The Light (Morpheus Road) (32 page)

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the other two boats. At the wheel was Gravedigger. Again. There were three boats in the water, all hunting us down. Gravedigger was at the controls of two of them. Who knew how many more would show up?

"Are they real?" Sydney asked, breathless.

I looked ahead. Another boat was bearing down on us, head on.

"That one is!" I yelled.

It was Reilly's boat. The other two had maneuvered us into a collision course. Sydney turned hard to the left, making a sweeping turn. Too soon. Reilly's boat hadn't arrived yet. Instead of letting it pass behind us, we were about to collide.

But Reilly didn't react fast enough. He had too much speed to make the slight adjustment that would have killed us. Instead he crossed our bow.

The water was churning from the wake of three huge boats. The little Jet Ski bounced like a toy in a turbulent ocean. Sydney hit the throttle, the engine whined, we lurched forward . . . directly toward the open mouth of the reptilian monster that had been shadowing us. The beast rose out of the water, its mouth gaping wide. Sydney screamed but stayed focused and turned hard to her right ... to see that the first Gravedigger boat had made a huge, looping circle to make another run at us.

"Keep turning!" I screamed.

Sydney kept the Jet Ski in a tight right turn. The maneuverability of that little craft was keeping us alive. The Gravedigger boat rocketed by on our left, kicking up a wake that buffeted us so hard, I feared we would capsize.

"Now left!" I screamed. "Hard!"

Sydney reversed the turn and brought us around so we were once again headed toward the party boat.

"What is that?" Sydney yelled, looking ahead.

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I didn't want to know if it was another impossible villain headed our way. But of course, I had to. Far ahead, near the party boat, I saw a flashing red light. It was a rescue craft.

"The police!" I shouted. "Go, go, go!"

Sydney gunned the engine and set course for the party boat and help. The moment of relief didn't last. I looked back to see all three boats were circling around to make another run at us. The serpent was nowhere in sight. A quick calculation made me realize that no matter what we did, at least one of the cigarette boats would reach us before we got to the police. All we could do was move as quickly as the Jet Ski could take us.

"Fast is good," I cautioned.

"We're wide open," Sydney shot back.

We were moving closer to the party boat, but not fast enough. The cigarette boats were closing in on us from three different angles. There would be no maneuvering out of danger this time. Whichever way we turned, we'd end up right in the path of one of the boats.

"What do I do?" Sydney asked, her voice finally showing the strain.

"I don't know."

The boats were converging. All three looked to be at full throttle with plumes of white spray flying from behind. We had no hope of outrunning them.

"The other two boats," Sydney said. "Do you believe they're illusions?"

"Does it matter?" I yelled back.

"Yes! If they're not real, I mean physically real, all they can do is make us do something dumb. Like the blood in the boathouse."

"You don't think the other two boats can hurt us?" I asked.

"Not unless we do something stupid, like turning into Reilly's boat to get away from them."

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It made sense. Was anything we had seen real? Or were they just shadows that were there to push us toward danger? If so, there was no giant lake serpent ready to eat us and Gravedigger wasn't behind the wheel of two different boats. That left only one very dangerous guy trying to run us down.

Reilly.

I glanced around to see the three boats converging. Left, right, and from behind. I had a quick hope that somehow they would all slam into one another, but if the illusion theory was correct, that wasn't going to happen.

"We have nowhere to go," Sydney cautioned.

I heard the far-off sound of an amplified voice. The roar of the four engines made it impossible to understand what was being said, but it had to be a warning from the police. I didn't think for a second that it would help. Reilly's boat had taken the lead. We couldn't outrun it.

"Seaver? What do we do?" Sydney asked on the verge of panic.

Reilly was nearly on us.

"Turn! Now! Do it!" I screamed.

Sydney made a sharp left, turning us square into the path of a Gravedigger boat. Reilly flashed by behind us, but I barely noticed. We were on a collision course. I hugged Sydney hard around the waist and tensed up, as if that would have helped in a head-on collision. The boat loomed over us . . .

