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The river sprays up in a thunderous fountain, spraying mud and muck over Deke and I. The blast rattles my teeth and knocks my aim completely astray. The dinghy slews wildly against the tree trunk we’re anchored to. If I wasn’t kneeling sore-kneed against the aluminum deck, I would have been knocked into the water. I feel Deke tumble to his side.
The men on Noah’s yacht launched a grenade at us.
The yacht is still trolling towards us, drawn more by the waterfall’s current than the idling motor. Nobody’s taken the downed pilot’s position, and the yacht’s veering towards the far bank, exposing its flank.
And its passengers.
Too many glowing green targets to count. Their grenade launcher should stand out, glowing with heat, but I don’t see it. I prop myself against the tree again, take
