“You okay?”
“That’s a dumb question.” I held my eyes open until they watered, staring at the spot where I guessed his eyes would be in the blackness behind the powerful flashlight that Connie used for spotting navigational markers after dark.
“Hal! What the hell’s keeping you?” Liz yelled. “Get your ass up here!”
The beam switched off, leaving spots swimming before my eyes, spoiling my night vision.
Hal disappeared through the hatch and almost immediately, I heard the grinding of the portside winch that controlled the unfurling of the jib sail. Behind me up on deck, the jib flapped and slapped its way across the bow.
Sea Song surged forward. “Finally!” I heard Liz exclaim.
“Shut up, Liz.” Over my head the fiberglass groaned under Hal’s weight as he climbed to the cabin top to deal with the mainsail. I remembered how we’d accomplished that task together, only three, no, was it four days ago? Now completely free, with the element of surprise on my side, I wanted to storm the deck while Hal was distracted, wrestle the gun from Liz, and get the drop on Hal, but I could see that was a lousy plan. Someone would surely get shot in the process, and with my luck lately, it would probably be me.
I needed a weapon. I tried to remember where Connie kept the box containing the flare gun. Was it on my right, in the compartment with the hats? Or was it in the navigation station? I’d never be able to find the stupid thing in the dark. Maybe I could ease a knife out of the utensil drawer? No, that was in the galley, too near the main hatch. I’d be seen. Something big and heavy, then. What?
I looked at Connie for inspiration. I could see her standing tall and straight behind the wheel, the light from the compass reflecting red off her face. I willed her to look at me but knew it would be fruitless. She’d never see me down here in the dark.
The squeal and grind had stopped. The mainsail must be fully raised. When I saw the corners of Connie’s mouth turn up slightly, as if she had just remembered a joke, I thought she might be looking at me after all. Hal hadn’t left the cabin top. I supposed he’d be tying off the main halyard about now, wrapping it in a neat figure eight around the cleat. I couldn’t see Liz, but I figured she was nearby, perched on the cabin top, because I could hear her complaining. “Hurry up, Hal. I don’t know a goddamn thing about boats, and this bitch is making me nervous.”
It was a subtle thing, and Hal would have noticed it at once if he hadn’t been so occupied with the sails. Connie turned the wheel slightly to the right. Sailors are always doing that, I’ve noticed, moving the wheel back and forth from one side to the other even when the boat is sailing in a straight line, but this was different. Sea Song’s course shifted slightly, and suddenly I knew what was going to happen.
Connie had altered course just enough so that the wind crossed the stern, filling the sails from the other side. Any second now the boom would swing to the other side of the boat. The boat jibed, sending the heavy boom slashing across the deck. Hal yelled a warning, but it was too late. With a thud and clanking of metal cables and fittings, the swinging boom connected solidly with something, sending shock waves undulating down the mast, vibrations even I could feel as I sat below. “Liz!” There was the squeak of Hal’s rubber-soled shoes scrambling across the deck, followed by a splash. Then something heavy fell into the cockpit, spinning like a pewter plate, and I saw Connie desert the wheel and dive for it. Hal got there a second later, and the two of them struggled, grunting and swearing, for possession of the gun. I sprang toward the hatch and had almost reached the ladder when Hal shoved Connie away and pointed the gun at her triumphantly.
“Get back behind the wheel!”
I melted back into the shadows.
In the scuffle Connie’s shirt had ridden up, exposing her bra. Without embarrassment she tugged it down over her slacks and did as she was told. From behind the wheel, she glared at Hal with undisguised hatred.
Hal’s voice was controlled and edged with menace. “You’ve killed her, you realize. Even if she survived the blow, we’ll never find her out here in the dark.” Since Hal clearly had no intention of going back to look for his partner in crime, I found his sentiment a little cheap.
Connie at least was honest. “Frankly, Hal, I don’t give a shit.”
