by Lori Power
Focusing on his monitor, hoping to force the weather to do what he wanted, he remembered his words to Vivian. I’m a fair weather sailor. He hadn’t lied. He hated the wind and driving rain, but what he didn’t tell her was the reason he was a fair weather sailor—he would be called out on the chopper to jump into the sea to rescue the all-weather sailors at risk in storms just like this. He didn’t want to scare her.
Tuck would trade places with Vivian in a heartbeat to ensure her safety through this oncoming beast. Closing his eyes, he imagined the sway of the ship under his feet, envisioning Vivian walking, struggling for proper footing on the rain soaked oak deck. His father and brother were exceptional sailors, and Tuck had no fear of their sailing ability, but when Mother Nature decided to show her wrath, no man or beast would stand in her way.
Tuck scrutinized the charts. “Heaven help them.”
****
The crew, both seasoned and beginner, had been working in shifts, adjusting ropes, checking the sails, and keeping up with the multitude of duties required on a ship as large as the Navigator. Captain MacLean, Randy’s name at sea, put a halt to commotion and gathered the tourists inside the wheelhouse.
Running his weathered hand down his face to wipe the moisture from his beard, Randy began. “I’m no good at mincing words, so I won’t.” His graveled voice was more hoarse than usual. He paused, blinking the rain out of his eyes “The latest weather charts show that we’ve had a collision of sorts out here. A high and low collided, a warm and cold. The result will be bad. I’ve already informed my crew and they are preparing. There’s nothing else to be done but ride it out.”
Vivian watched the women’s faces fill with fear as they gravitated to their men. She had no one, so she simply stared ahead straight into the depths of Randy’s deep brown eyes. Her eyes probably resembled a doe’s eyes, caught in a bright light. Randy had no control over the weather. He could only control the ship holding them within the mighty force.
Clara linked her hand in Arthur’s. “Y…you’ve been through a storm like this before though, right?”
Nate stepped beside his father. “Of course, but you haven’t and as we told you from the beginning, it is always best to be prepared.”
The captain nodded. “We watch the weather like a beacon. That’s our job. This is a complete fluke phenomenon out here now. Something Poseidon likes to spring on us once in a while just to let us know he’s still in charge.” His tone sounded resolute. “We would never have begun the voyage had we known of the two storms. The one on radar was expected to head out to sea, but she took a turn for the worse. She’s now heading back toward the coast just as the cold water from the North is coming down, colliding with the warm Gulf Stream.”
“What does this mean?” Linda’s voice was higher pitched than normal. “Can’t we just go back? Surely we can’t be that far out to sea that we can’t go back.”
Nate shook his head. “No, we’re not that far out, but returning is not an option.” He pulled up the weather radar and the men stepped closer. “The worst of it appears to be the tropical storm. She’s hugging the shoreline, so we don’t want to go through that. The hurricane is causing the cold current to move inland, effectively trapping us from going ashore.”
“It’s best for us to continue to head further out to sea,” said Captain MacLean.
“What about running parallel to the storm?” said the ever-practical Howard, adjusting his glasses. He resembled what Vivian imagined an accountant to look like. She could almost envision numbers crunching in his head.
Nate nodded. “That’s good thinking, there, Howard.” He turned to the charts on the table. “And that is effectively what we have been doing the last twelve hours, but it looks as though the mouth of the pincers have closed the gap we were running for. Now we have to run through the collision of the two storms in order to get out of it. We definitely don’t want to keep running with it.”
Everyone’s face mirrored Vivian’s stare of horror. Captain MacLean held up his hand. “We’ve been through this before and we’ll get through it again. We’ll be okay. We just want to make sure you understand what’s going on. We’ll face this bastard storm and we’ll get through it. You’ll be surprised when we come out the other side. The sky will be so clear, you’ll swear you can reach up and touch the face of God. And what a story you’ll have to tell!” His smile was forced even as he winked.
“Make sure you have your life jackets on.” Nate pointed to the supply bunks by the door as they parted.
