Stella felt her stomach lurch, as if she had just gone down fast in an elevator. “Are we—sinking?”
“Nobody's sinking,” replied Mason, who came in at that very moment to switch on the VHF radio. “Just knocked a board loose because somebody didn't know right from left. What are you trying to do, Gerry—scare the women?”
“Best to plan for the worst, I always say.”
“Well don't. Cole's got the pumps going, already, and the Colonel's setting up the tools. We'll have it fixed even before help can get here for Stuart. How's he doing? Cole said he passed out for a while.”
“A while—he hasn't come out of it, yet.” Stella informed him. “Gerry thinks it might be a stroke.”
Mason's face registered a combination of remorse and despair as he looked over at his long-time friend, lying so still beneath the green blanket. But only for a moment. After that, he returned his attentions to the radio with renewed vigor. “What's wrong with this thing?” He banged on it, and twisted a few more dials. “Probably been busted for years, like everything else around here!”
Gerald's face went pale beneath his black Navy watch-cap. “If we can't call for an emergency helicopter...” His brown mustache quivered. “How the—devil—do we abandon ship?”
“We can't abandon ship,” Mason sluffed out of his army-green rain-jacket, now that he was inside, and dropped it on a chair. “We've got everything we own on here.”
At which point Stella felt her knees go weak, and murmured something about getting a bottle for the baby, so she could at least find some place to pull herself together. Anything to keep from being overwhelmed at the thought of being shipwrecked. Shipwrecked! Right out in the middle of... why, she hadn't the faintest idea where they were in the middle of. And without Stuart to figure it out...
It was a quiet, sombre crew that sat around the table in the galley, two hours later.
The situation was more grim than they first realized. They had set up a cot in one corner so they could bring the Captain in, and keep a close eye on him. He still couldn't be wakened. In the meantime, they discovered that not only did the radio in the wheelhouse not work, neither did the weather radio in the galley. Considering they weren't getting much more than static across all channels, they wondered if they might be too closed-in by surrounding trees and mountains to get any reception. They tried to send out a message, anyway, but there was no response.
After two months aboard the Dreadnaught, they knew enough to get the ship into some safe harbor, even if they didn't know exactly where they were. Or, at least close enough to some fishing boat to ask for help. Except they were stuck fast on top of the rocks they had run over. A fact that turned out to be their salvation, considering the damage had been more extensive than they first realized. While water was only trickling into Lou's apartment, it was fairly pouring into the lower hold, where most of their supplies were. The jolt had opened up a larger crack between the boards, down there.
It might have spelled disaster if the water hadn't stopped rising when it reached a level of two feet at the lowest end of the vessel. This because they had run high enough up on the rocks to be about three-quarters out of the water everywhere else. Which should have made them feel safer. Except the knowledge that the water fell off to depths of nearly a hundred feet on either side, made them realize where they might have been—this very minute—if they hadn't run so hard aground.
Something they had to credit to Cole for thinking so fast. But while they were not sunk, they were definitely not going anywhere. At least, not anytime soon. Maybe even never, if the tide didn't rise sufficiently to float them back off the rocks, again. And even though there was always the hope that someone else might wander into this same place and find them, who knew how long that would take? The only thing they did know, was they were in some wild corner of the Pacific Ocean, where most of the of the smaller islands they had been traveling through were uninhabited.
And there were hundreds of them.
Of course, there was always the possibility they had landed on the shores of one of the larger ones, but—after so many weeks of passing through mile after mile of wilderness places—the chance of that would be be an out-and-out miracle. That being the case, they decided they might as well go to bed, and tackle the problem, again, in the morning. That is, everyone except Gerald, who volunteered to sleep on the long upholstered bench at the back of the table, there in the galley, in case Stuart woke up and didn't know where he was, or what had happened.
By that time, it was nearly midnight.
