run down her back. „Scream,
you strumpet!“
A shudder of agony wracked Silver’s body.
She did not scream.
„We’re not gaining on them.“ Nicholas ran up the stairs to
the pilot house. „We’re supposed to be gaining on them. What
the hell is wrong?“
„They’re putting on more steam.“ Robert’s gaze was fixed
in horror on the Mary L and his voice was only a level above a
whisper. „My God, they were going at almost full steam and
they’re still feeding those boilers.“
„Then they’ll pull away from us,“ Nicholas said hoarsely.
The pilot numbly shook his head. „No, I don’t think so.“
Hope leapt within Nicholas. „Why not?“
„Lord.“ Robert closed his eyes. „The Sultana.“ His eyes
flicked open and he swerved the wheel violently to the left.
„What the devil are you doing?“ Nicholas shouted.
„I’m getting out of the way.“ Robert didn’t look at him as
he veered toward the eastern bank of the river. „And’hoping to
God I’m in time.“
„Out of the way of what?“
„Those boilers are going to blow. The Mary L can’t take
that much steam with those faulty boilers. They’re going to
blow up and take the Mary L with her.“
„Blow up?“ Nicholas could only stare at him. „Silver is on
the Mary L. It can’t – “
The Mary L exploded.
11
Who was screaming? Silver wondered dazedly. She knew it
wasn’t herself; she had kept all the screaming inside, where it
could give Bassinger no pleasure. Yet these screams held all
the pain and desperation she had refused to release.
She opened her eyes. Smoke. Black smoke. A red glare.
Fire? She struggled up on one elbow. She was still tethered to
the rail, but now a section of the rail was on top of her, torn
from its moorings by the explosion.
Explosion! The memory brought her sitting bolt upright
and she gasped with pain as she once again became conscious
of the fiery throbbing of her lacerated back.
Bassinger? She forced herself to turn and look around the
deck, though every movement was an agony. No Bassinger.
The deck was littered with shattered glass blown from the
windows of the pilot house, and there were little fires licking
at the wooden planks of the deck from the broken, overturned
lanterns. Her gaze lifted and shock plummeted through her.
„Oh, my God.“
The pilot house that had formerly perched on the Texas
deck had vanished, one of the tall smokestacks was gone
entirely, and the other was broken and spewing a thick cloud
of scalding steam. The railing at the front of the boat was
aflame and she could hear a crackling roar from the hurricane
deck that denoted a larger fire raging below. The boilers, she
thought. Robert had said something about the faulty boilers on
the Mary L, she remembered vaguely. They must have
exploded when Bassinger had ordered the added steam.
The rail was pressing heavily on her lower body and she
tried to push it off her before she realized it was impossible.
She would have to cut the rawhide strap before she would be
able to move the railing.
The riverboat suddenly gave a lurch that sent a thrill of fear
through her. The Mary L was taking on water. It wouldn’t be
long before it began to sink and she was bound helplessly to
the rail.
The broken glass!
She carefully edged sideways until she could reach a
pointed sliver of glass and pick it up with her thumb and
forefinger. The glass sliced through her flesh and blood
spurted. She dropped the glass. Blast it! She tried again and
managed to keep her grip on the sliver this time. Carefully she
began to saw through the rawhide thong binding her to the rail.
Who was that screaming? It was a chorus of voices, men,
women, and children in an agony of terror.
There was something she should remember, but she
couldn’t seem to think. The frayed rawhide thong snapped and
she pushed the heavy railing off her legs. Now for the ropes
binding her wrists. She would need a larger piece of glass.
The passengers! Bassinger had said he had locked the
doors of the staterooms. They were prisoners caught in the fire
and death below. She had no time to saw through the ropes.
The fires from the lanterns… The flames could burn
through the ropes far quicker than she could cut through them
with pieces of glass.
Faster but more painful. There were several burns on her
wrists and forearms before she managed to rid herself of the
ropes. She wouldn’t think about it; the burns hurt no more than
the stripes on her back.
Then she was on her feet, running toward the stairs. A
thicker haze of smoke lay over the deck below and she could
barely make out the door to the grand saloon as she made her
way toward it. She stumbled. There was something in her
way…
Bracken. His.eyes were open and staring, a two-foot jagged
sword of glass penetrating his breast. Silver took a deep breath
and swallowed hard. She mustn’t be squeamish. He was in the
way. She grabbed Bracken’s legs, tugging and pulling until he
was clear of the door.
The riverboat was now listing heavily to the starboard and
she had difficulty keeping her balance as she ran into the grand
saloon. The Mary L was structured much like the Rose, the
doors of the passenger cabins opening on either side of the
common room, she noticed with relief. But thank God, it was
much, much smaller and the shouts and pounding appeared to
be coming entirely from behind the ten doors on this side of
the saloon. „I’m coming,“ she called desperately. „It’s all right,
I’ll get you out.“
But how? She had no key and no tool to open those locked
doors.
Well, there were plenty of tools on the boiler deck.
If there was still a boiler deck.
Still, it was her only chance. She turned and ran from the
saloon and then down the steps to the boiler deck.
There were no fires on this deck; the entire deck was
flooded with at least three feet of muddy river water.
Nothing was left of the boilers but jagged fangs of metal…
Bodies floated like garish bits of flotsam…
Horribly scalded bodies…
Silver closed her eyes for a moment, unable to bear the
sight. Men should not look like this in death. There should be
dignity.
She opened her eyes and forced herself to look around. Her
sick horror would not save the people locked in those cabins.
It was river water not water from the burst boilers that was
now flooding the deck. It should be safe to go down and look
around. She jumped down onto the deck and waded through
the water, averting her gaze from the gruesome carnage around
her. A moment later she had located a crowbar, grabbed it, and