Bernardus pulled hard on his oar. “Doesn’t matter anymore. They’ve spotted us. They’ll sound the alert.”
Ivy crawled to the tiller and held it firmly.
Gerrit stretched one arm over the stern—a pistol in hand.
Ivy clapped her free hand over her ear and ducked her other ear to her shoulder.
The shot slapped her eardrums.
“What did you do that for?” The stranger cussed again.
“To make them take cover,” Gerrit said.
“To delay them.” Bernardus dug the oar into the water. “Show them we’ll fight back.”
“We don’t have much time.” Gerrit dragged over the outboard motor. “The nearest resistance nest is a kilometer away—they’ll have heard the gunfire.”
More gunfire from shore, and Ivy kept her head down, not that the wooden hull would protect her.
“Let go, Ivy.” Gerrit removed the tiller and clamped the outboard motor in place.
“Stay low, darling.” Ivy scooted back and curled up beside her brother.
A bright light arced overhead.
“Get down!” Gerrit said.
“No, don’t!” Bernardus said. “Row. Start the motor.”
Ivy peered up. A beam of light swung back and forth above them.
The outboard motor coughed. Coughed again. Hiccupped. Roared.
The boat surged forward.
“Thank you, Lord,” Ivy whispered.
Bernardus and the other man drew in their oars and lay flat in the boat.
A deep boom to the northwest. Another. Another.
“Hold on.” Gerrit crouched by the motor.
Loud splashes in the distance, each louder than the first. The boat rocked. Water sloshed inside.
“They’re getting their range,” Bernardus said.
Gerrit shifted the boat’s course a bit to the south. “I’ll zigzag, throw them off.”
More booms, more splashes, more rocking, more course changes, and Ivy hunkered low, one arm across Charlie’s chest, praying hard.
In time, the booms receded. Stopped.
Ivy’s respiration and heart rate settled down, and Bernardus and the other man sat up.
“How are you doing, Charlie?” Ivy asked. “Would you like some aspirin?”
Charlie murmured his agreement, and Ivy rummaged in her medical bag—in great disorder from the night’s mistreatment.
