'Things That Go Bump In The Night'

"Remember," Strongheart hissed from the canoe's stern. "No talking! And no bloody shooting! Any shots will wake the townsfolk and then we'll never get away!"

"But what if he shoots at us?" Freddy asked from his place in the middle of the stolen canoe.

"Daaaaa!" Charley Greyeagle mocked from the front of the canoe. "We shoot back, Einstein!"

"Don't call me names, Charley! You're an 'Eye n' Styne!"

"Quiet, the pair of you! We're nearly there. Charley, tie us off to the stern. Freddy, you hold the canoe by the railing while Charley and I go up."

"I want to come too, Marty. I want to help!" Freddy said far too loudly.

"I'll pull you up once I'm on board," Strongheart whispered. Then the three of us will quietly take him. You have the bag I gave you ?"

"Right here," Freddy grinned, holding up a cloth bag containing rope and Duct Tape.

"Good. Now remember --- no noise."

And there wasn't any until: "Shit!" Charley cursed loudly as the bow of the canoe thumped against the hull as he was tying it to the stern.

"Up! Quickly!" Strongheart hissed. "He may not have heard!"

***

But inside the Witch's central cabin, as Fiona slept peacefully in his arms, Sam lay wide awake, Fiona's earlier words about Helen playing over and over in his mind.

It was true that they had once been lovers, back when they and the world had seemed a wonderful, more gentle place, filled with laughing friends, homework and football games. The two of them had been the talk of Mohawk High ---'handsome quarterback and the beautiful cheerleader' --- what a cliché!

But it had been true. And it had been innocent. And it had lasted until graduation --- and then the world, fate and different ambitions had caused them to drift apart. Oh there had been letters sent --- mainly by her --- and several awkward phone calls --- but after six months of being apart --- her in Kingston University and him in the Navy Boot Camp way out in Nova Scotia, both of them knew that what was once so bright and wonderful had somehow, like the flowers of summer, quickly faded away.

At least for him. He thought it had for her as well. After all, she was the one that had gotten married, not him.

Then the years --- and for Sam, the wars --- had slipped by, seemingly faster and faster until even the memories of those two young lovers they had once been seemed to belong to someone else.

Marriage and her career as a teacher had changed Helen. As for Sam, twenty years in the Navy, more than half of them in the deadly and dangerous Special Service Regiment had certainly changed him. The wide-eyed, innocent quarterback was long gone. The best he could manage now was a semi-retired killer posing as an aging semi-hermit boatbuilder.

But now that Fee had pointed it out, he saw his old flame Helen in a different light.

Four years ago and one year into the Pandemic, Helen had arrived back home. Now a widowed teacher with no place to teach, she'd taken over the local general store and made a new life for herself. And Sam was happy for her. He was pleased that they seemed like old friends rather than estranged, long ago lovers. They laughed and joked whenever they met and he even took her sailing a time or two, but there was no attempt to 'recapture' what they once had --- at least on his part.

And he thought that Helen had felt the same way.

But not according to Fiona.

"Did Helen say something to you?" Sam had awkwardly asked the young woman laying in his arms.

"She didn't have to, Sam. It was clear to anyone with eyes to see --- anyone but you, that is."

He'd gone silent after that, his mind in a whirl. One part of him was happy and excited about this wonderful new young woman that had miraculously appeared in his life, and another part heart-sick over the thought of hurting the woman that had been his first love and was now one of his closest friends.

"Jesus, Fee, both you and Helen must think I'm an idiot!"

She had snuggled closer at that. "Not at all, Sam. We both think you're a wonderful, kind, sexy older man."

Ya, with 'old' being the key word," he'd rumbled.

"No Sam, the key word in that sentence is 'kind'.

He'd snorted out a laugh at that, then faked a frown. "Not 'sexy'?!"

Her shadowed smile would have put the Moralise to shame. "Well, maybe just a little."

They'd made love after that. A slower, more gentle endeavour than the night before, which was all frantic groping and urgent thrusting, a bitter-sweet fleeting pleasure al too soon gone. His time there was a tenderness to it, and a trusting --- and a 'rightness' to it.

"So," Fiona had whispered after they were spent and laying languid and warm in each other's embrace. "As a young man you loved Helen. Then you went to war and she married another. And now, years later, you have me. It's my turn now, Sam. Are you alright with that?"

He'd pulled her to him and nuzzled her neck. "I'm perfectly alright with that". He'd whispered in her ear. They'd drifted off to sleep them, both seemingly content with the fate the three Norns had woven for them.

