Josh: The Liberator

When I volunteered to go down and search for the Liberator in Happy Farms Cove, Mary was dubious.


MARY: You know how to SCUBA dive? You?

ME: I'm rich, remember? I squeezed in lessons after my elephant polo matches and before my "How To Appear To Care About Minorities" classes.

MARY: You really did ride in normal polo matches.

ME: How did- oh. Detective. Right. Moving on. I know how to SCUBA, though. Not a big deal.

MARY: It is a big deal with what we're up against.

ME: Dylan and Lachlan won't know what to look for. They might see something down there that's fraught with portent and they'd swim right by it.

MARY: Fraught. You always sound like your mother when you get nervous. Fine, just be very, very careful. Come up at the first sign of trouble. (Pause) What did they teach in that minorities class anyway?

ME: Ha, sucker. Really rich people never take that class. They tell you it's the How To Appear To Care About Minorities class on the door, but inside it's really just more elephant polo. I do not sound like my mother.


After an hour of watching the clock at Keane's, Dylan finally returned just before nine with the SCUBA gear. Crayton was supposed to meet Mary at nine, which meant we were already running very short on time. Mary was anxious to get her hands on a firearm; we didn't risk trying to get her Glock through customs so she had had it shipped back to my mom's house in Milwaukee, but despite Keane's efforts all we had for protection was a speargun.

Dylan kept the mood light, cracking jokes and producing a smokable substance that I won't name because my mom is reading this (Mary did not take part-she made me write that). Dylan explained that he spent his days diving and his nights and weekends getting high, watching rugby with Lachlan and diving some more. I've never known anyone who seemed to be doing exactly what they should be doing where they should be doing it more than Dylan. He was like an Aussie version of Matthew McConaughey, but skinnier and with far fewer crappy romantic comedies on his resume.

We rode the boat to the cove in silence, the men strapping on the gear as we bounced over the waves. As we approached Happy Farms, Keane kept easing off the throttle to reduce noise until finally she cut the engine and we just drifted in, our running lights off.

As we made our final preparations to dive, Keane said in a whisper, "Remember, Dylan in front, then Lachlan, then Josh. Night diving is rough, diving into a ship is rougher and together they're-"

Dylan waved her off with a grin. "No worries. Back in time for the orgy."

"Shut it, ya dill. Any problems, come right back, got it?" Keane glowered at him, and he had the good sense to at least nod along. Without another word Dylan slipped into the water, making almost no noise at all. Then Keane went over to Lachlan to check his tank, whispering, "Come back to me, ya old goat. You still haven't fixed that damn carburetor." He gave an "aw, shucks" grin, then saluted her a bit unsteadily and basically fell into the water, making appreciably more noise than Dylan had. Keane winced at the sound of the splash, then stepped up to me and double checked my tank. As she did so she asked quietly, "Is it as bad as you say? This Crayton, he's that much of a villain?" I nodded. "If it goes wrong, go see my Aunt Grace. She's a rich one and the authorities are likely to at least listen to her, got it? Corner of Kuhn and Wilson Terrace."

Then with both hands she grabbed my cheeks and gave me a long kiss on the lips. I stood there holding the railing, with-I'm sure- my eyes the size of dinner plates. The moon was behind Mary, putting her in silhouette. After a few seconds Keane pulled back, winked and made the "shoo" gesture. I pulled on my mask and dropped into the water as quietly as I could, falling somewhere between Dylan and Lachlan on the stealth scale.

Once in the ocean, I looked around and saw the lights of the other divers, turning on my own spotlight as I swam toward them. In my wet suit the water was warm and comfortable, the buoying sensation helping to relax me as we kicked toward shore. Our lights darted through the darkness, probing for any sign of the lost boat on the bottom. I continually checked my watch, growing more alarmed as the minute hand turned around the dial as we searched. Nine thirty, nine thirty five, nine forty five... finally at ten minutes to ten Lachlan began pointing animatedly down his lamp's light beam to what looked like a curve of dark metal.

