by Ray Wench
“Okay, Daddy. Hope you know what you're doing.”
Yeah, me too.
Thirty-Eight
He cut the engine short of the leader's boat, but the choppy waves prevented him from drifting far. Even with his limited time on a boat, he could smell the storm in the wind. The other boat moved close, one of the crew latched on to his. The leader came alongside. “We're not off to a very good start, mate. I told you to leave them aboard.”
“I wasn't about to give up my only leverage for getting off that ship.”
With an experienced and practiced step, the other man landed on the deck of Mark's boat. He carried no weapon, Mark covered by an automatic rifle held by one of the crew. “Oh, believe me, if I'm ordered to get our men back, it will happen and there won't be much your little navy can do about it ’cept die.” A second man followed. He took a quick look around, ducked and peered below decks, but did not go down the stairs. He gave a quick nod to the boss. “Step aside now, and let me have the wheel.”
Mark did as instructed. While the gunman watched Mark, the leader moved the stick and the boat shot forward at full speed. Cold water sprayed them. The leader stood tall, the wind blasting full in his face, his long hair trailing like a cape. “Yahoo! We gotta big storm heading our way. Hope you told your captains to batten down the hatches.”
A pang of dread struck Mark like a bolt of lightning. Either Tara or Lynn would have enough sense to give that command. He thought of Lynn, picturing her the last time he'd held her, kissed her and wondered once more, if this would be the last time he saw her. He could almost hear her voice, “So, this is normal, huh?”
He closed his eyes against the harsh wind. It felt good against his sweaty face. He opened them again, forced to squint, but something seemed different. The mass of the freighter grew before him, blocking anything beyond. But that wasn't it. He glanced to each side. What was it? He squinted harder and ducked low to block the wind. Had his eyes deceived him? No, the other patrol boats were gone.
Panic gripped his heart. He spun fast, almost falling off balance as the boat crested another wave. To his relief, he could not see the armada streaking toward his friends. But if not there, where? He scanned the lake on both sides. Not one boat was in sight.
Their craft launched into the air and slammed into the bottom of another wave. The water getting rougher by the moment, the wind velocity increased. As if reading Mark’s mind, the leader yelled, “Don't worry, mate, our boats are still there. Whenever a storm brews, we move to the lee side. The freighter bears the brunt and shelters the smaller vessels. See,” he pointed, “we've dropped anchor for the night to wait it out.”
The information did little to nullify the fear Mark felt for Lynn and company. Would they know enough to seek shelter before it's too late? He tried to think of those aboard the boats. Did any of them have any boating experience? What had he gotten them all into now?
The leader deftly maneuvered the craft toward the stern where a ten-by-ten foot platform had been lowered to just above the lake surface. The guard reached over the side and grabbed it. The boat pitched, throwing all of them off balance. The guard stumbled and fell over the side landing on the platform. If Mark intended to make a move, now was the time, but as he stepped forward, he glanced to the leader and noted the steady stance and the gun pointed at him. “Easy now, mate. Wouldn't want to have to hurt you before the captain says it's all right.”
Mark started to raise his hands then thought better of it.
“You okay over there, Clancy,”
“Aye.”
“Well, steady on. Here comes our guest.” He motioned with his gun for Mark to climb to the platform.
Mark stepped on the gunwale just as another wave hit. The sudden rise and fall pitched him forward. He bounced on the platform, clutched for the guide rope but missed. The next thing he knew he was underwater. He spluttered and kicked toward the surface. Something strong latched on to his hair and lifted him painfully above the surface. The platform was right in front of him.
He placed both forearms on the metal surface and tried to lever his body high enough to slide a leg up. However, his efforts fell short and drained him. Hands grabbed each arm and lifted him till he could place both feet on the platform. A heavy hand swatted his back; he jolted forward and coughed up water.
“There, ya go. That's the stuff. Get all that nasty Lake Erie water out of your system.” The leader patted him hard again. “Don't have very good sea legs, do you? Well, no matter. Once you get on deck you'll think you're on dry land.”
Mark wiped water from his face.
“Most days at any rate. The storm will give you pause now and then, but otherwise smooth as a shaved snapper. And I don't mean the fish.” He laughed. The platform ascended, again throwing Mark off balance. “Whoa! Best hold on to the rope or we'll be fishing you from the water again.” He laughed loud and hard.
The higher they went, the stronger the wind. The platform swayed and bounced on the ship’s side. Mark stumbled from the impact, but a powerful hand grasped his arm to ensure he didn't fall.
The ride seemed to take an eternity. Once they cleared the side guard wires, a large crane swung the platform mid-ship and lowered it to the deck. “Well, now, that wasn't too bad, was it?” The leader slapped Mark on the back once more. “This way, mate.” He led the way, the gunman falling in behind them.
Shipping containers lined the deck, two high and set in blocks two by ten. Most of them were closed, but Mark caught enough details to see the containers were being used as accommodations. How many people lived on the freighter? The ship was massive, like a city on water. And that was only what he could see. No telling how many lived below.
