Chapter 40
JONAH
‘A buoy line must be tangled in the prop,’ Jim yelled. ‘The boat’s heavy. Dragging. If that jams us up we’ll lose all our maneuverability. In this weather you know what that means.’
I nodded. If we couldn’t steer the boat in these waves it wouldn’t be long until they overpowered us. And if we rolled, it was game over in this weather.
‘You can’t shake it off?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t want to risk wrapping it on there even further.’
I stared outside the window, knowing there was only one thing we could do.
‘I’ll cut it,’ I shouted.
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ll do it. She’s my boat.’
‘Exactly. You need to stay here and steer. You know better than anyone how she handles. I’ll cut.’
He was torn, I could tell, but he knew it made sense. He nodded. ‘OK. But you need to clip in. I lose you overboard and your mother will see to it I’m next in the ground.’
He wasn’t wrong.
I suited up in my heavy-duty wet-weather gear again.
They were still wet and cold, stiff. Slightly frozen.
The second I was outside the wind whipped at me, as I clipped myself on to the safety rail, trying not to think how flimsy the safety rope seemed against the raw power of the ocean.
The deck was slippery and pitching. Snow and water came at me from all directions so that for a moment I didn’t know which way was up and which way was down.
I forced myself to keep going, scanning the ocean, feeling relief when we tipped down a wave and I saw it: the colorful buoy in the water, a thick rope attached and surfacing, taut against the wave.
It disappeared into the water in the direction of the stern.
I took my time, being careful, crouched against the side of the boat and I made my way along the deck towards the rope, balancing a sense of urgency against the need to make sure I didn’t end up in the ocean.
I’d be no use to anyone then. Reaching the line, I fumbled in the pocket for my knife, struggling.
It wouldn’t come free. I’d have to lose the thick, frozen glove, and in this cold, that might mean losing a finger or two as well. But it was a risk I knew I had to take.
I’d just pulled the knife out, knowing I had a minute or two, tops, to cut the rope before I lost all feeling in my fingers, when the boat suddenly groaned and pitched almost vertically. I lost my footing, slamming into the deck with such force I felt my shoulder pop.
‘Jonah,’ Jim screamed from the wheelhouse.
‘I’m OK,’ I screamed back, hoping I was telling him the truth.
I found the line again, ignored the searing pain in my arm and I hacked at the rope like my life depended on it, which it did. I was almost through, could see the last few fibers, when the boat pitched again and I felt nothing beneath me but air. Saw nothing around me but black water.
This is how it ends.
The thought flashed briefly into my mind, swiftly followed by another thought.
Hell no, it’s not.
I grabbed into the railing and I pulled with everything I had in me.
The pain was excruciating, but it wasn’t in me to quit.
Hauling myself back onto the deck, I collapsed briefly, before fighting to my feet and reaching for the line again, severing the last few threads with the knife.
It snapped free and disappeared into the night.
I felt the boat surge, freed of the rope that had been holding it back.
The trek back to the wheelhouse was a blur of pain. Jim met me with the wheelhouse door open, unclipped me from the safety line and pulled me inside out of the storm.
‘Jesus, Jonah,’ he yelled, relief, terror and anger co-mingling on his face. ‘You’ve got some balls of steel; I’ll give you that.’
I collapsed to the floor, white-hot pain in my shoulder, stars dancing in my eyes. ‘Like I had a choice.’
He threw a blanket over me and reached for the throttle. ‘Sit tight,’ he said. ‘We’re going home.’