J.M.J.
Author's note: First of all, I want to sincerely thank all of you for continuing to read and review! You've all been so encouraging and I really appreciate that! I apologize for not being better about responding directly to reviews and PM's. I expected September to be busy but I wasn't expecting total insanity, so thanks again for your patience! We're nearly to the end of the story now, at long last, with today being the real climax. Because of that, it was too long to fit into one chapter, so double chapters today! God bless!
October 7 – Saturday Morning
It was nearly one in the morning and the lights were still on in the cruiser. The castaways chafed at the delay. They had been keeping watch ever since it had gotten dark, so they knew that Brock, Ream, and Weston were all aboard the boat. So far, there had been no indication that any of them intended to leave any time soon.
The castaways had divided into four groups. Given his injury, Tony was to stay behind and keep an eye on Ingram. Katina had been persuaded to stay with him. Frank and Phil were together, ready to board the cruiser as soon as it was all clear. At the moment, they were also doubling as lookouts, watching for the criminals to leave. Joe and Nancy were the official lookouts, and they were posted on the other end of the beach. Biff and Chet were close at hand with the raft, ready to put it in the water as soon as Joe and Nancy gave them the signal.
The problem was that the later it got, the more likely it was that the men were all planning on sleeping aboard the boat. Even if they did leave, it might be too late. The moon hadn't risen yet, but given when it had been rising the last few nights, the castaways guessed it wouldn't be long before it came up. Their plan depended on it being dark.
The castaways were resigning themselves that they would probably have to wait and try again tomorrow night when something finally happened. Longheim came down the beach and approached the cruiser. He stopped on the sand and called to Brock.
Brock's silhouette appeared on the deck of the cruiser. "What is it?"
"It's Earl. He came stumbling into the cabin and passed out, so nobody's guarding the plane," Longheim reported. "You want me to go down there and do it?"
"No, I want to talk to you. Weston!" Brock turned toward the cruiser's cabin and Weston emerged from it. "Get down to the plane. And if you find any more of Earl's stash aboard it, dump it out. I need him sober."
Weston snickered. "Has he ever been sober?"
"Just get to the plane," Brock snapped at him.
Weston jumped into the water and waded ashore. Brock didn't say another word until he had had time to get out of hearing distance. Even in the dark, the castaways could see Longheim fidgeting nervously.
"What do you want to talk to me about, Mr. Garret?" Longheim asked finally.
"Oh, very respectful now, are we?" Brock scoffed. "Weston's been telling me some interesting things about you. Maybe it's true, huh?"
"I doubt it," Longheim replied evenly. "Weston's been trying to get into your good graces ever that debacle with him kidnapping Carson Drew. I wouldn't put it past him to lie about me to make himself look good."
"But there is some evidence to back him up." Brock crossed his arms. "He said you made a deal with those kids, and you did let the one that Ream captured escape."
"I already explained that," Longheim defended himself. "He snuck out when I turned my back. I didn't think he was up to it."
"Whether you did it on purpose or not, it was still your own fault that he escaped."
"As I said, it couldn't be helped. One of them should have stayed with me to guard the kid."
"Maybe. Whether what Weston says is true or not doesn't matter. What does matter is that we can't prove it one way or the other. That means I can't trust you, Longheim, and I can't have people around that I can't trust."
Longheim took a step backward. "Garret…" he started to protest. Then he turned around and made a run for it.
To the castaways, who were watching silently, it looked like it had been an impulsive move. Whether what happened next would have happened if he had stood his ground was hard to say, but just as he was reaching the trees at the edge of the beach, Brock pulled and handgun out and began firing. He must have fired three or four bullets rapidly, and at least one of them hit its target as Longheim stumbled forward and lay on the ground.
Ream came running out on the deck. "What's going on? Did those kids try something?"
"Nope. We just don't have to worry about Longheimdoublecrossing us again."
"What? But…" Ream abruptly stopped himself as his surprise wore off.
"Do you have a problem with that?"
Ream shook his head. "No. No, of course not."
"He was going to stab you in the back, too," Brock reminded him.
"Yeah. If what Weston claimed was true."
