I lifted the next girl. She was silent, asking no questions, expecting nothing. Cordelia was helping me now, we both put the next two girls in at the same time. Then in silence, the last two.

Cordelia looked at me, as if debating whether or not to let me help her in. I locked my fingers together, offering my hands as a step. She put her foot in it, then hoisted herself up and into the lifeboat. I undid the lines strapping the dinghy to the Earthy Delight.Now all that remained was to lower it to the river.

“What the hell’s going on here, Micky?” Cordelia asked. “How did you get involved in this? If you needed money, I would have—”

“There’s no time,” I cut in. “I’ll explain later.” I looked at her, her eyes barely blue in the dim light, the emotions in them swirling between fear and anger. She was afraid of me, afraid that I would betray her again. But there was no time to dispel her mistrust.

I gripped the dinghy’s gunnel, keeping it from banging against the boat. “Don’t fight the current,” I told Cordelia. “Angle across it. It may take you a while to get to shore, but we’re still far enough upriver that there should be towns around. A road runs fairly close to the river. Find it and you’re okay.”

“You’re not coming with us?”

“No.”

“Micky, this is no time for stupid heroics. Get in the boat.”

“No. In ten minutes they’ll come looking for us. And they’ll know you’re gone. You’ll never make it to shore. Unless something keeps them busy.” I unhitched the rope and began lowering the lifeboat. There was no time to argue.

“Micky!” Cordelia stood up and reached out for me. Her fingers briefly touched mine. But I didn’t stop lowering the boat. There was no time.

Cordelia looked at me for one moment more, then she sat back down in the boat, running her hand along the hull of the Earthly Delight,guiding the lifeboat silently into the river. It hit with a gentle splash. With no motor to keep pace, it immediately began falling behind the big boat. Cordelia loosed the rigging, waving me a farewell that she couldn’t be sure I would see, before unshipping the oars.

I quickly hauled up the dangling rope as I watched them disappear into the night.

“I love you,” I said very quietly.

It was a few minutes before two. I headed back to the stern of the boat, away from the watchful eyes of the helmsman.

Time to keep these boys busy with a few other things than killing me. I took the lighter fluid and dishrags out of my jacket. I found some coils of rope and made those and the dish towels into a pyre. I doused the pile with lighter fluid, threw the can on top for good measure, then backed away. This was going to be the weenie roast from hell. I lit a match and threw it in the direction of the pile. It went out before it got there. So did the next one. Then I tried two matches together. They stayed lit a little longer, but not long enough. Three matches, still no luck.

Four matches finally did it. There was a hiss, then a burst of flame into a dangerous blaze. I raced away from the fire, knowing how volatile lighter fluid can be. I headed back toward the bow, using the forward hatch to get back inside. Underneath the stairs was an equipment locker. I quickly rummaged through it, throwing things on the floor in my haste. I finally found what I wanted, a flare gun.

Shouts from the stern of the boat told me that the fire had been discovered. I started to head back on deck, then I decided to keep all my options open. If my choice was letting Quince capture me or jumping into the river, I would jump into the river. I grabbed a life jacket and put it on. Then I took a second one. The padding might stop a bullet or at least slow it down. Or I might need the extra flotation. Even a life jacket wasn’t a guarantee that I could survive the ripping current.

It would be too easy to be caught and confined in the cabins. I headed back on deck. I heard the raspy hiss of a fire extinguisher from aft. We obviously needed to be rescued. It was time to shoot a flare into the air.

I went as far forward as I could then aimed the flare gun and fired. Nothing happened. I pulled the trigger several times in disbelief at my stupid luck. These assholes couldn’t even keep their flare gun properly loaded.

Unless a passing ship or someone on shore saw the fire, and decided it was a big enough blaze to pay attention to, my planned-on rescue was no longer likely.

I scurried back to the forward hatch and ran a piece of rope through the hasp, tying it shut. It was one less front from which they could attack me. I looked at my watch again. It was twenty after two. They would soon be coming for me. I gathered rope, some deck chairs, and anything I could find and piled them around the anchor stanchion into a not-very-good barricade. I considered making a run for one of the other lifeboats, but even if I could make it to the river, it would cause them to change course and look for a dinghy. Cordelia and the girls weren’t far enough away yet. The shouting voices moved; the fire had been put out.