As exhausted as Stella was, she remembered thinking—just before she drifted off to sleep—that she had never faced any disaster with so much calm and assurance as she felt just then. Maybe it was because she never had so many people to face one with before. Then, again, it could be that having such a strong, wonderful husband (who always made the best of things) helped her feel like she could survive anything, too. Whatever it was, she knew—someplace deep in her heart—that everything would work out right. Somehow. Simply because God promised it would. It was a feeling she had never experienced, and the only reason she was able to fall into such a deep, restful sleep under such terrible circumstances. Which was a good thing.
Because it only lasted about an hour.
5
First, there was a scream (but not Millie's). Then a terrible lot of banging and commotion that seemed to be coming right down the companionway toward their door. The colonel jumped up and took off toward it in his navy pajamas (with gray piping), but Stella grabbed her white terry robe (with the Chinese collar), to put on over her rose-colored silks before following after.
She got there just in time to see Gerald tumble into the room with such a horrified expression, her first thought was that Captain Stuart had passed on, and already begun to haunt them for wrecking his boat. A thought she stoutly rejected, considering her new-found faith that God could—and would—save her from anything so frightening. If she would only ask. Except she didn't get a moment to. Not ten seconds later, a staggering form emerged out of the dark passageway, and grabbed Gerald from behind, eliciting such agonizing shrieks and moans, that Stella screamed (she couldn't help it), and darted behind the huge protective bulk of her husband as he grappled to separate the two.
“Here, now—what's this—what's this?” He finally managed to get in between them. “Stuart—Stuart! Everything is fine—I assure you, sir! Come over to the couch and I'll explain.” Words that had a settling effect on the haggard form. Almost like a balloon slowly losing its air.
The colonel helped him over to the settee, and it was then Stella noticed his right arm was dangling lifeless at his side, and he was dragging a leg along like it was weighed down by some invisible ball and chain. She felt a catch in her throat that Gerald hadn't been far wrong, earlier, when he guessed the man had been stricken by some sort of stroke.
“What a—ghastly experience!” Gerald whispered aside to her, and rubbed a hand over his throat at the same time. “He tried to choke me! I heard him shuffling around, and—before I could even get out of my sleeping bag—he tried to choke me!”
There was another garbled moan, directed at the colonel this time, and it was clear he was trying to speak but couldn't manage a comprehensible word. The right side of his face seemed to have drooped and become immobile, adding a rather grotesque expression to his already rugged features. Especially with those bushy black eyebrows that nearly made a solid line across his forehead. Her husband drew in a breath and smacked his knees (she knew that decisive gesture well) before he said, “Well, sir, it seems you've had an episode of sorts.”
Stuart gave out with another moan, mournful this time, and a look of abject misery crossed over his face.
“Always the possibility that symptoms are temporary, however,” the colonel went on. “You've been unconscious for hours. We weren't even sure you'd come back to us. But you did. A man of your strength and spirit, why, I believe—with the proper rest and care—you
most certainly will recover!”
It was a statement that should have had a more calming effect on the man (it certainly did on Stella, and she agreed whole-heartedly). But instead, he began to get agitated, again, banged his good arm against his leg, and tried once more to speak. At which point Millie burst in (wearing only a nightgown), with Mason not far behind, clad in sweats and a sleeveless undershirt.
“Stuart—oh, you're alive—thank God!” she cried. “We're in terrible trouble!”
A statement that caused the poor Captain to lapse into more audible frustrations.
“Mildred, for crying out loud!” said Mason. “You want to give the man a heart attack on top of it? Listen here, Stu—”
It was at that time Cole strode through the door, shirtless and barefoot, with only a pair of hastily donned jeans on. Lou Edna was close behind, also barefoot, in a long purple t-shirt that only covered the necessities, and her hair hanging loose over her shoulders. The rest of them naturally parted to let him through (he was the only one with any rank, or knowledge of the sea left among them)—their new leader by unspoken consensus, even though he was young.
