Primordial

Chapter 37

Aston managed to yell, “For god’s sake!” to no one in particular, and then Joaquin was on him. Aston ducked his shoulder to meet the big man’s charge and grunted as the impact sent a stab of pain through the injury he’d already put there trying to bust open the cabin door. Joaquin drove him backwards, but Aston had been in his fair share of street fights and had every intention of fighting dirty here. He clasped his arms around the back of Joaquin’s knees and used all his strength to haul the man’s legs together. He had hoped to tip them both over so Aston could land on top, but Joaquin was no fool. Holloway’s henchman tipped and rolled when he realized he was going over and Aston was rattled as he hit the floor and came to rest with the giant bastard sitting on his chest.

Joaquin drew back one meaty fist and Aston just managed to turn and shrimp his body sideways as knuckles like wheel bolts slammed into the deck. Joaquin barked in pain, Aston kept his momentum and drove his legs against the wall to push free from the big man’s legs. He rolled to his feet and threw a wild punch as he moved, exalting as it cracked into Joaquin’s jaw with a satisfying thwack. But the hit didn’t even rock the big man and Joaquin swung a return punch of his own. Aston ducked, but those massive knuckles still clipped the top of his head and everything went gray and glassy for a moment.

Aston desperately struggled to maintain his feet, staggering without any equilibrium. He heard a clang and a grunt of pain, and then Slater yelped. As his vision came back, Aston saw Slater crashing back against the opposite wall, blood on her lips. She held a SCUBA tank in one hand and Joaquin was on his knees looking dazed. She’d obviously managed to brain him with the tank, but not hard enough to stop him punching her.

Aston lifted his knee and drove a kick at Joaquin, who tried to twist away but didn’t quite make it. Aston’s boot glanced of his cheek and into his shoulder, but Joaquin rolled with the hit, went to hands and knees and then drove himself to his feet.

“Just let us go!” Aston yelled. “Keep your monster and your money. We just want to leave!”

Joaquin said nothing, but his face spoke volumes of rage. He came at Aston again, slamming into him with his full weight, and they crashed down among SCUBA tanks, wetsuits and weight belts. Joaquin dropped quick, short punches, rocking Aston’s head back against the deck. Stars burst out all around as Aston’s hand fell on a strip of nylon loaded with square, lead weights. He whipped it up and it bounced off the side of Joaquin’s head, and the big man grunted and tipped to one side. As Aston circled the weight belt around for another hit, Joaquin caught himself on one hand, the other coming up in a block. The belt wrapped around his wrist and he wrenched it from Aston’s grip. With a roar of triumph he sat up tall and raised the belt high above his head.

“You killed Carly!” Slater screamed. A loud snap of rubber cracked through the air.

Joaquin stiffened and looked down at the three-pronged claw of metal protruding from his chest. He coughed and blood bubbled over his lips. His eyes were wide in shock and disbelief as he looked back to Aston. Aston didn’t dare move, still wincing at the possibility of that lead belt crashing into his head, and Joaquin fell sideways to thump into the deck and lay still.

Slater stood behind, a diver’s harpoon gun dangling limply in one hand. She stared at the dead man, her mouth hanging open.

“Slater? You okay?” Aston asked.

She didn’t say anything, just looked at Joaquin and the widening pool of blood leaking from his chest and back.

Aston struggled out from under the man’s legs and hurried over to her. Gently, he took the harpoon gun, slid an arm around her waist, squeezed her tight. “It’s all right. You saved my life. You saved us both.”

“I killed him.” Her voice was flat, emotionless.

“You had no choice.” He put a finger under her chin and tilted her head so she gazed up at him. “They killed Carly — him and Holloway. And who knows what else he’s done for that madman over the years. It’s justice and self-defense all rolled into one. There are so many reasons for you to not worry about killing that bastard.”

“I’ve never killed anyone before.” A high pitch of hysteria entered her voice and she began to tremble.

Aston squeezed her tighter. “Of course not. And it’s going to take a while to process that. But remember, you had no choice.”

Her body shook as she began to cry, deep, racking sobs rising from her stomach. She buried her face in his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“It’s okay, Jo. Let it out. Let it out.” He held her for a few moments longer, stroked her hair, and reassured her. He then put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back slightly so he could look into her eyes.

“I know this is hard,” he kept his tone gentle but firm, “but right now we need to figure out what we’re going to do, yeah?”

“Everyone’s dead,” she said, not quite meeting his eye.

“Well, not everyone. Holloway’s in a cage underwater and that mad bastard Laine is out there somewhere.”

Slater took a deep breath, sniffed hard. “Right. What do we need to do?”

Aston was impressed with her rallying. She was tough.

