There's Blood on the Moon Tonight (84 page)

             
He released the key and waited for a reply—and all at once the radio seemed to go dead. Bud checked the Motorola—it was still on, the volume turned all the way up. There was static coming from the speaker, but it sounded different. Muted somehow. As if the antenna had suddenly vanished. “Am I on the right channel, Gnat?”

             
Rusty checked the settings and frowned down at the radio. It was usually running with all sorts of overlapping chatter. Buncha bullshit for the most part. “Yeah. It was working fine a moment ago.” He took the mike from Bud and tried it himself. The results were the same. They went around the dial with the same outcome. Dead air.

             
“Never mind,” he said, racking the mike. “We’re almost home, anyway. We can use another radio once we dock.” He noticed that several boats had already beaten them back to Moon. The harbor was half full—though oddly enough, no one seemed to be about. “Go on deck, will ya Bud? And prepare to tie us off.”

             
Bud didn’t hear him; he was staring out the starboard side of the windshield, at a large red-and-white cruiser, surging close behind them—and well behind that muscular-looking-craft was a line of similar looking ships. Running parallel in the distance. Their formation, militarily looking in nature. And if the hazy horizon was any indication, the boats formed a virtual net around the island. It was clear the
Betty Anne
would beat the nearest gunboat to the harbor. In fact, she wasn’t even trying to intercept the shrimpboat anymore. Already she was slowing to a dead stop. As if deciding she’d gotten close enough.

             
Bud pointed out the window. “Rusty, isn’t that a Coast Guard cruiser I see out there, slightly behind us? I can’t make out her bow.”

             
Rusty located the ship, recognizing the familiar lines at once. “It sure is! They must’ve heard you after all! Wait a second…what the
hell
…is she turning about?”

             
“Bud grabbed Ham’s binoculars from the helm and peered out the tempered glass. “ No. They’re just sitting out there. For a moment I thought maybe they’d heard our distress call, but…
Wait a minute
…there’s a sailor on deck manning the machine gun...” Bud looked over at his friend, his face pale.  “That swabbie just chambered a live round, Gnat. And he’s pointing that damn thing right at us.”

             
Rusty’s eyes filled up the lenses of his glasses. “What the fuck’s going on out there?”

             
“I don’t know, dude. It’s almost as if they…”

             
“What?”

             
Bud lowered the binoculars. “As if they perceive us as a threat.”

             
“Huh? We’re not drug runners, for cripe’s sake! Should we turn about and ask them for help?”

             
Although that seemed the logical thing to do, Bud had an idea they’d find no aid from the gunboat, only more grief they didn’t need. That scared swabbie on the machine gun didn’t bode well for any close encounters. Bud chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. “I don’t think so, Gnat. If their intentions were on the up-and-up, they’d do that on their own, wouldn’t they? See if we need assistance, I mean. We’ve already
asked
for help, and I’d bet my left nut they heard us, too. C’mon, let’s get this boat docked.”

             
After tying off the
Betty Anne
, Bud hustled into the galley, where Rusty was palavering with Ralph and Josie. To Bud’s relief, the two boys were making peace.

             
“I don’t know what to say, Ralph. I’m sorry, man.”

             
Tubby came across the room and hugged his friend. “It’s not your fault, Rusty. Not your mother’s neither!” he blubbered. “That was a rotten thing for me to say.”

             
Bud looked over at Josie. They both exhaled a little.

             
Josie put her arms around the two boys. “Now that that’s settled, let’s go get the vaccine. Get those two men down there on the mend.”

             
Bud held up his hand, looked at Rusty. “Before we go out there empty handed, does your old man keep any firearms aboard, Gnat?”

“Course he does. Every shrimper keeps at least a shotgun handy. To dispatch any large sharks stuck in their nets. My pop has a Remington 12 gauge and an old snub nose revolver, up in the wheelhouse somewheres.”

              “Go find ‘em. The rest of us will get our coats. I’ll grab your jacket and meet you out on the dock.”

             
By the time they’d pulled on their army coats, and met out on the dock in front of the
Betty Anne
, the sun was already brushing the tops of the pine trees.

             
A strong feeling of déjà-vu came over Bud.

             
The treetops…the tattered treetops…like broken teeth on a comb…framed ragged against a darkening sky…

             
He’d experienced this moment before in one of his puzzle-piece dreams. He tried to place it in its proper context but it made no sense. Just one irregular piece with no corresponding neighbors. He tore his gaze from the tattered treeline and gestured impatiently for Rusty to hand over the firearms. The shotgun, Rusty had in his right hand, was an old double barrel. He handed the big box of shells that went with it to Bud. The .38 was fully loaded but Rusty couldn’t locate any more ammo for it. Bud gave the handgun to Josie, along with an air horn Rusty had found in a cupboard. Bud blinked at it in surprise, his breath catching in his throat. Another piece slipped into place. This one from some long ago dream. One never repeated. The only reason Bud recalled it at all was because he’d written it down in his dream journal the next morning.

             
The entry, like every entry in his book, imprinted on his memory through constant study:
Tattered treetops, like broken teeth on a comb…A gift denied…The sky is falling…Bullhorn blaring in the dusk…Crows taking frightened wing…Murder, black murder…Laughter in the Pines…Feral eyes ablaze…The Tin Man takes a stroll…

             
As always it was more maddening than helpful. Like trying to make sense of a Fellini movie without the subtitles. Bud shook his head and looked back out to sea.