"Did you want to take that risk?"
"Look…" Ream paused. "No. I'm not interested in taking risks that can be avoided."
The men returned inside the cruiser's cabin after that.
Joe tapped Nancy's shoulder to get her attention. "Tell Biff and Chet that it's off. I'm going to go and check on Longheim."
If Nancy had any objections to that, Joe didn't give her a chance to voice them. He darted away and made his way as silently as possible around the beach to the spot where Longheim had fallen. The moon was starting to rise and already it was light enough that Joe could make out the man's prone figure on the ground. He knelt down to check on him and was startled when he realized someone else was approaching.
"It's just us," Frank whispered.
Joe relaxed as his brother and Phil also crouched next to the fallen man. Longheim was still breathing and he moaned as he realized that someone was near him.
"Easy," Phil advised him. "Where were you hit?"
"Right shoulder," Longheim replied weakly.
"Is that all?" Joe asked.
"Lousy shot," Longheim muttered.
Joe chuckled wryly. "That's good, I guess."
Chet, Biff, and Nancy arrived a few moments later. After an exchange of a few words, they agreed the only thing they could do was take Longheim back to where they were holding Ingram. They were just about to pick him up when they heard someone come out on the deck of the cruiser again.
"I'm sure I saw someone over there," Brock said. "I'm going to go check."
The castaways froze for a fraction of a second. There was no way they could outrun Brock while carrying Longheim.
Frank was the first to recover from the fright. He tapped Joe on his uninjured arm. "Come on, Joe. You and I will try to distract him. The rest of you get Longheim out of here."
Joe didn't hesitate to follow him, and they ran towards the south, making just enough noise to be sure Brock heard them. Sure enough, Brock started running after them, calling to Ream to keep guarding the boat as he rest of the castaways froze, more from shock at what the Hardys had done than because they had thought it through and realized that they would have to wait to keep Brock from hearing them.
"Come on," Phil said after the sounds of the others had died away. "We need to get him out of here."
HBNDHBNDHB
The sun was rising in the west, and Jack and Fenton were already in the air. It would still take several hours to reach the island, and Fenton was strangely anxious about it. They had no idea what they were walking into, whether it was a trap or a means of distracting them or if it really would yield a clue.
"If those guys wanted to send us on a wild-goose chase, do you think they would have bothered to find an island or they would have just given us random coordinates?" Jack asked.
"It's hard to say," Fenton replied.
"It's too bad Callie couldn't just tell us what this was all about," Jack went on. "You hadn't had any word about it before we left?"
Fenton shook his head. "Apparently, she's still unconscious. I don't think she would have been holding onto those coordinates if she didn't believe they were important, though, so if it's a trick of some kind, she was as tricked as the rest of us are."
"Well, we'll know for sure in a few hours," Jack said.
HBNDHBNDHB
"Where are those guys?" Chet asked as he paced up and down in the hollow they were using as a hiding place. He didn't expect anyone to answer; none of them had seen the Hardys since they had gone to distract Brock hours ago. "Wouldn't they come back here after they shook Brock off the trail?"
"Maybe not," Nancy said. "They might be afraid that Brock would be able to pick up their trail again and they don't want to lead him here. Or else they might have found something else they want to look into."
"You'd better hope Brock doesn't catch up to them," Longheim said.
Once they had gotten him to their hiding place, Phil had bandaged up Longheim's wound as well as he could. It was still bleeding slowly and the possibility of infection was ever-present. The only chance he had was if they could get off the island. However, at the moment, he was conscious and alert. The castaways all turned to look at him. Ingram had kept a sullen silence since he heard how Longheim had gotten shot.
"You all seem scared of Brock," Biff commented.
Longheim scoffed. "You wonder why?"
"Then why don't you just overpower him?" Biff asked.
"None of us know who else is still supporting Brock," Longheim said. "It was only a couple days ago that we realized that it was Reynolds who was running the show and that Brock had killed him. Brock's been trying to take over for months now. All he seems to care about is causing as much destruction as possible. You saw what he did to me, just because he suspected that I might have betrayed him. He would do worse if he caught any of you. That's the real reason I let Tony there go. I didn't want to see him end up in Brock's hands."
