by C J Schnier
“You really can pick the spots can’t you Chase?” Kelly asked, ribbing me.
“Yeah, I’m not doing too good with staying off the radar. I know that cruise ship will leave eventually but let’s beat it out of here. I’m starting to think that this island and Great Stirrup Cay are both owned by cruise ship companies. Let’s head down by Great Harbor Cay,” I suggested.
“What gave that away?” she asked, smiling ear to ear, “It wasn’t the giant cruise ships at each one was it, Captain Obvious?”
“Yeah, yeah…” I replied frowning. “Let’s just go.”
“So what’s down there by Great Harbor Cay?” she asked.
“Hopefully nothing,” I said with a wink.
We pulled up our anchor and sailed the nine nautical miles around the north side of the island chain to Petit Cay, a thankfully deserted and private little island located just northeast of Great Harbor Cay. There was a fantastic well-protected deep water anchorage south of the island, but we chose to anchor in the shallows on the northwest side. We were the only boat anchored on that side and had the entire island to ourselves.
Kelly stripped down to a skimpy yellow bikini that showed off her fit physique and jumped in the dinghy, eager to explore the first private Eden we had come across since arriving in the Bahamas. Throwing my T-shirt in the cockpit, I joined her for the short ride to the deserted beach.
When the dinghy hit the beach, Kelly jumped out without hesitation and started dragging both the dinghy and myself up onto the shore. Her excitement was palpable, and her perfect smile showed off the cute dimples in her cheeks. As her dark hair fluttered in the wind, I couldn’t help but be reminded of why I had fallen for her so hard. She was the full package, intelligent, fun loving, beautiful, and skilled at all things nautical. Plus she somehow put up with my smart-ass.
Unable to resist further I jumped out of the dinghy, chased her for a moment, and wrapped her up in my arms, kissing her as passionately and deeply as I ever had. She all but melted as we sank down onto the sand in each other's arms. Kelly moaned as our desire increased. I could feel myself pressing against her, and I wanted more, but she pushed me back, finally breaking our kiss.
“Not now cowboy, I want to explore this island before it gets dark. Besides, the bed would be much more comfortable. For both of us,” she said.
I pouted and gave her my best puppy dog eyes. She just smiled back at me with a hint of pity.
“Oh stop it! You’d think you were so deprived,” she scolded gently.
“More like depraved,” I said with a suggestive wink.
“Oh! I like the sound of that,” she giggled.
“I bet you do,” I said moving in for another kiss.
“C’mon, you horny old sea dog,” she said and pushed me off of her and onto my back in the sand. “Let’s go explore!”
Kelly bounced to her feet, eager to take off on her quest of exploration. I hesitated and then followed. There was something much more exciting than the island that I wanted to explore further, but it would have to wait. When she got an idea in her head, it was impossible to stop her.
Petit Cay isn’t large. Roughly thirty-six acres of completely undeveloped paradise. A yellow-white sand beach makes up nearly half of the island and the interior ranges from open grasslands to island coppice where the shrubs and trees have at some point been cut back to promote growth. The more wooded areas had not been cleared in quite a while and had grown into a thicket spanning large swaths of the island. The growth made for slow going once we left the beach.
Part of the island was rocky bluffs, only a few feet above sea level. The waves crashed majestically into them, spewing foam and spray straight up into the air. Kelly and I stopped to appreciate the crash and roar of the Atlantic Ocean as it relentlessly beat away at the rock. The waves were growing larger as the evening breeze built and we decided to end the excursion in time to see the sunset from our own private beach.
Working our way back to the west side of the island we noticed another sailboat motoring into the deep water harbor.
“So much for our private getaway,” I said motioning towards the incoming boat.
It was a rather generic modern designed boat, a cookie cutter charter boat, one of the thousands like it in these islands. These kinds of boats were often rented by hapless skippers who had more money than experience and played at sailing. They were notorious for poor anchoring and dragging into other boats. In fact, charter boats had such a bad reputation with cruisers that many made fun of them. We could see that the sailboat was circling, searching for a place to drop its anchor. The name “Zephyr” was emblazoned in massive block letters down the side.
