Dead Waters - Anton Strout [114]
“Unearth?” Jane asked. “Don’t you mean unwater?”
“Whatever,” he said. “Either way, we’ll be ready for them.”
“Brilliant,” she said.
“That’s not the only reason,” Connor added at the wheel.
“No?” Jane asked.
“No,” I said. “Connor has a theory.”
He steadied the boat before looking over at us. “We blast up some of those sunken ships,” he said. “It may just help me in freeing up some of those spirits still lingering on the bridge that died at the hands of both those creatures.”
The Hell Gate Bridge came into sight though the pouring rain. The entire expanse was covered with a sea of ghosts, and out on the middle of the bridge was Professor Redfield himself.
“Looks like a double feature so far,” I said. “The ghosts of all the shipwrecks and the professor to boot.”
“Looks like we have a little company for me,” the Inspectre added.
“Crowded tonight,” Connor said. “When we get up there, mind your footing or prepare to be skunked by a ghost.”
“That’s the least of my worries,” Jane said.
“Just get us to the shore safely,” the Inspectre said. He clapped Connor on the shoulder and went back to staring out into the storm.
Connor angled toward Wards Island on our left, but he wasn’t heading for the docks we had landed at before.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Trying not to puncture a hole in your F.O.G.gie boat,” he said, wrestling with the wheel. “We’re going to need it if we can’t stop the ritual up on the bridge. If I go for that broken old dock, we’re going to tear apart with the roll of these waves. I’ve got to go for a deeper part along the shore. I’ll need you to jump off and secure us to something more solid.” He took one hand off the wheel and pointed off toward another section of Wards Island. “Those trees there, for instance.”
I ran out of the wheelhouse. The storm rained down on me and in seconds I was soaked though, but I was still determined. We needed to tie off. I ignored the sting of rain in my eyes and worked my way around the outside of the cabin to the casting line at the front of the boat. Connor brought up the left side of the boat against the shore, and when we were close enough, I leapt for it. I hit the ground and ran for the closest and heaviest tree I could find. I tied the line to it as best I could while Connor killed the engine and the three of them came ashore to the island.
I stared up at the underside of the Hell Gate Bridge and whistled.
“Well?” Jane asked.
“The climb looks treacherous,” I said, “especially in this downpour.” I looked over at the Inspectre, who was using his sword cane to steady himself as the last one coming off the boat. “You sure you don’t want to skip this part, sir?”
He picked up the cane and walked over to me without using it, but I noticed he was a little wobbly despite the brave face he put on. “Nonsense,” he said. He tucked the cane through his belt, wearing it like a sheathed sword as though he were a modern-day musketeer. “I’m old, not dead.”
“That’s the spirit,” Jane said.
The Inspectre smiled at her. “However,” he said, “why don’t the three of you start up first? This may take me a while.”
Without another word, I adjusted the strap of my satchel so it lay flat across my back for the climb and the rest of us started up the under skeleton of the bridge. The going was rough but thankfully my gloves kept my hands from slipping as I climbed. I reached the top first and pulled myself up onto the bridge itself. Far out in the center among the swirl of shuffling spirits, Mason Redfield was staring down into the water below, oblivious of our little group’s progress. Connor and Jane pulled themselves up next and the three of us waited for the Inspectre together, but he was taking forever. He was still only about halfway up the understructure. At this pace it would be morning before we could pull him up.
Out of the darkness behind him, something blurred into view, grabbing for him. The Inspectre let go of the bridge, but didn’t fall. Instead he and the other