. . . and we passed right through. It was like moving through a cold cloud of vapor.

"Yeah!" Sydney shouted.

"Head for the party boat!" I screamed.

We had won a battle, but the war wasn't done. Reilly was still after us. Sydney turned hard to the right and accelerated toward the
Nellie Bell.
We were still at least a quarter

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of a mile away . . . and in trouble. Reilly had come around and was now lining himself up for another run at us. We were in open water with nowhere to hide. Sydney slowed. Reilly adjusted. We sped up. Reilly adjusted back.

He had us.

"What do I do?" Sydney cried.

I felt something move near my stomach. It was a twitch, as if somebody had poked me. Whatever it was, wasn't natural. My hand went to my belt instinctively and felt something in the pocket of my hoodie. I knew instantly what it was, though I had no idea how it had moved on its own to poke me. That was a question for another time. I reached into my pocket and grabbed it.

"The flare gun," I said.

"Use it!" she screamed back without hesitation.

I had completely forgotten about the orange pistol that I had shoved into my pocket at the marina. It was a weapon, sort of. I had never fired any kind of gun before, let alone at another person. I wasn't sure if I could do it.

"Shoot it in front of him!" Sydney yelled. "It might throw him off."

"He's gotta be closer," I said. "This thing isn't that accurate."

I had only one shot. If I fired too soon, there was no chance of getting the flare anywhere near him. If I waited too long, we'd crash.

"Keep it steady," I said.

I held the pistol in my right hand with my arm out straight. With my left hand I grabbed my right wrist to steady the gun. The Jet Ski bounced every time we hit a ripple. No matter how good my aim was, if we bounced at the wrong time, I'd end up firing the flare into the water. Or the sky. We were going to have to get very lucky for it to work.

"Now, Marsh!" Sydney yelled.

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I didn't fire. I wanted Reilly closer. Both crafts were racing toward the same imaginary point. If we both reached it, we'd be dead. Reilly's boat probably wouldn't feel more than a bump . . . just like when Cayden destroyed Cooper's boat.

"Turn on your lights," I said. "The police should see this."

Sydney toggled the light switch, and the running lights of the Jet Ski flared to life, along with the headlight.

We were close enough that I could see inside Reilly's boat. He was alone. Gravedigger was going to let him finish the job himself.

"Shoot him!" Sydney bellowed.

"Not yet. . . ," I said while taking careful aim. I focused on a spot out in front of the cigarette boat. I had to try and calculate the speed of the flare and how fast the boat was going so that it would pass as close to Reilly as possible. It was guesswork at best.

"Marsh!" Sydney screamed. "Shoot!"

We were seconds away from a collision.

I squeezed the trigger and felt the kick from the charge as the flare rocketed from the barrel. With a sharp crack and the smell of burning chemicals, the flare lit up the water. I knew instantly that I had miscalculated. The burning missile sped on a dead-straight line, trailing smoke, on a course that would take it behind Reilly. I had blown our one and only chance.

I want to say that what happened next was impossible, but after all we had been through, I have to reset my ideas of what's possible. The flare was moving in the wrong direction but not for long. The burning projectile made a sharp course correction. I saw the trail of smoke it left behind. It shot straight on its natural course, then suddenly took a left-hand turn and curved toward Reilly. The flare seemed to speed up as it headed directly for the guy. It flashed no

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more than a foot in front of his face, and when it passed him, it lit up even brighter and exploded like a fireworks display. That wasn't how flares worked, but I wasn't about to complain.

Reilly reacted by throwing his arms up to block his eyes. He recoiled from the light and fell back into the boat. Nobody was at the controls. The boat swerved to its right, away from the line that would have crashed it into us.

"Turn right!" I shouted.

Sydney turned hard, but it wasn't enough. The Jet Ski clipped the back end of the cigarette boat and spun our craft around. We were both nearly thrown into the water but managed to hang on. The cigarette boat charged on with nobody at the wheel. Sydney brought the Jet Ski around so we could see what happened next.

