The Change: Tales Of Downfall And Rebirth - The Change: Tales of Downfall and Rebirth Part 12
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The Change: Tales of Downfall and Rebirth Part 12

"Shit. Eddie, get the tiller!"

Mitch helped Dani over to a small bench along the stern. "Dani, I need you to stay here. All right?"

He ripped off his belt and fastened it diagonally across her chest, holding her injured arm in a sling. "Whatever you do, don't pull out the arrow."

She whimpered but nodded.

Mitch glanced back at Eddie. "Just going to be me and you, skipper."

"Aye, aye, Captain." Eddie's face paled as he glanced back at the Ice King.

Mitch cursed. Whoever the men were, they had brought one of their dugouts around the cruise ship, angling for the Windfall. She'd be able to outrun them eventually, but fully loaded as she was? The telltales streamed out perpendicular to the mast. Good. The wind at least was on their side.

But they needed all the wind power they could get. "Got to trim the mainsail."

With Eddie in the cockpit, Mitch loosened the sail, waited for it to flap, then slowly tightened it so the flapping stopped. Breath gusted out of him as the Windfall slowly picked up speed. Maybe they should have held off on the last load.

"High-dah. High-dah."

The chants floated across the water.

"Dad . . ." Dani's pained voice drew his attention to the rear deck.

A stone's throw away, the dugout barreled toward them, the rowers straining to keep pace with the chants that corresponded to the strokes of their oars.

What had they gotten into? He felt for his hunting knife, but it was still attached to his belt holding Dani's arm in place. No help for it.

"Eddie, take cover!"

Mitch crouched below the railing, gripping one of the wooden oars in his hands. In one of the lockers belowdecks blocked by all their treasure, he had four hunting bows and one fiberglass crossbow. But he never thought they'd need them out on the open water. He'd been a fool to think the sea would be theirs alone for so long.

More arrows sailed toward them, but they hit the water or lodged into the hull of the Windfall. The cedar dugout edged closer. One of the archers shrugged off his empty quiver. The other shot his last arrow, piercing the mainsail. For a long moment, the arrow stayed put. Then it fell. They couldn't afford a tear now. If they got away, sure, they could limp to shore with just the jib sheet, but Mitch hoped it wouldn't come to that.

The sailcloth started to rip-just a little-but every little bit counted when it came to maximizing the rigging. The dugout pulled alongside the Windfall. The archer positioned in the prow of the dugout suddenly leapt toward them. He slapped against the water, a foot shy of the Windfall. Were they insane?

Already the dugout was adjusting its heading, closing the distance between the two boats.

"Eddie, grab an oar. Dani, can you take the tiller?"

She gave him a pained nod.

As she stumbled toward the tiller, he tossed the other oar to his son. "Remember your tenth birthday?"

He and Kathy had thrown him a party at the Chuck E. Cheese's in Anchorage. Less than six months later, she'd moved to Seattle. Mitch caught Eddie's eye.

"Think Whac-A-Mole."

One of the rowers stowed his oar and launched himself at the Windfall. He slapped against the hull followed by another thud. At least the dugout could no longer keep pace without two of its rowers. They just needed to hold these two off.

Mitch brandished his oar with his left hand as he swiped up hooks from the abandoned tackle box with his right. Then he stalked toward the starboard side where one of the men clung to the Windfall like a barnacle.

A head appeared, saltwater dribbling down the strange man's chin as he panted. It was like looking into a mirror-brown hair, brown eyes, pale skin-except for the tanned leather jerkin and the dead bird draped over his head like a macabre cowl. Hell, maybe Mitch would have gone native too if it meant he'd survive. But he'd had the Windfall-and it was going to stay his.

Mitch leveled the oar at the man's head. "Leave. Now. And maybe you'll be able to swim back to your ship."

It would still be a long shot-hypothermia would get him if exhaustion didn't.

The man barred his teeth and hefted a leg over the edge. Mitch supposed he'd do the same thing in the man's place. Too bad.

Whack.

Mitch brought the flat edge of the oar down on his hands. The man bellowed as his upper body fell back into the water, his leg still hooked awkwardly around the railing. Mitch smacked the man's knee with his oar for good measure. The man's leg spasmed, lost its hold on the railing, and the rest of him flopped into the water.

"Dad!"

Mitch spun around. Eddie grappled with another man twice his size, his oar out of play and crushed between them.

He reached them in three strides and wound back, jabbing his paddle into the man's side. He stumbled, releasing Eddie, and snarled when his gaze landed on Mitch.

He lunged for Mitch's paddle. Mitch held on but the man was too strong. Time for plan B. Mitch swung out his right fist, the fishhooks between each finger. They latched into skin as Mitch punched the man in the face. His hand bounced off but the hooks stayed. The man howled, an unearthly sound, soon lost in the sea's spray as the Windfall surged on.

Eddie hollered and charged, hitting the man square in the solar plexus. Together they fell back. The man's head cracked against the railing. Eddie was still perched on top of him, his small fists punching his torso. Mitch leaned over and tugged him back against his chest. His hand scrabbled against the deck until his hand closed over the grip of his oar.

Mitch held it out in front of both of them as they stared down at the man, deathly still. The oar shook despite his best efforts.

Eddie gulped for air beside him. "They were going to kill us."

Mitch didn't say anything, just watched the dark stain that spilled out along the planks.

