Chapter Five
Cillian
Don’t come loose don’t come loose don’t come loose don’t come loose don’t come loose don’t come loose don’t come loose don’t come loose don’t come loose don’t come loose don’t come loose don’t come loose don’t come loose don’t come loose don’t come loose don’t come loose don’t come loose don’t come loose don’t come loose.
He’s fifty feet up. It feels like a mile. I promised I’d keep him lower than the others.
The winch creaks, the mount shaking as the machine struggles to pull the sail back in.
One more powerful gust and the bolts will shear.
The sail will fly loose, Jules with it. It’s either a miracle that the line hasn’t snapped already or a testament to good equipment—never have I been more grateful for Seán’s attention to detail.
Except when he misses an entire storm.
But I saw the weather report too. A tiny blip. A little cluster of winds at midday, and the rest of the day was predicted sunny, hot, and calm. We waited until well after lunch to be sure we were in the clear.
“What do we do?” Mathieu shouts to be heard over the storm. He clutches my arm as we climb a huge swell.
“Get inside!” The downpour has plastered Mathieu’s golden curls to his head.
He wipes ineffectually at his bangs to clear his vision, feet failing to find steady purchase on the slick boards.
Water washes over the deck, threatening to sweep our feet from under us.
If someone goes overboard, Seán won’t be able to turn around.
Swells this high could roll the yacht. “I need to focus on getting him down, not on keeping you from slipping. In. Now.”
“Mathieu, come here.” Darren is holding the door open for him. The group are huddled behind him in the cabin.
The winch makes a shearing sound, and the rate at which it’s pulling in the sail slows to a crawl.
Jules is close enough for me to see that he’s dangling precariously by the back of his harness. Tangled, not tied. I hope the rope behaves like any other, where neat lines become impossible knots against the laws of physics.
“Can I help?” Mathieu asks once more.
“No.”
Mathieu casts a final look at Jules and turns from him with a grim expression. He times it for when the nose of the yacht dips, and half falls, half slips into Darren’s waiting arms. The cabin door slams shut.
Smoke rises from the winch.
Jules hovers above the back railing, close enough I can see the terror on his face. The snapping of the sail cuts through the wind. “Come on, come on,” I mutter. Metal screeches against metal in the winch. Something’s giving way. “One more second.”
We climb a wave that sends the yacht up at a steep angle. The wind drops. We’re in the wind shadow of the swell. I only have seconds before the crest.
I ignore the warning sounds the winch is making and turn the dial up to full power. I glare at the buckle I need to pull on his harness to get him out.
The winch pops and stops.
The yacht levels out at the crest. Jules drops. I lunge across the slick deck, catching him as he crashes into the railing. It’s like wrapping my arms around a blanket left outside overnight, stiff with morning frost. We fall together onto the deck.
The yacht dips.
We slide across the deck, coming to a stop as we strike the cabin wall. If I’m hurt, I don’t feel it. I grab Jules around his stomach and yank him to his feet with me.
The sail flies, ripping the winch out of the deck.
I shove open the door and get us inside, panting as I slam it shut.
The floor is a mess of shattered glass. Furniture is overturned and broken; bags are scattered, clothes spilling from them.
Red wine spills out from the breakfast bar as if it’s bleeding.
The room reeks of alcohol. The doors leading to the bathroom and bedrooms are open and swinging, banging with each rock of the boat.
The group huddle at the far end of the bench, watching the storm through the windows. Darren is holding Mathieu by the wrist.
Mathieu sets eyes on Jules and his shoulders drop, a breath shuddering out of him.
“Are you okay?” Mathieu asks. “Jules?”
Jules is plastered against my chest. I have my arm locked around his back, and my grip is hard. I struggle to loosen my hold, my muscles rigid. Jules is shaking. Cold, or shock, or both?
I grab the handheld radio hanging next to the door. “Seán?”
“Please tell me you got them in.”
“We’re all inside, door’s shut.” Other details can wait. “You?” A swell sends glass tinkling across the floor. My foot slips. My arms clamp tighter around Jules.
“We lost the canopy over the top deck, but the cockpit is good. Keeping her straight, but, fuck, that’s two waterspouts that have formed.” Seán’s voice is tight. “Hunker down, make sure nobody goes out on deck. Including you.”