In a minute the three of us were floating over the Liberator trying to determine the best point of entry, Dylan the first to descend. As I followed Lachlan through a hatch on the side of the boat, the sound of my breathing rasping in my ears, I marveled at how just a moment ago swimming in the ocean was so calm and relaxing, but now in the confined space of the boat I felt utterly awkward and trapped. In the darkness of the wreck, every loose string became a snake, every light-colored lifesaver a shark.

Of course, what I was most terrified of finding were corpses, but there were none. Books floated in cabins, clothes remained stacked in footlockers and a frying pan even hovered over the stove in the galley. Everywhere we looked we saw a ship that- if it hadn't been underwater- was in perfect working order, with no signs that the crew had prepared her in any way to be abandoned.

After nearly jumping out of my skin again by mistaking another lifesaver for a great white, I began to think about it, nudging Dylan and pointing at it. After a long moment he shook his head and shrugged. I couldn't help but run it over it again and again in my mind: If they abandoned ship, why are there no lifesavers missing? If there was trouble, why does everything look like nothing at all was disturbed? If they were killed, where are the damn bodies?

Eventually we made our way into the section I most wanted to see: the cargo hold. Boxes and crates floated everywhere, and we had to take care not to bump into the many loose pieces of floating debris. After surveying the scene, we methodically began searching the hold for the Magician's trunk, hoping to find the knife that Leopold seemed to think was so important. It was slow, painstaking work, and once we began combing through the area it was difficult to stay focused and keep track of time.

Finally Dylan swam over to me and shook his head, ushering us out of the hold. We were way past time and I had to admit that if we were going to find it we would have by now. Besides, we still hadn't checked the engine room and helm, though calling it an "engine room" was giving it way too much credit. Overall the Liberator wasn't much bigger than the boat in The Perfect Storm, though for the sake of my claustrophobia I wished it was.

Dylan expertly guided us down the corridors and up to the helm, always checking behind him to make certain we were all accounted for. A very narrow and steep stairway led up to the helm area, and as I waited my turn at the bottom to swim up I could hear Dylan yelling something above me. I tried to peer past Lachlan, but he started pushing me back down the corridor toward the crew quarters, his eyes wide in his visor. Feeling panicked and on edge, I began kicking madly down the hallway until Dylan dropped down to the bottom of the stairs and waved us back.

Giving the universal guy gesture of "my bad", Dylan once more rose up the stairwell, followed very slowly and cautiously by Lachlan. Now alone at the bottom of the stairs, I felt more trapped than ever, my light flicking back and forth down the passageway. Something had spooked Dylan up there, and while he might think everything was all right now, the fact was that just about the only thing that had kept me from freaking out thus far was his cool and comfortable demeanor, and now that I'd seen it shaken I was on the edge of hysteria.

With my breath coming in quick gulps, I closed my eyes, summoned my courage and swam up. Once in the helm I saw the reason Dylan lost it. Floating by the ship's wheel was the body of a man dressed in what appeared to be a business suit. Dylan swam over to it and turned it around gently, and we could see it was the open-eyed corpse of an old man, the strands of his gray hair floating around his head like a halo. Then Dylan methodically began going through the man's pockets, searching them thoroughly. He did find a knife, passing it over to me, but it was just a Swiss army knife and there were no initials on it as Leopold had said there would be. I held on to it just in case.

Then he handed me the man's wallet, and I opened it in search of some I.D. Inside I found six thousand Australian dollars, which translates into about four thousand in American money. After replacing the money I pulled out the driver's license. It was issued by South Australia, and the photo was of an old, gray haired man with cold green eyes and the hint of a cruel, mocking smile. My jaw dropped and I nearly lost my respirator when I read the name on the license: Edmund C. Crayton.

I looked up then at the body and saw it's eyes move suddenly, locking on to mine. I yelled in abject terror, instinctively flailing to get away as Crayton reached out with blinding speed to grab Dylan's arm, gripping him and pulling him near. Lachlan bravely drew his knife and tried to move into a position behind Crayton, but the old man positioned Dylan between them, shielding himself. Before we could do anything else Crayton pushed Dylan's arm back behind his body so far that we heard a muffled crunching sound that was immediately drowned out by Dylan's screaming. In another moment Crayton was pushing his other arm back with a sickening crack until both his arms were crossed behind his back parallel to each other, his shoulders bulging out at impossible angles.

