1953 - I'll Bury My Dead (31 page)

‘He’s cut the boat adrift,’ he said, turning to face her. ‘I think you’re right. Sherman is on board.’

He went over to the door and rattled the handle again.

The vibration was stronger now as if the engines were mounting to full speed, and when Lois looked through the porthole she could see the water foaming against the yacht’s side as it forged ahead.

‘He’s heading out to sea. What are we going to do, Nick?’

English was examining the door.

‘The damn thing opens inward. There’s not much hope of smashing the lock, but we’ve got to get out of here, Lois.’

‘This table – couldn’t we use it as a battering ram?’

‘That’s an idea. Let’s try. You take that side, and I’ll take this.’

Together they wrenched the table from its fastenings and carried it over to the door.

‘Now, together.’

They slammed the table against the door, drew back and slammed it again against the door. One of the door panels split.

‘Once again,’ English said. ‘I think it’s going to work.’

They drew back and then ran at the door. The corner of the table smashed through the panel, making a gaping hole.

‘Fine,’ English said. ‘I think I can tackle it now.’

He kicked out the rest of the panel, leaned through the opening and found the key in the lock. He turned it and pushed open the door.

‘Now look, Lois, you stay here,’ he said, ‘or better still go into the next cabin and lock yourself in. Take the recorder with you. Whatever happens we’re not going to lose that. I’m going to see what’s happening.’

‘No, don’t Nick. Don’t leave me. If anything happened to you . . .’

‘I’ll be careful. Now get into the other cabin and wait for me.’ He picked up the recorder and pushed her into the passage. ‘I’ll be all right.’

Before she could argue further, he handed her the recorder, and then went along the passage to the companion stairway.

Lois stood in the doorway of the cabin and watched him, her face white and her eyes scared.

He went up the stairway slowly, his ears cocked for the slightest sound, but all he could hear was the noise of the engines and the heavy thud of the sea against the yacht as she drove through the water.

When he was almost at the top of the stairway, he stopped, not sure if he had heard something. He listened, then went on, and very cautiously looked along the dark deck. He saw nothing to alarm him. The deck was deserted, and he looked toward the bridge, but that, too, was deserted, and his mouth set in a hard line.

He guessed Sherman must have lashed the wheel, and was hiding somewhere, waiting for him to show himself.

Then he saw a movement in the shadows ahead of him, and he quickly ducked down so he was no longer outlined against the white hatchway.

‘Hello English,’ Sherman said from out of the shadows. ‘I can see you and I’m covering you with a gun.’

English looked in the direction of the voice. He decided Sherman was too far away for a quick rush. He moved down a step so Sherman couldn’t pick him off and waited.

‘I thought you would walk into my trap sooner or later,’ Sherman went on. ‘She wouldn’t believe you’d come after her. I told her you would. I said you had the mentality of a cheap movie hero.’

‘Where do you imagine you’re going?’ English asked. ‘Every coast guard boat on the coast is on the lookout for you.’

‘That, of course, is a stupid lie,’ Sherman returned. ‘In a few hours when Kerr recovers from the blow on the head I gave him, they might look for us, but by that time, it will be too late.’

‘Don’t be too sure,’ English said. ‘You don’t imagine you can get away in this yacht, do you?’

Sherman laughed.

‘No, but it’ll be at the bottom of the sea by the time they come after us,’ he said and came out of the shadows. He held an automatic in his hand, and it covered the companion hatch. ‘That’s where we’re going, English. You and the girl and I - to the bottom of the sea.’

‘Is that necessary?’ English asked. ‘Surely you don’t want to join us.’

‘I’m going to end it,’ Sherman said. ‘I’m sick of killing people. I shouldn’t have killed Gloria. The janitor saw me leave. Of course I could have killed him, but I can’t go on and on killing people. I’m sick of it! There seems no end to it. Well, I’m going to end it, and end you, too.’

‘And how do you propose to end it?’ English asked, seeking information. He knew it was hopeless to attempt to close with Sherman. The distance between them was too great. He would be shot down long before he could reach him.

‘I’ve set fire to the yacht,’ Sherman said. ‘There should be a pretty good blaze before long. You’ll have the opportunity of either burning or drowning. We’re about twelve miles off shore now, and we’re still going. Personally, I prefer to drown.’

