Isle Royale Part 9

"This is nuts!" Ian shouted over the wind.

LeBeck and another thug rounded the corner of the shed and saw the tramcar accelerating away down the hill. Ian and Sally ducked down as the thug whipped out a pistol and began shooting. Bullets ricocheted off several boxes stacked at the trailing edge of the tramcar.

Ignoring the pain from his stab wound, LeBeck worked up a burst of speed and gave chase. Sprinting down the hill, limping and wincing in pain, he leapt and fell heavily on the very edge of the tram, his feet dragging behind him.

"The locket!" he roared.

Sally screamed as LeBeck reached up and snared her hair, trying to pull her off the speeding tramcar. The ground whizzed by in a dizzying blur.

Ian aimed the Tommy gun, but couldn't risk shooting as Sally and LeBeck struggled and twisted. He set down the gun and reached inside one of the crates. He found a store of lake trout, brought earlier by Captain Ben, still packed in ice. He gripped a ten-pounder by the tail, hauled off, and with a sickening smack hit LeBeck full in the face. LeBeck screamed as he lost his grip and fell, tumbling off the side into the darkness.

Sally pointed downhill. "We're gonna crash!"

"Should have thought about that before we started!"

They careened around a curve in the track, the car nearly coming up off two wheels. They zoomed past a storage shed midway down the path, then entered the steepest section of the hill, the last descent to the dock and the steam engine shack at the end of the line.

Down below, Ian and Sally could make out a gang of thugs at the bottom of the hill, waiting for them with machine guns and pistols.

"Sal!" Ian yelled, pointing just ahead. "The tree! Now!"

As the car streaked by, the two teenagers leapt up and gripped an overhanging tree branch. The car rushed by underneath them, zooming crazily down the tracks. Sally actually managed to hang on to the branch, but Ian, thanks to their momentum and the wet bark, lost his grip and tumbled headlong to the ground.

Sally let go of the branch, dropped to the ground and rushed over to her friend. Ian sat up, groaning, his raincoat torn, and rubbed his head and backside.

"You okay?" she asked, helping him to his feet.

"The woods," he said, shaking his head to ward off the daze he was feeling. "Come on."

They moved off into the cover of the trees.

At first, the thugs on the beach could only hear the runaway tramcar. With a screeching, metallic roar it came whizzing down the tracks at breakneck speed, like a bat out of h.e.l.l. Several men at the bottom of the rail line opened fire, hoping to shoot whatever crazy person was responsible. Then, as it emerged from the rain and mist, they saw the car racing downward, an unstoppable beast of metal and wood.

The tramcar whizzed by the last section of track, then crashed into the engine shed, which exploded in a hail of sparks and splintered wood.

The thugs went berserk, screaming and scattering in disarray like a colony of ants whose nest had just been stepped on.

Once more Ian and Sally found themselves fleeing through the woods. Ian couldn't believe he was stumbling over the stone-and-root-covered terrain twice on the same stormy night. At least this time he had a clear mission. Get help and rescue his family, and Sally's, from that b.a.s.t.a.r.d LeBeck.

They set off eastward, away from sh.o.r.e and toward the ridge they'd arrived on. It would be a long trek, but it was the quickest way to the Coast Guard station at Rock Harbor, except by boat, and that was out of the question the way Lake Superior was behaving tonight.

Just as Ian was wondering if they'd even arrive at Rock Harbor by dawn, and if perhaps they shouldn't try the boat after all, a huge gust of wind blew through the forest. A tree, a tall aspen, no more than twenty yards in front of them, bent sharply. Then they heard a crack like cannon fire, and the tree toppled to the ground with a thunderous crash.

Ian and Sally looked at each other, wide-eyed. "Guess we won't be taking the boat for sure?" surmised Ian, bracing himself against the ever-increasing wind.

"Got that right," said Sally. "Let's move."

They set out, stepping carefully over the fallen tree. They walked a few more yards into the forest when suddenly a man appeared from behind a tree in front of them. He carried a green lantern, which cast an eerie shadow over his aged, craggy face. Ian and Sally stopped dead in their tracks, open-mouthed.

"Captain Ben!" Ian blurted out.

Ben put a finger to his lips, then whispered to them. "Follow me, kids. Maybe we'll make it out of this pickle you've gotten yourselves into."

Ben moved quickly and stealthily through the woods, green lantern swinging at his side. After a moment's hesitation, Ian and Sally plunged into the forest after him. They followed his lead the best they could, at times struggling to keep up with the old mariner. Ben obviously knew his way around the island.

