Hot Ice

dark. He didn’t have any doubt that Remo’s attention was fixed on her.
    “Grab the pole and don’t get so damn personal,” he muttered.
    “You think you can talk to me that way, you worm?” Snatching up the pole, Whitney raised it over her head.
    “Good, good now…” He trailed off when he saw the expression on her face. He’d seen vengeance in a woman’s eyes before. Automatically he lifted a hand. “Hey, wait a minute,” he began as the pole smashed down. He rolled aside in time to see Weis come tumbling into their boat from a small, dark raft. They’d have capsized then if Whitney hadn’t lost her balance and fallen half over the opposite end, righting their boat again. “Jesus, get down.” But the warning ended on a whoosh of air as he started to struggle with Weis.
    Whitney’s blow had caught the big man on the shoulder, knocking his gun aside, but annoying him more than harming him. And he remembered the sensation of having his nose shatter. Whitney lifted the pole again and would have brought it down but Doug rolled on top of him. The boat swayed, taking in water. She saw Jacques’s body floating on the surface of the canal before she froze her heart to fight for her life.
    “For God’s sake give me a clear shot,” she shouted, then tumbled backward when the boat rocked violently.
    On shore, Remo pushed Barns aside. “Lord’s mine, you little bastard. Remember it.” Taking out his gun, he focused and waited.
    It looked like a game, Whitney thought as she shook her head to clear it. Two overgrown boys wrestling in a boat. Any moment one might cry uncle, then they’d brush themselves off and go on to other amusements.
    She tried to stand again, but nearly tipped over the side. She could see the gun still in Doug’s hand, but the other man outweighed him by at least fifty pounds. Balancing herself on her knees, she gripped the pole again. “Dammit, Doug, how can I smash him if you’re laying on top of him? Move!”
    “Sure.” Panting, Doug managed to pry Weis’s hand from around his throat. “Just give me a minute.” Then his head jerked back as Weis caught him on the jaw. Doug tasted blood.
    “You broke my fucking nose,” Weis said as he dragged Doug to his feet.
    “Was that you?”
    They stood, legs braced as Weis began slowly to turn Doug’s gun hand so that the barrel pointed at his face.
    “Yeah. And I’m going to blow yours off.”
    “Look, don’t take it so personally.” Planting his feet, Doug was certain he felt something rip inside his left shoulder. It was something to think about later when the barrel of a gun wasn’t staring him in the face.
    Sweat ran from him as he fought to keep Weis’s finger from slipping over the trigger. He saw the smile and cursed that it was the last thing he’d ever see. Abruptly, Weis’s eyes widened and air whooshed out of his mouth as Whitney shoved the pole smartly into his stomach.
    Gripping Doug for balance, Weis shifted. In the next instant his body jerked. He’d become Doug’s shield at the instant Remo had fired from shore. With a look of surprise, he fell like a stone against the side of the canoe. The next thing Whitney knew, she was swallowing water.
    On the first panic, she surfaced, choking and thrashing.
    “Grab the packs,” Doug shouted, shoving them at her as he treaded beside the overturned canoe. Two bullets struck the water inches from his head. “Holy shit.” He saw the jaws of the first crock open and close over Weis’s torso. And he heard the sickening sound of ripping flesh and breaking bone. Making one frantic grab, he locked his fingers over the strap of one pack. The other floated just out of range. “Go!” he shouted again. “Just go. Get to shore.”
    She too saw what remained of Weis and struck out blindly. A dull red mist floated over the brown river water. What she didn’t see until it was nearly on top of them was the second crock.
    “Doug!”
    He turned in time to see jaws open. He fired five shots point blank before they closed again and sunk in a pool of red.
    There were more. Doug fumbled for the box of bullets, knowing he’d never get them all. In a desperate move, he propelled himself between Whitney and an oncoming crock, lifting the gun butt first. He waited for the impact, the pain. He was braced, lips pulled back in a snarl. The top of the crock’s head exploded when he was less than an arm’s length away. Before Doug could react, three more crocks went under, tails