Voyage of the Defiance

by S. E. Smith

  Makayla rolled her eyes. “Nothing’s wrong, unless you count that you fell asleep on my boat and stowed away,” she retorted.

  Tyrell glowered at her again. She swore his face was going to be permanently frozen into that expression if he wasn’t careful. She made a face at him before turning her eyes away. A small frown creased her brow when she realized that she was further out to sea than she thought.

  “You’re doing that frowning, worried thing again with your face,” Tyrell complained, holding his phone up. “There’s no signal here,” he added with a grunt and an accusing glare.

  “I need to check the GPS,” she admitted. “I’m not sure I programmed in the right coordinates.”

  She watched as Tyrell slowly slid up the wall until he was standing. He looked frantically around, trying to find some landmark that he might recognize. She knew that all he would see was water. She had been staring out at it for the past thirty minutes.

  “Are you saying you’re already lost?” He asked in a strained voice. “You know that over seventy-five percent of the earth is covered in water, don’t you? That’s a whole lot of water to get lost on.”

  Makayla fought the desire to roll her eyes at him again and gave up. She was not ‘lost’. The coast was still to her starboard side. She was just a little further out to sea than she had planned to go.

  “So, did you really contact the Coast Guard?” She asked, trying to take his mind off of his fear.

  Tyrell started to nod, then shook his head. “Yes and no,” he finally said with a glum look. “Their site had required information and I didn’t know it, so I put Not Applicable in the fields. It wouldn’t let me submit it.”

  Makayla didn’t bother trying to hide the smile of relief. “So, who were you talking to until you lost the signal?” She asked, studying his face.

  Tyrell shrugged. “I texted my grandma to let her know that I was okay, but might not be home tonight,” he admitted. “I don’t like to worry her, especially….” His voice faded as he stared out at the water. “I lied to her and told her that I was staying at my other cousin’s house for a while. Then, I had to text him and have him cover for me.”

  Makayla nodded. “That’s good, I guess,” she said with a weak smile. “I hope he can cover for you for a while, cause I don’t plan on stopping until I reach Tampa.”

  Tyrell paled and shook his head. “Unless you can get there by tomorrow night, I’m screwed,” he groaned. “We’ve got school on Monday.”

  “Not me,” she retorted with a shrug. “It’s a short week. You’ll only miss a few days.”

  Tyrell jerked up and leaned across the console, surprising her with the fierce look in his eyes. His mouth was tight with anger and he looked like he’d like to do nothing better than reach over and wrap his hands around her neck. Makayla narrowed her eyes in warning. She’d kick his butt if he tried.

  “I need to get home!” He said in frustration. “You might not care about your future, but I care about mine. I’ve got plans!”

  Makayla glared back at him. “You keep saying that,” she snapped. “I’ve got plans,” she mocked, imitating him. “Well, I’ve got news for you! I’ve got plans, too, and they include sailing to Tampa. I told you to go away. I told you I was leaving. Did you listen? No! You got on my boat, without my permission, and stowed away!”

  “I fell asleep!” Tyrell shouted in frustration, throwing his hands up in the air. “I was tired!”

  “It’s not my fault that you were out partying or playing video games half the night and didn’t get to bed,” Makayla yelled back at him. “It’s not my fault that I just wanted to go home and no one would listen to me. It’s not my fault….” Her voice died and her eyes filled with tears. “It’s not my fault,” she whispered, looking away from him for several long minutes before turning back to stare at him. “Listen, I need to check the GPS. I need you to come take the helm,” she said in a husky voice, locking away the painful memories.

  “What?” Tyrell squeaked in shock and dismay when she stepped to the side. “I don’t know nothing about driving a boat.”

  Makayla stared back at him, blinking the tears and pain away. She needed to stay focused. She also realized that if she was going to make this trip, she just might need some help. Whether Tyrell liked it or not, he had unintentionally volunteered for the trip. Makayla knew that until she was far enough away from Fort Pierce that she wasn’t going back, or she made it home, Tyrell was going to be stuck with her and the Defiance.