***

Sam heard the 'bump' against the hull in the middle of a recurring and very unpleasant dream. Back when he was still Sergeant Sam Burnham, his captain had called in a mortar attack on an enemy fishing village.

"But sir," a much younger Sam said; "we've no clear intelligence that there are any insurgents hiding in the village."

The captain --- who for some reason in the dream always looked like the actor Nicholas Cage --- replied haughtily. 'These villages always harbour the enemy, sergeant, you know that! And even if there aren't any there now, leveling that village will send a clear message to the enemy!"

Sam had strongly disagreed with his captain, but had been unable to change his mind. The destruction of the village and most of the inhabitants had haunted him ever since.

The sound of the canoe pumping against the Witch's wooden hull coincided with the first mortar shell landing in his dream and Sam suddenly sat up wide eyed and sweating, taking most of the sheet with him.

"What is it, Sam?" Fiona asked sleepily. "That bad dream you told me about?"

The sound of harsh whispers from outside made Sam raise a finger to his lips then reach for the old 12 gage on pegs on the deck beam above the bed. Fiona nodded and grabbed the pistol he'd given her that she kept always close by. Both near naked but fully armed, they stared from the shadows at the moonlit hatchway.

***

"What's that?!" Charley Greyeagle hissed as the three Mohawks moved towards the hatchway.

"Just the wind," Strongheart whispered. "Keep quiet!"

Charley muttered something under his breath, then moved towards the half open hatchway. Peering in he saw the darkness lit up by the moonlight streaming in the open hatch, skylight and the side portholes. The silver beams highlighted the white painted walls and the dark browns of the varnished woodwork.

It was Sam's voice from the shadows, along with the sound of a shell being wracked into the 12 gage, that froze Greyeagle half way down the ladder.

"That's far enough, friend. Now lean forward and show me you hands."

Greyeagle however decided to try to escape. He turned on the ladder and attempted to go back up on deck --- and he almost made it. His head, shoulders, rear end and legs made it clear before Sam pulled the trigger. The eight pea sized led balls travelled the twenty feet in a tight cluster, with seven of them striking Charlie's left foot close to his ankle. Blood, bone and Nike sneaker was plastered over the wall behind the top rung. What was left of Charlie's foot dangled from torn skin and ligaments as he lay screaming on the Witch's moonlit deck.

"You up there!" Sam yelled out as he wracked another shell into the shotgun. "Take your friend and clear out --- now! I'll give you one minute and then I'll shoot any son-of-a-bitch I see!"

"He'll bleed out by then unless I use a tourniquet," Strongheart called down.

Sam's grin in the moonlight was not overly pleasant. "Do it quickly, then leave."

"Thanks. My name's Strongheart. The one you shot is Greyeagle. He's a stupid piece of shit, but he's my cousin."

"You have my sympathy," Sam replied dryly.

"Ya, well, it's like they say," Strongheart said at he pulled off Charlie's belt and tightened it around his thigh. "You can pick you're friends, but not your family."

"You're down to one minute again, Mr. Strongheart. Tick tock, tick-tock."

"We're going," Strongheart said, heaving the semi conscious Greyeagle over his shoulder.

"But you'll be back?" Sam asked, already knowing the answer.

"You can count on it, Mr. Burnham."

"It would be better for both of us if you didn't."

"Probably," Strongheart said as he handed Charley down to Freddy Longtree waiting nervously in the canoe. "But I have to."

"Because he's family?" Sam asked as he moved up to the hatch opening.

"That's part of it. But mainly it's because Mr. Gleason will tell me to."

"And you always do what Mr. Gleason tells you to?"

"I do," Strongheart said. "He's been like a father to me."

"He sent you to burn my shop?" Sam asked.

"No, that was his son, Billy-Ray. The one you killed."

"He shot first."

Strongheart laughed dryly. "That doesn't matter to Mr. Gleason.

"It should," Sam replied as anger flooded through him. "Time to go, Mr. Strongheart!"

The tall Mohawk turned and sighed. "You know I'll be back."

Sam nodded. "I know."

"And with a lot more men."

Sam stepped out on the blood-slick deck with his shotgun raised. Fiona followed with her pistol in hand. "You'll need them," he said quietly.

Strongheart smiled at that, then slipped over the side into the waiting canoe.

Fiona came and leaned against him and together they watched the slender craft cut through the silver water."You should have killed them," she said softly.

"I know," he said, pulling her close. "Next time I will."

She returned his embrace and whispered into his ear. "Next time we will."

***