Blood Games

    Batty still capered about the shore, bobbing and spinning and leaping. But indistinct now. A pale, blurry shape in the distance. In the darkness.

    Abilene tipped back her head.

    A low, black mass of thunderheads was rushing in from the hills behind Batty. As if it carried winds of its own, the advancing range of clouds roughed up the water in its path.

    ‘Oh shit!’ Cora yelled, and started rowing faster.

    A blinding dagger of light gashed the nearest black cloud, splitting it with a noise like ripping fabric. Then came an explosion that shook the air. Abilene felt the concussion all the way to her heart.

    Batty vanished behind a curtain of rain.

    Cora rowed furiously as if trying to outrace the approaching storm.

    ‘Should we head for shore?’ Abilene called.

    ‘We’ll make it!’ Cora shouted.

    Twisting around, Abilene peered forward and saw that they were heading straight for the old dock at the far side of the lake. But they weren’t even halfway there.

    Rain suddenly poured down, drenching her.

    The boat pitched. She turned back toward the others and grabbed the gunwales. Cora’s hair was matted flat. Raindrops splashed off her bare shoulders, rinsed the blood from her skin, exposed the raw scratches. Finley was facing forward. She’d put down the shotgun. With outstretched arms, she clung to the sides of the tossing boat. Her head and shoulders jerked from side to side. Vivian, abandoning her seat at the stem, lowered herself behind Finley then reached out and held on.

    The boat rocked and bounced. Abilene flinched as a wave broke over the bow, slopping her rump with water much colder than the rain.

    Lightning cracked the sky. Thunder roared. The rain came down even harder than before.

    A sudden lurch nearly threw Abilene overboard. With a gasp of alarm, she hunched down to lower her center of gravity.

    The bottom of the boat was awash with water, a puddle erupting with tiny splashes of raindrops as it slopped from side to side, forward and back, sometimes rolling over the white toes of her sneakers. Willow leaves floated on its surface. So did a few dead worms.

    Not enough water to worry about, she told herself. It’d take a lot more than this to sink us.

    Shouldn’t have taken the boat, damn it.

    Stepped right into Batty’s trap.

    Come on, give it a break, she thought. Batty didn’t do this. It’s a storm. Storms happen. Even before we got to Batty’s place, Viv had said it was going to rain.

    Man, she was right!

    But what was that fuckin’ dance Batty was doing? Sure looked like some kind of ritual. A rain dance?

    Bull. Batty didn’t do this.

    The seat dropped abruptly out from under Abilene. She clenched the gunwales. The bench smacked her rear and she felt as if a bucketful of water had been hurled at her. It splashed high up her back but most of it hit her skirt. Some, spilling beneath her, licked between her buttocks with an icy tongue that made her gasp.

    ‘We’re taking in an awful lot of water! ’ Finley yelled.

    ‘Tell me about it! ’ Abilene called to her.

    The puddle, now, was ankle deep. She knew it must be worse at the other end of the boat.

    Sitting up, she leaned sideways to see past Cora. Finley sat on the bottom, knees up. Vivian had her legs wrapped around Finley’s hips as if they were riding a Matterhorn bobsled at Disneyland. The water surrounding them was high enough to slosh over the tops of Vivian’s thighs.

    ‘Start bailing!’ Cora shouted.

    ‘With what?’ Finley called.

    ‘Try your hands!’

    ‘Oh, that’ll help a lot!’ In spite of her remark, Finley apparently decided to give it a try. With both hands, she scooped up water from between her legs and hurled it over the side. Much of it blew back into her face.

    Thinking that Batty might keep some kind of container aboard, Abilene slid to her knees and managed to turn herself around. Ducking, she peered under the narrow bench. The concrete anchor was there, piled with rope. But nothing that might be helpful for bailing.

    It’ll help, she realized, getting rid of the anchor.

    She reached under the seat with both hands and started to drag the heavy block toward her. As it skidded closer, a wave dumped water over the back of her head. She blinked her eyes clear and tugged the anchor out against her knees.

    The rope was knotted to a rusty steel eye embedded in the concrete.

    Hanging onto the rope as if it were the reins of a bucking bronco, she straightened up. She drew Batty’s knife from the scabbard at her hip and slashed through the taut rope. The instant it gave way, she was thrown backward. She grabbed the gunwale and managed to stay on her knees.

    Trying to sheath the knife, she missed its scabbard and poked her hip bone. ‘Damn it!’ She dropped the knife into the puddle by her knee, then clutched the anchor with both hands. She lifted it, twisted sideways, and dropped it over the side. It thumped the water and flung up a cold geyser.