One voice rose above the rest. “Where the hell is Quince?”

Another seconded him. “We don’t have to listen to you. You’re not the captain.”

Vern yelled back, “I don’t know where the fuck Quince is. We’ve got orders to kill the dyke. Are you a swishy little cocksucker or are you going to help me do it?”

“Fuck you, Vern,” the first voice retorted. “I’m not in this for murder.”

“Unless you’re good for swimming, you’re in it as far as it goes.”

“We’re not taking orders from you,” a different voice shouted. “Until I hear it from Quince, it don’t mean shit.”

A grumbling chorus seemed to second that sentiment. The voices receded as if they were going below deck. Maybe I could hope for a mutiny. These men were probably cutthroat enough to go after one another.

Then there was nothing, no voices, no sounds, only the low pulse of the engines and sounds of the river. I waited, just waited. I glanced at my watch. Only two thirty. Not long enough. The dinghy, pulled by the river’s current, might not be far enough away. I had to give Cordelia time to get the children to shore. They wouldn’t be safe until then.

I didn’t have a plan anymore. Have gun, will fire, was the best I could come up with.

I looked at my watch again. Only five minutes had passed. Why does time go so slowly when you’re trapped on a boat with men trying to kill you?

Quince and Ron were out of the action. At least for a while. Without Quince, the men weren’t going to obey Vern. It didn’t look like he was going to come after me on his own. So far no one had discovered that Cordelia and the kids were missing.

The eye of the hurricane was the only time to move about. And it passed quickly, leaving the howling winds and driving water.

No one was on deck. Just the helmsman in his lonely tower. This crew was mercenary and disorganized; by only looking after themselves they made it possible for me to attack them one by one. The life jacket hindered my movement, so I left both of them behind my makeshift barricade. I carefully made my way midships, walking as silently as I could. No one was about. They were all down where it was warm and comfortable.

I snuck up to the upper deck, waiting in the stairway, watching the helmsman until he looked away. Then, as quietly as possible, I made my way up the ladder of the bridge tower. When I was almost to the top, I took the flashlight out of my pocket and threw it.

While the helmsman was distracted by the sound of it hitting deck, I climbed the last few feet onto the bridge. He turned back and looked at me. My gun was aimed at him.

“Unlike most of this crew, I’m not a killer,” I told him. “Unless I have to be. Move away from the steering wheel,” I instructed.

“But who’s going to pilot the boat?” he asked as he backed away.

“Nobody. We’re going to run aground so the Coast Guard will come rescue us. If you cooperate with me, you will be alive when that happens. If not…oh, well,” I finished with a shrug.

He looked at my gun and back at me again. “Look, I didn’t want anything to do with the kids. I just needed the job, needed the money.”

How the guilty confess their sins. “Lie down on your stomach and put your hands behind your back, and you’ll live to get another job.”

“I didn’t know about the kids until I got to the boat,” he said as he let himself down.

Get a good enough lawyer and the jury might believe that.I pulled a length of rope out of a pile that was sitting in a corner. I made a loop with a slip knot.

“I’m not a judge, I’m not the jury, and I’m not the executioner,” I told him as I slipped the loop over one of his wrists. “But if I have to pull the trigger, I will,” I reminded him. He lay still as I tied his wrists. I got another length of rope and bound his ankles. Then I got a big thick rope and put it in his mouth as a gag.

I couldn’t stay on the bridge, I was too visible up here. At some point, someone would find Quince. I spun the steering wheel, taking the boat hard to starboard. Since there was no reason for the helmsman to give me accurate information on sandbars, I didn’t bother to ask him. I left the boat and the currents to decide which way we should head.

It might take a while for the boat to go aground and even longer for anyone outside the crew to notice. On the shore, I could see the lights of a town. I decided to make noise.

I got another long length of rope and tied it to the cord for the foghorn. Without even a ciao to the helmsman, I went back down the ladder, feeding the rope out as I went.

