Taylor pulled Amy away from the boat, down the beach away from Dot and Brandon. “Yeah. Good idea.”
He was a fool. How did he think he’d get away? The closest town to Retribution Bay was Onslow, over three hundred kilometres away by car. The rest of the coastline was isolated and unfriendly. The dinghy’s tank of fuel wouldn’t get him back to civilisation, but there was plenty of land to get lost in.
Still she kept her mouth shut as Brandon attached the outboard motor to the boat and then he and Dot pushed it into the water. They were only ten metres away.
A movement in her periphery towards the dunes made her shift her head slightly.
“Don’t move!” Taylor cried, and the knife pierced her shirt, pricking her skin.
She froze.
Swallowing, she tracked a body along the dunes. If she didn’t know better, she would swear it was Sam, but he should be flying somewhere over Carnarvon by now.
“The boat’s ready.” Dot stood ankle deep in the water, holding the boat while Brandon stood on the shore.
“Join Brandon,” Taylor called.
“Taylor, please let me go,” Amy murmured.
“Not until I’m in the boat.” He pushed her forward as Dot backed away from the dinghy.
The ocean was cool and calm and the dinghy bobbed in the shallows. Amy waded through the water, shuffling her feet, hoping no stingrays basked in the shallows this morning. Brandon was tense, ready to pounce. But Taylor wasn’t a vicious criminal. He simply wanted his freedom. Surely Brandon realised that.
“Hold the boat steady,” Taylor ordered as they reached it.
She gripped the warm metal side while he shifted next to her.
“Start the motor.”
“I don’t know how.”
“It’s a rip cord.” He reached around her with his left hand, the right hand still holding the knife to her lower back. He leaned against the edge of the dinghy and the boat shifted away. Taylor lost his balance and the knife sliced a deep cut across her back. She twisted and grabbed his hand, yelling, but it was too late. The pain was excruciating. She stumbled away, falling to her knees in the water.
“Amy!” Brandon bellowed and charged towards her.
Taylor twisted, and dropped the knife, his face pale. “Shit.”
She pressed both hands across her lower back and her hand came back covered in blood.
***
Time stopped. It must have, because Brandon couldn’t get to Amy fast enough. The rich red ballooning from her back came faster and turned the water pink. She swayed. If she fainted, she could drown. Taylor scrambled for the boat, terror on his face but Brandon couldn’t give a shit about him.
To his right, Sam charged across the sand, always his backup, and Colin was right behind him. Which meant there was another vehicle, hopefully better suited to the terrain, out there. Amy needed a hospital.
He dropped to his knees and pulled Amy’s shirt up to examine the wound. It was nasty, deep and torn. “I’ve got you, Amy.” He pressed his hand firmly across the wound. Sam reached him and stripped off his T-shirt, and handed it to Brandon to use as a bandage.
“How bad is it?” Amy gasped. “It hurts so much.”
“The salt water’s got to sting like a mother-fucker,” Brandon agreed. “I’ve seen worse injuries than this on the battlefield. Hold this in place for me, as tight as you can.” He guided her hand to Sam’s shirt. The blood seeped through almost immediately. They needed a hospital. “What’s the vehicle?” he asked Sam.
“Four-wheel drive patrol car’s parked a hundred metres behind Dot’s.”
“Let’s go.” He lifted Amy, being careful to avoid the wound. She placed one arm around his neck while she continued to hold the bandage in place.
“Colin,” Sam called. “Keys.”
Dot and Colin had wrestled Taylor into submission. With arms handcuffed behind his back, tears poured down his face. “Is she all right?”