He leaned over to put firm hands on each of Stuart's shoulders and their eyes locked. “I had to put her on the rocks, Cap. It was too late to go around. But she can't sink. We got a hundred and thirty feet of water on one side, and eighty on the other. Little less than fifty to the shore. We're good.”
A visible wave of relief came over him.
“Too closed-in for the radio, though,” he went on. “Tomorrow, I'll run the skiff out into the open and try and flag down some help. We're good.” He continued to hold on for a minute, as if the man might topple over if he let go, then repeated, “We're good,” before he stood up straight, again.
All at once, the old captain seemed unbearably weary, and it looked as if he might fall asleep, again, any minute.
“Might as well stay in my cabin,” said Mason. “It's closer to everybody, and you won't have to go down any stairs. I'll bunk in with Millie. Been spending most of my time there, anyway.”
So, the men helped him up and settled him there, while the women murmured their second good-nights of the long day and drifted back to their beds.
6
The following morning brought rain and wind, along with a constant current of ripples in from the choppy strait, outside the inlet. The barometer was falling, signifying another weather front coming in. While it made little effect on their solidly grounded vessel, there would be no venturing out into storm-tossed seas in the little skiff to try and seek help from other passing boats. Few people would be fishing out there, today, wherever they were.
But even though the day was gray and raining torrents, it was plain to see they had landed in the most beautiful, picture-postcard of a place. And although it was only August, the little meadow that stretched away into the mountains was already tinged with the red and gold hues of fall. That particular morning, there was a mother deer with two babies grazing not far away—a sight that cheered the family up considerably, in spite of their dire circumstances. This was Alaska!
At any rate, it seemed to stir everyone out of the shock of the night before, and it suddenly seemed clear what they should each be doing. The men were going to get seriously busy on the repairs that had only been temporarily patched, and the women, having spied a huge stand of bushes fairly sagging with huckleberries close by, were going to take the little skiff into shore for a land expedition. They thought.
Not long after they announced those plans, Mason established a new rule that none of them were to leave the ship without at least one of the men along. Something they all quite naturally accepted, since he was an expert on survival. Not only had he lived on his own, for weeks, back in the jungles of Viet Nam, but had managed to save others along with himself while he was doing it.
So it was, that Lou Edna bundled the Senator into her backpack-carrier, appropriately dressed in a tiny yellow rain-hat and slicker that made Stella think of the famous Paddington Bear, of children's literature. Was there anything more adorable? The rest of them were bundled into rain-gear, as well, armed with a sufficient amount of gallon-sized plastic bags stuffed into their pockets to bring home a treasure-load of berries.
Cole came along to handle the skiff, and provide the necessary male supervision their new rule required, although he made it clear—right up front—he had no desire to pick any berries. Millie made a bet with him, then and there, he would be venturing into those bushes all on his own, as soon as he got a taste of her “Huckleberry Betty.” The windfall wouldn't be around much longer, but if they took advantage of it, there would be enough berries to provide jam and desserts throughout the whole winter. Wait and see.
No one knew how to store up food, like Millie.
It took longer to get everyone over the side, and situated in the skiff, than to cross the fifty feet of deep water to the shore. It wasn't until then that Stella realized she hadn't set foot on land since that last Canadian town where they had found the dollar store. Almost three weeks, ago. The first thing that struck her was the delicious smell of the air. It was a combination of pine trees, rich earth, and the sea.
Cole set out for the top of a nearby hill to have a look at the waterfall, but promised to not be more than a shout away, in case they needed him. Lou Edna took the baby carrier off her shoulders and set it down in such a way that provided a perfect perch for the Senator to enjoy a morning snack of graham crackers, and watch the festivities. It was at that point Millie briefly unfastened her raincoat to get at all her plastic bags, when Stella noticed she had a huge leather holster with a pearl-handled gun sticking out, strapped to her waist, underneath.