When I got to the deck railing, I gave the rope a hard jerk. The deep blast of a foghorn shook the deck. The helmsman might survive, but his hearing wouldn’t be the same. I tied off the rope to the rail, leaving the foghorn bellowing for attention.

I quickly went back down to the passenger deck, heading to the bow for my barricade. If I had to make a stand, that was the best place. My hunters would have to cross a wide-open space to get to me. And I had some cover.

I dived behind the pile, waiting to hear the shouting voices and pounding feet, hoping to see the running lights of a Coast Guard cutter. But only the blast of the foghorn cut through the night. I looked at my watch again. It was two fifty-five, almost an hour since the lifeboat had cast off. Maybe there were ashore by now. Safe. For a moment, I felt a vast sense of relief; only then did the chill of my situation creep over me. It would take luck to get me off this boat alive. I didn’t feel lucky tonight. Instead, I felt desperate, afraid, and worried that Cordelia despised me. I didn’t want her to believe that I had betrayed her. Given everything else I had to worry about, it was odd that this seemed so important.

Maybe it was time for me to get in my own rowboat and get out of here. If the noise and erratic course didn’t get some cavalry here soon, I would be alone in a hurricane of anger and violence.

Suddenly the foghorn died, the silence heavy and ominous after its shrieking blast.

“Don’t play hard to get, Micky.” It was Quince. He was using a bullhorn to make sure I couldn’t escape his voice. “You know I don’t like girls who play hard to get.” He and two other men were on the bridge.

I aimed my pistol just over their heads and pulled the trigger. The glass window on the bridge shattered. I fired again, this time aiming at the steering wheel, hoping to damage it. I heard the bullet hit, but I couldn’t tell if it had done any harm.

“Goddamn it, bitch,” Quince bellowed. “You’ll regret that.”

Well, actually, I had no regrets. Not where Quince was concerned.

I didn’t fire again. I needed my remaining bullets to keep them from crossing the deck to get to me. They would regroup and come at me. Quince might be handing out weapons. I put the life jacket back on. I might not get another chance.

Then, for a few minutes, there was silence, the storm gathering. Finally, there was a thump and a curse, someone trying to come up the forward hatch.

Quince came back on the megaphone. “I’m going to take you alive, Micky. No quick bullet for you. Just think of all the things I’m going to do to you, to your cunt.”

He wanted me to get angry, to fire a shot at his voice, let them know exactly where I was. I pushed the words away, turning his voice into a drone I had to ignore. His voice can’t hurt you, I repeated, as some of the brutal descriptions slipped into my consciousness.

A bullet whizzed over my head. They were getting closer. The outline of a figure became visible on the upper deck. He crept a few feet closer. I fired at him. He jerked away; I might have hit him, but I didn’t think so.

“We’re going to blow your knees off.” Vern’s voice cut under Quince’s monologue. “I’ll have a lot of fun ripping your pants off with your knees bloody and broken.”

Don’t listen, I told myself. I won’t fire my last bullet at them. I’ll save it for myself. The quick oblivion of a bullet would be better than letting their thick bodies invade mine. Surviving would leave memories. I already had too many of them.

Someone threw something across the deck, hoping to scare me into firing. I ignored it. I couldn’t see anyone at the helm. Maybe whoever Quince had left up there didn’t want to chance a bullet. It was hard to judge distance and direction in the dark, but it didn’t look like we were heading straight down the channel.

Unless the Coast Guard or somebody showed up in the immediate future, my choices were blowing my brains out or jumping in the river. Since it was unlikely that I could avoid being sucked into the propellers, those choices were very grim indeed.

The shadowed figures were slowly reappearing, a ghost of a hand on the port side, a brief glimpse on starboard, noise on the upper deck. They quickly ducked away, then reappeared, holding in place a little longer, coming a little closer.

The figure on the upper deck was the boldest, creeping next to the edge. I picked up the useless flare gun and heaved it at him, his grunt and retreat letting me know I’d scored some damage. The shadow from the port side crept slowly beyond the cabins. Maybe he thought I was throwing things because I had run out of bullets. I could no longer afford the luxury of shots that weren’t meant to main or kill.