After several minutes of tripping over hidden paths and moose trails, and on several occasions bushwhacking straight through thick, seemingly impenetrable foliage, Ben eventually led them quietly to the sh.o.r.eline at the base of the cliffs, not far from the dock where the thugs were still running amok in panic and confusion.

Ben set his lantern down and then set to work on a pile of sticks and branches, uncovering a small, single-masted dinghy. He quietly slid it into the water, then turned to Ian and Sally. "This'll be a rough ride, but we'll make it. Come on, in with you."

Sally looked at the churning waves attacking the sh.o.r.e, then felt a blast of wind tearing at her. "I don't think so," she said.

"Come on," Ben said, waving them on. "It's the only way."

"This is completely crazy," she muttered.

"No kidding," said Ian, moving past her. "Let's go."

The two teenagers hopped into the little boat and crouched down in the bow. Ben hoisted the sail and the dinghy took off with a jerk. Almost immediately, a large wave crashed over them, nearly swamping the boat and causing Sally and Ian to cry out in fear.

On the nearby sh.o.r.e, the gang of thugs heard the screaming, even over the roar of the waves. They spotted the dinghy and opened fire with their weapons, but by then the dinghy had sailed out of range of all but the best shot, and the thugs on sh.o.r.e were mediocre marksmen at best.

Ben handed Ian the rope controlling the end of the sail as he took his seat in the aft of the dinghy, gripping the rudder with strong, weathered hands. "Hold this," he commanded.

Ben was forced to talk loud over the roaring wind. Waves hurled them up and down in the water, spray stinging their eyes, the cold water sending shock waves through their bodies. The worst part was the sideways rolling motion as they sailed parallel to the sh.o.r.e. Soon, Ian was ready to heave his guts up. After a few more minutes, he turned an interesting shade of green, then leaned over the side and emptied his stomach into the lake.

"The Lady's mighty angry tonight," said Ben, ignoring Ian's retching. "We can't beach the boat on these rocks. We'll smash up."

"Where are we going?" Sally shouted.

"North toward McCargoe Cove, up past Sandy Point."

Ian sat back next to Sally, his face ashen. He glanced knowingly at Ben, then turned to Sally. "We can ride out the storm there, then head for Rock Harbor when the wind dies down. Right, Ben?"

Ben gave a faint smile, then spent his energies on keeping the dinghy upright in the water.

Ian, his arm muscles screaming from the effort of holding the sail taught, started tying off the rope to his seat. Sally grabbed his arm.

"Don't," she said, shaking her head. "If a wind gust hits, just let go of the sail."

"My arm's tired. Why can't I tie it down?"

Ben shouted from the stern. "With this little dinghy, the wind'll heel us over, lad, and we'll drown for sure."

"Okay," Ian said, bracing himself and gripping the rope with both hands, redoubling his efforts to hang on. Sally leaned closer and put her hands next to his, grabbing the rope as well. She looked over at Ian and smiled weakly.

"This is crazy," she said again.

Wind blasted into the sail, propelling the little craft down the coast at a rapid clip. Ben hung onto the rudder, his knuckles white, as he tried with all his might to keep the boat from being blown onto the granite sh.o.r.e.

Back at the cove below Wolf Point, three thugs hopped into a motorboat tied to the dock. The boat had an enormous outboard engine, which gave it the horsepower to overtake almost anything on the lake. The ship bobbed precariously on the water, which was rough even in the semi-protection of the harbor.

Guns ready, the thugs cast off, heading north along the coast in pursuit of the runaways.

Chapter Nineteen.

Out on stormy Lake Superior, the tiny dinghy skipped across the turbulent water, its sail filled with gusts of cold wind. The trio had ridden in silence for the past several minutes, partly because it was so difficult to hear over the surf and thunder booming overhead, and partly because of the sheer terror of their situation.

The dinghy pa.s.sed Sandy Point and the ghostly remains of the ruined lighthouse, made more eerie by the increasing fury of the storm. Sally's eyes searched the sh.o.r.eline.

"No green lights now," she said.

Ian nudged her with his elbow, nodding at Ben's green lantern, which was stowed away at the bottom of the boat.

Sally looked up at Ben, who smiled back at her as he manned the till. Through all the excitement, she hadn't made the connection before now. "You're the ghost, aren't you?"

"Ghost?" Ben said, shrugging his shoulders. "What ghost?"

Sally frowned, but before she could reply, her eyes suddenly went wide. "Listen," she said, raising her hand. She c.o.c.ked her head, trying to hear over the background noise of the storm. Then Ian heard it too-the low roar of a distant motor.