  “You don’t drive a sailboat, you steer it,” she said in a tight voice. “I need to make sure we are on the right course. Remember when you said that the ocean is a really big place to get lost on? Well, I don’t want to get lost. All you have to do is hold on to the helm and make sure that your right side is facing that way and we are going south. You can look at the compass for that.”

  “What about rocks or other boats or submarines?” Tyrell asked as he gingerly stepped around the console and grabbed the silver steering wheel.

  “Submarines? Are you serious?” Makayla asked, looking at Tyrell as if he was nuts.

  Tyrell shrugged and gave her a sheepish grin. “It could happen,” he said in a slightly defensive tone. “There were U-boats along the coast.”

  “In the 1940’s, maybe,” Makayla replied with a shake of her head. “And you think I am the one that’s crazy. Let me show you what to do,” she muttered.

  Tyrell nodded, listening carefully as Makayla told him how to hold the helm. She also pointed out the compass and explained about the sails and the wind. It wasn’t until she was explaining to him all the things that Henry had told her, that she had a deeper appreciation for her grandfather’s knowledge of both sailing and the ocean.

  “How do you know all this?” Tyrell asked curiously.

  Makayla glanced up at him before she looked back at the compass. “My grandfather,” she replied in a quiet voice.

  *.*.*

  Tyrell had finally relaxed his hands on the silver wheel. He had to after they started to go numb. He’d had such a tight grip on it that he was surprised there weren’t indentions in the shiny metal.

  At first, panic had held him frozen when Makayla stepped away from the helm. It took a moment for him to understand what she was doing. She had moved back a few steps to give him time to get accustom to handling the sailboat on his own.

  After a few minutes, she had moved a little further away to sit on the back section of the cockpit. He’d been too afraid to turn around, but he knew she was there. Every once in a while, she would call out a soft instruction to him to turn the wheel either starboard, to the right, or to the port, to the left.

  They stayed like that, not talking unless it was absolutely necessary, for a good twenty to thirty minutes before she slipped by him and down into the cabin area. She wasn’t gone long. He was grateful for that, although he would never admit it to her.

  He swallowed as he felt the power underneath him as the sailboat cut through the water. This was something he had never experienced before. It was… amazing, in a way. He had never felt this strong, in control, or free in his life.

  “This is what I want,” he whispered, looking out over the water with a new sense of purpose. “I want to see the world.”

  The late afternoon sun streamed down over the full sail. He fumbled for his phone and turned it on. Selecting the camera app, he wrapped one arm in the wheel to keep it in place while he tried to capture the beauty of the sun’s light, the sail, and the sky. He had just snapped two pictures when Makayla stepped up to him and grabbed the wheel. Thankfully, they were on the right track and she wanted to stay headed in that direction without a detour to the emergency room.

  “You shouldn’t hold it like that,” she said with a shake of her head. “If the wind changed and the boat shifted, it could jerked the helm hard and snap your arm before you know it. Henry said you have to always think of things like that. He said one mistake could be fatal on a boat if you don’t use
your head,” she scolded in an exasperated voice.

  Tyrell felt a flash of irritation. “How am I suppose to know that? I don’t know nothing about boats,” he retorted with a defensive shrug as he pulled his arm free and stepped away.

  He moved to sit on the padded bench that ran along one side of the cockpit and sat down with a moody sigh. He looked at his phone, still no signal. Touching the picture, his eyes widened at how good it turned out. He wished he had a real camera.

  “What’s wrong now?” Makayla asked with a raised eyebrow.

  Tyrell looked up at her. The wind was blowing her hair out behind her. He could just catch a glimpse of the water behind her and she looked different standing behind the helm. The large silver wheel was offset by the long sleeved white blouse and black shorts she was wearing. Impulsively, he raised his phone and snapped a picture of her.

  “What are you doing?” Makayla asked when he stood up and started taking more pictures of her.

