Page 86 of Ship Happens
I can’t rest for long, though. As I look at the waves crashing onto the beach, I see another participant diving into the water. I don’t mind losing to Frankie, but I refuse to be bested by a no name. As I study the Cattle on the surfboards, I don’t see any advantage to be had, so I settle on the surfboard I currently cling to. The man strapped to it doesn’t seem to mind, not that he could tell me if he did. He appears to be unconscious.
At least . . . I hope that’s the case.
I’m too fucking tired to check for a pulse, so I start paddling. The return trip is easier once I’m out of the current. The waves push me toward shore. When I finally feel the sand beneath my feet, I change modes from Mermaid Maverick to Land Maverick, and despite the way my arms and legs feel like massive cement weights, Land Maverick is much faster. I move to the front of the board and grip the modified, reinforced wrist strap as I wrestle the Cattle out of the surf.
To my right, Frankie grunts and groans as she tries to yank her Cattle to the picnic area. Despite her best efforts, she’s made little progress since leaving the water. Her face has gone red with the effort, and my heart is breaking as I witness the desperation in her eyes. She turns her head so that I can’t see the tears of frustration.
I have a choice to make at this moment. Helping her would mean going against what I want, and what I want is for Frankie to leave this beach without making a kill. I’m so scared that if she does it, she’ll regret it later.
But if I don’t help her right now, I’ll regret it.
I drop my wrist strap and rush to her side. Bennett screams and shouts his displeasure behind me, but I ignore him as I get behind Frankie’s surfboard and push.
“What are you doing?” she asks, though she doesn’t stop pulling that strap with everything she has. “I thought you...didn’t want me...to make...the kill.” With another tug, she falls to her ass. “Fuck! Why is this so goddamn hard?”
I move to the front of the board and grab the wrist strap from her. “That’s why I’m helping. Because it’s hard. If I’d needed help in the water, you’d have done the same.”
Frankie doesn’t respond.
I give the board another yank, clearing a small dune that would have been in her way. “Right?”
“Totally,” she says.
Why don’t I believe her?
I haul the surfboard the rest of the way to her station, then turn to face her. “In the spirit of fairness, it would be nice if you waited to begin. You know, to give me a chance to catch up.”
“I still have to get him on the blanket,” she says as she kneels beside the surfboard and begins unstrapping the nude man. “You have plenty of time to catch up.”
Again, why don’t I believe her?
I rush back to my surfboard, but the Cattle isn’t there. I guess I didn’t need to worry about him being dead after all. Bennett’s screams finally register in my head, and I look down the beach as a bare butt races toward a rocky outcropping.
Catching up with him isn’t hard to do, as his legs are chained so that he can’t get a good stride. Restraining him, however, will be interesting. As I mentioned, he’s very much naked, and I don’t cherish the thought of his cock and balls bouncing against me as I carry him down the beach. Dragging his dead body by the foot would be preferable, but he can’t be killed away from the picnic blanket.
Can’t be killed, but Jim didn’t say he had to be fighting fit.
I grab a nearby rock, aim for his head, and send it. The large stone smacks the side of his head, and down he goes. Hescrambles to get up again, but I’m already on him with another rock in hand.
It’s not my finest moment, but I straddle his waist and proceed to bludgeon him with the rock. Again, Jim said we had to use the items in the picnic basket to kill our Cattle, but he didn’t say we couldn’t use other things to incapacitate them. I bring the stone down on his skull until he finally lies still. The last strike misses, though, and I end up caving in his nose and part of his right eye socket.
“Sorry about that, buddy,” I say as I grip his leg and start dragging him down the beach.
It all works out in the end, though, because Frankie is still struggling to get her Cattle onto the blanket. Whatever drugs Jim gave them are starting to wear off. The man occasionally groans and tries to roll away, much to Frankie’s growing frustration.
“Please be still,” she pleads. “I’ll make it quick.”
I drop my guy’s leg and pull the blanket out of the picnic basket, then spread the red-and-white fabric over the sand. With a few quick tugs, I’ve got him on the blanket.
“How the fuck am I supposed to kill him with a fucking baguette?” Frankie screeches.
I look up as she flings things from the picnic basket, each item less murdery than the last. “A few more hours in the sun and that potato salad might do the trick.”
“I’d have more luck trying to kill him with my bare hands,” Frankie laments. “Do we all have the same shit?”
Opening my basket, I spy three butcher knives and a hand grenade. “Uh...keep digging. Maybe there’s something.”
“Ah ha!” she says, and I expect her to pull a Ruger from the basket. Instead, she produces a corkscrew, which she then tries to shove into the man’s chest.