Fighting the urge to vomit, I confess I could think of nothing else now but escape, and I clawed my way back down the stairs, my air tank banging against the railings as I descended. Once down in the corridor, I swam as fast as I could, desperate to find a hatch that opened outward. Finally I got to the end of the hallway to a "T" intersection, and on my left just feet away was the outer hatch. Looking behind me, I saw Lachlan swimming frantically on my heels, and then behind him at the end of the corridor Crayton drifted slowly down the stairs, casually holding in one hand what was left of Dylan: both his arms and legs bent at the shoulders and hips folded all the way back behind him, the backs of his calves touching the back of his own head, his torso twitching.

I pawed at the hatch lock, pushing and pulling at the door in a desperate attempt to throw it open and flee, but my flailing had no effect. Lachlan eventually just grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back, going to work on it himself. As I looked back down the flooded corridor, I saw Crayton push Dylan to the side, then look right at me, the cruel smile he'd flashed in the photo I.D. widening in anticipation of what was to come. With the flourish and panache of a stage magician, he opened his sleeves to show me there was nothing inside of them, then a moment later he extended his arms in our direction and bubbles began to appear from his cuffs. There were only a few at first, then there were so many bubbles that it was like watching jets from a Jacuzzi. I gripped Lachlan's arm tightly and yelled at the top of my lungs for him to hurry and open the hatch, the sound filtered through the water to my own ears as a pure, primal, terrified wail.

Suddenly, from within Crayton's sleeves began to emerge enormous, wide-eyed, fanged eels, one right after another like streamers from a cannon. Dozens and dozens of them launched down the corridor at us, their teeth gnashing. Now I pounded on Lachlan's back, screaming over and over again for him to open the hatch, and as the first of the eels was almost to my face the door burst open and he pulled me out, slamming the hatch closed again behind me. From within we could hear the eels banging into the hatch, smashing into it with all their strength trying to get to us, but the door held.

Out of my mind with fear, I began swimming furiously back toward where I thought Keane's boat was, the light from my spotlight jittering in all directions. After what was probably only a few seconds of swimming and searching, I realized that the best way to find the boat was to head up to the surface, and while the thought of the eels coming up and biting me from below was a very real and horrifying one, I knew it was my best option.

The running lights were still out, but I could just discern the outline of the boat in the moonlight. Swimming with all my strength and fueled by fear, I headed toward it while keeping the spotlight shining behind and below me to keep on the lookout for the eels I knew would be in pursuit. As I swam I breathed a little sigh of relief when I saw Lachlan a little ways ahead of me on his way to the boat, but when I turned my spotlight back behind us I saw the reflections of hundreds of tiny eyes zigzagging closer and closer.

Kicking with all my might I swam toward the boat, my breath coming in ragged, frenzied gasps as I knifed through the dark water. My heart pounded in my chest and though I'm not yet thirty the wild thought occurred that there was a legitimate chance it might just explode before I could reach safety.

Suddenly I bumped into Lachlan, looked up and discovered that we had arrived at the rear of the boat right next to the ladder. Lachlan had already spit out his respirator and pushed up his goggles, and he held on to the ladder just off to the side, ushering me up first. I grabbed the first rung and began hauling myself out, but the weight of the tank and gear out of the water was significantly heavier than it was while in it, so it was maddeningly slow going. "They're coming," I wheezed as I pulled out my breathing tube, never pausing in my ascent. "You could have gone first instead of me."

Lachlan shook his head slowly, the old drunk's head held high with a vestige of pride. "Duty."

