Noah's Ark - Survivors by Harry Dayle Read Free Book Online Page B

cheek. Jake saw it coming, and though he wasn’t able to avoid it entirely, the fact he had begun to move his head away meant the blow lost some of its force. Even so, as the captain’s knuckles connected with his face, he felt a flash of pain like he had never experienced, and everything went out of focus. Instinctively he lashed out with both hands curled into fists. Ibsen grabbed the left hand, but the right caught him in the gut, winding him. Jake tried to wriggle free, but the big man was not so easily beaten. He pinned his left hand to the ground, and wrapped his right around the young man’s throat. For Jake the world came back into sharp focus, then started to fade as the supply of oxygen to his brain was cut off. He wriggled and squirmed, but to no avail. He could feel the life begin to drain out of him, and once again found the sense of calm he had felt the first time the gun had been pointed at him that day.
    The gun. Where was the gun? His head began to swirl. He saw Lucya standing over him. Why wasn’t she helping? Lucya turned into Jane, his estranged wife. She was holding a baby, his baby. He reached out to touch the infant, which is when he realised he still had a free hand. Gathering all his will, he refocussed his eyes. Ibsen’s face was deep red with the effort of pinning him down and strangling him. With a monumental effort, Jake thrust his free hand forward, stabbing his fingers into the captain’s eyes. Ibsen roared with pain, flew backwards, releasing his grip as his hands flew up to his face. Jake pulled his own hand away and rolled onto his side, choking, gasping for breath. Ibsen was on his knees. One hand covered his eyes, blood streamed down his face. The other thrashed around wildly, trying to find its target. Jake tried to roll onto his front, to crawl away, but as he did so a hand found his ankle and closed around in a grip that nearly crushed his bones. He felt himself being dragged backwards, and pawed helplessly at the smooth surface of the linoleum floor, desperately trying to escape the claw-like grip. When a second hand grabbed his other ankle, he knew the game was up. He had no strength left, nothing with which to fight back. The image of Jane flashed before his eyes once again. Her lips were moving, she was saying something, speaking almost silently.
    “The gun Jake. Get the gun,” she mouthed.
    He looked around desperately, but there was no sign of the gun. Ibsen was reeling him in, and there was nothing he could do. Then he spotted it. A shadow on the dark floor. A tiny glint of reflected light from the shiny surface as his head was dragged past it. Not the gun, but a shard of glass from the smashed champagne bottle. His right hand shot out and he grabbed it just as Ibsen got a hand on his waist and yanked him towards him. Jake was still face down, and Ibsen was put a knee in his back, pinning him to the floor. He could feel him lean over him, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he felt those hands approach once more. With one final effort, he gripped the glass and thrust it behind him as far as his hand would go. Ibsen was a big target, and his proximity meant Jake couldn’t miss. He felt the glass meet resistance, and pushed it as hard as he could with a grunt. The sharp edge of the shard cut into Jake’s hand. Ibsen gasped. Jake felt hot blood spurt out around the glass. He had no idea if it was his own or the captain’s.
    “No! What have you done? What…what…” Ibsen rasped, then gurgled. He keeled over onto his side. As he did so Jake felt the glass slide out of his hand, cutting it even more deeply. Freed from the weight of the captain, he attempted once more to roll himself over. But he was spent, had no energy left. With blood pouring from his hand, he passed out.
    • • • • •
    When he came round, Jake found himself lying in his own bed, back in his cabin. For a brief, blissful moment, he thought perhaps that recent events had all been a bad