Dead Wood - By Dani Amore Page 0,26

I looked, and could just make out through the smoke that Hornsby’s boat was now on fire.

I swam toward Rollie. When I was close enough, I put a hand on the log and tried to get a grip on its slick surface. It was difficult, but at last I found a small notch that served as a handhold.

I tried to think things through.

They had killed Rollie and were trying to destroy the ships. So the question was, where was Hornsby?

Despite the situation, I felt a tug of relief. They, whoever that might be, probably weren’t after me. If they didn’t know I existed, they probably wouldn’t come back to try to kill me.

Which was good.

The bad part was, I had no way of getting back to shore, and my body was already going numb from the cold. I had to get out of the water, and get out fast. Then I had to figure out a way to signal someone back on shore.

And there was still no sign of Hornsby.

Part two of the good news was that I knew the barge was virtually indestructible, unlike Hornsby’s ship. So when I spied the chain leading from Rollie’s neck to the side of the barge, I knew I had a chance. My hands already felt like frozen claws, so I would have to go as quickly as possible. I kicked off from the log, my clothes pulling me under, my body underestimating the strength it would take to keep me afloat and propel me the twenty feet I needed to cross to get to the chain.

I pushed and kicked, the water tugging at me, the cold washing over me. I felt the chain brush my fist. I grabbed for it and missed, immediately going under and getting a mouthful of Lake St. Clair. The parallel with water going in Rollie’s mouth inspired me to panic. I flailed back to the surface and got both hands on the chain. I pulled myself to the barge and tried to lift myself from the water, but my jacket and sweater weighed me down. It was going to be impossible. I was going to die, clinging to the chain for awhile, like Leonardo de Caprio in Titanic, and then I was going to lose my grip and slip to the bottom, landing in a pile of wooden logs.

A giant motherfucker of a wave knocked me against the side of the barge and I lost any oxygen that was left in my lungs. I gasped for breath, clawed at the chain, and maybe gained a foot or two.

But it was enough.

A red lever hung just below where I needed to get in order to haul myself out of the water.

It was the power switch for the winch.

My body shook with cold, and the exertion of swimming had left my muscles numb with fatigue. I thought of Anna and the kids back home, probably sitting down to dinner, oblivious to the fact that Daddy was hanging on for dear life in the middle of freezing cold lake, clinging to a boat that was on fire.

The lake seemed to surge beneath me, pushing me toward the winch’s control panel. My hands slid up the chain. I grabbed the lever and brought it down, instantly sending the chain into action. The winch pulled it to the surface of the barge, me along with it. I rolled onto the deck and gasped for air. I couldn’t believe I’d made it. That I was alive. No life insurance check for Anna. She’d be pissed.

A sudden loud thud made me get to my hands and knees and peer over the side of the barge.

It was the log that Rollie had been attached to. The winch, still winding, had brought it all the way to the side of the ship.

But Rollie was nowhere to be seen.

Something was pinned to the bottom of the log, had been trapped out of sight beneath the water.

Nevada Hornsby.

Sixteen

I’d always wanted to meet someone from the Coast Guard. Somehow, I figured it would be a Saturday field trip with my daughters. I’d call ahead, arrange a tour of the Coast Guard place with some guy called Captain Happy, the girls could pretend to steer the ship, we’d get some fake medals and then we’d all take pictures and drink cocoa.

Alas, Captain Happy turned out to be a grumpy middle-aged man who, after a bumpy ride across Lake St. Clair with two men wearing sidearms giving me the cold stare,