Just as I was almost entirely out of the water I felt an agonizing pain in my ankle, and as I withdrew my leg I pulled a long, flapping eel along with it, its fangs sunk deep into my flesh. I let out a quick, sharp yelp and threw myself into the boat, eel still attached. Without pulling it off, I hurlted back to the edge of the boat and put out a hand for Lachlan. "Take it! They're here! Move, move, move!" His hand reached up for mine, the other on the first rung of the ladder, when all around his still-submerged chest he was surrounded by bubbles. An instant later the water was seething with eels, and he let out an agonized scream as they bit him as one and dragged him inexorably under the waves.

It was only after a few long, stunned, horrified moments that I realized that the eel I had brought on board was still attached to my leg, its rows of fangs gnawing savagely on my tendons, blood pooling on the deck around me. The next instant Mary and Keane were both at my side, Keane pulling at the eel's tail and Mary bashing at it with a beer cooler. In a few seconds they had managed to dislodge it, Keane whipping it over the side. I grabbed at my ankle to try and stop the blood as Keane asked, "Where's Dylan? What-"

"Gone. He's gone." She began to ask another question, but I took my hand off my ankle and grabbed her shirt, pulling her close, yelling, "Start the boat! Do it! Do it now!" Keane staggered back, then ran to the wheel. Meanwhile, Mary tore off one of her shirtsleeves and tied it hastily around my ankle to stop the blood.

Looking around, Mary asked, "What's that pounding?"

I looked down, realizing it was coming from below. "The eels. They're smashing into the boat. Hundreds... maybe thousands." I stood up and steadied myself on the railing, pulling the air tank off of my back. "Could they punch through the wood? Are we-?" Just then about twenty yards away toward shore a head rose from the water, the hair on it slick and gray in the moonlight. "It's Crayton! Go, go, for God's sake, go, Keane!"

As Crayton swam slowly toward us I could feel his eyes on me, the sheer malevolence behind them making me forget the pain in my leg. Suddenly the engine whined as Keane turned the ignition, but it wouldn't start. She muttered a curse, then tried again. Still it wouldn't start. "Keane, for f*ck's sake, start the damn-"

"There's something wrapped around the propeller," she yelled back. "I can't get it to turn over!"

"Jesus. The eels." I looked over the side, the water all around the back of the boat writhing with the eels' thick tails. Raising my gaze, I could see Crayon's head had cut the distance in half, coming faster now toward the ladder. "Keep trying! Keep turning the damn key!" My eyes darted around the boat for something, anything that could be used as a weapon, eventually falling on an old, rusted crowbar. Meanwhile Keane kept trying to turn the engine over and Mary rooted around in a long footlocker by the helm.

Over and over the engine whirred and groaned, trying to power through the tangle of eels clogging it. Now Crayton was mere feet from the ladder, and I knew without a doubt that once he got his hand on it we could never get him off. All I could do was stare at him as he approached, the only thing above the water level were his eyes glaring at me balefully.

"Please. Please, please, please." Over the protestations of the engines and the thrashing of the eels I could barely hear my own whisper. "Turn over. Turn over. Don't let him get on-"

Crayton reached up his hand, poised to grab the lowest rung when Mary appeared next to me, leaned over the side and shot him right in the face with the speargun, the spear jutting through his cheek and out of the other side of his head just in front of his ear.

He grunted as it hit him, then reached up and with one quick yank pulled it out of his head, dropping it into the water next to him. Without hesitation, Mary reared back and swung the speargun down into his skull, shattering the gun to pieces. Crayton grunted again, reached up and grabbed the first rung of the ladder.

"Oh, sh*t." Mary backed away, again looking around for a weapon and finding none. Just then, the engine turned over and Keane howled in victory, gunning the motor and chopping the eels that attempted to constrict the propeller to pieces. In moments we were pulling away, but in peering over the side again I saw that Crayton was on the second rung. Two to go to reach the top.

"Hit him," Mary said, gesturing to the crowbar in my hand.

"That's not going to work. He'll never let go of the ladder. We can't get him off."

"Power of positive thinking. Hit him."

I shook my head. "There has to be something. Some way we can get him off the ladder..." A thought occurred. "No, if we can't get him off the ladder, then maybe we can get him off the boat!"