English had heard all he wanted to know now. He slid down the stairs and landed heavily in the passage.

Lois had come along the passage, and had heard what had been said. She looked at English, her face pale, but her eyes unafraid.

‘He’s cracked,’ English said. ‘He says he’s set fire to the yacht. Maybe he’s lying, but if he isn’t, we may have to swim for it. Can you swim, Lois?’

She smiled.

‘Yes. You don’t have to worry about me.’

‘But I do worry about you.’ He put his hand on her arm and looked down at her. ‘This is the wrong time and place, my dear, but I’d better tell you now. I’m in love with you. I guess I’ve been in love with you for years. It was only when I thought I was going to lose you, I realized it. Sorry, Lois, but there it is. Better late than never, I suppose. Having got that off my chest, let’s get busy. There must be some lifebelts somewhere down here. Let’s find them.’

She gave him a quick, searching look before going into the cabin. A few minutes’ search brought to light three lifebelts and a couple of oilskins.

‘We’ll wrap the recorder in the oilskins, and then put a lifebelt around it,’ English said. ‘I’m not losing it unless I have to.’

‘There is a fire, Nick,’ Lois said suddenly as she spread the oilskin out on the floor. I can smell smoke.

English stepped into the passage. Smoke was drifting up through the floorboards, and when he touched the floor it felt hot. He returned to the cabin to help Lois tie the lifebelt around the recorder.

‘We can’t get off the boat without going up on deck,’ he said, helping her on with a lifebelt, ‘and he’s guarding the head of the stairs. You wait here. I’ll see what he’s doing.’

‘Be careful, Nick.’

He put his fingers under her chin and kissed her.

‘You bet, but we’ve got to get out of here.’

A sudden gust of smoke whirled into the cabin, making them cough, and when he went into the narrow passage, he found it full of smoke and the heat intense.

‘Come on, Lois, we can’t stay here.’

She joined him, and they ran along the passage to the stairway.

English hadn’t yet put on his lifebelt. He didn’t want Sherman to know they had lifebelts, and he put his belt on the stairs before he looked along the deck. A red glow came from the bridge, and the heat was now so violent English had to shield his face as he peered through the smoke. He couldn’t see anything, but he could hear the roar of the flames as they burned furiously, eating into the deck and slowly demolishing the bridge house. Cautiously he went up the stairs and onto the deck. Still he could see no sign of Sherman.

‘Lois!’ he called softly.

She joined him and he motioned her to keep down.

‘I can’t see him. Let’s get out of here. Give me the recorder.’

‘Your lifebelt,’ she said, thrusting the belt into his hands.

As he made to take it, he saw Sherman coming through the smoke. He dropped the belt, grabbed Lois by the arm and rushed her across the deck.

‘In you go,’ he said, and lifting her, dropped her into the sea.

He ran back for the recorder and as he snatched it up, Sherman saw him.

‘Don’t move!’ he shouted.

English dodged to the right, reached the rail and tossed the recorder into the sea. As he put his hand on the rail to vault over, Sherman shot him.

English felt something hit him viciously in his side, sending a scorching pain through his body. He fell face down on the hot deck. The deck was so hot, his soaking clothes sizzled, and as he tried to push himself to his feet, his hands began to blister. He rolled over, frantically trying to get under the rail and into the sea. Sherman ran over to him, caught hold of one of his ankles and dragged him back.

‘You’re not going to get away!’ he cried wildly. ‘You’ll roast here with me. How do you like it, English? How do you like your first taste of hell?’

English kicked out. The heel of his shoe crashed against Sherman’s knee cap, bringing him down. Sherman’s gun went off, and a slug ploughed a furrow in the deck near English’s head.

English rolled on Sherman, pinning him flat on the deck. Snarling with pain and fury, Sherman tried to get his gun hand up, but English caught his wrist in both hands and pressed Sherman’s hand down on the metal guard that ran the length of the yacht.

Sherman screamed as the almost red-hot metal burned into his flesh. Exerting all his great strength, English kept Sherman’s hand down against the metal.