"Well, thanks," Tony said, a little too dryly to be really sincere. "It's too bad you didn't care as much about Katina and the other victims of your little business."
Longheim glanced at the girl, who was glaring at him angrily, but he didn't make any reply.
"Do you know who she is?" Biff asked. "I mean, like who her parents are and where she came from?"
"No," Longheim admitted. "She's kind of famous in our organization. Or was, before everyone in the organization was dead or in jail. Anyway, the story I heard was that she was about seven or eight and they grabbed her out of a campground back in Hawaii. She escaped when the boat they were transporting her on stopped at this island. Some of us have come back several times to try to catch her again, but we've never managed it."
"We've found some other things on this island we don't understand," Chet said. "A skiff with the bottom smashed out of, a pink tent, several beer bottles…"
Longheim chuckled wryly. "The beer bottles aren't too hard to figure out. Our alcoholic pilot must have left those behind."
"Why do you have an alcoholic for a pilot?" Biff asked.
"Everyone has to cope in their own way in this business," Longheim said. "That's Earl's way. Anyway, the prisoners who escaped stole that skiff. They tried to hide it up in the jungle until we'd gone, but we found it and we didn't want to haul it all the way back to the cruiser, so we made sure it wouldn't be any use to them. They also took some camping gear. We had a random assortment that had come with prisoners or that we had picked up other places. We made sure to destroy all of that, too."
"What about Eli McKellern?" Tony asked.
"Who?"
"The hermit who used to live on this island," Tony went on. "Did you kill him, too?"
"Oh, him. He was before my time. He was here before they were using this island at all. When they started using it, they had to get him out of the way."
Phil shook his head in disgust. "I guess you're fine with all that."
"You've got to do what you've got to do to survive in this world," Longheim replied, a bit sulkily. "You guys should know that after being stuck here so long."
"Yeah, and we've managed to survive without killing anybody," Biff retorted.
"Yet," Longheim corrected him. "You still have to deal with Brock."
HBNDHBNDHB
Joe flopped on the ground, panting. "You think we've got a few minutes to rest?"
"Maybe," Frank replied, leaning against a tree as he tried to catch his own breath. "Not much more than that."
"You wouldn't think a guy like that would be so good at tracking," Joe grumbled.
Frank glanced down at his brother. "Your arm is bleeding again."
"Not much," Joe replied.
"Enough." Frank sighed. "Well, hopefully, you're right, because we don't have any way to clean or bandage it anyway."
Joe rolled over so he could sit up. "That crazy guy's probably going to get us before I can bleed to death."
"I'm more worried about infection." Frank shifted the rifle that he had been carrying against his shoulder. He needed something to do with his hands, so he checked to make sure it was loaded and that it wasn't going to jam. "We'd better get going."
"Give me a hand up." Joe stretched out his right hand.
Frank reached down and helped him to his feet. "We're about out of place to run. I don't get how Brock's been able to stay on our trail for hours now, most of it in the dark."
"Even once the moon rose, it wouldn't help him that much," Joe agreed. "It's creepy."
Frank glanced back. Brock wasn't directly behind them now, but every time they had paused for too long, Brock had nearly caught up to them. Now that it was daylight, they weren't about to just assume they had shaken him off the trail.
"Joe, you remember how Jack was trying to teach us how to fly?" he said.
Joe grinned. "'Trying to' are the key words, which is why I didn't want to tell you that that's exactly what I was thinking. But we can't leave without the others. We can't even leave without Longheim and Ingram, since Brock will probably kill them if he catches up to them. Even if we can get them to the plane, that's ten people to get aboard. I doubt the plane's big enough to hold that many."
Frank chewed his lip. "That's true. Let's get a look at the plane, anyway. Even if we have to be squeezed in like sardines, if there's any way we can get on it, we should try, since we haven't been successful in trying to get the boat. At any rate, we need to head some direction. Might as well head toward the plane."
They started toward it, but less than ten minutes passed before they heard the unmistakable sound of an airplane engine. For an instant, they thought that maybe the gang was pulling out after all, but it only took them a second's thought to realize that the engine was getting louder rather than quieter. Someone was approaching the island, not leaving it.