Mary was already protesting, but I stepped back up to the ladder with the crowbar and looked down at Crayton. He was one rung away. The boat was moving at a decent clip now and his feet bounced through the water, but his grip was iron. I raised the crowbar and he just smiled again, daring me to hit him, but instead I dug the tip of it under the top of the ladder and pushed, the screw popping off into the water. His eyes grew wide and this time I smiled back. One more dig with the crowbar on the other post of the ladder and the entire thing popped off the side of the boat, falling into the sea, Crayton still gripping it as it went under.

The girls let out a whoop of triumph while I sat down hard on the deck, exhausted and drained from the last of my adrenaline and the blood loss from my ankle. I closed my eyes as we skipped over the waves, wanting to slow down so I wouldn't be tossed around and jostled so much and at the same time wanting to speed up so I could set my feet on some dry land and put as much distance between us and Crayton as possible.

My voice came out in a croak. "We didn't find the knife."

Keane turned around while still holding the wheel. "Lachlan. And Dylan. Oh, God. Oh, my boys." Tears streamed down her face, but she never stopped steering.

Mary put a hand on her shoulder and gave her a quick, strong hug. "I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry, Helen." She took a deep breath and continued, "Tonight when we get to safety I'm going to give you access to our archives so you'll know everything that's gone on. At least now after what's happened there might be a chance you'll believe it. You're one of us, now."

I stood up, holding the railing for balance. "We need to somehow-"

Just then the engine made a coughing sound, sputtered and died, and a thick black smoke began pouring out from the exhaust. Keane cursed, then tried the ignition and received only a rattling, grinding sound in response. "Oh, no. Oh, you've got to be kidding me." She swore again and turned the key, getting only more grinding and thicker smoke. Again, and the grinding only got louder. "Sh*t. Thanks to those eels, my boat is cactus. That means broken, so don't ask."

Mary pulled a pair of binoculars off the cabin wall and peered back in the direction we came. "I can't see him, but you know he's still coming."

"Well, I'm prepared to hear some brilliant suggestions that don't involve peeing on myself in fear, because I think I might have already taken care of that at the other boat."

Mary pointed toward the shore of Port Victoria far off in the distance. "I doubt we can make it from here swimming. I doubt I can, anyway."

Keane nodded. "You're right, we can't. But we're far enough out to sea that we just might make it over to Wardang Island instead. I'm going to radio in an S.O.S. and ask the Coast Guard to pick us up there." She handed Mary a life jacket and took one herself, while I strapped on my oxygen tank again. "Josh, you go first. Keep your spot on so you'll be easy for us to follow. Use your compass. Don't be yabbering away now, just go."

I started to give a little salute, then thought of poor Lachlan and stopped, dropping over the side and into the water without another word. From then on it was a slow and exhausting process of checking my compass to make sure we were still heading for Wardang Island and going back to make sure the girls were still on my tail. After fifteen minutes the muscles of my legs were on fire, and it felt like someone was slowly turning a knife in my ankle where the eel had latched on. As I swam I thought back to Milwaukee and the winter they were sure to be enduring back home, wishing now that I could be back there up to my neck in snow.

"I'm getting nostalgic for Wisconsin in November," I said to Mary as I swam over to her.

She paused from her labors, the act of swimming a long distance while restrained by a life jacket an awkward and tiring one. "I'm glad it wasn't just me." She attempted a smile but could only come up with a fatigued grimace. "Anything behind us?" I dunked down below and shined the spotlight, seeing nothing. Then I turned back toward Wardang Island and my beam glinted off metal down on the ocean floor. I swam over in that direction and saw a metal plaque jutting up from the sand, an ancient shipwreck laying to the right and just beyond it.

Surfacing, I told them what I'd seen. Keane sputtered, "We're getting close. Should hit land soon."

I treaded water, kicking hard to get every inch of height I could. Far off in the distance toward what we hoped was the island, I thought I could see a flicker of yellow light. Without further delay we pressed on, with me turning my spotlight behind us to check if we were being pursued, not that it mattered much as we were basically swimming as hard as we could anyway.