"Oh my god," she whispered.

We were much closer to the party boat than I thought. Kids lined the railings, watching the drama play out. The boat with the flashing lights could now be seen for what it was. A fire rescue boat. It was tied up to the party boat at the same spot where we had tied up the Jet Ski.

The cigarette boat was out of control. Reilly struggled to get to his feet, but his hands were over his eyes. He had no chance of taking back control of the speeding craft. At least not before it was too late. The boat was still moving at full throttle, which for that beast meant close to a hundred miles per hour. At that speed, hitting even a small rock would be disaster.

It was headed for something much bigger than that.

The seaplane that was waiting to fly Cayden away in a dramatic, ego-driven show was bobbing lazily on the lake . . . directly in the path of the charging speedboat. We were close enough to see people frantically diving off. I wondered if Cayden was one of them. Reilly had no idea of what was

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happening, until the last second. He stood up, facing us. He must have sensed the danger because he suddenly turned forward. He dove for the controls, which meant he saw his fate . . . too late. The cigarette boat slammed square into the floating plane. There was the sound of screaming metal. At least, that was what I thought was screaming. That was followed by a monstrous explosion that had to have been the gas tank of the plane. The cigarette boat blew up into the air in flames. A moment later, its own gas tank caught the flame and another eruption followed. Sydney and I had to duck as flaming bits of boat and plane and I-didn't-want-to-know-what-else flew past us, sizzling as they hit the water.

The hulk of the burning boat splashed back down into the water, its engines still whining. There was nothing left of the seaplane but burning debris on the water. It only lasted a moment, but as the ball of flame erupted from the doomed boat, I saw the giant shimmering face of a smiling demon peering out of the inferno.

Gravedigger had claimed another victim.

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Chapter 21

I don't know why they call funerals a "celebration of life." When my mother died, nobody felt much like celebrating. It all happened so fast that it was hard to get my head around it, let alone accept that I'd never see her again. My father was in even worse shape. To everybody else he looked like a guy who was being strong and doing his best to make sure everybody else was okay, but I knew better. At night, when each day's painful festivities were over, I heard him crying in his room. It tore my heart out. I, on the other hand, didn't cry. Not even when I was by myself. I think I was in denial. The two of us went along, doing our best not to talk about how we really felt.

The one person who didn't treat me like a crystal glass that would break if you breathed on me was Cooper. We were all back at our house after the funeral, trying to talk about anything but Mom. Relatives and neighbors were everywhere,

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mostly eating food they had brought themselves. Every once in a while an older lady or some guy would walk by and give me a sad nod. They were being nice, but they didn't know what to say.

I was sitting alone in the living room when Cooper plopped down on the couch next to me.

"Well," he said. "This sucks."

That said it all. It sucked on so many levels, I couldn't begin to count them. I laughed. It felt good. I still didn't feel like celebrating, but some of the pressure had been relieved.

"You want to get outta here?" Coop asked.

"Absolutely" was my answer.

The two of us snuck out the back of my house and went for a walk in the neighborhood. There was no destination--it was just about getting away from the intensity.

"Your mom was pretty cool," he said.

I shrugged. I knew.

"She gave me this for my birthday last year," he said as he pulled a framed photo out of his pack. I recognized it immediately. It was one that Mom had taken in Africa when she was on assignment there. It was a shot of a prehistoric-looking guy from some primitive tribe. He looked like he was a hundred years old. His face was full of deep lines that Mom had caught perfectly by getting the sun to hit them at an angle that made them look bottomless. In his arms was a little girl, probably a year old. She was beautiful. Her unlined face was a real contrast to the face of the ancient-looking guy. What made the picture was that they both wore the exact same beaded necklace and colorful wrap. It was a stunning picture that was published in National Geographic.

"She gave you this?" I asked, a little surprised.

"Yeah. I was kind of hoping for Madden NFL."

I laughed.