Connie couldn’t know it, but she’d nearly killed me, too, with her well-timed jibe. As I crouched in the V-berth entertaining fantasies of rising to the rescue like Superwoman, Craig’s tackle box had come sliding across the cushion and fallen to the floor, narrowly missing my head. With all the crashing going on up on the deck, Hal hadn’t noticed the racket it made as it landed at my feet.
Back in the forward cabin after my aborted plan to tackle Hal, I lifted the tackle box to my knees. I remembered that lovely sail on the bay, and I remembered the lures. My mind fastened on the bright, shiny spoon Dennis had demonstrated only days before, and I wondered what kind of weapon it would make. I eased the latches open, praying they wouldn’t creak. Where was the spoon? Working in the dark, I felt around the upper tray, pricking my fingers on hooks, stifling the urge to cry out, silently sucking blood from a tiny puncture in my thumb. It wasn’t on top. Carefully I lifted the top tray and began feeling around in the compartment underneath. I encountered the soft plastic of a surgical eel, the wiggly jelly of something squidlike, and then my fingers closed around it, the silver spoon with the big, ugly hook.
I withdrew the lure from the box and cradled it in my palm, feeling the cool metal, the ornamental feathers, and the hook, now safely capped. I admired the balance and the way it fitted snugly in my hand; thoughts of Peter Pan and Captain Hook rose, unbidden, to my mind. Quietly I reassembled the trays, fastened the lid and pushed the box into the head, where I wouldn’t trip over it in the dark.
Now what would I do? I knew that if I appeared on deck, brandishing my lure, one or both of us might be shot. But we’d be floating in the bay anyway if I couldn’t come up with an idea soon. Okay, if I couldn’t get to Hal, how could I get him to come to me?
I crept into the head and sat on the toilet seat, turning ideas over in my mind, wishing I had paid more attention in sailing school. I couldn’t sabotage the electrical system; we were sailing without power. Maybe I could set the boat on fire! But I had no matches; I could think of nothing combustible nearby that I could lay my hands on. I cursed Connie for being so damn fastidious. Tie it down. Turn it off. Put it away. That damn checklist!
My prior experience with operating systems aboard Sea Song was limited primarily to the bilge. What if … ? I knelt and ran my hand over the floorboards near the V-berth, feeling for the opening I knew would be there. The varnished teak felt smooth and clean underneath my fingers, but the boards fitted together so snugly, each butting against the next piece so smoothly, that I couldn’t feel the seam. My fingers eventually found the hole, about the size of a quarter. I inserted my index finger and carefully pried the floor panel upward, holding my breath, afraid that it would groan or scrape, alerting Hal to the fact that I was up to something down below. I eased the panel out of position, leaving a rectangular hole.
Even in the daytime, when I could see what I was doing, I felt uncomfortable rooting around in the dark places under the floor. Gingerly I eased my hand into the bilge and felt around until I located the narrow, cylindrical apparatus that controlled Sea Song’s speedometer. A dangerous little gizmo, Connie had said, which needed to be installed in a hole drilled clear through the hull. I’d assisted one time as she’d pulled it out and cleaned it of algae. But this time I wouldn’t be standing by to cram a temporary plug into the hole while she brushed green gunk off the wheel. Holding my breath, I wrenched the fitting out of its hole.
Water fountained into the boat like Old Faithful, wetting me completely. In less than a minute the rising water covered my shoes, and I swallowed hard, fighting back my panic, knowing that I’d need to stay quiet down below for my plan to work.
Perched back on the toilet seat again, I wonde
red how far into the bay we’d have to sail before Hal decided we’d gone far enough to dump us overboard. I wondered how long I could tread water, how far I could swim with my sore chest and bum arm. Hal would have to make it appear like an unfortunate accident with him as the only survivor. I’d drowned trying to save poor Liz, that would be his story, and Connie had gone in after me. Such a tragedy! We’d make the front page of the Chesapeake Times for sure.
Sea Song began to slow. “What’s wrong?” Hal sounded unhappy.
“I don’t know. I haven’t changed course. The sails are full. Suddenly it’s like sailing a bathtub.”
From the cockpit I heard the click-click of the flashlight, and its beam sliced through the dark into the cabin below. I sat quietly, hardly breathing, trying to merge with the darkness in the head.