Mitch gave Dani some whiskey pilfered from the cruise ship to help her sleep in a makeshift berth belowdecks, cradled by their hard-won treasure. He and Eddie kept the Windfall pointed east despite their exhaustion. But there'd be no rest for him until they reached land.

The wind had gentled and the sailcloth had held up enough that they needed to make only a few adjustments to keep them on course. Eddie hunkered down next to him in the cockpit.

"She going to be okay?"

He'd gotten the arrow out and dressed the wound, but he didn't want to leave anything to chance.

"Once we get a doc to finish patching her up."

"We're going back to Homer?"

Mitch frowned. He didn't know what irritated him more-that Eddie assumed they were going back to the Homer Cooperative in the first place or the hopeful throb in his voice as he said it.

They'd been doing okay, hadn't they? He'd kept them fed, clothed, safe . . . well, as best he could. Didn't that count? But heading back to Homer felt like they were giving up. Going backward, after all they'd done to survive and thrive.

He took a deep breath. "Yeah, that's the plan."

He didn't see any other options. The Cooperative had a few medical professionals in their ranks, and was big enough to protect them against whoever those crazy bastards were. Besides, he was fairly certain Dixon would treat them right. If not, the booty below would do the trick.

Eddie nodded to the body lashed to the railing. "Who do you think they are?"

Mitch forced back the revulsion that lurked in the back of his throat.

"I don't know." Their war cry lodged in his brain. "Wait. High-dah . . ."

He snapped his fingers. "Haida are a native people that live off the coast of mainland Canada near the Alaskan panhandle, if I remember correctly."

He thought back to the faces in the dugout. Had they really been Haida? Or just a group of men mimicking their traditions to survive?

Eddie frowned. "That's all the way across the gulf."

They were either very brave or very desperate. He felt Eddie watching him and shrugged.

"Maybe the folks in Homer will know more."

HOMER COOPERATIVE, SOUTH CENTRAL ALASKA.

NOVEMBER 4, CHANGE YEAR 0/1998 AD.

Gray-tinged dawn heralded their approach to the Kachemak Bay. The ruins of Homer were to the north. Dixon had told him fires, fighting, and the need for more resources had pushed survivors to the southern, less-populated side of the bay. Before things changed, supplies had to be airlifted in for the tiny cluster of homes there. The now useless airstrip and hangar had been a community center for the surrounding areas for years and made a natural starting point for the Homer Cooperative.

Until now, Mitch had never risked going near their new harbor. People would kill for the Windfall. But as he laid eyes on the folks from the Cooperative who gathered along the shoreline, he hoped it wouldn't be today.

They dropped anchor a ways off, and after the initial alarm, a small rowboat with three men slowly crawled out toward them.

"Declare yourself," a man's harsh voice rang out, while another kept a crossbow leveled at Mitch's chest.

"Mitch Davis. We have news, and, if you wish it, a proposition."

The faces in the boat flickered in relief before suspicion clamped down once more.

"But I'll only talk with Dixon." Mitch's chest squeezed tight as the men on the boat conferred, then slowly rowed back to the docks.

Minutes ticked past, then a half hour. When the boat returned, Dixon was in it.

"Permission to come aboard?"

He couldn't quite keep the eagerness out of his voice, but at least Dixon's face betrayed no emotion.

Mitch waved him on. Dixon came with Tom, his second, who scanned the deck with undisguised hunger. Mitch positioned himself so he was blocking their view of the dead Haida warrior.

Dixon smiled. "It's a fine ship, Mitch."

"That it is."

"You bring news?"

Mitch nodded, his throat suddenly dry. "I do, but before we get to that, you meant what you said last time?"

Dixon's face broke into a smile. "The Homer Cooperative would be honored to have you. That's still true."

"The Windfall is mine."

Tom's mouth dropped open. "Now, wait a second-"

Dixon slapped Tom's shoulder, silencing the younger man.

"The Windfall is yours, but if she harbors here, we'll occasionally require use of her."

"Understood. But only so long as I train the folks who take her out, and have final say on when she sails. I want no risks to her."

Dixon held out his hand. Mitch slowly relaxed his hold on his oar, and shook. Then he stepped aside.

The crackling woodstove made Dixon's cabin quite cozy. Or maybe Mitch was so worn out it didn't matter where he was so long as he didn't have to do anything for a while. Sitting beside him at the table, Eddie could barely keep his eyes open, his chin propped up by his hand. Dani slept soundly on a pallet, snuggled under a handful of furs and a homemade blanket. Once Dixon heard their story, he had wasted no time getting someone to see to her injury.

Mitch supposed he should feel grateful, but he was too weary, all momentum gone. That nearly all their goods from the cruise ship had been taken from the Windfall didn't help.

Across the table, Dixon cleared his throat.

"Folks along the coast from Yakutat to Cordova have spotted the Haida warriors. Pillaging like goddamn pirates. That you three got away with just one arrow-shot shoulder is amazing."

"So you knew about them?"

Dixon frowned. "I heard stories, but it wasn't enough to trouble us much."

The unspoken pride that Homer was bigger and doing better than the other settlements filled the silence. "But what you've described is more disturbing. If they're doing such large-scale salvage . . ."

"They'll target Homer eventually."

Dixon nodded. "And thanks to you, we'll be ready."

Mitch swallowed his whiskey-just one of the prizes he hadn't turned over when he showed Dixon and his men their plunder from the cruise ship. Eddie dozed in his chair. Something popped and settled within the stove.

"I always wondered how you did it."

Mitch raised his brow. "Did what?"