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I sat on the captain’s chair and took full control of the boat, spinning the wheel around and maneuvering us back on track, away from the speeding yacht. We bounced on the waves. Fox let off shots as the yacht pulled closer, the mangroves blurring by as we rocketed past them.
I reached for the communication system and dialed the coast guard, my hand still shaking, one hand holding the steering wheel tight. I brought the phone up to my ear, only to have a disconnected signal greet me. I dropped it, the phone bouncing against the stand.
“No connection!”
“It’s alright, just keep us ahead of that yacht. Take us toward the beach.”
Behind me, Fox was trying to take out whoever was driving that thing. He was aiming and shooting, but missing the captain’s cabin with every single shot. I pushed the boat harder, the boat beginning to push back against me.
An idea hit me then, from all those times I’d work with my grandpa and he’d warned me about working around the volatile oil containers.
“Aim for the oil tanks!” Our boat was bouncing across the waters with how fast we were going. The engine was beginning to make an odd noise, but we couldn’t slow down or we’d be food for the sharks.
“Where the hell are those?”
“Should be a big tank toward the bottom left of the hull, at the bow of the ship.”
I could see the water beginning to get choppier and choppier ahead of us, the clouds darkening and foreshadowing a storm, our boat bouncing wildly as a result. Water sprayed all over the deck, drenching me.
There was a loud gunshot then, or was that a thunderclap?
“Shit!” Fox shouted over the sound of waves and bullets.
“You good?”
“Yeah, I just can’t get a clear shot.”
“Come over here.” I was white-knuckling the steering wheel as I pushed the boat as hard as I could. “Pilot this thing, let me try.”
“I don’t kno—”
“Just come over here, grab the steering wheel, hold it steady, and push down on this throttle. You’ve got this, babe!” I echoed his sentiment from earlier. I believed in him as much as he believed in me—that’s what made us work so damn well together, even under the threat of imminent death.
“Okay, on three.” I looked over my shoulder.
“One.” He started turning to me.
“Two!”
And on three, the two of us swapped, Fox spinning and handing me the gun, running behind me to take control of the boat.
That was when I saw something that almost made me pass out.
Blood, pooled on the boat floor where Fox had been standing, mixing with ocean water.
“You’re shot!”
“Don’t worry about me right now, worry about the boat of murderous thugs that’s catching up to us.”
He was right—our boat was no match for the beast that was cutting through the waves toward us, and if they caught us, there would be a lot more blood on the boat than there already was.
That’s when I realized something else.
There was only one bullet left in the chamber.
I’ve gotta make this count.
I lifted the gun, steadying myself against the rocking of the ocean by leaning hard against a railing and planting my feet firmly on the floor.
Fox is counting on me.
I saw red. The red of my boyfriend’s blood. The red paint of the boat chasing behind us.
I saw my grandfather, during the days we would spend fixing up boats, making them seaworthy, then taking them out for rides down the bay, where he’d tell me stories all day from the fantasy books he’d write.
My hands held steady. The gun aimed straight and true.
One shot.
Fox’s life depended on it. My life depended on it.
Our boat’s engine sputtered and cried out, warning it was on its last leg if we didn’t slow down soon.
One shot.
I took in a deep breath. Shut one eye.
Down the sights I set, all my time spent in the gun range during my time as a cop coming back to me.
“Jonah, the engine’s smoking!”
Out of all the bull’s-eyes I had hit, this one was the one I needed the most.
I pulled the trigger, my finger applying pressure, triggering the mechanism inside to release the bullet, the gunpowder adding its explosive effect.
Through the air my bullet flew, true and straight, puncturing the hull of the ship, exactly where I had envisioned it, and ripping right through the thin metal that held what I assumed to be at least four hundred thousand dollars’ worth of gasoline.
A plume of bright orange and dark red flames rose and expanded and exploded out from the tank, blowing the yacht up in a massive light show, the light blue waters of the ocean serving as a bright contrast to the angry orange and reds that roared from the dying yacht.
I turned, running to Fox’s side. I brought the boat to a stop and went right to helping my boyfriend, who was currently actively bleeding from the nasty gunshot wound on his thigh.