“The goddamned boat’s sinking! She must have pulled one of the through-hulls!”
From above, I heard Connie laugh.
Hal scrambled into the cabin, flipped on the cabin lights, and began wading in my direction. “Which one was it, damm it?”
I waited where I was, with the door ajar. Soon he would notice that I wasn’t where he had left me.
“Hannah?”
I extracted the lure from my pocket and gripped it in my right hand. With my left, I removed the red plastic plug that protected the hook and dropped it into the water. I didn’t think I’d be needing it again.
“Hannah?”
Naturally, Hal expected to find me in the forward cabin. As his profile appeared in the doorway, I lashed out, sinking the lure deep into his neck.
Hal screamed, a hideous sound that will haunt me forever, and dropped the gun. It sank to the floor, but neither one of us dived for it. Hal was too busy bellowing and clutching his neck, and I was staring in horror, appalled by what I had done. At first there was surprisingly little blood. Then Hal tried to remove the hook, but the barb held fast and began to tear his flesh. “Hannah!” he cried. The man was in agony. He fell back against the cushions of the V-berth. I couldn’t bear to look into his eyes.
I turned and floundered away, moving as quickly as I could in my waterlogged shoes. I headed for the pilot berth where Connie kept the life preservers.
Connie’s head appeared in the hatch. “Connie!” I yelled. “Is it too late to cork it?”
“Oh, God, yes.” She jumped onto the seat by the navigation station.
Connie flipped on the ship’s radio, punched the button that activated Channel 16, and spoke more calmly than I could believe into the microphone. “May Day, May Day, May Day. This is the sailing vessel Sea Song. We’re about two miles off Holly Point near the shipping channel, taking on water fast. Three … uh … four adults. One overboard. We’re abandoning ship now.” The radio crackled, hissed, then went silent. “Damn!”
“What’s wrong with the radio?” I was looking around for the flashlight, but who knew where Hal had dropped it?
“I don’t know,” Connie moaned. “It’s gone dead. Water probably shorted out the wires.”
Standing in water nearly up to my knees, I held out the life jackets. Connie threw them into the cockpit and pushed me up the ladder. She slipped her life jacket over her head, snapped the buckles together across her chest and waist, and helped me do the same. I held up the third life jacket. Connie sucked in her bottom lip and shook her head, but I couldn’t do it. Just before the rising water shorted out the electrical system and all the lights went out, I tossed it at Hal. “You don’t deserve this, you son of a bitch!”
Hal caught the life jacket in his bloody hands. The hook in his neck flashed and sparkled. Blood dripped from the yellow feathers at its tail, drenching his shirt. He looked so pale and weak that I wondered if I had severed his carotid artery.
Connie grabbed a couple of small floating cushions, handed one to me, and we stood together on the seats in the cockpit, waiting. When Connie judged the time was right, we jumped. Hal was on his own.
Connie and I swam a good one hundred yards from the boat, then turned around, treading water. Silhouetted against the gray night sky, we could see Sea Song’s regal mast and her sails flapping like wet sheets on a clothesline. Then she tilted, nose down, and sank beneath the water. Connie moaned. “It’s like losing Craig all over again,” she sobbed.
I felt rotten. I was a curse. A jinx. “Oh, Connie, I’m so sorry. But I couldn’t think what else to do. He was going to leave us out here to drown!” I gasped. My lungs burned, as if they would never get enough oxygen.
“It was the right thing.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Absolutely the right thing.”
As I bawled and made well-intentioned promises to God if He’d just help me out of this mess, a cloud bank slid across the sky and the moon, nearly full, laid a silver path on the water. I had my answer. I couldn’t wish anybody dead. I expected to see Hal’s head bobbing nearby, but although I scanned the water for several minutes, I didn’t spot him.
“Where’s Hal? I thought sure he’d get out.”
“Maybe he’s on the other side, treading water like we are.”
“Hal! Hal!” I called, but the only answer was the sound of my own labored breathing and the clang of the bell on a nearby buoy. I gasped, choking back tears. “I didn’t want him to die, Connie. I never wanted him to die!”