Sherman slammed his free fist into English’s face, but English held on until Sherman’s fingers opened in agony and the gun dropped into the sea. He let go of Sherman’s wrist, tried to get to his feet, but the pain in his side was now so intense he blacked out for a moment. He came out of the faint, the hot deck scorching his back. Sherman was kneeling on him, his fingers digging into his throat. English caught hold of Sherman’s thumbs and wrenched them back, breaking Sherman’s hold. As Sherman groped for his throat again, English smashed his fist into Sherman’s face, sending him sprawling on his back.

English grabbed hold of the rail and dragged himself to his feet. Before Sherman could reach him, English overbalanced and fell head first into the sea. The shock of the cold water revived him, and when he broke surface, he shook the water out of his eyes and turned on his back.

The yacht was blazing now like a torch, lighting up the sea. English kicked out to send himself away from the yacht and the intense heat.

‘Nick!’

A hand closed over his shoulder. He turned his head. Lois was beside him, her other hand holding on to the recorder.

‘Oh, darling, are you hurt?’

‘It’s all right,’ English gasped. ‘It’s nothing much. What happened to him?’

‘I think he’s still on the yacht.’

English reached out and put his arm over the recorder. With its help he kept his head above water. His legs hung like leaden weights, and if it hadn’t been for the buoyancy of the recorder he would have sunk.

‘Keep near me, Lois,’ he said. ‘I’m bleeding a little, and I don’t feel too good.’

‘Get on your back,’ she urged. ‘I can hold you. Keep a grip on that case.’

As he turned on his back he saw Sherman, swimming strongly toward them. Sherman’s eyes were gleaming, and his teeth showed in a vicious snarl.

‘Look out!’ English panted and pushed Lois away from him.

Sherman’s hand caught hold of English’s shoulder.

‘We’ll go down together!’ he cried shrilly. ‘This is the end for you, English!’

English struck out at him, but his strength was failing. He couldn’t hold Sherman off, and he felt Sherman’s fingers shift from his shoulder to his throat. They went down together, Sherman locking his legs round English’s body, his fingers digging into English’s throat.

Lois saw them go down, and she dived after them, but the buoyancy of her lifebelt immediately returned her to the surface.

Frantically she wrestled with the strings to get it off, but the knots had hardened in the water and she couldn’t loosen them.

‘Nick!’ she screamed, and again tried to go down, but again the buoyancy of the belt brought her to the surface.

Then suddenly there was a commotion under the water. She caught a glimpse of the two men, still locked together, as they came to the surface. She saw English’s hand grope for Sherman’s face, and his thumbs sink into Sherman’s eyes as they went down again, the water closing over them.

She waited, her heart pounding, sick with fear for English, watching the bubbles of air as the two men fought under the water. They broke surface a second time. Sherman seemed no longer to be struggling. His arms and legs were locked round English’s body while English was fighting desperately to throw him off.

She swam toward them, trying to reach them before they sank again, but she was too late. They went down again as English was within a few inches of her questing hand. Then after a long pause a body came to the surface, rolled over and floated half submerged near her. She reached it, turned it and saw with a sob of relief English’s white unconscious face.

She held him up, pushing him toward the floating recorder and propping him over it. She was still holding him above the water when Kerr found them, fifteen minutes later, when he brought the speedboat toward the flaming wreck.

IV

S
am Crail hurried up the imposing steps that led to the main entrance of the new city hospital and entered the lobby where Dr. Ingolls, the resident surgeon, was waiting to meet him.

Ingolls, a tall, spare man in his late forties, was still in a slight flutter of excitement to have Nick English as a patient in his hospital.

The continual telephone calls, the invasion of the newspaper men and the constant stream of visitors, including stage and screen stars, show girls and stage technicians, enquiring after English, had temporarily disorganized the reception desk, and Ingolls was enjoying the experience of being on the fringe of English’s limelight.

As Crail shook hands with Ingolls, Crail said, ‘How’s the patient? Can I see him?’

‘Yes,’ Ingolls returned, smiling. ‘He’s coming along well. His tremendous constitution is doing more for him now than I can. In fact, we’re already having trouble keeping him in bed.’

‘And the wound?’

‘It’s heating satisfactorily. In another two weeks he should be fit enough to go home.’