“It's a specially-made, three-fifty-seven magnum,” she replied to Stella's sudden gasp. “My first husband bought it for me, back in our prepper days.”
“Good grief, Millie—can you actually shoot it?”
“Of course I can shoot it. Took lessons, and everything. I'm a pretty good shot, too, even if I say so, myself. Wouldn't want to run into any bears without it.”
The thought suddenly occurred to Stella that she better inform Cole about this, before he got too far away. She would tell him to be sure and make plenty of noise, coming and going, so he wouldn't get mistaken for a bear. Something that would also give any nearby bears a warning to keep their distance, as well. She did not want her friend take a pot-shot at one (that didn't hit home), and only make it mad. Stella had read enough bear stories to know such things happened more often than not, when all parties had their attentions distracted by berries.
But it wasn't so easy to catch up with Cole, and she finally had to call out to him. He turned around and waited for her. It wasn't until they were close enough that she noticed how upset he looked. Maybe he and Lou Edna had argued, again.
“Sorry to break in on your quiet time,” she spoke first. “But I thought I should warn you to make plenty of noise on your way back, because Millie's packing a gun.”
He murmured something Stella didn't quite catch under his breath, and shook his head. “If there's one thing I got to say about this group, it's nobody's boring.” He sat down on a large, nearby rock and looked out at the view... a gray desolate expanse of rock-strewn inlet (so many of them were visible, now that it was low tide), and the Dreadnaught perched on the tallest cluster, like some giant bird with a broken wing. “Did anyone tell her you can't drop a bear with some lady's pea-shooter?”
“Oh, it isn't a pea-shooter. It's a... what was it, now... oh, yes. A three-fifty-seven magnet.”
He laughed, and shook his head, again.
“Anyway, that's what I thought she said.” Stella sat down next to him. “Of course, I've read a lot of Louis Lamore westerns, and know most handguns aren't accurate at long distances. Either way, it's an accident waiting to happen, so maybe you should holler out before you come down. So you don't startle her.”
“Thanks. I'll do that.”
He was quiet for so long t
hat she got to her feet, again.
“Mrs. H?”
“Yes?”
“How did a person like you end up getting mixed up in all this?”
“Well, I guess you could say I had the fine good fortune to get a second chance at life. So, even with these, umm... unusual circumstances, I'm still having a marvelous time.”
“You think you can forgive me for being so rough with Cap?”
“Well, of course I forgive you. I admit I was shocked to see you push him like that. But...”
“I had to get him off the wheel. He was stuck to it like rigamortis set in, and I knew we were gonna hit.”
“Oh, I understand all that, now. The colonel says we would have sunk if you hadn't run us up onto the rocks so hard. On account of it being so deep around here.”
“We'd have lost everything if we did. Gerald and Buddy... they never would have made it up from below fast enough. Even if they had, that water's way too cold for either of them.”
Stella suddenly realized how sensitive he was. Funny how tender hearts were often housed in the toughest of bodies. And she was touched that he had even taken her suggestion and come up with a name of his own to call the Senator, the way all the rest of them had. He seemed to have taken on the responsibility of actually being a father to the little boy. As far as Lou Edna would allow, anyway. “It was exactly the right thing to do, Cole. I find it amazing you could even think that fast.”
“Sorry I had to be so hard on Cap, though. Didn't mean to cause him any brain damage.” He shook his head and looked out at the view, again. “I love that old man!”
“You did not cause brain damage,” she replied firmly. “His brain was starting to misfire before we even got here. Millie noticed it over a week, ago. She mentioned it to me.”
“Well, getting shoved on his ear didn't help it any. Thing is, I lost my folks early. Been hanging around waterfronts—working my tail off—since I was fourteen. He's the only one ever gave me any kind of break. The only one. I just...” He took a deep breath and leaned his forearms across his knees. “I just wish I could have done better for him.”
Voyage of the Dreadnaught: Four Stella Madison Capers Page 10