  Tyrell moved around, trying to capture different angles of her at the helm. He scooted behind her, waiting to get a shot of her with the sail. When she turned her head to glance over her shoulder, he quickly took her picture.

  “I wish I had a better camera,” he complained as he moved around. “The lighting is perfect.”

  Makayla twisted around, trying to keep her eyes on him. He could see the surprise in her eyes at his comment. He bet that was the last thing she expected him to say. Most people who learned about his love for photography had that same look. They always wondered why a big, black guy like him thought he could be a professional photographer. One thing his grandma had always done was give him the belief he could do whatever he wanted to do.

  “It might be a little harder for you,” she had told him. “But, if your heart is true and you fight for your dream, you can be anything you want to be. Never forget that.”

  He knew she was right when he saw the changes in the world. Some were good, some were bad, but he saw the changes and wanted to be a part of it. People like the president, Nelson Mandela, the Dalai Lama, Mother Teresa, and countless others that he had read about in the National Geographic magazines he had been collecting since he was seven made him believe he could do it. While he didn’t want to become a world leader, he did want to become a photographer that helped capture the amazing world they lived in.

  He wanted to capture the good, the bad, the ugly, but mostly the beauty so that maybe others could see it. That was why he took that picture of his grandmother in the kitchen cooking. It had shown the love, the family, the sense of purpose that made up life. He had never shared his feelings with anyone else. They would think it was soft and make fun of him. They were his dreams and somehow, some way, he would make them come true.

  “What?” He said, realizing that Makayla had said something and was waiting for him to reply.

  Makayla rolled her eyes at him. “I said I think there is a camera in the storage under the couch. Henry had brought it the last time we went sailing and I remember him putting it in there. You can see if it is still there.”

  Tyrell swallowed over the tightness in his throat. “Are you sure?” He asked, stepping toward the hatch.

  “I wouldn’t have told you if I wasn’t, would I?” She asked dryly.

  Tyrell nodded and turned to climb back down the steps. He moved over to the couch and lifted the cushion. Sure enough, there was a storage area under it. He lifted it up and gaze down. It was filled with canned goods, a tarp still in the bag, and other odds and ends. His gaze flickered over them before settling on the small black camera case. Bending, he carefully picked it up. He closed and locked the storage compartment. Setting the cushion back into place, he sat down and unzipped the bag. His breath caught in his throat. It was a Canon 70D with several different, interchangeable lenses, extra batteries, and a charger.

  “Wow!” He muttered, gently lifting it in his hands with a reverence that belied his excitement.

  He turned it over in his hands. This was one of the cameras he had been saving up for. It was going to take him years, but he’d dreamed of having a nice camera like this. He shook his head. Some people just didn’t appreciate how good they had it, he thought as he turned it on and looked through the pictures on the SD card. They were okay, but not great. The photographer didn’t understand the principles of lighting and angle.

  “Did you find it?” Makayla called from above.

  “Yeah,” Tyrell responded, slipping the strap over his head and adjusting it around his neck. “Yeah, I found it.”

  Chapter 20

  The sun had set half an hour ago and the wind had disappeared with it. The sail barely moved in the light breeze. Makayla furled the jib and retracted the sail back into the boom. This would be a good time to fix something to eat and go back over the charts and GPS to make sure she was heading in the right direction.

  “Where are you going?” Tyrell asked, looking up from the manual on the camera that he was reading using the small light near the hatch.

  “I’m hungry,” she said. “I’m going to fix something to eat. Is that okay with you?”

  She made sure that she asked the last part with just enough sarcasm for him to understand that she wasn’t really asking for his permission. She locked the winch into place and checked that the helm was also secured so that the wheel couldn’t turn. Walking around the console, she waited as Tyrell twisted so she could get by him.

  “I’m hungry,” he said with a slightly crooked smile.

  She paused on the step, half way down into the companionway and stared at him with a raised eyebrow. The smile on his face grew and he widened his eyes in the perfect imitation of a puppy or a kid knowing he was pushing it. Releasing an exaggerated breath, she mumbled under her breath that she might still throw him overboard.

