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Colonial Beach |
Bullets flew. Luke and Bobby ducked beside Frank on the slimy deck. Jim navigated near the shore, toward a creek’s mouth they knew about. Up on the bank, tree trunks splintered, struck by gunfire.
Harvey careened around bars and in and out of coves, then he cut a hard turn as the seaplane lowered to the water’s surface. The Miss Ann revved, and Harvey steered her right at the plane.
“Oh, shit,” Jim muttered. “He wouldn’t.”
In a splash of flying water, Harvey gunned his boat. The people on shore gasped. The seaplane lifted just as the Miss Ann swerved beneath her pontoons.
“He’s as insane as Bozo.” Luke gripped one hand to the port rail as he still kneeled.
A boat roared up behind them, lights flashing.
“We’re spotted.” Jim slipped Sally into the creek, amongst thicker foliage. Little sunlight had penetrated in there yet. The mist clung like a smoky curtain.
A sudden shift in water again, and a low engine sounded behind them. The police had followed! A spotlight lit up their boat. “Stay where you are!” a disembodied voice shouted. “We’re coming aboard to check your equipment.”
Luke cursed. Their boat pushed into deeper shadows, scraping the starboard side.
“Dammit. Jump overboard. All of you.” Jim flicked his cigarette away. “I’ll take the heat.”
Luke hesitated, but he urged Bobby and his cousin—though they both cursed—to crawl over the side and slosh through the shallow water.
“You got a young family,” Silas hissed and pushed at Luke’s shoulder. “Get goin’. Now.”