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earthquake.
    “We’re at full speed. What’s wrong?”
    “That bastard squealed and now the Feds are onto us.”
    “What bastard?” Zane scanned the horizon. “There’s no one out here but us.”
    “Oh yeah? Look here.” Miguel pulled a handheld monitor out of his pocket. It was rigged with a thick antenna that pointed to the sky like an accusatory finger.
    The small screen on the unit showed two green, flashing dots chasing each other at about an inch apart.
    “This is us.” Miguel pointed to the dot in the center. “And this is them, ten miles south and closing.” He pointed to the other dot so forcefully that it made a permanent blotch on the LCD screen.
    “But how—”
    “GPS tracking device. Like they put on sea turtles. I slipped it into their bilge last night, just in case.” Miguel had a subtle haughtiness in his words, obviously proud of his foresight.
    “Then what do we do?”
    “We get ready.” Miguel rushed to the forward hatch and wrenched a duffel bag out of it. Zane had forgotten about the bag since they disembarked. He recalled how surprised he had been about its extreme weight when Miguel first boarded, and how Miguel insisted that Zane not try to help him with it. So, it was hardly a surprise to see Miguel now extract an automatic rifle from the bag and slam an ammunition clip into it. Zane had never seen such a large gun.
    “What’s with the cinderblocks in your front hatch?” asked Miguel.
    Zane thought up a lie. “I’m making an artificial reef. To attract snapper.”
    “Is fishing all you care about?”
    Zane did not answer.
    “Anyway, here’s the plan,” said Miguel, holding the rifle across his chest. There was a sudden wildness in his eyes, as if the gun had transferred some of its ferocity into him, and his words spilled out with frenetic intensity as he laid out their strategy. Zane would drive while Miguel would hide behind the gunwale in wait. When the Feds came close enough, Zane would slow the boat and pretend to comply, and then Miguel would leap up and try to disable their outboard motors with a quick barrage of gunfire, the prompt for Zane to throttle away at full speed. That was Plan A.
    Plan B, on the other hand, would be implemented should the Feds approach with guns already drawn. Plan B terrified Zane. For that contingency, Miguel had placed his revolver barrel-down in a fishing rod holder behind Zane, with instructions for Zane to grab it and use it if a firefight ensued. “Aim for their chests,” Miguel said. “Heads are too difficult out here with the waves.”
    Zane did not want the gun anywhere near him. “Aren’t you afraid I might use it on you? ”
    “Not really. You already passed my test.”
    “Test?”
    “Earlier, when I was getting the bale, I gave you a chance to push me over the side—but you were too much of a coward, which is good because I was ready to kill you if you tried. So the answer is no, captain, I’m not afraid of getting shot by a scared little boy. You wouldn’t even get lined up before I’d stuff you so full of lead you’d sink straight to the bottom and be worth an extra twenty dollars if they ever found you.”
    Miguel was right. Zane was scared—so scared that his hands were trembling. His stomach wrung itself nauseous as he thought about the approaching threat. Both plans put Zane in far more danger than they did Miguel and he was certain that shooting a so-called “Fed,” or anyone else, was out of the question. Was there any way out? Any precaution he could take? He couldn’t think of anything. His hand found its way into his shirt and he kneaded the doubloon with more force than ever before.
    He looked toward land. Buildings stretched on endlessly, packed together like headstones in an old cemetery. What would have normally been a gorgeous sunset now filled Zane with dread. The broad tongue of darkness that had emerged in the east now lapped away at the last puddle of daylight in the west, and, by instinct,