Connie grabbed my life vest by the straps and pulled me toward her until we were so close that our foreheads nearly touched. “Of course you didn’t, sweetheart.” Waves licked at my chin as I sobbed. “C’mon. We’re only in about twenty feet of water.”
“I’m not that tall,” I wailed.
“What I mean, silly, is that if we’re lucky, Sea Song’s mast will still be visible.”
I looked all around me. Miles away I could see lights glimmering onshore. A pair moving in tandem must be a car, its driver heading home after a late day at the office. One thing I knew for sure: It was too far to swim.
“Do you think the coast guard heard your call before the radio died?”
“I hope so.” She tugged on my vest. “There she is!” I looked where she pointed and saw the top twenty feet of Sea Song’s mast, jutting out at a sharp angle from the moon-spangled waves.
We swam, arm over arm, and grabbed on, exhausted. My arm and side ached as if I’d spent twenty minutes on the inside of an industrial clothes dryer. I wondered what had happened to Hal. I wondered if he’d focused on those beckoning lights and tried to swim for shore. In spite of all that had happened, I found myself praying that he’d make it.
chapter
19
Lights can be deceptive on the water at night. While I clung to the mast, I scanned the horizon for approaching lights that might signal a rescue was at hand. Behind me green and red flashing buoys marked the shipping lanes. I thanked my lucky stars we hadn’t sunk out there where we could easily have been run over by a freighter on its way up to Baltimore with a cargo hold full of new Toyotas. To my right I stared long and hard at a bright white light. Connie and I argued about it, thinking it might be the mast light of a sailboat under power, one near enough to rescue us, but when it hadn’t moved for a while, we decided it must be Venus, always the brightest star in the early-evening sky. Ahead and to my left, scattered lights flashed green or white at two- or four-second intervals, marking the channel into the Truxton, or so Connie said.
The drone of a high-speed motorboat raised our hopes. “Hey! Hey! Hey!” We gripped our flotation cushions by their straps and waved them in the air as the boat passed, unseeing, within two hundred feet of us, swamping us in its wake as it went rooster-tailing by. I inhaled water and coughed, wiping water out of my eyes with a free hand. “See why I hate powerboats?” Connie delivered a rude gesture toward the back of the disappearing boater.
I shivered. “I’m getting cold. How warm is the water?”
“About seventy degrees.”
“That’s okay, then. It’s room temperature. We should be okay.”
“We’ll be fine
for a couple of hours, but I don’t want to stay out here too long, if we have a choice. I wish we had something to stand on. Water pulls heat from your body very quickly.”
I hugged myself, tucking one hand under my armpit. “How long do you think it will take them to find us?”
“I don’t know. Soon, I imagine.”
I went back to my original harebrained plan. “Can we swim to shore?”
“No. Two reasons that’s a bad idea. One, it’s a hell of a lot farther than it looks, and two, it’s easier to spot the boat than it is to find a lone swimmer, particularly at night.”
My teeth began to chatter. Connie explained that this was natural, the body’s way of staying warm. For once I wished I had more insulating body fat, but I hadn’t gained back the weight I’d lost during chemo.
“Shivering and chattering’s normal, Hannah. I once took a survival course. They say what you have to watch for are the umbles—mumbles, stumbles, fumbles, and grumbles.”
“Well, I’m certainly not going to stumble out here, but I might grumble.”
Connie, whom I trusted to be experienced with such things, said we should huddle for warmth. She instructed me to wrap my clothes as tightly around myself as possible, then embraced me in a bear hug with our legs twined together.
“That was really brilliant what you did back there,” Connie said after a moment.
“Thanks. I figured if the cancer was going to do me in anyway, I might as well go out in a blaze of glory! Sorry about taking you and the boat along with me.”
Something brushed against my leg, and I freaked, breaking away from Connie with a shriek. “It’s only a fish, silly! I felt it, too.” She grabbed my life jacket by the straps and pulled me back. We floated there, bobbing in the waves.
Sing It to Her Bones Page 20