“Copy.” I jam the radio into my pocket.
I don’t envy Seán the job of driving in this storm, but I don’t relish my own position either as half a dozen fearful gazes turn on me. Seán is better at the people aspect of this job than me.
“We’re okay,” I say. The waves are bigger than I’ve ever seen. “As long as the bow stays pointed into the waves, we’ll just ride it out.” Is the maintenance hatch shut? “No going out, no opening the doors, no opening the windows.”
We crash down another huge wave. Willow bangs her head and starts crying. Past her, the rain is too thick to tell if the hatch is open or shut.
“Try tucking yourself in somewhere that you won’t get knocked down.
Is anyone hurt?” They all shake their heads.
I tug Jules with me as I move to the side.
There’s a narrow slip between the cabin wall and the breakfast bar that’s empty.
The stool that’s usually there is in pieces across the room.
I drop to the floor, out of view of everyone, and pull Jules against my chest. His head lolls slack against my shoulder, as if he’s unconscious.
But he’s not. He was just standing, and his eyes are open.
I realise that he hasn’t said a word.
“Jules?” I cup his cheek. His pupils are even, but his gaze is vacant. His skin feels like ice.
“Are you okay?” Mathieu appears in the gap and drops to his knees. In his arms are the throw blankets from the couch. He peers into Jules’s face. “Jules?”
I wrap the blankets around Jules as Mathieu takes his hands and warms them between his own. All the while we’re getting battered by the waves, which are getting rougher. It’s all I can do to keep Jules from getting knocked into the wall or the breakfast bar.
He hit the rail at the same time as I caught him. Did his head whip back? It was barely five minutes ago, but I can’t remember. I feel the back of his head. There’s a bump. It’s the only part of him that’s hot.
“Should I get ice?”
“Not until we warm him up. I don’t know if it’s shock or cold, but until he doesn’t feel like ice, the last thing I want is to apply cold to his head.”
A powerful jolt sends Mathieu crashing into the edge of the bar. He yelps and cups a hand over one eye. Similar sounds come from the others, followed by a sharp cry from one of the girls, their voice too altered to distinguish. “I have glass in my arm. Oh God, pull it out.”
My head snaps up. “Do not pull that out. Mathieu, can you swap with me?”
We swap places. Mathieu braces his arm on the wall and rides out a wave while protecting Jules’s head.
I turn my attention to the group. Willow and Charles are holding Mary still, and I see a splash of blood on her shirt.
Everyone’s feet seem especially pale and exposed, hovering near so much broken glass.
My attention is drawn past them. I see why the rocking has worsened: the waves are breaking, crashing over the deck.
Shit. Waves only break on open water for a few reasons.
Freak rogue waves, winds so strong they push the peak of the wave right off, and complicated current and wave patterns coinciding at perfect angles.
“There’s an island.” Yasop is plastered to the window, hanging on to the grab rail beneath it.
“Is there a dock?” Darren asks. He’s exactly where he was two minutes ago, clutching the nailed-down table in the dining area.
“I can’t tell.”
A wave rises high like a wall. It begins to break, and I’ve seen waves like this many times. I’ve chased them with Seán and his dad, dressed in swim shorts, body flat on a surfboard.
You don’t need a single wild element to align for waves to break when you’re in the shallows.
“Life jackets,” I bark. I kick through the glass shards and rip open the life jacket trunk.
I toss one at everyone. “Mary, leave that in.” A shard of glass is sticking out of her upper arm.
“Help her into the jacket,” I order Willow and Charles.
I stuff one over my own head as I stumble back to Mathieu and Jules.
“Are we going to sink?” Darren demands. He gets his life jacket on without issue.
“We’re turning. Our nose isn’t pointed into the waves. Didn’t you say we needed to keep straight?” Mary’s voice is shrill.
She’s right, we’re twisting.
I drop to my knees and pull Jules forward, and realise as I do that he already has a life jacket on. So does Mathieu.
“Everyone brace,” I call.
I snatch the radio from my pocket. Now isn’t the time to distract Seán. I know that. I do. I hold down the button. “Life jacket, Seán. Or I’ll rat you out to your dad.”
There’s a static burst, followed by Seán’s voice. “Nark.”
The wave catches the ship broadside.
We roll.