Chapter 9 - The Fog Rolls In
The blinding glare and the deafening horn shattered Julian’s concentration. Clara seized the opportunity, sweeping her foot across the ankles of the guard nearest her. The guard crashed down, his weapon clattering across the wet wooden slipway and sliding into the murky water below.
""Jump!"" Eleanor screamed, shoving Liam toward the narrow exit leading out to the docks.
Julian fired wildly. The bullet tore through the wooden frame inches above Eleanor’s head, showering her with splinters. Clara tackled the second guard, wrestling him toward the water's edge with raw, feral desperation.
""Take Liam and get to the water!"" Clara yelled as she plunged off the deck with the operative, both bodies splashing into the icy river current.
Eleanor grabbed Liam by the hand and sprinted onto the rotting pier. Through the dense morning fog, a dilapidated wooden fishing trawler emerged from the mist, its horn sounding again. Standing on the bow, holding a maritime flare, was an old fisherman in yellow oilskins—Captain Caleb, Eleanor’s estranged uncle who had operated the coastal ferry lines for forty years.
""Ellie! Catch the line!"" Caleb roared, hurling a heavy nautical rope across the eight-foot gap between the boat and the dock.
Julian burst out of the boathouse, his tailored coat soaked and torn, raising his pistol with both hands. ""Eleanor! Stop!""
Eleanor caught the rope, wrapped it around her wrist, and hoisted Liam up with her free arm, tossing him onto the low deck of the trawler. Caleb caught the boy safely. But as Eleanor jumped toward the vessel's gunwale, Julian squeezed the trigger.
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A sharp, burning agony ripped through Eleanor’s left shoulder. The force of the impact spun her in mid-air. Her fingers slipped from the wet railing, and she plummeted into the freezing, churning foam beneath the trawler’s stern.
The icy water swallowed her whole, darkness closing in as the river's undertow dragged her toward the deep, silent bottom.