Sally craned her neck to peer over Ben's shoulder. Her blood curdled as she saw, emerging from the curtains of rain, the running lights of another boat, gaining on them fast.

"Ben..." she warned.

"I see it," he said. "He's got a motor. The cove's just up ahead."

"But then what?" Sally asked, terror creeping into her voice.

The water next to the dinghy suddenly erupted with tiny explosions. "They're shooting at us!" shouted Ian.

Ben turned the dinghy toward sh.o.r.e, trying to dodge away from the other boat. Just then, the wind gusted, tearing the sail from Ian and Sally's grip. The ship went dead in the water and bobbed helplessly.

"Ben!" shouted Sally.

The wind became truly ferocious then. The gunfire behind them ceased, and the trio in the dinghy could hear screams of fright coming from the other boat. Then, silence, except for the waves crashing on the nearby sh.o.r.e.

Ian quickly regained his grip on the rope. He felt it tear into the flesh of his hand as the sail filled with wind. He gritted his teeth and pulled back as the dinghy sped away once more.

"Did they swamp?" asked Sally. She gripped the side of the boat and tried to peer behind them.

"I'm not so sure..." said Ian, his teeth clenched as he concentrated on holding onto the rope.

As if in answer, the enemy boat suddenly appeared out of the darkness, nearly on top of them, motor roaring like a charging bull elephant.

Ian half stood up in the boat and shouted at Ben. "Look out!"

The thugs in the powerboat opened fire just as they crested a wave. The bullets went high, ripping holes in the little dinghy's sail.

A huge wave rolled in from nowhere, nearly upsetting both boats and holding the thug's fire for the moment.

"Hang on!" yelled Ben. He pushed out hard on the rudder. The dinghy shuddered and jerked, then skipped across the water toward the granite sh.o.r.e.

Sally looked behind her but could see no sh.o.r.eline, only darkness. "Where's the cove?"

Ian nodded his head just off to their left. "There. Between those big reefs."

Sally finally saw an opening in the sh.o.r.eline and shuddered. Huge waves crashed on either side of a narrow inlet. Cliffs rose up steeply on both sides, creating a huge, seething caldron of foaming water in the middle.

Ben struggled with the rudder. It was as if there was some huge beast under the waves dragging the boat in the wrong direction. For the first time, Ian saw fear in the old sailor's eyes.

"Ian," Ben said, "Use the oars!"

Ian placed the rope holding the sail on the seat in front of him and held it tight with both feet, then unstowed the two oars next to him and started rowing like a demon.

Sally couldn't take her eyes off the quickly approaching inlet. It was like they were heading into a giant wall of black water, with sharp granite walls on either side. Her brain finally registered that Ian was rowing them faster toward that wall of death. "Slow down!" she yelled at him.

"No!" shouted Ben. "Faster! We've got to head in like we mean it or the waves'll take us right up those cliffs!"

Behind them in the other boat, the gangsters opened fire again. Ian and Sally ducked down as the bullets whizzed over their heads.

Sally turned and screamed. Ian turned also and shouted in fear as they jetted into the maw of the cove. Their dinghy disappeared in a whirling mora.s.s of waves, spray, and foam.

The thugs aboard the other boat screamed as they too were drawn into the cove. "Slow down! Slow down!" the gangster with the gun urged his companion manning the motor. The pilot eased back on the throttle, trying desperately to steer straight. Instead, the waves drew the now-underpowered boat right onto the cliffs.

Riding a giant breaker, the boat smashed into the razor-sharp granite wall of the nearest cliff, exploding into a thousand pieces of wood, splinters, and twisted metal.

Then, just as quickly, the lake swallowed the boat whole. Another gigantic wave smashed into the cliff, engulfing the wreckage and pulling it under the water. Lake Superior left no trace of her dead.

Chapter Twenty.

Ian let go of the mast line, then leaned over and hugged Sally, who sat shivering, huddled against the cold and her own fear.

Ben spoke with a calming voice from the stern of the little dinghy. "It's over, kids. We're safe now."

The sail, riddled with bullet holes, fluttered down as Ian released the rope, but it was useless now anyway. Only a slight breeze blew on the cove, in stark contrast to the raging storm out on the open lake.

McCargoe Cove was a deep protected inlet safe from the ravages of the winds lashing the coast. Steep hills rose up on either side of the narrow, fjord-like finger of water. The ghosts of Norway pine, aspen, and birch poked through the mists on sh.o.r.e. The moonless night enveloped the terrain in eerie silence, except for the wind whistling through the treetops on ridges high above the water. It was as if they'd entered another world, safe from the terror of the Lady and her dark moods.