Twila's Tempest

by Natasza Waters

  “I’ll get as low as I can, but you’re going to have to use the line to get you the rest of the way down,” Gabe said into the headset.

  The seas grew to a whopping eighteen feet, but he didn’t give a shit, he had to get on that vessel.

  They took a turn and then Gabe fought to keep her steady. The wind ripped the door from Drake’s hand as he opened it. With purpose, he stepped onto the rail, but the force of the hurricane swept his foot from the thin pipe. He tried again, finding purchase. “Let’s do it.”

  They fisted each other and Gabe said, “Ooh rah, Jarhead.”

  Drake grasped the rope as Gabe lowered the chopper. A good thirty feet of line dropped from the helo. He waited until the Rebecca crested and then made his move. Drenched within seconds, he clung to the rope. The wind buffeted him, swinging him in large arcs. Gabe held the chopper steady. With the next crest he’d jump and hopefully not break his legs.

  The Rebecca climbed the next rising wave. He let go and landed on the back deck, thrusting himself sideways to stop his chin connecting with his knees and knocking himself out. The Rebecca rolled, and he slid across the deck, crashing into the bulkhead. Sea water washed over the sides and slammed him against the boards.

  “Drake!” Twila’s scream cut through the storm.

  On his belly, he looked up to see Twila gripping the edge of the doorway. “Stay there!” he shouted, but the wind swept his words out to sea. He jumped to his feet, swiped the rain from his eyes as a heavy wave hit their beam, throwing him to the deck again. Crawling, then finding his feet, he lunged for the bulkhead and grabbed hold. “I don’t know whether I’m going to kill you or kiss you,” he yelled over the high winds, swiping a sleeved arm across his face.

  Twila thrust her hand out and he grasped it. With a forward pitch of the vessel, she landed in his arms. They both lost their footing and ended up on the couch. Sopping wet, he kissed her. The only cure for his thundering pulse.

  Untangling themselves, he sat up. “Sweetheart, are you all right?”

  Twila gripped his shoulders with shaking hands. “Why are you here?”

  Palming her cheeks, he pressed his mouth to hers again. He had to feel her warm breath and reassure himself she was alive. “Don’t you get it? Nothing matters but you. I can rebuild the Rebecca, but I can’t bring you back to life if this hurricane takes you from me. Boats and trailers don’t matter. You matter,” he said harshly. He clutched her in his arms, the thought of living his life without her scared the fuck out of him.

  “I’m sorry,” she squeaked. “The Rebecca is important to you.”

  “Not as important as you, Twila. Never as important as you. Come on.” He drew her up and they waited. When the Rebecca fell into the trough, they stumbled forward, gripping the counter and waiting for the rise and fall of the ship, taking a charge toward the main bridge. He gripped the wheel, and let out a loud breath.

  Twila hung onto the console, bracing herself. “What are we going to do?”

  “It’s too late to take her inland. We’d never be able to put her alongside safely or even anchor. He surveyed the monitor with the Hurricane Reporting Center showing Wilma’s track. “There she is, and there we are.” He pointed.

  “Should we head into her?”

  He’d never imagined them in this position so he’d never taught her what to do if they were caught in a storm. “No, you never want to cross the ‘T’”.

  “The ‘T’?”

  “The track of the hurricane.” Twila was bringing the Rebecca to him, heading south and putting her on a collision course. “She’s moving fast, twenty-five miles an hour. Grab that book called Hurricane Havens.”

  Twila stretched for the book, tugging it over the safety rail of the shelf. He flipped it open, while Twila held it in one place, glancing up, he swung the wheel cutting through a massive wave. The force of the water hit the glass and he thanked God he’d had the foresight to reinforce it to withstand a rogue wave.

  “What is this book?” she asked, clinging to the ledge.

  “The Navy issues it. I worked on assignment with a team to update it years ago. It’s amended every year. It identifies havens if you’re caught in a storm.”

  “Good book to have, especially today.”