"Do you think Brock called in for reinforcements?" Joe asked.
"That would be just want we need," Frank replied grimly. "Come on. We'd better go and see."
HBNDHBNDHB
The other castaways also heard the plane's approach, and it didn't please any of them any better. Chet and Biff offered to go on the nearer hill where it was clearer and see if they could spot the plane and possibility determine whether it was friendly or not.
"How are you going to tell that?" Phil objected.
"If it's a military plane, we could," Chet said. "At least, if it's the U.S. military."
"We'll be back in fifteen minutes," Biff added. "Come on, Chet."
They hurried away before Phil or anyone else could object any further. Phil crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently.
"After all these months, what would a military plane be doing here?" he muttered.
"I'm sure they'll be fine," Nancy told him.
"I don't like all this splitting up," Phil insisted. "All that Brock and his guys have to do is get their hands on just one of us and they'll have us all over a barrel. We're not the ones trying to kill each other, after all."
"Them being so divided could be in our favor," Tony pointed out. "It got Longheim to help us when we needed it."
Ingram laughed. "You might as well give up. It'll shorten the agony of waiting until you're all captured or killed, one by one."
"You know, personally, I'm not above gagging you if you get too annoying," Tony told him, causing Ingram to quiet down with an angry glare.
Phil was still standing, but then he came and sat down next to Tony, who was far enough from any of the others that they could talk quietly without anyone else hearing.
"How's your hand?" he asked.
Tony glanced at it. "About the same. Getting stabbed makes you a lot more sore than I realized."
"Yeah." Phil plucked a blade of grass and twisted it around his finger. "Are you still afraid of dying?"
"I don't think this is going to be fatal," Tony replied, still meaning his hand.
"Not that. I meant if all this doesn't work out. You said when we were sick that you thought everyone was afraid of dying."
"I know." Tony paused. "I'm not as afraid this time as I was then. I don't want to die, obviously, but if it can't be avoided, I'd rather not be afraid."
HBNDHBNDHB
The plane was circling low over the island, so Chet and Biff were careful to stay under the shadows of the trees. It was a civilian plane, which automatically made it suspect. As much as the castaways longed to signal it, they didn't dare. After all, it most likely belonged to the gang. At the very least, they decided that they could watch and see where it landed, so they stayed in place.
It was a good vantage point for the rest of the island. They couldn't see the north shore, but they could see the rest of the shoreline, apart from a few places that were obscured by trees. While they were there, they scanned the island for indication of where the Hardys might be. However, the interior of the island was so thickly overgrown that they couldn't even see the cabin from here, let alone any human figures down in that tangled mess.
While he was trying to spot his friend in spite of that, Chet noticed a figure running across the beach to the moored boat. For a second, he thought it might be Frank or Joe, but then he realized from the size of the man, it had to be one of the gang. He nudged Biff's arm.
"Which one do you think that is?"
"Too big to be Brock, too small to be Ream," Biff observed. "I guess I haven't seen that pilot, but I'm guessing Weston."
"Wasn't he guarding the plane?" Chet asked. "Maybe that means the plane's unguarded."
"We can't fly a plane," Biff objected dubiously.
"But it's got a radio," Chet reminded him.
"That's right! Let's go!"
They were about to leave when another sound reached them. They turned and saw that the cruiser had fired up its engines. Weston had just jumped aboard, and already the boat was starting to pull out.
"What do you think that's about?" Chet asked.
"If it means they're all leaving, that's okay with me, but I want to get to that radio on the plane before it leaves," Biff replies.
"Right."
HBNDHBNDHB
Jack had seen the other plane and the cruiser, one of each in the best landing places on the island. Seeing that the island was apparently inhabited gave both him and Fenton pause, but they were determined to investigate it. Jack decided to land on the western side, near the same beach as the other plane but no nearer than necessary. They had barely begun descending when they saw a man jump out of the plane and run into the jungle.
"I don't like this very much," Jack commented.
"Me neither," Fenton agreed. "It feels like it could be a trap. Be careful once we get down there."