  Tyrell closed the manual he was reading and carefully lifted the camera out of his lap before he rose and followed her into the cabin. He quickly slid onto the padded seat by the small table when she pushed him out of her way. Staring at her, he wondered what was going through her head.

  “This is a really nice camera,” he commented.

  “Is it?” She asked, glancing over her shoulder at the camera sitting in front of him before she turned back around with a shrug. “I wouldn’t know. I usually just use my phone.”

  “The cameras on phones are okay for most people, but if you want to take really good quality shots, you need a nice camera,” he explained.

  “The phone’s camera is good enough for me and it’s handy,” she commented distractedly.

  Makayla opened up the small cabinet and pulled out a couple of microwavable containers of macaroni and cheese. Reading the directions, she pulled the lid off and pulled out the silver packet inside. Placing the white plastic cups under the faucet, she filled both of them to the waterline before sticking them in the microwave bolted to the shelf.

  She opened the small panel next to the couch and pressed the button, waiting for the generator to turn on. For most things, they could use the small, wind powered generator that charged the house batteries, but for things like the microwave, she needed to run the fuel powered generator. Most of the circuits ran on 12V DC, but every once in a while, they needed 110V AC.

  Punching the time into the microwave display, she started it while she looked for a box of crackers and some fresh fruit to go with their meal. She pulled the small cups out when the microwave beeped and turned the generator back off. No sense wasting the fuel to run it.

  She quickly mixed the orange cheesy goo into the cups, stirring it until it had melted into the limp pasta shells. Turning, she placed the box of crackers, fruit, and both small cups down on the table. She pulled another drawer out for their utensils before grabbing two bottles of water out of the small refrigerator.

  “Bon appétit,” she said, sliding onto the cushion across from him.

  Her lips curled at the corners. There was a decidedly skeptical expression on his face to the edibility of the concoction.
If he expected restaurant quality food, he could think again. She was an okay cook as long as she kept it simple. Right now, she was hungry, tired, and her face, lip, and a half dozen other places were beginning to throb from the fight she had been in the day before.

  “Thanks… I think,” he muttered, picking up his fork. “So, what happened that was so bad it made you decide to steal a sailboat and risk your neck doing something really crazy… like trying to sail around the coast of Florida on your own?”

  Makayla’s hand froze half way to her mouth for a second before she took a bite of her dinner. Her eyes narrowed on his face when he just stared at her. For a moment, she debated if she should even respond to his question. After all, it really wasn’t any of his business what she did or didn’t do; he was the uninvited guest, not her.

  “I wanted to go home,” she said, focusing on her food. “Why’s this project so important to you? Something tells me you wouldn’t be sneaking onto someone’s boat and stowing away for a math or science project.”

  Tyrell picked up several crackers and crushed them up into his cup. Stirring it, he shrugged. She could tell he was debating whether to tell her.

  “You’re going to think I’m stupid,” he finally said in a small voice.

  Makayla frowned. “Why would you think that?” She asked, taking another bite of her meal.

  Tyrell looked up at her and sighed. “Because everyone does,” he muttered. “Well, everyone but my grandma. She understands.”

  Makayla reached forward and grabbed a handful of crackers, popping one of them into her mouth. She chewed it and swallowed as she watched him play with his food. It took a moment for her to realize that he really was nervous about telling her.

  “Try me,” she said in a quiet voice. “Who knows, I might actually think you are brilliant.”

  A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I want to be a National Geographic photographer,” he admitted in a rush of words. “I want to make a difference in the world. I want to explore it and see things and capture both the beauty and the tragedy of it. I want my pictures to be in the magazines and I want to meet the different people and see where they live. I want…,” his voiced faded for a moment and he leaned forward, setting his fork down next to the plastic cup and touching the camera on the table next to him. “I want to make a difference in the world with my pictures the way the ones in the magazine made a difference to me.”