Chapter 20
I’ve doubled up my socks inside my rubber boots, but they do nothing to protect me against the chill.
It’s a raw, damp cold that makes me shiver as soon as I step outside the house.
The early-morning light is pale, timid, and doing little to disperse the darkness.
I wish the sun was fully up, but we agreed to meet at eight o’clock, and sunrise wasn’t until a quarter to. I looked it up.
Approaching the dock, I feel a surge of fear. There’s a metallic taste in my mouth.
My chest feels heavy as I step onto the boat and turn the key. The engine sputters as it revs up, and I have to try several times before it starts.
The boat has an orange hull that’s as lurid as a stoplight in the dark. Is that a good or a bad thing? An image flashes in my mind: a capsized orange hull bobbing in the water.
I press on, determined to get away from the image. I don’t want to think that way. I can’t.
A shudder runs through my body as I cast off the lines, but I continue the process to launch from the dock just like Dad taught me.
The boat is floating freely now. The dock is out of reach.
Rasmus is waiting, I think, trying to steel myself. He’s right; we have to do something to find Axel. We’re the only ones who can.
Dad keeps nautical charts in the boat, but I know the way by heart. I steer out through the narrow strait. The boat vibrates as I set course for Runmaro and pass islands and skerries on my way to the deep waters of Kanholmsfj?rden Bay.
Frost glistens on the pine trees. The sea surface shines with a fresh crust of thin ice even though it’s only mid-October. A glow in the east announces that the sun is about to rise.
I can’t help but think about Old Man Ingvar and his warning not to sail in the dark.
I pass Gastholmsgrundet skerry on the starboard side, and as it disappears from view, I catch a glimpse of the headland of Skarp-Runmarn, the island where Rasmus lives.
My fingers are starting to go numb from cold, and I let go of the steering wheel with my left hand to blow on them. I should have worn thicker gloves, but it’s too late to do anything about it now.
Suddenly, the boat lurches with so much force that I almost lose my balance. I have to grip the steering wheel hard to keep myself from falling over.
What was that? Did I hit something?
Instinctively, I slow down and put the boat into neutral while I take a look around.
Did I run into some land?
There shouldn’t be anything here. I’m out on open water. Kanholmsfj?rden Bay is deep, over a hundred yards in places. It’s one of the largest bays in the archipelago, and I’ve sailed across it hundreds of times. There’s no land around here, I’m sure of it.
It’s hard to see properly in the half light, but I turn my head this way and that, searching as thoroughly as I can.
The boat is perfectly still in the water when another thump comes. This time I feel the shock through the hull. The force of it travels through the boat and into my body. Suddenly, the sea is very close.
It’s dead silent.
Then another strike, fast and merciless. This time water splashes over the side, and I’m knocked off my feet.
I lie there, unable to move, half expecting the boat to capsize. The moment lasts an eternity. Then the hull straightens again, and I snap out of my daze.
I lunge at the dashboard, grab the throttle, and rev up to full speed, ignoring the engine’s roar of protest.
The boat surges with a jerk that almost floors me again, but I manage to stay standing and grip the steering wheel with frozen fingers.
Away, away. I have to get away from here.
The boat flies over the waves. I’ve never driven so fast. Dad would never allow it. But I felt intentional violence in that last blow. I felt it—whatever it was—preparing to strike.
That wasn’t land. It was something else. Something alive that wanted to hurt me.
I press my hand on the throttle to go faster, even though I’m already at maximum speed. The wind force brings tears to my eyes, and everything becomes a blur until finally the outline of Runmaro comes into view up ahead.
I have to make it to land. I have to get away from the deep water.
I can’t help but glance desperately over my shoulder.
Something is following the boat. A pale whisper in the waves, a cold current beneath the surface traveling much faster than me.
It doesn’t want to let me get away.
I’m heading east, toward the light that will soon spill forth from that pale sliver of sun peeping over the horizon.
Jacobsson hasn’t come home yet. His boat is missing.
I remember Dad’s words.
When I see the Gatan dock in the distance, my legs are aching from the effort of riding the waves. But I continue at the same speed with my end goal in sight: the school on Runmaro.
Stay away from the water after dark, Old Man Ingvar said.
For some reason, I just know that daylight is the answer. If I can make it till sunrise, I’ll be safe. For now, at least.
The first rays dazzle me, but I’ve never been happier to see daybreak. My temples throb as I tilt my head to bathe my face in the dawn light.
There’s the school dock.
I can see the building clearly now. The flagpole in the middle of the school yard, the red roof with weathered tiles.
Then, just before the sun rises above the water, I feel a thud. One last little bump against the hull, not even hard enough to push the boat off course. Almost playful, like a reminder.
Or a threat.
See you soon.