The leader came to a set of metal stairs leading to the bridge. He ascended without looking back to make sure Mark was behind him. Mark paused and looked up and the gunman nudged him with the gun. The man probably didn't realize he'd made a huge mistake. With one quick move Mark would have the gun, but then what? He wasn't about to take on an entire ship by himself. But, that did tell him that he wasn't dealing with professionals. They would make other mistakes. He would wait for a time when the odds were better before making a move.
The steps rose in two sections, from both sides of the deck. The first section took them to an open-air bridge. They walked about twenty feet to another set of stairs leading to the enclosed bridge.
Like an old-time horror movie, the first bolt of lightning lit the sky just as his guide opened the sliding door leading inside. For an instant, the large figure midway across the bridge stood haloed in the lightning, but far from giving off an angelic countenance, the eerie glowing eyes gave off a demonic image.
Mark blinked several times, refocused and stepped inside. Heavy rain pelted the bridge. For the first time he was struck by just how vulnerable he was.
“This here's the man, Captain.”
The burly man addressed as captain surveyed him with dark, hard eyes. A captain's cap rode high on a shock of black curly hair that framed his round face. Mark was reminded of a pirate or perhaps Captain Nemo from Jules Verne classic, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. At first, the man's scrutiny made him nervous, but as it continued Mark got angry.
“So, this is the man who has caused us much trouble, eh,” he stated. He spoke with a slight accent Mark could not place. Perhaps Greek.
“This is him,” the man who brought him said.
“Sir—” Mark said.
A large raised hand silenced him. “So, you kill my men and then want to trade with me.” He stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back. “That is very bold. Didn't we make a fair trade with you for the woman? And now you want her back. She must be very special person for you to do this. I think you are more pirate than I.” He smiled and the men on the bridge laughed.
He shook a finger. “I think you try to scam me. You offer the woman for food and the woman try to escape. Only this time it not work. Your woman get caught. Now you bring back friends
to threaten poor me. I am victim. You try to steal.”
He paused; a flash of red ignited in his eyes and his voice rose and crashed like thunder. “From me?” His hand smashed into Mark's face so fast he had no time to dodge or deflect it. It struck with such force it sent him into the wall and to the floor.
Mark lay stunned for a moment, but the desperate survival portion of his brain screamed at him to get up. He staggered to his feet and fought to meld the two images of the captain into one. He tried to lift his arms in defense, but found he lacked the strength to both stand and fight. To his surprise, no further blows landed.
“I wanted very much to meet such a man, but now that I have I see no reason to waste any more time on you. Put him in the brig. We hang him tomorrow so all his friends can see.”
The leader said, “What about his friends?”
“If after we hang him, they're stupid enough to still be there, salvage what you can, then kill them.”
Two men grabbed Mark and took him through a door leading to the interior of the ship. His legs did not offer much support, but whenever they faltered the men just dragged him. They descended several levels, how many Mark could not recall. Reaching their destination, one man slid back a dead bolt, opened a steel door and they pitched Mark inside.
On the floor, still somewhat dazed, Mark was aware of the solid thud of the closing door and of the deadbolt being thrown. He lay on the cold, hard floor and struggled to clear his thoughts. He had miscalculated. This time, however, it would cost all of them their lives. He'd been such a fool.
Shards of fear invaded his veins. Where was Becca? Did they have her? He prayed his daughter was safe and had sense enough to run, but deep inside, he knew running wasn't in the girl. He had to find a way out, if not off the ship, at least someplace where he could send a warning to Lynn and the others.
He clutched his face between his hands as he realized they would come for him when he didn't return, or when they saw his lifeless body swinging over the deck. They would come and they would all die. This was his fault. He'd risked their lives on another foolish plan. All in the supposed search for normal life.
“No!” he couldn't allow them to die. He had to find a way out. His friends – his family's lives – depended on him.
Thirty-Nine
“How long do we wait?” Mel asked.
Tara shook her head. A trail of water flew in all directions. The heavy rain made staying on the water more difficult. The water kicked up to the extent that the rise and fall of the waves presented major problems for the crews. She picked up the radio. “Tara to Lynn, come in, Lynn.”
“It's Lynn, Tara. What's up?”
“I hate to say it, but we risk losing boats and lives by staying out here.” Lynn was silent. Tara continued, “We need to get to shore. We can watch from there. Once the weather clears we can come back, but to stay out here might mean the death of all of us.” Still no reply. “Lynn!”
“Okay! Okay! I hear you. Let's go.”
A minute later they turned around and headed for land. Mel stepped next to Tara and put a hand on her shoulder. “It was a tough decision, but the right call. I want to save him as bad as anyone, but staying out here would be suicide. Even if we survived the storm, we'd be in no condition to rescue Mark, let alone defend ourselves.”
“I know,” Tara said. “I hope he makes it through the night.”
“Yeah.”
The ride back to the marina took twice as long as the one going. The gusting wind and high waves had the small craft struggling for headway. By the time they reached the marina, they were exhausted. They moved into the building, which at one time had been a convenience and bait store. The shelves had been picked clean, but there was enough room for all of them to lie down. Their meager rations distributed, they ate in silence. Soon more than half their number fell asleep.
