The guy shifts, and that’s when I see the gun in his hand, my heart jolting. Another guy surfaces just behind him on the stairs, swimming up before climbing out. As I lean forward to get a better look at them, the floor creaks loudly under my feet.
The two men glance up and see me standing there. I inhale sharply as the guy in front points his gun in my direction. Instinctively, I crouch down.
“Who the hell are you?” the guy yells. “What are you doing here?”
I don’t respond, afraid to let them hear my voice.
There’s another loud bang, the sound echoing loudly and startling me so badly that I knock my elbow against the railing. At first, I think I’ve been hit. I don’t move, but when I look down and realize there’s no blood, I know that I have to do something quickly.
There is a thunder of footsteps as the men race up the stairs toward me.
I won’t have enough time to get down the trellis and to the boat. Weaponless, I dart into the room and grab the open suitcase off the bed,grab another by the handle, and race back into the hallway. I throw them both. The closed suitcase hits the first guy directly in the face with a thud, knocking him back into the wall, while the other suitcase flaps open. Its contents scatter over the stairs, and the case lodges between the spindles of the railing, momentarily blocking the path as the men have to climb over it.
I dash back into the room, closing the door and locking it behind me. I run for the window and swing out over the sill, catching myself on the iron bar. As I do, a piece of jagged, rusted metal slashes through my forearm. I cry out in pain. A stream of blood immediately starts running down my arm, and I have no way to stop it.
Up ahead, the others are at the boat with the engine running. Noa’s on what’s left of the dock, holding the line and waiting for me. I want to scream for her to go, but I don’t want the guys inside to hear me. I only have a minute on them.
I drop the rest of the way down, my legs connecting hard before I roll onto my side in the soft, marshy earth. It’s difficult to catch my breath from the fall, but I take off running as fast as I can for the old road toward the boat.
The wound in my forearm pulsates, red blood running down my wrist, dripping off my fingertips. I’m definitely going to need stitches. I flash a look at the trees as I race forward, and at that same moment, the wind shifts. The leaves rattle and a branch falls. For some reason, it feels surreal, like a staged scene. Because there on the ground where the branch fell, something catches my attention.
I stagger to a stop, making sure my eyes aren’t deceiving me. My heart is pounding, and now… abject fear begins to cover me in ice. On the ground is a series of lumps, a flash of skin, a shirt…
Holy shit, is that a dead body?
Without thinking, I take a step in that direction, wanting to investigate.I hear Noa shout, and when I look up, she’s waving me toward the boat, her eyes frantically darting between me and the hotel. I imagine the men are at the window behind me.
I have to run. Although I want to know if what I’m seeing is really there, I also want to survive the day. Noa waits stubbornly for me on the dock, and I make a break toward her.
I’m nearly there. My adrenaline is pumping, but just as I cross onto the concrete decking, there are shouts and the echo of another gunshot.
Noa scrambles into the boat, screaming at Tech to punch it. The engine roars and the boat surges forward, the water churning violently behind it.
I don’t stop. I jump, and for a second, I’m airborne. Then I crash hard against the white benches, landing in a heap on the floor. The impact knocks the air from my lungs, my body screaming in protest.
“He’s been hit!” Shawn shouts suddenly. “There’s blood everywhere!”
Tech doesn’t even look back. He throttles it, and the boat slices through the water faster than I’ve ever seen it move.
Noa drops to the floor beside me, her hands everywhere, pushing through my hair, pressing against my chest. She’s searching for bullet wounds.
“Jamie,” she says, her voice sharp with fear. “Where is it?” she asks.
“I don’t think I’m shot,” I tell her, still gasping in breaths. I’m not sure if that’s true; it’s entirely possible I’ve been hit and just haven’t registered it yet.
Noa isn’t convinced. She gently lifts my arm and notices the wound there. “Shawn, look,” she tells her friend. “Shit, it’s deep,” she adds under her breath.
“I cut it on the trellis,” I manage.
Warm liquid runs over my arm, pooling on the deck, but I keep my head down, my body still reeling from the adrenaline crash.
“Shawn, get a towel,” Noa tells her. Shawn grabs one off the seat, andthe two girls wrap my wound tightly, making me wince.
The boat is flying through the water, so fast that none of us can stand up, not that I would even try. I feel wrecked right now. My arm hurts; my body. My fucking black eye. Noa stays crouched on the floor of the boat next to me, blood smeared all over the deck.
“We need to get him to the hospital,” Noa tells Tech. “It’s bad.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” he replies dryly. Shawn offers me a look of concern. Then she nods, as if acknowledging that I saved their asses.
