Sam nodded, not ready to talk to Quinn. Not sure he would ever be ready to talk to Quinn. Then he dived off the side.
The water was a welcome friend. Cold, a shock, but welcome. He laughed at the taste of salt.
He took a couple of deep breaths, held the last one, and dived. He swam with powerful kicks and his free hand while the other hand held the screwdriver out to fend off the FAYZ wall. He had no desire to be pushed up against it. Touching with a finger had hurt. Laying a shoulder or thigh against it would not be pleasant.
Down and down he went. He wished he’d had the foresight to grab some scuba gear or at least a face mask and fins at the marina, but he’d been a bit preoccupied at the time. The water was pretty clear, but still, visibility was reduced in the shadow of the barrier.
When he reached the end of his air he stabbed toward the barrier. The screwdriver hit nothing, and he felt a momentary surge of excitement that disappeared when his next thrust stopped dead against solid resistance.
He shot to the surface and gasped for air.
The barrier extended at least twenty feet down below the surface. If there was a bottom to it, he’d have to find it using an air tank and flippers.
The boat was rocking against the barrier, fifty feet away. He heard the distinct snap and pff as Astrid popped open a Coke for Little Pete. Quinn sat on the bow tending the rope, and Edilio was still looking as if he might heave up a part of his liver.
Sam swam to the boat, taking his time, enjoying the water on his skin too much to feel disappointed that he hadn’t found a way out of the FAYZ.
He heard the sound of the engine and the smack-on-wave impact long before he saw the boat. He kicked hard to lift his head above the water far enough to see. “Hey,” he yelled.
Quinn had heard the engine at the same time. “Boat coming. Fast,” Quinn yelled.
“Where?”
“From town,” Quinn reported.
“Fast,” he repeated.
TWENTY-SIX
126 HOURS, 10 MINUTES
SAM SWAM AT full speed and soon had his hand on the gunwale of the Boston Whaler. Quinn hauled him aboard. Up and over, falling and rolling onto the deck.
He was on his feet in a flash and saw the big speedboat, the kind they called a cigarette boat, bearing down on them, not a quarter mile away. The boat threw out a huge bow wave. At the wheel was a kid Sam couldn’t recognize from this distance. Standing like they were holding on for dear life were Howard and Orc. No Drake.
“We can’t outrun them,” Quinn said.
Adrenaline seemed to have steadied Edilio’s stomach. “Maybe, man, but we don’t know till we try.”
“No, Quinn’s right,” Sam said. “Astrid, hold on to Little Pete.”
Edilio reeled up the slack in the rope, both hands flying. They couldn’t leave it trailing in the water or it would foul the propeller.
As soon as the rope was aboard, Sam gunned the throttle and quickly picked up speed running along the barrier. Orc’s boat veered to follow.
Astrid, clutching her little brother, peeked over the side and yelled, “He’s chasing, not aiming to intercept us.”
It took Sam a second to understand what she meant. The cigarette boat could have set an intercept angle and easily cut them off. But the driver hadn’t thought of that.
Almost too late, the speedboat’s driver veered right, trying to drop in behind Sam, but the turn was sloppy and the speed too great. The cigarette boat slid sideways into the barrier with a surprisingly loud, bass-drum smack. Then, when the props bit again, the cigarette boat surged forward and shot past the Whaler.
“Hold on,” Sam warned.
The wave from the cigarette boat’s turn washed over the Whaler and slammed the smaller boat against the barrier. Sam rocked but held on, his bare feet fighting the crazily tilting deck for traction.
The Boston Whaler stayed upright, and as the propeller found water again, it gained speed. They shot to the right of the cigarette boat, close enough that Sam could have stuck his arm out and high-fived Howard.
Now the Whaler was going all out, bouncing from wave top to wave top with the barrier flying by on the left, heading farther from land.
But the speedboat was much faster, and now that the driver had recovered, he came roaring after Sam and was soon churning Sam’s wake.
“Pull over, moron,” Orc bellowed at Sam.
Sam ignored the demand. His mind was racing. How could he get away? His boat was slower. It was more nimble, but it was definitely slower. And the speedboat was so much bigger, so much heavier, that it could run right over the Boston Whaler.
“Pull over or we’ll run you down,” Orc shouted again.
“Don’t be stupid, Sammy,” Howard yelled in a smaller voice, barely audible over the roar of engines and rush of water.
Astrid was suddenly at his side. “Sam. Can you do anything?”
“Maybe. I have an idea.”
In a tight whisper she said, “Are you talking about…”
“I don’t know how to do that, Astrid, it just happens. And this isn’t exactly the time for me to consult Yoda on how to use my power.”
Edilio was with them now. “You got a plan, Sam?”
“Not a good one.”
Sam picked up the radio handset beside the throttle. He keyed the button. “This is Sam, are you guys receiving? Over.”
Glancing back, he saw the surprise on Howard’s face. Yes, they were receiving. Howard lifted his handset and frowned at it.
Sam keyed his radio. “You hold down the button, Howard,” Sam said. “Then when you’re done, you say ‘over’ and let go of the button. Over.”