“The hell with Holloway,” she said, scrubbing her wet eyes with the back of her arm. “Let him deal with his own situation. I say we go up there, release the net so that creature can get on with its life, and we take the Merenneito back to town. Tell Rinne everything that’s happened, tell him how Holloway held us all against our will, and see how it all pans out. Hopefully we’ve got a shred of credibility with him since you made the effort to tell him about Dave while Holloway tried to hide it.”

“You think that’s the best course? I agree about letting the creature go and taking this boat to town, but I’d like to get back to dry land and just run away from it all as far and fast as we can.”

Slater shook her head. “We can’t run, Aston. We have to own what we’ve done. Face the consequences. In the long run, we’ve done nothing illegal, right? It’s all on Holloway and Joaquin. And Laine maybe.”

Aston drew a long, deep breath. Morally, ethically, even legally, she was probably right, though he had little faith in the smooth running of due process. But he couldn’t really argue with her. “Okay. Yeah. Okay. Let’s get up there and release the net first.”

Slater held his eye for a moment, then nodded once and kissed him quickly. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

She reached up and patted his cheek. “All of this.”

He smiled, unsure what to say. He was groggy from the fight, and from Holloway’s gun butt. His head pounded, he was probably concussed, but things were finally starting to settle down. He squeezed her shoulders once, then turned to head up to the bridge. She was right behind him as he reached the top of the stairs and froze. A figure moved along the rail, hood drawn up against the raging downpour.

“It’s Laine!” he hissed. They froze, crouching in the darkness, watching and waiting.

“He didn’t come in by the dive platform,” Slater whispered.

“Must have climbed up from his rowboat. Probably hoping to surprise Joaquin.” Aston wondered what the man’s game was. Why had he faked his death? Clearly he had some sort of fascination with, or attachment to, the lake monster. But dancing around on shore looking like a druid? Madness. They were all mad.

Laine moved out of sight along the side so Aston and Slater hurried forward, still crouched below the bridge’s windows, watching to see where he went.

“Of course,” Aston said as Laine reached the winch arm and hit the button.

The net began to unfurl as the winch motors whirred at full speed. Laine tipped his head back and they heard him chanting some repeated phrase over and over to the heavens. The weather had taken a nasty turn. What had been a light rain was now a steady downpour. The words were whipped away by the wind, but the tone, harsh and guttural, carried to their ears. Aston knew he would never understand that language.

Slater tapped Aston’s shoulder. He turned to see her holding out the small fire extinguisher from the helm. It was about a foot long and weighed a good few pounds. He frowned, shook his head. “A fire?” he asked stupidly.

Slater rolled her eyes. “Run out there and crack him over the head with this. Then he won’t be any more trouble.”

Aston grinned. “Oh, I see.”

Down in the water, a great thrashing and splashing erupted as the monster whipped up and free of the loosening net. They were momentarily distracted as it breached and curved up and over to crash back into the storm-tossed waves. He couldn’t deny its magnificence.

“Quick, while he’s distracted!” Slater urged.

Aston nodded, winced against his headache, but grabbed the extinguisher and ran outside. The rain was ice cold, driven sideways into his face by howling wind as he exited the bridge. It helped to clear his thoughts. He was soaked to the skin in seconds as he approached Laine’s back. The monster rose and dived in the water again, sending up a curtain of spray. Laine continued his mad chant, louder than ever, his voice triumphant and crazed.

Aston got to within six feet of the mad zealot, and began raising the extinguisher to strike, when a voice amplified by a megaphone burst out behind the Merenneito.

“Everyone put your hands in the air and prepare to be boarded!”

Aston jumped, instantly recognizing the Superintendent’s voice even through the loudspeaker and the storm. Laine spun around and took two quick steps back as he saw Aston there, the bright red metal cylinder high over his head.

“No!” Laine shouted and his hand emerged from his voluminous robes holding an automatic pistol. “I have to keep her safe. It’s my calling.” Madness glinted in his eyes. He gestured wildly at the police launch. “More flesh and souls for the God of the Lake!” he yelled.

“You have got to be winding me up.” Aston dropped to the deck as Laine fired three fast shots that strayed out into the night.

Rinne hollered something sharp and angry, and gunfire erupted from the fast-approaching launch. Shots whined and sparked off the metal rails, punched holes in the fiberglass walls of the boat. Laine dived for cover in front of the bridge and Aston stayed down, quickly commando crawling back inside to Slater.

A stray bullet struck one of the deck lights outside, sending a fine spray of glass through the open door.

“We need to get below before they kill us all,” Aston said. She nodded and they both scrambled to their feet and hurried down the stairs.

Up above, Laine opened up again with his pistol, answered immediately by the police launch. If they were aiming their shots, Aston didn’t know what their target was. Slugs thumped into and through the Merenneito. Glass shattered. He and Slater were ducks in a shooting gallery.

“What do they think this is, the Wild West?” he panted. They were all mad. Every last one of them.