Page 7 of Anchor
He fires a shot off to the side, and I shriek. The little girl behind me screams even louder, her cries almost unintelligible. My own sobs wrench their way through my chest.
Long seconds pass and I know he won’t let her go. I make a split decision and walk forward with the little girl huddled close behind me. My skin flashes hot, then cold and I can’t stop shaking, but I force myself to put one foot in front of the other, even though I’m shaking so hard it makes walking difficult.
When I get close enough he jerks me forward with a hand wrapped vice-like around my bicep. I trip over my own feet and collide with his chest. That’s when I realize he doesn’t look terrifying at all. Instead, he reminds me of my grandpa before he got sick with cancer and wasted away in a hospital bed. He’s not old, just older.
His salt and pepper mustache and beard are neatly trimmed and his matching hair closely shorn. He doesn’t look like a person I’d expect to wave around a gun and threaten little children, and it almost makes his actions all the worse. He should be at home with his wife watching football and complaining about the weather.
All of it flashes through my head as his arms wrap around me. In an instant, I realize this may be my one chance to get the little girl to safety, so I wrap my hands around him like I’m trying to catch my balance.
While he’s distracted, I twist my head around and shout at the stunned little girl, “Run! Go!”
She stands there stupefied and wide-eyed for a few seconds, and then she’s off, streaking back down the length of the dock and into the waiting arms of strangers who form a human shield around her little body. My last image of her is the little stuffed wolf still clutched in her hand.
I’m so relieved to find her safe, I collapse into his arms. His angry shout pulls me from the bout of momentary relief and then fear shrouds me in a cold blanket once more.
He thrusts me toward the ferry and I fall hard on my knees. I cry out and he shoves me forward with a booted foot and then jumps the rest of the way. The crowd of people already trapped on the ferry watch as he rolls me to my back with his foot.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he says.
I shouldn’t have. I’m sure it’s the #1 rule in every manual about hostage situations: don’t engage the hostile party. Keep quiet and stay out of his way and whatever you do, don’t make yourself a target.
So much for smart thinking, Chloe.
But I can’t find it in me to regret my spur of the moment decision. If I die today, at least I know I did it protecting an innocent little girl.
He tears his cold, blue eyes off my prone form and shouts up to the top deck, “Get this heap moving now or I’ll use these people down here for target practice!”
When no one moves, he rips the zipper from his nondescript black jacket and reveals a vest strapped with several automatic assault weapons.
Someone is moving behind me, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the guns.
This can’t be happening.
The ferry inches away from the dock and the man directs everyone to move inside the main floor where the walls are lined with benches. Someone helps me to my feet and I limp my way to a spot as far away from his imposing figure as I can.
Water yawns in the space between the ferry and the dock and there’s nothing but open water and the sliver of Rockaway Island in the distance.
I put my head between my knees and pray for the first time in my life.
Because now it’s me who needs saving.
Gabriel
One minuteI have the phone in my hand and the next I’m diving at Tyler’s cruiser, trying to wrestle the keys out of his hand. Tunnel vision blocks out everything but the result: get to my daughter.
I don’t have time for obstacles. Tyler and I have been friends for a long time, I smash my fist into his face when he tackles me to the ground. I feel no pain, but I hear thecrackof bone against bone. His mouth is moving, but I can’t hear over the ringing in my ears.
We tumble over the scorching blacktop until Tyler manages to pin me down. The asphalt burns the exposed skin on my back and arms, but I ignore it and focus on getting his bulk off of me.
“Calm down, goddammit!” he shouts in my face. “Christ, Gabe,listen to me!”
“I swear to fucking God, Ty, if you don’t get off me right now I’ll do something we’ll both regret.”
His meaty arms wrap around my neck and he holds me down in an effective—and irritating—chokehold. “I said, listen.”
“Fuck!” My voice is hoarse from the pressure of his forearm against my throat. “All right, say what you’re going to say so I can go, but hurry the fuck up about it.”
Tyler studies me. “If I let you up are you going to sucker punch me again?”