Once they had set down on the water, they waited a few minutes to see whether anyone came to greet them. Everything was silent.
"You'd better stay with the plane," Fenton advised Jack. "We wouldn't want to get cut off from it."
"Okay, but you'd better be careful, going out there by yourself," Jack replied.
Fenton nodded and jumped out of the plane into the shallow water. The first thing he did was wade to the other plane, checking carefully for any sign that anyone was inside it, but no one was. He climbed inside and looked around for the registration. He found it clipped to the roof of the cockpit. The plane was registered in New Zealand to Derek Rogers.
Fenton set his jaw when he read that. That was one of Devin Reynolds' aliases, the one he apparently used in New Zealand. So it was some of his people who were here on the island. In that case, this trip hadn't been for nothing. It also explained Callie linking the coordinates to Frank. But it didn't explain why she had been so insistent about it. Something told Fenton that there was something more than just a couple of gangsters on this island.
He was replacing the registration when he heard several gunshots fired in quick succession. He peered out of the plane, but he still didn't see anyone around. The gunshots had stopped, but he thought that they had come from some distance away. He cautiously stepped out of the plane and went back to confer with Jack, but neither one had a chance to say a word before there was another shot.
"I'd better find out what's going on," Fenton said. "Don't leave the plane, no matter what."
"Fenton…" Jack started to protest.
"No matter what," Fenton repeated before he jumped back down and rushed into the jungle again.
HBNDHBNDHB
Jack wasn't pleased with the situation. He had a lot of confidence in Fenton's ability to take care of himself, but running headlong into trouble was tempting fate, even for him. Yet at the same time, when Fenton used that tone of voice, it was never a good idea to argue with him. Jack would stay with the plane, but maybe not "no matter what."
He kept low so that if anyone came toward the plane, they wouldn't see him. Several minutes passed before anything happened. Then Jack spotted several figures in the trees on the edge of the beach. They hovered just in the shadows, and Jack wondered whether they were concerned about who might be in the unfamiliar plane or if they were planning to attack him. He didn't move, waiting to see what these people would do.
A few more minutes passed, and then one of the figures darted across the beach to the other plane, although he was too far away for Jack to tell what he looked like. Jack held his position. When nothing happened, two more people also darted across the beach. Jack spent a few seconds surveying the area in the trees where the figures had been before he decided that was all of them. The other plane had its tail toward him, so with a little luck, he thought he could reach the other plane without being seen.
It was a crazy scheme, perhaps, but Jack wasn't about to waste the chance to learn what all this was about. He made it to the other plane without being seen, and he stopped beside the tail, where the people inside couldn't see him. Then he listened to see what was going on.
"You probably have to turn it on to use the radio," one male voice was saying.
"Right. Any ideas how to do that?" another replied.
A strange expression crossed Jack's face. Those voices were terribly familiar. But it couldn't be.
One of them chuckled nervously. "If it doesn't just have an ignition key, I have no idea."
It certainly sounded like them. Even if it wasn't, it clearly wasn't whoever had arrived in the plane. It would probably be safe enough to try to get a look at them.
"In the plane!" Jack called in an authoritarian voice. After all, if these people turned out to be hostile, it would be better to have them think he meant business. "Out! Now!"
There was a sudden hush in the plane, as the young men in the plane evidently froze.
Jack pounded on the side of the plane. "Now!"
There was only a brief pause, and then three people jumped out of the plane into the water. They turned to face Jack, but it was hard to say whose face betrayed the most astonishment between the three of them and Jack.
Chet was the first to find his voice. "Jack Wayne! What are you doing here? You mean, you were in that plane?" He grabbed Jack's hand and started shaking it vigorously.
Jack was still staring at them with his mouth open. "How…What…"
"We're not dead," Biff added. "And now that you're here with a plane, we're not going to be!"
"But we've still got to find Frank and Joe," Phil said, glancing over his shoulder. "I didn't like the sound of those shots."
"They're…here, too?" Jack asked, his brain still reeling in protest at this sudden twist of fortune.
