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Just as the boat got close to the beach, the driver throttled down.
The boat appeared to settle softly in the shallow water—then shot up onto the sandy shoreline and suddenly pitched up. It went airborne briefly before landing in a more or less cushion of mangrove trees, stopping with the bow pointed skyward. The impact had thrown the man with the dreadlocks to the deck.
The boat’s twin outboard engines, their exhausts no longer submerged and muffled, made a deep pained roar. After a long moment, the stunned man was able to get up and, one at a time, shut them down.
Matt could now see that the area forward of the center console had some sort of cover. And people had started scurrying out from under it.
Then, from the tree line twenty yards away, one, then two, then a half dozen more boys in T-shirts and dark green shorts suddenly ran out onto the beach, then turned and went as fast as they could toward the boat. Slung on the shoulder of the last one in line was a medium-sized white duffel bag with a red cross on it.
“Well, how about that,” Matt said. “Here come
the real first responders—Scouts in action.”
The burly man with the dreadlocks hopped down onto the beach. The others began to follow quickly, one by one sliding over the side of the boat and landing on the sand.
A couple of them began limping. The man with the dreadlocks helped them to a spot on the beach, then directed the others to sit with them. They more or less made a line paralleling the shoreline.
“Oh my God!” Amanda said, shocked. “They’re okay after that? It’s amazing they weren’t killed! I should see if they need a doctor.”
“There’s no way to get you there—even if I thought they’d let you.”
The Boy Scouts arrived at the scene and immediately began checking the injured and performing first aid.
The police and Coast Guard vessels came in as close to the island as possible without running aground.
“Why aren’t the cops rushing ashore?” Amanda said.
“Why should they? Those people aren’t going anywhere. They’re on an island surrounded by what looks like ten levels of law enforcement.”
—
Five minutes later, Matt lined up the Viking to follow the Poker Run pack through the outer markers of the channel.
He heard more sirens, these coming from the Overseas Highway. All the action on the water had caused the heavy weekend traffic to slow to a crawl. Weaving through it were two Mobile Intensive Care Unit ambulances, their sirens screaming. They came to a stop beside the water’s edge at the foot of the bridge.
“And here come the paramedics.”
From the corner of his eye, Matt noticed something moving quickly. He looked to his left and saw a big blue-hulled Fountain speedboat overtaking the Viking. It roared around them, then cut its speed and smoothly dropped in behind the last boat in the pack.
Lucky for him it really isn’t a race, Matt thought. He’d have come in dead ass last.
But what a beautiful boat. I wonder if they’re going to screw it up with some stupid shrink-wrap design like those other go-fasts.
Clearly it doesn’t need them to attract hot women. Look at all of them!
Amanda did not notice. She was looking through the binoculars and watching the police. They now were wading ashore and approaching the accident scene.
“Well, that’s curious,” she said.
“What?”
“The people who were on the boat are smiling at the cops like they’re long-lost friends.”
[THREE]
Little Palm Island, Florida
Sunday, November 16, 7:15 P.M.