“Damn credit card captains. Why would you anchor on a lee shore?” I asked. “If his anchor drags he will end up on the beach.”
“Well at least he is anchoring in the harbor and not where he can drag into us,” Kelly said. “Don’t let them spoil the moment.”
Putting the intrusion on our privacy out of my mind I plopped down on the sand ready for the brilliant sunset that promised to come. Kelly snuggled up next to me, despite the summer heat. Nature had decided to put on a spectacular show. The mottled clouds covering the sky turned from gray to fire orange as the sky behind them turned purple. As the sun dipped lower behind the much bigger Great Harbor Cay something whizzed past our heads, hitting the sand behind us followed by a curious and hushed crack.
“What the hell was that?!” Kelly asked alarmed, bolting to her feet.
“It sounded like a gunshot,” I said, realizing the truth of the statement as I said it.
Getting to my feet and looking around desperately, half frozen in equal parts fear and curiosity, I finally saw a glint of glass come from the bow of the sailboat that had just anchored. Oh shit.
“Run!” I yelled as another crack, and another eruption of sand exploded where our feet had just been.
I grabbed Kelly’s wrist and dragged her down the beach. Twenty steps later, another bullet whizzed past so close I swore I could feel it. The beach was a shooting gallery, we had to get off it. Turning towards the right and up the sloping sands, I drug Kelly towards the scrub brush and trees, desperate to get some sort of cover between the shooter and us.
Yet another bullet flew by right as I shoved Kelly with all my force into the scrub thicket. She yelped as she fell and I dove to the ground next to her.
“You ok?” I gasped, trying to catch my breath.
“I think that motherfucker got me!” Kelly hissed through gritted teeth.
“What? Where?”
Scrambling to my knees, I crawled over to her, making sure to put myself between her and the hitman taking potshots at us from the bay. Kelly was grasping her shoulder, tears streaming down her face.
“Let me see,” I demanded.
She pulled her hand away, blood covering both it and her arm. More oozed from a shallow gash on the outside of her shoulder.
“It’s just a graze, you’re alright,” I said.
“Alright? You get shot and tell me how alright it is! How’re we going to get off this island? He’s going to kill us, and you think I’m going to be alright? What the fuck is wrong with you?” she cried, hysteria taking over completely.
She was shaking and sobbing. Her eyes seemed unfocused, lost in the despair of the moment. She was slipping farther and farther down a dark path, a path that only led to our deaths.
“Hey!” I shouted trying to break her out of her rapidly onsetting shock. You’ve been through a lot of shit. You were a cool-headed drug dealer not that long ago, you must have seen some crazy shit working for your father right?”
“I was just trafficking, just running the delivery boat. I didn’t deal with those scumbags,” she said in a calmer voice as she was forced to distract herself with remembering.
“But you dealt with them on the last trip after the DEA raided us, and you made it look easy, remember? I’ve never seen anyone who could control their emotions like you. Now, I nee
d you to woman-up, put those big girl panties on, and help us get out of here!” I said with the most commanding voice I had.
Kelly blinked at me blankly for a moment, and then her face went from hysteric desperation and defeat to stoic determination within an instant. I had seen her do this on several occasions and it could be somewhat disconcerting dealing with someone who could control themselves so thoroughly. Her tears stopped immediately, and I could see the lucidity returning to her mind as the haze in her eyes lifted.
“What’s your plan then Chase?” she asked after a moment.
“The dinghy is way down the beach, I don’t think he can see it from where he is. That guy was having problems hitting us from where we were too, much less if we’re another few hundred yards down the beach. Shooting from a platform bouncing on the waves can’t be easy, that's why he kept missing.”
“Speak for yourself, I’m pretty sure he managed to hit me,” she growled.