             
The Coast Guard cutter was still sitting offshore, guarding the harbor entrance like some junkyard dog. The sight of it, and all the others on the horizon, made his blood boil. He turned his focus back on his friends, and pointed at the air horn. “If you need help, give that thing a long blast, Red. We’ll come running.”

             
Josie blew off his worries with a flip of her hand. There were more pressing concerns her boyfriend was overlooking. “What if Bidwell isn’t even on the island? He may still be on the mainland, you know.”

             
Bud shrugged helplessly. “We’ll cross that bridge if we get to it. First things first. You find Bidwell, and I’ll find my old man. Then we’ll go from there.”

             
Rusty stamped his foot. “Fuck all that shit! We don’t
need
to go all over creation! We just
need
to find Bidwell and get his vaccine to our folks!”

             
Bud hawked a loogie. As always it signified his irritation. “Look here, Huggins. Regardless of what you might think, I don’t have all the answers. I’m out of my element here. I need…No…
we
need
Bilbo’s help! With his law enforcement training he’ll have a better idea on to how to proceed with this insanity. None of us are Indiana Jones, you know. We can’t make this shit up as we go along.”

             
Reasonable as all that sounded, Rusty and Josie still looked unconvinced. Bud could hardly blame them. He was clutching at straws and it showed. He saw Tubby looking around the eerily silent harbor with a dazed look upon his face. “You all right, Ralph? Something on your mind?”

Tubby looked as if he’d woken from a nap. “Huh? Oh…it’s nothing. I was just wondering where the ferry is. It’s almost five o’clock,” he said, checking his watch. “Isn’t it usually here an hour before its scheduled turn-around?”

“Not after a major storm,” Bud said. “There’s so much flotsam in the channel after a big blow that the ferry usually doesn’t operate for two or three days after.”

“You know, I didn’t think about that,” Josie said, grinning hugely. “I’ve been worried sick that Joel and Shayna had already returned home by now. But they’re still stuck in Beaufort!” Realizing no one else shared her joy she shrugged sheepishly.

“That is good news,” Bud said, winking at her. “Now let’s make sure everyone else steers clear of the island, too. The first radio you guys come across, put out an S.O.S, and we’ll do the same.” Bud looked out at the Coast Guard ship again. “Though by the looks of those patrol boats out there, I’d say those swabbies aren’t going to let anyone else slip through their net today. My guess is they already know what’s going on here. Probably even before we put in our distress call.”

Tubby held a hand over his eyes and peered out at the ocean. “Jeepers. I wonder how they found out so soon.”

“You really think they know?” asked Josie.

Bud hawked another loogey, this one angrier than the last. “I can’t think of any other reason for their sudden and silent presence. I’ve never heard of the Coast Guard ignoring a fucking distress call, have you?”

“Maybe they’re—”

“Come on,” Rusty said, angry at all the delays. “Enough of this
bullshit
speculation! Let’s get going!”

“Rusty’s right,” said Bud, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “It’s time to kick it in gear.” He gave Josie a quick hug and then pushed her and Tubby on their way. “Keep your eyes open!” he said, watching them walk away. Josie looked back and gave him another brave wink. Bud hated to watch her go, but they really did need to accomplish a lot in a short amount of time. He would have sent Rusty and Tubby together, and kept Josie by his side, but that would’ve been selfish on his part. If things got hairy, Josie could at least be trusted to keep her head. She’d do her part. If Bidwell was at his office, she’d find him and bring him to the museum. Now it was his turn to follow through. But as he’d said, first things first…

He turned to his friend.  “Listen, Rust, I want to talk with your dad and Mr. T before we head out.”

             
Rusty stared at him, incredulous. “You mean, you’re going back down there?”

             
“Just to the hatch below. I’ll talk to them through the door.”

             
That grim look of determination fell from Rusty’s face. “Can I go with you? See how my daddy’s doing?”

             
“If you can keep your shit together. Listen, Gnat. I don’t need you falling apart down there, crying for your mother, you hear me?” As soon as he said it, Bud hung his head in shame, grateful that Joe wasn’t there to kick his ass.

             
“I hear you,” said Rusty, glaring at his friend. “And by the way, Buddy boy: fuck you
very
much.”

             
                            *******

At least with the boat docked, Mrs. Tolson’s head no longer rolled around in there. Even so, Bud didn’t like the quiet. Some unseen malevolent force seemed to live within the furtive silence. Studying its enemies for signs of weakness. Waiting for the right time to strike.

              Bud wondered if that insight was precognitive in nature or simply pure imagination. It was easy to dismiss those feelings, to label them as somehow childish in nature. The whim-wams of a frightened kid. He was still enough of a boy, though, to still trust his initial instinct.

             
Fear is not always the enemy, he knew. Sometimes it’s your best friend in the whole wide world.

             
He and Rusty stood with their ears pressed to the cabin hatch, ready to dash back up the stairs at the first hint of danger. It was so quiet and still they could hear the blood dripping from the ceiling on the other side.

            
 
Plip…Plip…Plip…Plip…

             
Bud flinched as if each drop was hitting him right between the eyes. Scowling, he looked at Rusty and held a finger to his lips. He tapped lightly on the door. “
Ham
?”

             
They waited for what seemed like an eternity before Bud knocked again—louder this time. “Ham…Mr. T…”

             
Sounds of footsteps splashing though the blood, then someone sobbing softly on the other side.
“Buddy boy… Thank God…are you kids okay?”

             
“Yes, sir—”

             
“Daddy!” Rusty exclaimed. His hand went automatically to the handle on the hatch. Bud swatted it away. “Are you all right, Daddy?”