From one shore to the next is barely a hundred yards. I looked down at the huge ball of line, and guesstimate it must be at least twice that.
“ If I can tie the line shore to shore before they reach us, we can snag them in it. Like a tripwire. It’s risky, but I think it just might work.”
“ It’s not like we have any options,” he says. “Let’s do it.”
Finally, I feel like he’s stopped arguing and is on my team.
“ I need you to turn the boat, all the way over to one shore,” I yell as I finish unraveling.
I scour the horizon, examining the shorelines, looking for something to secure the line to. I see a rusted metal post, dug into the shoreline where a pier used to be.
“ There!” I scream to Logan. “That metal post!”
Logan makes a hard turn, doing as I ask, rushing right for the metal post. At least now, finally, he trusts my judgment.
I hurry to the front of the boat as Logan pulls up deftly beside the post. I grab one end of the line, reach over, and wrap it around the metal post, several times, forming a tight knot. I yank on it hard, testing it. It’s secure.
“ Now the other side!” I yell.
Logan hits the throttle, and we race straight across, to the other side of the river. As we do, I push Bree out of the way of the quickly unraveling line; I don’t want her to get hurt.
I grab the very end of the line as it unravels like crazy, not wanting it to go overboard. We reach the other shore, and luckily, the line is long enough and there’s plenty of room to spare.
As Logan pulls up, I grab the end of the line and jump out onto the sand, searching frantically for something to secure it to. I spot a tree, close to the water’s edge. I hurry to it and loop the line around, pulling tight. I turn and see it rise up, out of the water. Perfect. Then I loosen it, so that the line drops down, and is resting on the surface of the water. I don’t want the slaverunners to see it.
I jump back into the boat, keeping the line slack. There’s is probably about fifty yards to spare on it.
I check over my shoulder and see the slaverunners are closing in fast. They’re probably only a quarter-mile off. I hope they don’t realize what I’m doing. It looks like they’re just far enough away not to.
“ Drive forward!” I yell to Logan. “But slowly, and not too far. Only about fifty yards. Then kill the engine. Let the boat stop, right out in the open.”
“ Kill it?” Logan asks.
“ Trust me,” I say.
He listens. He moves us forward slowly, out back into the middle of the Hudson. As he goes, the remainder of the line continues to unravel on the boat. When it’s near done, I scream out, “STOP!”
Logan kills it, and there is an eerie silence. We all sit there, bobbing, turning and looking at the oncoming slaverunners. They are only a few hundred yards away.
“ Take off your pants!” I yell at Ben.
He looks at me, confused.
“ Now! Hurry!”
He quickly slides his leather pants off his jeans, the ones I gave him the other night, then hands them to me. I wrap them tightly around my hands, using them as a glove, so that the line won’t tear off my skin.
Finally, Logan realizes what I’m doing. He hurries over, takes off his own jacket, wraps it around his hands, too, and together, the two of us hold the slack line, waiting.
I tremble as we watch the horizon. They are getting closer and closer, racing for us at full speed. I see them raise their guns. I hope they don’t realize something is up.
“ Ben, hold up your hands, as if you’re surrendering!”
Ben steps forward and holds his hands high above his head. It works. The slaverunners lower their guns, conferring with each other.
But they don’t cut back speed. They still come racing right for us. They don’t see the line, sitting slack in the water. They have no idea.
As they get closer and closer to my line, I am sweating. I hold the slack line, trembling, Logan beside me. Waiting. They are twenty yards away
“ If I can tie the line shore to shore before they reach us, we can snag them in it. Like a tripwire. It’s risky, but I think it just might work.”
“ It’s not like we have any options,” he says. “Let’s do it.”
Finally, I feel like he’s stopped arguing and is on my team.
“ I need you to turn the boat, all the way over to one shore,” I yell as I finish unraveling.
I scour the horizon, examining the shorelines, looking for something to secure the line to. I see a rusted metal post, dug into the shoreline where a pier used to be.
“ There!” I scream to Logan. “That metal post!”
Logan makes a hard turn, doing as I ask, rushing right for the metal post. At least now, finally, he trusts my judgment.
I hurry to the front of the boat as Logan pulls up deftly beside the post. I grab one end of the line, reach over, and wrap it around the metal post, several times, forming a tight knot. I yank on it hard, testing it. It’s secure.
“ Now the other side!” I yell.
Logan hits the throttle, and we race straight across, to the other side of the river. As we do, I push Bree out of the way of the quickly unraveling line; I don’t want her to get hurt.
I grab the very end of the line as it unravels like crazy, not wanting it to go overboard. We reach the other shore, and luckily, the line is long enough and there’s plenty of room to spare.
As Logan pulls up, I grab the end of the line and jump out onto the sand, searching frantically for something to secure it to. I spot a tree, close to the water’s edge. I hurry to it and loop the line around, pulling tight. I turn and see it rise up, out of the water. Perfect. Then I loosen it, so that the line drops down, and is resting on the surface of the water. I don’t want the slaverunners to see it.
I jump back into the boat, keeping the line slack. There’s is probably about fifty yards to spare on it.
I check over my shoulder and see the slaverunners are closing in fast. They’re probably only a quarter-mile off. I hope they don’t realize what I’m doing. It looks like they’re just far enough away not to.
“ Drive forward!” I yell to Logan. “But slowly, and not too far. Only about fifty yards. Then kill the engine. Let the boat stop, right out in the open.”
“ Kill it?” Logan asks.
“ Trust me,” I say.
He listens. He moves us forward slowly, out back into the middle of the Hudson. As he goes, the remainder of the line continues to unravel on the boat. When it’s near done, I scream out, “STOP!”
Logan kills it, and there is an eerie silence. We all sit there, bobbing, turning and looking at the oncoming slaverunners. They are only a few hundred yards away.
“ Take off your pants!” I yell at Ben.
He looks at me, confused.
“ Now! Hurry!”
He quickly slides his leather pants off his jeans, the ones I gave him the other night, then hands them to me. I wrap them tightly around my hands, using them as a glove, so that the line won’t tear off my skin.
Finally, Logan realizes what I’m doing. He hurries over, takes off his own jacket, wraps it around his hands, too, and together, the two of us hold the slack line, waiting.
I tremble as we watch the horizon. They are getting closer and closer, racing for us at full speed. I see them raise their guns. I hope they don’t realize something is up.
“ Ben, hold up your hands, as if you’re surrendering!”
Ben steps forward and holds his hands high above his head. It works. The slaverunners lower their guns, conferring with each other.
But they don’t cut back speed. They still come racing right for us. They don’t see the line, sitting slack in the water. They have no idea.
As they get closer and closer to my line, I am sweating. I hold the slack line, trembling, Logan beside me. Waiting. They are twenty yards away
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