“You’re still breathing aren’t you? Something tells me this guy isn’t used to missing,” I said.
“Ok, so what? Do we wait him out or sneak through the brush?”
“If we wait he’ll probably cut Paramour free and then come ashore looking for us. I don’t think he would miss again on solid ground. We need to go now,” I decided.
“How the hell can you think something like this through in such a stressful situation?” she asked.
“It’s what I would do if I were him. Let’s get to the dinghy and get Paramour out of here.”
We scrambled through the spiky tropical scrub, trying not to give our position away. With no pathways though, it was rough, and both of us were covered in scrapes and cuts before we finally made it to the dinghy. Crawling to the edge of the beach, I looked back towards where Zypher was anchored. As far as I could see the beach was empty and we were hidden from the boat. Motioning for Kelly to come, we both sprinted for the dinghy.
We dragged the dinghy back into the water as fast as possible and pushed it out into waist deep water. Kelly nimbly climbed in and had the motor running in an instant. I rolled in after her. She goosed the throttle the moment I hit the deck of the boat and sped off for Paramour. I looked back towards our hidden hunter and was surprised to see that his dinghy was already on shore.
“Looks like we need to hurry,” I hissed. “He’s already on shore.”
“As soon as we get to the boat I’ll start the engine if you tie off the dinghy and pull the anchor. I’ll drive us towards it if you’ll just pull as fast as you can,” Kelly replied in a strangely analytical voice.
“Sounds like a plan,” I agreed.
Kelly was aboard Paramour before we even touched the side. Following right on her heels I tied the dinghy off to one of the pin rails and darted forward for the windlass and started winching in the chain anchor rode. I could feel the vibration under my feet when Kelly cranked the engine and seconds later she was at the helm.
“Ready?” she called up to me.
“Ready,” I confirmed.
Kelly pushed the gear selector forward, and Paramour eased ahead. As the tension in the chain slackened, I abandoned the windlass and started pulling in the chain hand over hand. Piles of galvanized chain clattered to the deck as I struggled to pull it in fast enough.
Once we were nearly on top of the anchor, I put the chain back in the windlass and locked it down. Our forward momentum carried us over and then past the anchor. The force popped the anchor free from the bottom, and I winched the last twenty feet up from the depths as Kelly headed us offshore as the last remnants of sunlight faded into total darkness. I only hoped it would be enough to hide us until we could get away.
Chapter Eight
Paramour plowed through the waves doggedly, forcing herself to punch through them instead of going over the top. Slamming through the crests, the entire boat would seem to check her speed, to stall as her bow thrust its way through a wall of water that would break and sweep the decks in torrents of gray and white foam. Then the relentless wind would overcome the resistance of the waves and push us out and down the other side of each wave. Paramour would slam down in the troth, shuddering and rattling the rigging.
The relentless hammering of waves and winds sapped both Kelly and me of what precious little stamina we had left. Neither of us had slept in over twenty-four hours, and the storm was not expected to decrease for at least twenty four more. We were both dead on our feet, fighting to keep the boat on course in shifts. Every two hours we would swap out, and the other would go below and attempt to snatch any sleep that they could.
Sleep had been redefined as a luxury, the only necessity in our little stormy floating world was keeping the boat safe. Everything else was just a bonus. One wrong move, a moment of inattentiveness and we could broach and be knocked down, or worse, rolled by the mountainous waves.
Most sailors, given enough sea room, would choose to heave-to when caught in a storm such as this. The maneuver would allow a sailboat to basically “park” at sea in relative comfort. The boat would still drift downwind at about one knot, creating a calm slick of water upwind that would stop breaking seas from crashing down on the boat. It was a time-honored and proven safety method that we couldn’t use.
We were running for our lives, even through the storm, with its lashing winds and rain, frothy steep seas, and our own exhaustion. Out there somewhere, someone wanted us dead. By the time we had left Petit Cay over the horizon, the winds and waves had built to barely manageable levels. Our hunter, alone on his large mass produced charter boat, had little chance of following. Paramour was built for rough seas, and so we ran under a shortened jib and reefed mizzen, desperately putting miles between the man hired to kill us and ourselves.
