Chapter 7 #2
“Take the helm,” Andy commanded. She didn’t argue as he and his man took control, stripping the padre’s clothes and pumping his chest. She held the raft as steady as she could, aiming for the waves straight on the way Andy had.
The two men pulled supplies from the chest and covered the padre in foil-like quilt lined with pouches of chemically induced warming pads so that he looked like a giant pop tart.
Neither of the men spoke and she heard nothing from the padre. When Andy turned to her, carefully making his way back to take the helm, she had to ask.
“Is he…”
“Barely. We got a weak pulse. Shock. Not sure how long he’ll last, but we used every trick we have, every gadget we could find in the chest that we never in a million years thought we’d need to use.”
“You got any fur coats in that chest?” Shana was half kidding and shaking from cold.
Andy didn’t answer her. He was busy looking at a small geo device trying to figure out where the hell they were—or more importantly, trying to figure out where the hell the ferry was.
Shana looked around her and all she could see were furious white swirls against charcoal. She couldn’t tell the sky from the ocean except when the ocean splashed up and hit them.
“Hang on. I need to get our bearings and get us back to the ferry ASAP.” Andy turned the raft to what Shana thought was a sharp left. The only problem was that the waves were now coming up their rear to the right and it was damn scary. She braced herself. “Look out—swells at five o’clock.”
“I know. The wave angles are all wrong—messed up. Hold on tight. We’re all going to get wet.” The boat swung around as he spoke. The sea reared up around them so that they couldn’t hit the waves head on the way they should have. Instead they were being chased. And they were going to get caught.
Bracing herself to be hit with a wave, she was surprised when it didn’t make contact. Andy maneuvered the boat to avoid the brunt of the wave as they were tossed. The water rammed the boat at the rear, hitting the small engine squarely.
“Shit.”
Shana didn’t need to be told what the problem was. The engine had sputtered to a stop. And so had the forward momentum of their life raft.
Before Dane, Cap, and Vendi got far in the 47, they got another call. The boat’s radio buzzed to life and Vendi and Dane grabbed for it at the same time. Dane relented when Vendi gave him a ‘you’ve got to be kidding me’ look.
“Get a grip, man.”
It might be pathetic, but this was as gripped as Dane was going to get until he laid eyes on his girl again. Then what?
He shoved the question aside and grunted as he pulled his hand away and stepped back.
Because he was a good man—a better man than Dane—Vendi put the call on speaker.
“Good news and bad news.”
“Give it.”
“The crew on the life raft found the man overboard, retrieved him—he’s on the raft.”
And?
“The raft was on its way back when their engine took a hard hit and quit—”
“Damn it.” Dane swept a hand through his hair and would have punched a wall of the pilothouse if they weren’t all made of metal and belonging to the US Coast Guard.
“What are the radio ID numbers? I’ll plug them into the Taiyo Td VHF Direction Finder and head there now.”
Vendi punched the numbers into one of the control keyboards and watched the monitor. He said to Dane, “You got your wish. But it’s not good. That life raft isn’t built to sit in waves like this.”
To prove his point a wave hit, splashing their windshield and rattling the boat and everything in it. Cap stumbled. Dane held onto the seat in front of him.
“Then turn up the juice on this thing. We can’t be far.”
“No, we should get there in five or six minutes.”
“But?”
“They’re in relatively open water—northeast of the island before the ferry route takes a turn back west to the Cape.”
“I’ll put on my life vest.”
Vendi nodded.
“How fast does this thing go?”
“Nearly 43 knots—49 miles an hour in civilian speak.”
“Crank it up, Chief.” Dane stood next to him in the pilothouse. Cap stood on Vendi’s other side. Vendi had the wheel and he pushed the throttle.
They all monitored the blip on the screen that signaled the life raft’s position.
“Watch for lights and when we get close we’ll stop and look for the raft and be careful of it. We’re lit up and hopefully the raft will be sending up flares. It’s standard protocol when a boat loses power or communications.”
Dane tried not to think about why they might not be sending up flares.
“When we spot them, I’m going to be at the cutout to pull them on board,” Dane said. No one bothered arguing.
Shana couldn’t stand watching Andy desperately working on the small engine, getting battered by waves while she sat and did nothing.
She stood, hunched against the wind and spray, holding onto the side of the raft with a white-knuckled grip, and moved aft toward Andy.
She shook with cold and pulled the blanket around her.
At least she had one. Andy was exposed and she didn’t know squat about engines, but she could at least grab another blanket from the chest—maybe one of those foil things—and throw it around him.
Glancing back, she confirmed that the other crewman—she hadn’t even gotten his name—was covered while he watched over the padre, trying to keep him dry and warm and somewhat sheltered in the bow area. She proceeded back, aiming for the chest and hoping it held what she needed.
Andy looked up at her.
“What the hell are you doing? Sit down and sit tight.”
“I’m getting one of those foil covers for you before you freeze to death and are no good to any of us.”
“Too late for that—I’m useless with the engine. Time to send up flares.”
She stepped one last step to the chest, but she had to let go with one hand to get to it.
She did. That’s when they hit a wave sideways.
As the raft rolled over it, the boat tilted so that she was plunged forward headfirst. Grabbing desperately for anything to hold as she slid toward the water, her fingers caught a line.
But not before she’d hit the icy depths of churning ocean.
She felt like she’d hit a cement wall. The numbing was instantaneous. And black. Nothing worked and her head felt like it would crack in two. The air in her lungs froze as her chest tightened impossibly.
Then she was lifted back as the boat rocked and the two men rushed to her, covering her and rubbing her and slapping her face.
She felt like stone. She couldn’t move, or talk or see.
She didn’t know if it was because her eyes were closed or if she was blind.
The roar in her ears could have been the ocean, could have been her own blood.
It could have been death bearing down on her.