  He searched the coastline on the radar. They had to keep steaming. He turned to gaze at Twila. Worry engulfed her features. How the hell could he be mad at her? The woman had taken the Rebecca because it belonged to him, and she didn’t want it destroyed.

  He turned his attention back to the weather monitor. Wilma churned in a counter clockwise direction bearing down on Florida from the west and them. If they could miss the eye they wouldn’t have to endure the eyewall and the harshest winds. He paused noting the whirling wind bags latitude and longitude to calculate the closest point of approach. There was no way to avoid her. Twila had unwittingly put them in the worst possible spot. “We can’t miss it.” The eye was sixty-five miles wide. If the Rebecca could keep steaming, they might have a chance to cross ahead instead of intersecting the eye. If not, they’d have to survive the eyewall. “She’s going to hit us full on.”

  “I’m so sorry, Drake—I.”

  He held tight as they took another wave on their beam, clutching Twila to his body. “Sweetheart, I’d rather live with you, but if I have to die with you, I’ll do it.” She swung her arms around his neck and kissed away the angst inside him. He wanted to live. He wanted a family and a future.

  “What can I do?”

  “You’re the First Mate, sweetheart, so you do everything I tell you to do.” He offered her a wicked grin. Her eyes popped, and he laughed.

  “Now?”

  “Later, most definitely later, but for now we’re going to need some luck and hope to hell I knew what I was doing when I built this vessel.”

  “Rebecca can withstand anything,” Twila said, casting her gaze at the moving horizon.

  He warmed with her faith in him. “We’ll track Wilma as long as the equipment holds out. Remember I showed you how to use the AIS Automated Information System?

  She nodded. “I don’t see anyone for miles.”

  “Click on that.” A text box opened. “We’re going to send a message to the Coast Guard, every hour on the hour advising them of our progress. Give them our lat and long and tell them to contact Layton. Advise him I made it to the vessel.” He gave her his residence number, hoping like hell Layton had made it to his place. “Press send.”

  They both watched and a couple seconds later the Coast Guard replied acknowledging receipt, advising they would monitor their progress. They asked what distress alerting equipment they had on board. He held Twila steady while she typed in the systems he had equipped the Rebecca with.

  “Tell them we’ve got NAVTEX and we’ll monitor NOAA weather radio and the Miami Beach USCG VHF broadcasts.” Twila quickly sent them the message.

  The Coast Guard wished them luck and to keep in contact either by radio, DSC or AIS.

  “All right they know we’re out here. The hurricane is coming from this angle.”

  “Oh my, God, are we going to cut through the eyewall?”

  He considered evading the answer. “We have a chance to out run her, and we’re going to take that chance. Wilma will probably slow down as she crosses Florida. It might even drop her wind field. I hope so.”

  “What if it doesn’t?”

  “Once she’s on us, we have to watch for changes in wind direction and speed along with Wilma’s barometric pressure to know where we are in the circulation.”

  “What will that do?”

  “It’s going to tell us what course we have to steer. I estimate we’re going to end up in the right rear semi-circle of the hurricane, here. That means we put the wind at zero four five degrees relative to the ship on our starboard side and go full steam ahead to clear the outer band.” He explained this to her in case something happened to him and she was left to navigate by herself, but he didn’t intend on ending up in Da
vy Jones locker. What he didn’t explain is being in the right semi-circle was going to greatly reduce their speed and maybe their chance to live.

  He gripped the wheel tightly, and Twila held him just as securely. “I love you,” she said looking up at him with worry.

  He stared out the window, the wave height building. It would be a miracle if they made it through this. “When are you going to marry me?”

  “I don’t care if we fly to Atlantic City the second we’re docked.”

  Sounded like a plan to him. “Atlantic City it is,” he said, grinning down at her. She squeezed him and laid her head against his chest. “We’re going to have one helluva story to tell our kids, Twila.”

  She smiled up at him. “You want a family?” her voice soft but hopeful.

  He kissed her as they slid into another deep trough. “I want it all, Twila, but I only want it with you.”