Even if we had wanted to heave-to, we didn’t have the sea room to do so. Instead, we were forced to sail within the confines of the Northwest Providence Channel, a scant twenty-four miles wide, a distance we could cover in a few hours with the strong west winds that belted us. Tacking back and forth across the channel in these seas would be nearly impossible, our only option was to sail upwind and up the channel.
We made slow progress, averaging only one knot under our reduced sail, inching our way northwest, while attempting to dodge the ships that plied these deep waters in all weather conditions. Our own exhaustion and fear prevented us from attempting to hoist more sail and make better time.
Paramour was within sight of Freeport’s lighthouse on Grand Bahama before the winds finally started to settle and the seas lost their teeth. Tempting as it was to sail into Freeport’s harbor and get a slip or drop anchor, we decided against it.
Freeport is a large city by Bahamian standards, second in population size only to Nassau, the capital. Instead, the decision was made to double back and turn back south, hopefully losing the person tailing us in the process. Tired as we were, we felt safer staying on the move. We adjusted our watches to four hours each, and I took the first shift so that Kelly could sleep.
Shaking out more sail, Paramour raced back to the southeast, skipping through the diminished seas. The ocean swell was still up and uncomfortable, but at least the steep breaking waves had disappeared. This made for some rollercoaster like moments when we would race down the back of a giant wave, round the bottom, rocking from one side to the next, and then climb up the back of the next wave. The sail was exhilarating, despite our physical state.
It took us twelve hours to cover the same distance we had scraped out in the previous stormy forty-eight, but our bodies and minds were starting to give out, even with the increased sleep. We needed to put down the hook and sleep until we were rested. Great Harbor Cay and Petit Cay passed by unseen as we hugged the northern end of the channel, keeping far away from the hitman and his boat, Zephyr. Eventually, we turned back south to anchor off the north tip of Whale Cay, the southeastern most island in the Berry Islands chain, only twenty nautical miles from Petit Cay.
We dropped anchor in ten feet of water, and both crawled gratefully into
the V-berth for some much-needed rest. Eight hours later I awoke disoriented but rested. I turned on the VHF radio and switched it to the weather forecast and then put a pot of coffee on and waited for Kelly to rouse herself from her own slumber.
The automated voice was scratchy with poor reception. I listened intently, it had always taken me a moment to adjust my ears to make out the synthesized voices on the weather channels. After a moment I could make the occasional word despite the static and inhuman timbre. Waiting for the forecast to loop and start over I sipped my coffee.
My efforts were futile though. The forecast never came through clearly, mostly just static and garbled noise. What little I could pick out clued me in that it was a transmission from Miami, not the Bahamas. It wasn’t uncommon for strong VHF radio transmissions to bounce or “skip” off the lower atmosphere and be heard hundreds or even thousands of miles from their normal range. I had heard broadcasts from Mobile in Tampa Bay before.
Defeated, I turned the radio off, silencing the static and robotic voice. Kelly staggered into the salon a few minutes later, red-eyed and groggy.
“That coffee smells amazing,” she said wiping the sleep from her eyes.
“Got a fresh batch here waiting on you, grab a cup,” I said.
Kelly took a plastic Tervis from a rack on the galley bulkhead and poured herself a large cup of black coffee before collapsing onto the port settee.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“0700. How’re you feeling?” I asked back.
“Better, my arm hurts but I needed that sleep. Apparently, we didn’t die while we were both passed out, do you think we lost him?” she asked.
“I have no idea. I don’t even know how he found us last time. Of all the islands in the Bahamas, he just happened to chance on the one we were at. And how did he know it was us on the shore?” I wondered aloud.
“Maybe he followed us. We didn’t stick around in Bimini but the one night, and we were only at Little Stirrup for a couple of hours.”
