Free Blood Ocean by Weston Ochse

other three stood. He had a single chance. If he’d been alone, he would have climbed into the rigging and been gone. But he had the responsibility of Spike and he couldn’t leave her, not after what they’d done to Akamu.
    Against every iota of self-preservation he’d ever had in the fear factory of his soul, Kavika charged the nearest Boxer. A Hawaiian battle cry ringing, his newly acquired war club swinging madly above his head, he dragged Spike behind him by one arm.
    The Boxer he’d targeted was leaning against the rail. For a moment he seemed ready to accept Kavika’s onslaught, then his grin fell as he glanced behind him at the water far below between the ships.
    But it was far too late for him to move. Kavika let go of Spike, launched himself into the air and hit the Boxer in the chest, bowling him over the edge. Kavika managed to grab the rail and wrap his arm around it before he, too, was propelled over the side by his own momentum. The Boxer scrambled for a grip, but there was none to be had. He fell the dozen meters to the water, hitting with a hollow clap.
    Kavika pulled himself back over and ran to Spike. The other two Boxers were advancing. Instead of hurrying, having seen what had happened to the others, they crept across the deck in a defensible crouch. Kavika looked at first one, then the other, trying to decide which one would get to him first. He’d always hated the idea of waiting. Without further thought, Kavika threw the club at the nearest one, then dragged Spike to the rail. He glanced down, saw what he’d hoped to see, and with a quick apology, slipped her over the rail until her feet dangled and let her go.
    He would have liked to have had time to see how she hit, but he couldn’t spare the moment. Hesitation had proven to be the downfall of the others. No way was he going to make the same mistake. He leaped the rail and vaulted to the next ship, landing on an old icebreaker converted to a pleasure yacht. He sped to the cabin. Behind it was a smokestack one could see from many ships away.
    The Boxers cursed behind him. Kavika risked a look; they were just pulling themselves over the railing. One fell and took a moment to gather himself, but the other came on strong.
    It was time to do what Pali Boys were good at, regardless of what Kaja had told him. Three more strides and he leaped, catching hold of the vestiges of an old ladder on the side of the great smokestack. It was sizzling hot from the sun and never meant to be touched, much less transited. The cured sharkskin was as useless a protection for his palms as were the rubber soles on his feet. So like a lizard, he scrambled up the rough metal, careful to let his hands and feet make only the most fleeting contact. Still, the heat soon had him biting back tears and wincing.
    Finally at the top, he pulled himself up the last few rungs and got his feet beneath him, staring down at the Boxers, who were unwilling or unable to follow him up the vertical shaft.
    He gave them the double shaka, bit back the bile of his fear and laughed.
    “You want me, you’re going to have to do better than that.” He felt the strain in his own laughter. He wasn’t used to bravado of this sort, and he knew that he’d end up paying for those words.
    The top of the smokestack was supported by two sets of wires. One ran down and connected to the center of a deck where children played. One of the Boxers ran towards it, cancelling the possibilities for that route. The other cable ran into an enclosed cylinder built aboard the flat deck of an old trawler, which was the home of the Sky Winkers. Since he couldn’t ever remember them doing any harm to anyone, he chose that route and was soon sliding down the wire naked, using his shorts to protect his hands.
    He gathered speed, dimly making out figures as he entered the darkness of the cylinder. Then he hit. He tried to tumble to dissipate the energy, but he only had a few feet before he slammed into the metal wall