Phil nodded. "And Tony. And Nancy, as of yesterday. Is that how you got here? Were you looking for her/"
"No. Callie…" Jack stopped and shook his head. "That can wait till later. How many of the gang is on the island?"
"Just two," Chet reported. "At the most. Well, actually four, but we captured two of them. Tony and Nancy and Katina are guarding them. But one of the guys who are still loose is the pilot, and Nancy thought he might help us, especially if he realizes he's outnumbered. The other one is some guy named Brock, and is he ever a piece of work."
"We know." Jack had so many questions, he didn't even try to ask any more of them. "We'd better go and see if we can help them."
HBNDHBNDHB
Frank and Joe heard the engine of the plane turn off after it landed. They paused again, still panting.
"I really hope that isn't more reinforcements," Joe said.
"If it is, we've got to get back to the others," Frank replied. "I don't think we can shake Brock, though."
"If we split up, he can't follow both of us at once," Joe pointed out.
Frank hesitated. "We don't do so well when we split up."
"Okay, then how about this: since we can't shake Brock, let's catch him. Let's hide here and jump him when he comes along. And if he doesn't come along, then we lost him and we can get right back to everybody else."
"Yeah. That's the only way. You wait over there. I'll be right here. It'll be better if we can jump him from opposite sides."
Joe nodded and was about to head for his hiding place, but then he stopped. He turned toward Frank again and hugged him.
"What was that for?" Frank asked.
Joe shrugged. "Just balancing things out from the other day. And the last couple months."
Frank laughed. "Well, good. Then we can forget all of that now, right?"
"Right."
They ducked out of sight and began to wait. Time passed slowly, and Joe wondered how long they should wait before they could conclude that they had lost Brock. He was about to ask what Frank thought when he heard a dull thud and a loud rustle of bushes. He jumped from his hiding place and ran to Frank's, but he skidded to a halt when he saw his brother lying motionless and Brock standing over him, leveling a handgun at him.
"Well, well," Brock said. "So the chase is at an end finally."
"What did you do to my brother?" Joe demanded.
"He's just unconscious. I'll take care of him after I'm done with you."
"I don't get it. Why did you chase us so long/"
"Because it's all over now," Brock said. "Everything. Devin's whole empire. I could have held it together, you know, but they wouldn't cooperate."
"Who wouldn't?"
Brock laughed. "Anyone. Everyone. Everything I've ever wanted, someone's always been there to stop me from getting it. And they all expected me to give and give and give, and they'd never give a thing back. That's why I did it. That's why I destroyed everything Devin built and then killed him. I thought I could take over what remained, but his people wouldn't respect me. They wouldn't listen. And you and your father and Nancy Drew and the police and everyone was trying to stop me. Even Morales. Pavel Morales, assassin for hire." Brock scoffed. "Even he would rather help the law out than me. He said I was too dangerous. Unstable. He couldn't trust me."
Joe considered saying that Morales had a point, but he stopped himself. "That's too bad?" he tried instead.
"I don't need your false sympathy. You don't care. Nobody cares about anybody but themselves. That's why, if I can't do anything else, I'm going to get as much revenge as I can."
In the same instant, Brock fired and Joe jumped to the side, landing in a roll. Despite the fact that his aim was off, Brock fired several more times, until Joe snatched up a rock and threw it at him. It hit him in the head, and while it didn't knock him down—Joe couldn't put much force into his throw from this position—it did seem to stun him. He dropped the gun and staggered a step or two. Immediately, Joe jumped at him and they both went down together. Brock recovered himself quickly, and it turned into a wrestling match. Joe was surprised at Brock's strength and found that he and the actor were evenly matched.
After a few moments of wrestling, Brock managed to get on top of Joe. He grasped him by the hair and slammed his head into the ground. Joe blinked as the edges of his vision became fuzzy. He couldn't lose consciousness, he told himself. Then, suddenly, Brock's hands were wrapped against his throat, crushing his windpipe. Frantically, Joe tried to fight back, but Brock held on in an almost inhuman grip.
At the same moment, Frank was recovering consciousness. He blinked and raised his head, and the first thing he saw was Brock strangling his brother. Ignoring the sickening pain in his head, Frank scrambled to his knees.