In a few more minutes, Keane said, "I can see it. Land ahead, we'll make it in five."

I squinted, thinking that it was possible that there were some stars blotted out in the distance, but I couldn't tell if it was land, and certainly had no idea how far away it was. I dunked back under to sweep the area with the light again and saw another glint of light a good way off back where we'd come from. I wondered for a moment if we'd swam right past another shipwreck plaque and I'd missed it, but then I noticed that the glint was moving, zigging and zagging ever so slightly. Shining the light directly at it and taking my time to look, I saw that the glint had been joined by another and another, until it looked like that entire section of ocean had been decorated with golden sequins.

Ascending to the surface once more, I spit out my respirator and yelled, "Eels! Hundreds... thousands! Go! Swim!"

As the women swam with renewed purpose I kept ducking down and checking behind us. Every time I did the eels were far, far closer, their reflective eyes glittering and hungry. Deciding that checking how close they were wasn't helping anything, I swam on the surface next to Mary. "Take my swim fins, Mary."

Between breaths she replied, "Take too long. To get them off. Keep them. Go on ahead." I kept swimming at the same pace as her, and after a minute I thought I could actually hear the gigantic school of eels tearing through the water toward us, teeth gnashing. Mary spoke again. "Josh. I case. We don't. Make it. I just. Want you to-" She let out a groan as the wind was knocked out of her, her face driven into the sand of the shore by a wave. Coughing, sputtering and confused, she put her feet down and found herself standing on a dark beach, the three of us staring out at the shallow water in front of us churning with thrashing eels as far as we could see.

After gazing out at the surreal scene before us, Mary began pulling both Keane and I inland. "He'll be coming. Let's move." I stripped off as much of the SCUBA gear as I could as I walked, bringing up the rear behind the two ladies. Wardang Island was flatter than I had imagined, with only a few trees and a handful of roads, the entire land mass only about four miles long and two miles across. Now that we had climbed above water level, we could easily see a bonfire off in the distance.

Suddenly Mary stopped walking and I almost ran into her in the dark. "Do you hear that?"

"What?" I turned all around, listening. "I can't hear anything."

"Exactly. The eels... they've stopped thrashing." We all turned and squinted back toward the ocean, trying to make out anything in the reflections on the water in the moonlight. Eventually I could see something: the dark shape of a man slowly walking out of the sea.

Without a word the three of us took off sprinting as fast as we could, With Mary and Keane pulling away, my gait hobbled because of my injured ankle. As we went, the girls began pacing themselves despite my urgings to press on, slowing up to try and pull me along, all the while stealing glances behind us to see how much ground Crayton had covered. After running for a good minute, I estimated we were about a hundred yards from the bonfire, with Crayton about triple that distance behind us. Distantly, I could just barely hear the harsh rasp of Crayton's mocking laughter as he drove us on.

Closer now to the bonfire... seventy five yards... fifty... I could just begin to make out the outlines of people dancing around the fire. Forty yards... thirty... twenty... Keane gave out a thrilled yelp, saying without slowing down, "Aborigines! I told you this island is sacred to them!" Now I too could make out the dark skin of the continent's natives as they danced round and round the fire, cheerful in their obliviousness to the danger descending down on them. As we hit about ten yards Keane dashed ahead, telling us that she wanted hers to be the first face they saw in case they recognized her so they would be quicker to help. My skin crawled as Crayton's laughter got louder behind us.

Time seemed to move in slow motion for me now as my own words flashed back in my mind. Crayton's mocking laughter drove us on... cheerful in their obliviousness... driving us on... cheerful... driving us... cheerful... Suddenly I grabbed Mary, pulling her back and stopping us short, shouting, "Keane! Wait! Stop!" The Aborigines turned as one from their dance to look at us, every one of their faces adorned with a wide, permanent smile. Keane was all they way in amongst them as she realized what was happening, and they fell upon her almost as one, piling on top of her, grabbing her, throwing her to the dirt next to the fire as she shrieked beneath them. There were more than a dozen of them- the Smilers- and once they had Keane pinned, five of them turned their attention to Mary and I.

