Chapter Eighteen
Before I know it, I’m in the water. I don’t remember tying the rope around my waist again, or diving in.
One second I’m standing on the boat, and the next I’m frantically swimming toward Jackson.
I expect it to be exhausting, but the current must be working in my favor because before long, he’s right there.
When I reach his side, he automatically releases an arm from his death grip on the flotation and wraps it around my back. I cling to the ring, my chest heaving.
“Where the hell did you come from?” I gasp.
His eyes are bloodshot, and his lips are peeling and split. A painful looking sunburn races across his forehead and down his nose, but he smiles. “I could ask you the same,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I thought I was lost to the ocean for sure.”
I lean my head against his, and this time, I don’t hold back my tears. “God, I thought you were dead. What happened?”
“I was tied to the boat at one point,” he says, as he nuzzles his face where my neck meets my shoulder. “But it came loose. I was trying to conserve energy in case I spotted land, but I’d pretty much given up hope.”
I keep expecting him to disappear, for this all to be a mirage or something, but he smiles at me, and this is exactly what I needed. I needed Jackson to be okay. I needed his level head to help me figure out what to do next. I needed Jackson.
I lean in and kiss him.
When he breaks away to take a ragged breath, he’s smiling from ear to ear. A rare Jackson expression.
“How’s Emmy? Where is she?” he asks
My stomach sinks. “She’s on board, but she’s not good. Come on. She’s been asking for you.”
Together we swim back toward the boat. He’s way more energized than Emmy. That’s not surprising, considering he doesn’t have a fever or a disgusting oozing wound, but he’s been adrift in the ocean probably close to eighteen hours. When he said he conserved his energy, he wasn’t kidding.
At the boat, he waits for me to climb up first, but the moment we’re both out of the water, he goes straight for his sister. I hang back to give them a minute to gush over their mutual survival, but Emmy’s not very responsive. She mumbles incoherent answers to his questions.
She needs more water.
I grab the one I opened from my bag and try to hand it to Jackson, but he shakes his head.
“Give it to Emmy. She needs it more than I do.”
It’s as hard as it was last time, but we finally get her to sit up long enough to drink a few mouthfuls before she lies back down.
“Do we have a plan or are we still in ‘glad to be alive’ mode?” Jackson asks.
“We’re in ‘need a plan but don’t have one’ mode.”
“Right on schedule, I see.”
I sit beside him and check Emmy’s temperature again. Her cheeks are more flushed, and I don’t know if that’s from the sun or the fever, but I dig through my bag for the sunscreen and slather it all over her. She doesn’t react at all.
I can’t stop looking over every inch of Jackson, even his nerdy Sherlock shirt. How in the hell did all three of us survive this?
“What happened during the storm?” I ask.
He pauses before he responds. “The wave came out of nowhere. If it was ahead of us, we might have had a chance, but the second I saw it coming from the side, I knew it was bad.”
A shiver races down my spine. I’ll probably have nightmares about that wave, climbing impossibly high, for the rest of my life.
“I did the only thing I could think of. I grabbed you and held on. The wave hit so hard. I think my shirt got caught on a broken portion of the rail, because the water cleared and I was still on the deck, with you under me. You had blood running down your face, and you weren’t responding when I called your name, so I grabbed the nearest rope and tied you to a metal support as tightly as I could.
I barely finished tying the knot when another wave hit, and the next thing I knew, I was in the ocean with that flotation ring. I’m not even sure how I got it.”
That makes two of us.
He points at my loose piece of scalp. “That doesn’t look great.”
I shrug. “Better than Emmy?”
“Barely.”
We both turn to stare at her. She’s still on her side, and from here, she looks so vulnerable, curled into the fetal position.
Her injured arm is stretched out in front of her, baking in the sun.
I got sunscreen all down both her arms, but I didn’t want to get it too close to the wound. Pus and sunscreen don’t exactly mix.
“So what do we do now?” I ask.
“You tell me.”
One comment, that’s all it takes for the relief of finding him alive to be replaced with annoyance. “Me? I’m not in charge here. You’re the idea man.”
“I’m fresh out of ideas. I think it’s your turn.” He gestures to the boat. “This thing is like an hourglass, slowly leaking the last of the air keeping it afloat. If you don’t want to go down with this ship, you need to make a plan.”