"Let go of him!" he shouted.
Brock ignored him completely, as if he was so wrapped up in his hate and malice that he was incapable of noticing anything else.
"Let go!" Frank demanded again.
He was about to rush at Brock and try to pull him off, but then he saw the rifle that he had been carrying and had dropped lying at his side. He picked it up and pointed it at Brock.
"Let go or I'll shoot!"
Still Brock ignored him.
"I mean it!"
Frank could feel the sweat on his brow. Joe's struggling was becoming feeble now. Hesitating even another second or two could be too long. Frank pulled the trigger.
For an instant, Brock didn't even seem to notice. Then, as a red stain spread on his shirt, he fell to the side with a loud groan. Frank dropped the gun and rushed forward. He only spared a glance at Brock, who had been hit in the stomach and was rolling about and moaning. Then he turned his attention to Joe. He was still lying on the ground, trying to breathe.
Frank put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"
Joe nodded while still trying to catch his breath. Frank pulled him up into a sitting position and wrapped his arms around him.
Joe tried to chuckle. "What's that for?" he asked in a raspy voice.
Frank laughed. "Just balancing things out."
There was still the problem of Brock, who was continuing to moan in pain. Once he saw that Joe didn't need assistance, Frank turned his attention to Brock. He had been hit in the abdomen and the wound was bleeding badly. There was nothing else at hand to use to try to stop the bleeding, so Frank took off the new shirt he had been given by Longheim and the others and tried to press it against the wound.
"If you had any mercy, you'd finish me," Brock complained. "Why didn't you just kill me?"
"I hope I haven't," Frank replied. "Hold still."
"Don't you realize that you're here because of me?" Brock went on. "If I had left it all alone, Devin wouldn't have dared tried to kill you Hardys. You'd have been home, all nice and comfortable, if it hadn't been for me."
"I realize it," Frank told him grimly.
"I would have killed you and your brother."
"I know."
"Don't you want me dead for any of that?"
"Not particularly."
Brock let out a curse as he groaned again. "Don't you have any pity? I can't go to jail."
Frank turned to look at Joe. "We're going to need help with him. Maybe we should give him back to his friends. They could at least get him help."
Joe coughed. "I don't think he has any friends."
Frank shook his head, glad that Joe's sense of humor was intact. But there was nothing humorous about the situation. If they couldn't get Brock help, he was probably going to die, and Frank wasn't sure he could deal with that. He prayed that some help would arrive or something would happen. He didn't have any very high hopes that it would. Good things never seemed to happen to him anymore.
A few more minutes passed as Brock continued berating him for attempting to save his life. Applying pressure didn't seem to be slowing the bleeding. They wouldn't be able to move Brock as long as his wound needed pressure applied. He looked around him desperately for some help.
"Frank." Joe's tone made Frank look at him, expecting to find his brother in some new trouble. Joe was staring fixedly ahead at something somewhere behind Frank.
Turning himself so that he could look over his other shoulder, Frank saw what had caught Joe's attention. The man both boys wanted to see most in the world was standing a few yards behind them, staring back at them with as much astonishment as they had in seeing him.
"Dad!" For a moment, Frank forgot about Brock. He jumped to his feet and ran toward him. Joe, too, had managed to get to his feet and rushed at him, and the two nearly knocked him over as they embraced him.
At first, Fenton was too stunned to say a word, but he clasped both his sons tightly against himself. For once, he didn't bother to try to keep himself from weeping. Finally, he managed to say, "Frank, Joe, are you all right?"
"Almost perfect," Joe rasped.
"Joe, what happened?" Fenton asked.
Before Joe could answer, Frank remembered Brock. "Dad, Brock Garret is here. I had to shoot him. I didn't want to but…He's still alive. I don't know if I can keep him that way."
As he was speaking, he led his father to where Brock was still lying. Fenton knelt next to Brock and looked at the wound.
"I didn't want to do it," Frank said again. "But I had to, to save Joe."
"It's okay, Frank," Fenton assured him. And in spite of Brock, finally, after all this time, it really was okay.
