Their broad bodies seemed to sag under the weight of the massive wooden chest they carried, little grunts escaping from their lungs with each step along the jungle trail. Sweat rolled down their thick necks, salty streams that drew swarms of big black flies and mosquitoes to dart around their heads. Pirates, they were, and smelly, ugly ones at that. But was there any other kind?
Dylan had been trailing them all the way from the cave, his eyes glued to the chest they lugged between them. They didn’t appear to be armed. No swords swung at their sides and there were no flintlock pistols tucked into their belts, he was sure about that. Maybe they had knives tucked into the tops of their boots, or strapped across their chests in leather sheaths under their shirts where he couldn’t see. That cut-throat he’d run across on Barracuda Island had almost gotten the better of him with that trick. But he wasn’t worried; he’d be watching for it now and he was sure he could handle that kind of battle easily. What did Captain DeLambier always say? Never bring a knife to a pistol fight – or a sword fight, Dylan thought, his fingers curling around the grips of the two fighting cutlasses hanging from his belt.
The two pirates were getting close to the end of the trail, and Dylan knew it was time to make his move. His head low, he slipped easily through the heavy brush and low-hanging branches of the island jungle, keeping one eye on the pirates and their cargo as he made his way past them and into the clearing ahead. They’d be surprised to find him there waiting for them, but not as surprised as they’d be when he cut them to pieces and made off with their treasure.
Dylan could still hear them in the trees behind him, struggling with their load as he came into the center of the clearing. He glanced around quickly to pick his spot. He wanted room to move when the battle started, but would it be better strategy to meet them right when they stepped out of the tree line? Chop the first one down before he could even let go of the chest, and then step back and wait for the second pirate for a little mano a mano action.
“Decisions, decisions,” he muttered, to no one in particular.
And then there they were, stumbling to a halt as they came out of the trees, blinking in silent surprise to see him waiting. But their surprised looks changed to smiles, ugly, rotten-toothed grins that spread slowly across their faces. They didn’t even drop the chest or try to grab whatever weapons they might be hiding. They were even dumber than he’d thought.
“I’ve been waiting for you guys,” Dylan told them. He drew both cutlasses, the steel blades whistling softly as they came out of their scabbards.
“And I’ve been waiting for you,” the rumbling voice said behind him.
Dylan spun around and almost dropped his swords in shock. Dirty Dirk! How could that be? The last he’d seen Dirk was back at the fort, the pirate tumbling backwards into the well as he tried to duck under Dylan’s flashing blades. Even if he’d survived the fall, there was no way he could have escaped and gotten down here so fast!
“Are ye still thinking about that treasure?” Dirk asked, smirking as he stepped closer. “Don’t bother. That’s Black Jack’s gold, and this here is as close as you’ll ever get to it.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Dylan said, rolling his shoulders as he brought both cutlasses up. “I beat you once, and I can do it again.”
“Beat me?” Dirk chuckled, the sound rumbling up through his chest. “If I be beat, what am I doing here now?”
“Getting chopped to pieces, that’s what” Dylan told him, tightening his grip on his swords.
“Those be brave words, boy,” Dirk said. “But didn’t anybody ever tell ye, don’t bring swords to a pistol fight!”
And just like that, before Dylan could even take a step the pirate had drawn the long flintlock pistol from under his vest, thumbed back the hammer, and fired it point-blank into Dylan’s chest . . .
* * * * *
Dylan Barrett jerked up in bed with a gasp, his breath burning in his lungs and his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. He reached up one hand and his fingers brushed against the ceiling, just inches above his head. One more little growth spurt and he’d have to move out of this bunk-bed, he thought, or he’d wind up knocking himself silly one night. In a daze, he looked around his bedroom, the dark shapes familiar and comforting in the moonlight streaking though the half-opened window shades. His drawing table, the toy chest in the corner, the magnetic dart board hanging on the wall. What a dream. Too much pepperoni on the pizza, that’s what Mom would tell him.
It wasn’t the pepperoni, though; it was the game. He was sure about that. He couldn’t get it out of his head. He’d never had such a hard time before. Every skill he had was pushed to the limit and every level he beat was ten times harder than the level before it, pushing him to use all his experience and tricks and cunning. And it was great, that’s just the way it was supposed to be.
He could still feel the sweat cooling on his face and he swiped his arm across his forehead. It was a full moon outside, he remembered, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep with the room as bright as this. He kicked the blanket off and slipped down the ladder. Looking out the window, he could just see the moon over the top of the tree outside, looking pale and watery through the blue-grey clouds that drifted in front of it. He adjusted the blinds carefully, darkening the room more but still leaving enough light coming through so he wasn’t in total darkness. But it was dark enough to give him the heebie-jeebies a little bit, and he didn’t waste any time getting back up the ladder to his bed.
The sheets were still damp from his sweat in places but he pulled up the blanket anyway, tucking the edge around the bottom of his ear as he lay on his side. He could see the moonlight on the folding closet doors, the dim, flickering light almost making the slatted wood look like it was breathing. Yeah, it was creepy, but he always slept facing this way. Even after all this time, you didn’t want to turn your back on the monster in the closet.