  “Your mom wants four grandchildren.”

  “Let’s have six, and then she’ll be too busy babysitting to nag us anymore.”

  Twila laughed, but reading her eyes he knew she only half believed they’d get the chance to have a family. The more he thought about it, the stronger the urge became. He wanted his empty house filled with laughter and little voices. Chubby little babies with rosy cheeks and whiskey colored eyes like Twila’s or green like his. He could see himself raising his first son or daughter in the air. His greatest achievement wasn’t surviving ten years in the Marine’s or the business. It was having a family, growing old with Twila, surrounded by their children.

  They both watched the green horizon as the froth of angry waves crashed over top of the Rebecca, trying to swallow her whole. The diesel engines sounded strong and never faltered. They rose on the edge of every enormous swell and slid deep into the troughs. The next few hours would be the longest of their lives. God, help us.

  * * * *

  Layton looked at his watch, dread building in his stomach. The lights flickered off when the main power died. Drake’s generators kicked on immediately and the lights came back on. Wilma’s winds intensified before she made landfall on the western edge of Florida to one hundred and twenty-five mph. The news said they expected Wilma to take four and a half hours to cross the state, and then it would take its deadly track across the Atlantic. His mom and dad paced the floor and took turns standing at the windows, staring out at the sea. They only had two things on their minds: Drake and Twila.

  A mandatory evacuation had been issued for the central and southern coast. Layton knew when Drake built something, he built it to resist God himself. This house could withstand a category five. Built on prime waterfront and open to the screaming harpies of the sea, he’d set pillars into the earth sixty feet deep. The house looked exquisite in its design but its walls were made of cement blocks and outside of a direct hit from a meteor, she could resist the elements.

  The last call from Drake was when he’d taken off with Gabe. Layton joined his parents at the large picturesque window looking out over the ocean. The storm surge rushed beneath them, eating up miles of sand. Heavy rain driven by the force of the wind and the inky morning darkness reduced the visibility to zero. They couldn’t see a thing, but they heard Wilma’s wail as she approached the Keys. They watched the reports on TV and the terrible flooding. Several feet of surging water in the low-lying areas had already taken many homes.

  The phone rang and they all jumped. “I’ll get it,” Becka said, hurrying to the phone and put it on speaker.

  “Rebecca?” Heather’s voiced trembled on the other end.

  “Yes, Heather.”

  “I need to talk to Drake. I’m so scared. I want him to come stay with me.”

  “Where are you? Aren’t you with your parents?”

  “Yes, we’re at the mansion. Mother and Daddy say we’re safe, but I’m still scared. I need my fiancée, I need Drake.”

  “There’s an evacuation, Heather. Why are you still there?”

  “Everyone says it’s too late to leave. I want Drake to know how much I love him. I’ve been stupid and selfish. Please, I know you don’t like me, but I love your son and I know he loves me. I just need to hear his voice.”

  Layton watched his mom shake her head. “He’s not here, Heather.”

  “Where is he? He’s not hurt. Don’t tell me he’s been hurt,” her voice rising to a wail.

  “He’s with Twila.”

  Silence descended for a moment. “Why is he with her? She means nothing to him. If he’s in Port St. Lucie he can stay with me.”

  “Twila tried to save the Rebecca and took her out to sea,” his mother explained.

  “So what? She’s stupid. If she wants to die, I don’t give a shit. Where can I find Drake?”

  “You’re not listening, Heather. Drake is with Twila,” Becka said again.

  “They’re out there in this? That bitch is going to kill my fiancée!”

  His mother cleared her throat. “Heather, Drake is not your fiancée, he’s Twila’s. He asked her to marry him a week ago.”

  “What?” she screeched. “You’re lying, he’d never marry her. He needs me.”

  His mom’s tight expression implied she was about to get nasty, but instead she took a deep breath. “Apparently not. I need to go, dear. I hope your family fairs well. Good-bye.”

  Layton crossed his arms. “I take it she’s not happy.”

