Chapter 10 - The River Crossing
“Is that… is that a boat?” I shouted over the deafening roar of the rushing water, wiping a strand of wet hair out of my eyes.
“Bruno’s contingency plan,” Lincoln breathed, coughing harshly as he dragged us both out of the current and onto the slick concrete ledge beside the moored skiff. “He always said if the empire fell, we’d need a way out that didn't involve roads.”
Lincoln unlatched the heavy nylon mooring rope with shaking fingers and shoved the bow of the skiff out into the churning river current before hauling himself over the gunwale. He reached down, grabbing me by the jacket and hauling me aboard just as a pair of armed operatives appeared at the mouth of the drainage tunnel behind us, their flashlights cutting through the rain.
Crack! Crack!
Bullets zipped over our heads, splashing harmlessly into the dark river water.
“Get down!” Lincoln roared, slamming his hand onto the outboard motor’s ignition toggle.
The engine sputtered once, coughed against the damp air, and then roared to life with a deep, mechanical growl. Lincoln cranked the throttle hard, spinning the skiff around in a wide, spray-filled arc just as the outflow pipe faded into the gray, rainy veil of the Hadley dawn.
As the boat cut through the turbulent river toward the industrial district on the opposite bank, I huddled beneath the fiberglass console, shivering from the cold rain and the sheer exhaustion of the night.
Lincoln stood at the helm, his hand steady on the tiller, his eyes fixed on the distant skyline where the first bruised light of morning was beginning to break over the city.
He looked down at me, the harsh lines of his face softening just a fraction against the howling wind.
“You safe to go back to your apartment?” he asked quietly.
I looked up at him, realizing with a jolt that the twenty-eight dollars in my pocket no longer mattered, and that my old life as a hotel maid felt like something that had happened to a completely different person.
“My niece is still with my friend,” I said steadily, pulling my soaked jacket tighter around my shoulders. “And my apartment building has police tape all over the lobby because of the break-in last week. I don't have anywhere to go, Lincoln.”
May you like
Lincoln stared at me for a long moment, the water dripping from his dark hair, before a slow, tired ghost of a smile touched his lips.
“Then I guess,” Lincoln said, turning the bow of the boat toward the unmapped industrial safe houses on the city’s outer rim, “you’re staying for breakfast.”