I scowl at him. “I know that, Jackson. I just don’t know what to do about it.”
He nods thoughtfully. His sunburn looks impossibly red, but he doesn’t complain. He watches me and waits.
I wrap my arms around my knees. “There’s an emergency raft in the boat.”
“Can you get to it? Safely?”
“Maybe. As long as the hourglass doesn’t run out of sand while I’m in there. But what good will it do us if we’re still out in the middle of the ocean?”
Jackson takes a deep breath and blows it out through his nose. “Not sure, but it’s better than being in the water.”
“Well, aren’t you buckets of help.”
“We haven’t even covered the possibility of you not being able to find the raft. Or it being too heavy to drag up here.”
I groan and climb to my feet, carefully working my way toward the back. “Are you trying to make this seem more hopeless? I promise you don’t have to. I’m aware we’re probably going to die. I don’t need you to confirm it.”
“I’m not confirming anything. I’m pushing you to make a plan.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll be dead for sure without one.”
“Ugh! How can I be so happy to see you one minute and so sick of you the next?”
Jackson lets out a laugh that makes my stomach flip. “It’s one of my many talents.” Then he sobers. “What’s the most pressing problem?”
I make a mental list and prioritize until there’s a clear winner. “Emmy’s fever. And the infection in her wound.”
“So, step one, get her medical attention. Lucky for her, that’s sort of your specialty.”
“I’m not a nurse—yet. I was only raised by one.”
“Which makes you the most qualified person to keep her alive. Of those left on this boat, anyway.”
Ben’s face flashes in my mind. I’m acutely aware that he’s not only missing, but also that nobody’s asked about him. He made his bed, but I feel a little bit bad about it anyway.
Right up until I remember him trying to rip the life vest from my body to save himself. If he’d been successful, I’d be dead. Without a doubt.
That takes care of the guilt pretty fast.
I shake my head. “Okay, so medical attention for Emmy. I think there’s a first aid kit in the boat.
There should be something in there to keep her wound closed and covered at least. Then…
we need a way off this boat. If the raft is still on board, I can grab that too.
There were extra snorkel masks in the storage benches around the table.
That’ll make it easier to find everything.
The tricky part is what comes after that.
How are we supposed to get to shore in an inflatable raft if we couldn’t make it happen before the boat flipped? ”
“A raft is easier to maneuver than a damaged sailboat we don’t know how to operate,” he points out. “Besides, we’re fresh out of other options. We can’t stay out on the ocean like this. We’re too exposed. There’s not enough food, not enough water. And the Be-Yacht-Ch is not long for this world.”
I turn in a slow circle, scanning the hazy horizon.
He’s right again, and he’s not saying anything I don’t already know, but the idea of maneuvering waves in a tiny inflatable is downright terrifying.
Not that there’s a single cloud in the sky at the moment.
But the memories are there. I don’t think I’ll ever look at lightning the same way again.
I look up at the sun, slowly moving through the sky toward the bow. “Fine, but we don’t leave the boat unless we have no other option. That or we have something to aim for.”
“Hannah.”
I pull at the knot around my waist, making sure the rope is still secure. “Yeah?”
“I think we have something to aim for.”
My head snaps up. In the distance, a sliver of green lines the horizon. I blink a dozen times, absolutely sure I’m hallucinating. But no matter how much I rub at my eyes, it’s still there.
“Oh my god… Is that…?”
Jackson turns to me with wide hopeful eyes.
I’ll take that as a yes.
The wind is to our back and the current is taking us straight toward that sliver of green.
“Mainland or island?” I ask.
“Does it matter?”
Nope.
I grab his hand and squeeze it as we stare wordlessly at our salvation in the distance.
The longer we stare, the wider the sliver of green becomes until I’m almost positive we’re staring at the mainland.
As horrifying as it was, that second storm had its benefits.
All that wind must have pitched us closer to shore.
Reluctantly I let go of Jackson’s hand. “Okay, same plan but in high speed: we need the first aid kit and the raft, and we need them before the winds or currents change and we’re swept farther out.
Can you hang on to the other end of the rope?
If I need help, I’ll tug on it, and you can pull me back in? ”
“Of course. I’ve got you.”
That’s all I need.
