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But Ringo would not die, or even pass out. Randall was winded, his leg throbbed, and this creature on his back seemed as strong and manic as ever. He would strangle Bazin until his legs gave out, and then he would fall. It was all he could do.
John felt every blow Marc Dessaline threw, and realized the man was far stronger than he appeared. Marc said, “John Quick, run away, save your life.”
John threw a straight right to Marc’s chest and the man staggered back. “You’re under arrest. How’s that?”
The freighter pushed into the pier like a slow motion bomb, with metal, rebar, wood, and concrete crumbling and groaning so loudly it drowned out the wind.
The rest of the pier began to crumble into the churning, white-frothed water. Everyone scrambled to get farther down the walkway toward shore and away from this inanimate floating beast of destruction. Everyone except Randall and Ringo stopped fighting, and they all stumbled to the narrow part of the pier.
As the pier slipped into the water, Ringo pushed with his feet and Randall stumbled, then released the cord and rolled away from Bazin. They both gained their feet, with Randall in ankle deep water and Ringo farther from him in knee-deep gray water and foam.
They were sinking, and Randall looked toward the still intact portion of the pier. A large crack was forming fast, one that would drop the part he stood on into the sea. He ran, and Ringo was close on his heels, grabbing at him.
On the intact portion of the pier, Marc attacked John, swinging wildly. John ducked a punch and grabbed at the taller man, hoping to get him in a sleeper hold. Marc jerked sideways and John’s hand went under the shoulder strap of Marc’s small backpack. He latched onto it and twisted hard, jerking with the same motion. It turned Dessaline away from him, and John grabbed the backpack with his other hand, then used both to jerk and push the Haitian around so he remained off balance.
The pack tore open and three boxes dropped to the pier. Marc jerked so hard that the backpack ripped off his shoulders. He turned to John and his yellow eyes held a mad, insane look. He reached for the boxes that vibrated across the floor from another wave and the freighter’s weight.
John kicked the one closest to him. The wooden lid tore away and the box went spinning over the side, with diamonds scattering in the hurricane winds like bits of clear and colored ice. One large piece was as golden as Dessaline’s eyes. They all disappeared into the sea.
Marc roared, “No!” and snatched the two remaining boxes to his chest, holding them tight with both arms.
John closed fast and threw a right hook with everything he had at Dessaline’s unprotected face. It connected so well that John felt it all the way to his shoulder.
But Marc didn’t go down, instead he staggered like a drunken dancer, still holding the two boxes to his chest, and moved dangerously close to the broken edge.
Hunter saw the other battles going on, and she almost yelled out loud when Ariel dropped to the deck as bloody as anyone she had ever seen. She pulled her pistol, spread her feet to keep balance as the pier rocked like some carnival game with a moving floor, and said to Young, “You’re under arrest. I’m not playing. Lay face down and put your hands out to the side.”
They were nine feet apart, and Young had a knife she didn’t know about. He thought he could get to her before she shot.
The freighter groaned as a monster wave lifted the huge ship up and brought it crashing toward the broken pier.
Randall and Ringo heard the freighter’s noise behind them and they reached the intact portion of the pier at the same time.
Dessaline, still holding the boxes to his chest, staggered to the edge, slipped and went over the side as
the freighter rode the wave toward him.
Ringo cut hard to his right and dove at his falling friend, catching one arm in his hands. Dessaline’s weight pulled Ringo forward so the upper half of his body hung down over the side. He hooked a foot against a remaining railing and held to his friend. Gray water sloshed and whipped below Dessaline.
They hung directly in front of one of the concrete pilings, and Marc tried to get purchase with his feet.
John started forward, then stopped when he saw how fast the freighter was coming.
Randall was close enough to grab Ringo’s ankle, but the Haitian kicked him off and Randall rolled away as the freighter slammed into the remaining end of the pier and slid down it, then floated thirty feet back out to sea.
Randall yelled, “Ariel!” As her limp body slid off the pier at the freighter’s impact, and disappeared under the waves.
Ringo’s leg was still hooked to the railing, and Randall staggered to him in a daze, then he stopped.
Ringo Bazin’s torso was gone, ground off between the freighter and the concrete and steel of the pier. A red smear showed where Marc Dessaline’s body had been. Randall stumbled backward, and John caught him by the shoulders, then walked them both toward Hunter and Young Anson.
Hunter said, “I saw,” and she had tears in her eyes. Her pistol was still on Young. John said, “Shoot him.”
Young blinked like he didn’t believe what he heard. “What did you say?”
“I told her to shoot your murdering ass. The world will be a better place.”
“Now wait a minute.” Young leaned backward against the railing just as the freighter hit the pier again. The railing splintered and gave way under Young Anson’s two hundred twenty pounds, and he toppled backward off the pier, hitting the deck of one of the half-sunken boats that still belched black smoke and flames because of Hunter’s shooting. Young Anson did not move. When another wave lifted the boat at a steep angle, his body slid across the boat’s deck and splashed into the water. Hunter looked for him, but the man was gone.