I gaped at them, too in shock to do anything until Mary yanked me by my wrist, dragging me away from the fire in an awkward, shambling run. I knew there was no way we could get Keane out from under the Smilers, especially with Crayton breathing down our necks, but her sudden loss right at the point where I thought we might be actually be safe was more than I could take. My mind simply shut down. I vaguely remember running alongside Mary through the darkness, tripping on loose stones, my injured ankle making me feel like I was running on carpet tacks... but I had no idea where we were going or what we would do when we got there. All I could hear- whether he was still doing it or it was only in my head- was Crayton's mocking laughter.

All of a sudden lights flashed in my face, and Mary was standing beside me and waving her arms wildly, yelling for help. Still dazed, I let her pull me on down into the water, and a minute later we were standing on the deck of a small Australian Coast Guard boat. Behind us, also splashing into the water were the Aborigine Smilers. Mary grasped one of the two crew members on board by the lapels and screamed into his face maniacally, "They killed our friend! They killed her! Go, go, go, move the damn boat, you idiot, they will not stop! They'll kill us all!" The sailor reached down for his pistol at his belt and glanced down at the Smilers now almost to the boat. Mary grabbed his face in her hands, saying, "They have Uzis! They have submachine guns! They're drug traffickers! Drive!"

This combination of words was just enough to finally trigger the flight response in the man, and as the closest Smiler reached up for the ladder the engine roared and we sped away from shore, leaving Wardang Island. On the deck in the back of the boat I gripped the railing as best I could with trembling hands, staring behind us at the bonfire dwindling down to a point in the darkness like a fallen star that plunges to Earth, sears it and refuses to die.


The next couple of hours in the tiny local police station were a blur, with Mary doing most of the talking: We had gone out night diving. We were attacked by a man identified by our guide Helen Keane as a Mister Edmund Crayton and his accomplices. No, we've never been in trouble with the law ourselves, and here are our I.D.'s, please God let them stand up to official scrutiny because if they don't we're f*cked.

It's possible Mary didn't say all of that, but I certainly was thinking it.

They kept us overnight, waiting to see what else would turn up. Over the next few hours police divers found the Liberator. They also found Keane's boat adrift in the bay. What they didn't find were Keane, Lachlan, Dylan, Crayton or much of anything else. At dawn they released us, making us promise not to leave the area for the next couple of days while they continued their investigation.

Mary and I blearily staggered out into the bright South Australia early morning sun, and I began to hobble slowly toward the Port Victoria Hotel before she caught my arm. "Not yet," she said, squinting at me with bloodshot eyes. "First we go to Keane's Aunt Grace and let her know... something of what happened." I calculated how much effort it would take to talk her into letting me go back to the Hotel and sleep versus just doing what she said, and unsurprisingly found myself shambling along behind her down the sidewalk to Grace's house.

As I walked I began thinking about last night- what we'd gone through and what we'd lost. With each footfall another face flashed into my mind. Dylan, his easy smile and charm leading us through the darkness. Lachlan, his sense of honor and duty allowing me to go first and live while he died a grisly death in my stead. Keane... her bright eyes, her impossibly curly, bouncy hair, her lust for life and adventure... her shocked wail as a dozen insanely strong hands pushed her down into the dirt...

I didn't even feel like I was crying. I didn't have the energy for it. All I knew was that as I looked around at quaint, sleepy, seaside Port Victoria, tears poured down my face and dribbled off of my chin like rain from a gutter. The next thing I felt was Mary holding me, pulling my face into her chest, the two of us standing the middle of the sidewalk.

After a while the tears stopped and she gave me a little smile. "You don't have to go. It's all right. But go back to the police station, not the Hotel. It's not safe there anymore."

Taking a deep breath and wiping away the last of the tears, I shook my head. "No. No, thank you. I'm with you." Another deep breath, then I managed to return the smile, barely. "I'm with you."