Jackson leans forward and presses his forehead against mine. “Be careful, Hannah. If this boat goes under, and you’re still inside it, you won’t survive.”
The fear should be familiar by now. I should be able to block it out easier, but it churns my stomach. But once again, I have no other choice.
I place my hand on his cheek and smile. “I’ll be right back.”
He holds the rope steady. “You better be.”
I take a deep breath and jump back into the water, hoping with everything I have that the raft is still on board, or I don’t know what we’re going to do.
This time, I get into the cabin and up to the air pocket in a flash. The air is stuffy and thinner, but it’ll do. Jackson’s face appears on the other side of the porthole, and I give him a thumbs-up. I refill my lungs and swim down to the table. Loose items float around my face as I go deeper.
I maneuver down to the compartments around the table and get ready to move fast. I don’t want everything else to escape when I open the lid, or it’ll make searching the rest of the space a nightmare.
I lift the lid and wiggle my arm inside to the bicep, twisting to reach down far enough.
My fingers dance around machinery parts, and all kinds of plastic and foam textures that are decidedly not a dive mask, until I run out of air.
I snap the lid closed and push back to the air pocket.
I only stay long enough to take another breath, and then I’m right back where I started, shoving my arm back into the storage space but on the far side. Almost the second my hand gets near the bottom, it closes around something smooth and flat, with a nose piece.
Yes!
I snatch the mask out and swim to the air pocket.
The dive mask feels like gold in my hands—there’s little to no chance I’d be able to find what I need without it.
Not before this boat sinks anyway. I dump the water out of it and—very carefully—slide the mask over my face without ripping that loose piece of scalp clean off my head.
This time when I dive under, the true state of the boat is clear.
There’s stuff everywhere. Plastic bags, socks, waterlogged cardboard, the now-empty plastic bin that used to hold our shoes, pot holders, plastic plates, and hand towels.
The new “bottom” of the boat is littered with broken dishes and coffee cups.
Almost all the kitchen cabinets have been knocked open.
Blankets from Captain Keith’s bed are drifting through the door from his room. I knock items away from my face and swim down to the compartment on the other side of the table. With the mask, I spot the first aid kit right away and kick back to the surface for air.
One more item, and I’m out of here.
The boat lets out the kind of creak that makes my entire body cringe. I pause to see if it’s going to flip. After the longest moment in my life, it doesn’t.
I make sure the first aid kit is completely sealed inside its bag, slide my arm through the handle to free up my hands, and dive straight back to the storage compartment housing the raft.
This time I don’t bother being careful with the lid.
I throw it open and go straight for it. The fluorescent green bag is impossible to miss.
I drag it out, batting away all the other stuff that floats out with it, and lug the heavy case toward the hatch opening.
Lifting this thing is like pulling a small kid out of the deep end.
I’m not going to be able to haul it up on my own. It’s too heavy.
The weight will drag me down with it.
I set the green bag inside the hatch opening and kick to the surface. “Jackson!”
I wait, but there’s no answer. I call for him again and tug on the rope but there’s no movement or tension on the other end. I can’t see him on top of the boat either.
The boat lets out another groan, and I swear under my breath. Emmy must have needed something. I’m going to have to do this myself until he gets back.
I dive back down, make sure I have a good grip on the bag’s handles, and kick off the boat.
I break the surface and the added weight tries to drag me right back down.
I struggle against the waves. Everything burns—the saltwater up my nose, my arms with the effort of holding onto the raft, my legs from trying to kick hard enough to keep me above water.
The handle of the first aid kit even yanks at the rope burns on my forearm until my whole arm is on fire.
Jackson doesn’t return.
Finally I reach the back railing, breathing hard. I climb back-first up the railing, dragging both the raft and the first aid kit behind me. Water streams from the bags but they don’t get any lighter.
“Jackson!” I gasp.
He still doesn’t appear. Biting back a plume of frustration, I take a breath and heave both items the rest of the way to the top.
They land half on the lifelines and half on the fiberglass with a wet thud.
I turn to rip Jackson a new one for leaving me high and dry, but my frustration dissolves into panic when I find him crouched over Emmy.
“Help her!” he begs while his sister convulses against the deck. “I don’t know what to do!”
Shit.
Emmy’s having a seizure.