Tara crawled to where Lynn sat and stared out of the glass door. Lynn gave her a quick look then shifted her gaze back to the window. “I'm sorry, Lynn, but for the safety of the group, we had to come in.”
Lynn turned. “I know, Tara. It was the right call.”
“We'll head out again as early as we can.”
“I know.”
“You okay?”
“I'm as okay as this new world we live in will allow.” She offered a weak smile. “I'm fine, Tara. Thank you. And, thanks for staying to help.”
“Of course. That's what friends do. Besides, if it weren't for you and the others in the community, I wouldn't be here now.”
They shared a silent bond for a moment. Lynn said, “You should get some sleep.”
“You too.”
Tara crawled back to her floor space leaving Lynn to her thoughts. She prayed Mark would be safe and settled down for a fitful attempt at sleep.
Becca opened the cabinet door where she’d secreted herself. The life jackets she’d burrowed under had concealed her enough that the man rummaging through the cabin in the dim light hadn’t noticed her. Peering into the darkness, she couldn't be sure she was alone, but a few minutes earlier a boat had moved off. She waited until she could no longer hear the engine, but in the increasing wind and cracking thunder, she wasn't sure how far that would be.
Stepping out, the deck disappeared from under her as the boat pitched, rising and dropping like a roller coaster. She stumbled and fell and rolled to her knees to defend herself should anyone come to investigate the noise. Slowly, eyes focused on the companionway, Becca climbed to her feet. The boat lurched sideways, but this time she recovered her balance before she fell.
Taking three tentative steps forward she reached the stairs and lay down on them, stretching her lithe frame upward to view the deck. Lightning illuminated the night through a heavy curtain of rain, showing an empty boat and the massive wall that was the freighter in the background. She waited, getting used to the roll of the waves beneath her. Several minutes later another bolt lit the sky. After her eyes adjusted she tried to see as much as she could before it all melted back into blackness.
She crawled up the stairs and across the deck, lifting up on the rear bench and peering over the side. She strained against the rain and wind to see. As far as she could tell, hers was the only boat in sight. Neither the pirates nor Lynn's boats were in sight. Where had they all gone? Maybe they left to seek shelter in some port or marina.
Shifting her gaze to the freighter, she strained her neck back to see the immense structure in front of her. Her father was up there somewhere. He would need her help, but how was she going to get up there? Another wave struck and the boat bounced toward the freighter. A breath caught in her throat as the wall came closer. Something snagged, stopping the progress, as though an invisible hand had pulled her back. The sudden stop threw her into the bench smacking her shoulder. She cried out and grabbed it.
Becca lay down for a minute rubbing the spot then moved to the side nearest the freighter to see what the boat was stuck on. She didn't know much about boats, but there had to be something other than an anchor holding her in place. It took a while, but with the aid of more lightning, she discovered the boat had been moored to the massive chain of the ship’s anchor.
Relieved, she sat on the deck to ponder her next move. How to get way up there? And once there, how would she ever find her father? The ship was massive. She glanced over her shoulder. How many people were living on the ship? It was an impossible task. While the rain pelted her, she pulled her knees to her chest, lowered her head and tried to come up with a plan.
Like an internal burst of lightning, an idea struck her. She pushed to her feet and moved to the wheel. Shielding her eyes, she studied the mooring line. It would be thick enough to hold her. She didn't doubt she could reach the chain. But then what? Her eyes drifted up the length of the enormous links. Could she climb it? On a dry day, maybe. In the strong wind and heavy rain …
She looked down at the water. If she fell, so what – she'd get wet. That wouldn't be so bad. She was drenched already. T
he real question was whether she had the strength to make it all the way up. She tried to steel herself for the climb. The task was mostly mental; believing that she could do it was half the battle. Besides, her father was on board. Providing she could find him, of course.
Her mind made up, she searched the cabinets for a length of rope. Finding one, she donned a life jacket, slung the rope over one shoulder and checked her weapons. Timing the waves, she stepped on the bow and crawled forward. The mooring line was secured to the forward cleat. It stretched about ten feet to the chain. She tested it, then dangled her legs over the side. Clutching the line with both hands, she looked down at the dark writhing water and took several deep breaths; just as she was about to launch out onto the line, a wave crashed over the bow and washed her overboard.
Forty
Mark paced the cell, testing the steel walls at every turn. He worked from touch in the pitch black. Echoes of voices drifted down the passageway. Somewhere, someone was singing. Were there other prisoners? His door had no opening or slit to listen through, all sound filtered by the steel, thus unintelligible.
How was he going to get out? If he couldn't break out, that left two choices, talk his way out, or jump whoever came for him and try to overpower them. He doubted the success of either option but was determined not to let them lynch him without a fight. He'd rather death be on his terms.
He sat and thought of his folly. How did he think this would end? And why had he been so stupid as to believe it would end the way he wanted? The truth was, he'd been lucky in his past dealings with other groups. He'd come to believe he could bend any situation to his will. It was like the old saying, 'no matter how tough you are, there will always be someone tougher.' Well, he'd found that someone tougher, and it would cost him his life.