  His mother’s lips bit down on a grim smile. “Nope, but I am. If they live,” she said, and her face contorted with the thought and began to cry.

  His dad came to the rescue. “Of course they’ll live. Our son knows the sea, and he built that vessel with his own hands. She’ll take anything Mother Nature throws at her.” As he curled his wife to comfort her, Layton and his father shared a look, one that might not hold one hundred percent hope.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The phone rang again, and they all stared at it. “I’ll get it, Dad. Why don’t you make Mom some tea?”

  “I need bourbon,” his mother said, abruptly drying her tears and shoring up her shoulders.

  Layton picked up the phone ready for a second onslaught from Heather. He wouldn’t be as nice as his mother. Brothers talk, and Drake said Heather was bent on Gucci and garden parties. She hung onto her few years left as a semi-known model instead of getting on with life. Drake always appreciated hard work, and Layton knew that if he ever ended up with one woman, she’d be an equal in her way of looking at life and making sacrifices to build something. Heather was the opposite; she wanted a silver spoon in her mouth and a rich husband. Layton knew his brother would eventually do well. He wasn’t struggling anymore, and he’d found his soul mate in Twila.

  “Hello, Addison residence.”

  “Hello, this is the Miami Coast Guard calling. I’m looking for Mr. Layton Addison.”

  “Coast Guard, yes, go ahead.” He saw his parents practically vault from the kitchen, his mother chattering and his father trying to hush her.

  “Mr. Addison. We received a message from your brother.”

  “He made it to the Rebecca?”

  “Affirmative, sir, he and one woman are aboard. We’re tracking their position and receiving hourly updates from them.”

  “Are they heading north?”

  “No, sir. They’re southbound.”

  “Can they outrun Wilma?”

  A moment of silence gave him his answer. “In our calculations they’ll be in the eye of the hurricane in five hours. Right now they’re in heavy seas and very high winds, but we can’t estimate what the winds will be until Wilma passes into the Atlantic. He wanted me to call you and advise they were in good condition.”

  Layton breathed out the dank fear he’d been holding. “My brother knows what he’s doing. He was a Marine and he owns his own ship building company. He’s very experienced.”

  “That’s good to know. We’ll keep watching them. There’s no one else out there with them. If their situation changes, we’re prepared to task from our lifeboa
t station in Miami as soon as it’s safe to do so.”

  “Thank you. Could I call you later to check again?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Layton wrote the number down. When he hung up, his mother was all over him, but his father wasn’t showing much restraint, either. He explained what the Coast Guard had told him. “They’re okay for now.”

  His mother fell into another crying fit, but with relief this time.

  * * * *

  “Drake, I’m going to find us something to eat.”

  “Twila, no, stay here with me.” He looked again at the barometer. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing and wondered if it was malfunctioning, eight-hundred-eighty-two millibars. They were nearing the eye. The wind gusts hit one hundred and thirty miles per hour. The rainbands closest to the eye known as the eyewall could bring winds forty percent higher than the rest of the hurricane. The Rebecca fluctuated between five and ten knots, all he could do was keep her heading.

  “Drake you need something.”

  He couldn’t argue. His stomach began grumbling an hour ago. “There’s some granola bars in the cabinet next to the oven. Be careful when you open it.” She nodded. Twila waited and then made her move when the ship climbed the next swell. He heard the bang of a cabinet door. “Twila?”

  “I’m okay,” she yelled back.

  She had to be exhausted. He sure as hell was. “Here,” she said, unwrapping a bar and handing it to him a couple minutes later.

  “Thank you.”

  Two bottles of water were tucked under her arm, and she unscrewed the caps, but left them on and placed them in the cup holders. “We’re halfway there, aren’t we?”

  He smiled down at her.

  “Is it my imagination or are the seas beginning to subside?”

  He’d thought the same thing. “We have to be close to the eye,” he confirmed. “Look at the pressure.”

  “That’s low isn’t it?”

  “Lower than I’ve ever seen before. It has to be a record.”

  “What do you think it’s going to be like on the other side?”