Part 43 (1/2)

He turned to me, raising the gun. *You always have too much to say.'

I nodded.

Flynn, pus.h.i.+ng himself erect, a hand clamped to his jaw, stumbled towards Moira.

*Stay where you are!' White roared, moving the gun again.

Flynn stopped. *Would you shoot me as well?'

*You know I would.'

Flynn hesitated. *Are you all right, Moira?' he called.

Angry, in pain, Moira barked back: *Of course I'm not!'

*Let me help her!' Flynn cried. *She's Christine's mother!'

*Not any more,' White said simply. He moved forward, his gun tracing Moira's shape as he stepped around her. *Christine!' he called.

*Please . . .' Moira moaned, stretching out a hand to grab him, but he avoided her easily and moved on up the ferry.

Christine's head ducked down behind the bonnet of Flynn's Land-Rover, but her blond hair, whipped up in the wind, was clearly visible. As she peeked out one side, White grabbed her from the other. She let out a shrill little scream.

*It's okay, it's okay,' White intoned, but his whisper was rough, anxious, not soothing at all. She wailed. He clutched her arm tightly and dragged her forward. She let loose with a kick, but her legs weren't long enough. She turned a tear-streaked face towards her mother.

Our party moved cautiously up the boat. Father Flynn helped Moira to her feet. Patricia bowed her head and kissed Little Stevie on the brow as she walked.

Father White couldn't go any further. The waves spat angrily like pogoing punks. The elderly priest turned towards us. Christine tried to dash away. He clawed her back. Then he raised her and held her tight against his chest.

*This is the end of it all!' he bellowed.

*Please . . .!' Moira cried.

*In G.o.d's name . . .' muttered Flynn, edging forward.

I leant against the boot of the Fiesta. Patricia snuggled into me. *Please, Dan, do . . .'

*I'm not bulletproof,' I hissed.

White rubbed spray from his eyes with his gun hand. *You've taken everything from me, Frank!' he yelled. *We were building heaven on earth, and you ruined it!' He squeezed Christine, bent and kissed the top of her head while she tried again to squirm away. *For G.o.d so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son. That's what we lived by. For two thousand years. And then he gave us his daughter. And you want to do the same again. Destroy, corrupt, sacrifice! It can't happen, Frank! There's only one thing to do. Take her back to her father. He needs her back.'

He looked quickly over at the sea. Opened his mouth. He seemed to bite at the waves. *We're going overboard, Frank. We're going into the sea. That's where G.o.d first breathed life into us, and that's where he'll welcome us back into his bosom.'

I glanced at Patricia. She turned disappointed eyes away from me. *I want you to go up beside Moira,' I whispered.

*But . . .'

*I want you to offer him Little Stevie. Ask him to take Little Stevie to heaven with them.'

*f.u.c.k off!'

*Please,' I hissed, *I need the diversion.'

*b.u.g.g.e.r the div . . .'

*Do it. Trust me. I can stop this.'

She bit something back.

*Please, love, it's the only way.'

*This is my baby.'

*It's our baby. I wouldn't harm a hair on his head. Please.'

I gave her a little nudge. She gave me a glance that carried a promise of b.l.o.o.d.y revenge, then moved reluctantly forward.

White had locked ranting eyes on Father Flynn.

I slipped a key into the lock, turned. I pulled the boot up a couple of feet and slipped my hand in. The gun was in there. Somewhere.

Patricia distracted White perfectly. She held Little Stevie out in front of her. *Please,' she said, *take him with you.'

*What?'

*Patricia?' said Moira.

Flynn reached out a beseeching hand. Patricia ignored it. She shook her head. *He's right,' she said. *This is no place for Christine. It's no place for any child. Their place is with G.o.d. Please take him with you.'

Jesus, where did I put the b.u.g.g.e.r?

White had a child in one hand, a gun in the other. He looked confused for a moment. Unsure.

*Let her go in Christine's arms. It will be an honour.' Patricia reached forward. Christine, calmed slightly by the presence of the child, reached out for Little Stevie. Patricia hesitated.

Jesus, where the . . .?

Christine took hold of Little Stevie. Patricia wouldn't let go. Acting and fear would only take her so far. She wasn't going to let go of our baby. Christine pulled. White growled, *Leave him then!'

Patricia glanced desperately back. *I have to say goodbye,' she said.

Something sharp at my neck.

A low growl. *Lost something?'

I turned slightly. Charlie McMa.n.u.s. A blade. A fishknife. Something.