Collectively, the small group donned their life jackets under their rain slickers and set about their assigned chores. There was no shift work now, all hands on deck. Better to be busy anyway. Sitting around thinking about the storm would only make it worse.
“Okay, monkey woman.” Captain MacLean laughed, smiling at Vivian. “You go with Gabriel and climb up and take down those sails. We’ve no need of a foul wind pulling us under. We’ll go with the engine in this mess.”
Vivian had never been one to be scared of heights, which is why she loved her assigned job of unfurling the sails, but now what had appeared to be a tall ship in port was suddenly small in this great big ocean. She grew more petrified with each step as she fit her feet to the small rungs on the mast. The ship listed this way and that as she climbed higher. At times she seemed to be hanging in mid air over the berth of the sea as it waited to swallow her. The rubber soles of her shoes slipped and her knees squeezed tight around the mast, her hands, white knuckled, held firm to the handholds. She no longer reveled in the free sensation of flying of just yesterday. With the imposing danger of the storm and the roll of the ship, at times she was almost paralyzed to move her muscles and get the job done. Her shoulders ached and she thought her hands would never keep their grip, but she marveled the strength from her body. I have to keep going, people are depending on me. So she kept going.
The hours went on and on. The sea continued to rage and get angrier still. Vivian had seen movies that depicted high waves, but they were full of shit compared to the real thing. She zigzagged across the slick decking, trying to keep her feet from failing her.
She never understood the feeling of cold terror running through her veins until she saw a twenty-five-foot wave crashing down with the next one waiting. The sheer weight of the water bearing down on the ship caused vibrations from the timbers to course up her legs.
Captain MacLean insisted that anyone on deck be tied. “It’s an ancient course of action, but to this day the most effective means of keeping people on board a vessel in a storm like this.” He shouted over the ranging wind as he lashed the ropes.
Howling wails from a medieval novel is the best description of the wind. Within a few hours of the storm gaining force, two of the three ladies, Janie and Linda, were so scared they were beyond providing any help. Clara, a kindly heart by nature, accompanied the women below to take care of them, ensuring the rest of the crew could concentrate. Arthur, amazingly enough, was as solid as a rock, doing what he was told, when he told, the fear in his eyes never halting his motions. Howard seemed to come into his own, removing his glasses every once and while to wipe them on his sleeve, he was in the thick of the action, moving like he’d been born to it. Born to it or not, by early the next morning, after a couple hours of rest, the crew, seasoned or no, were exhausted.
When will we come out the other side? It’s been so long. Vivian’s shoulders were knotted. She reached a hand under her woolen sweater to the cotton shirt to massage the ache. They were fighting waves that seem to be increasing in size for more than a day. Vivian didn’t want to ask, for she didn’t want to appear weak, but this went a little bit beyond the adventure she signed up for. This must be a dream gone bad. She pinched her shoulder, a weak attempt to wake up.
Howard approached as she sipped her coffee, warming her hands around the large mug. He forced a smiled, seeming to read her her fear, which she was sure passed very clearly across her face. Everyone struggled to keep fo
od and liquid down as the ship listed from one side to the next. Standing, Vivian hoped the scalding liquid would not run over her fingers as she moved her weight from her left foot to her right and back again in motion with the ship. “I can’t sit down. I’m too antsy.”
Howard removed his glasses, wiping his spectacles with his hanky. “Amazing,” he said, a twinkle of excitement glowed in his deep-set brown eyes. “To think we’re only hitting the collision of the two storms now. It will be rough for the next few hours. The captain thinks we’ll be out of the worse of it by nightfall tomorrow, and if we’re able to keep the course, we should be clear by the next day.”
“What?” Vivian almost choked on her coffee. “You can’t be serious? What? We have to go through another day of this? What have we been going through so far if this isn’t the storm?”
Howard raised a hand in a peace offering, and hitched his glasses back around his ears. “That was the tropical storm that turned back toward the land, but there is a hurricane now to contend with from the south.” He adjusted his glasses, giving her a sympathetic smile. “Perhaps you want to join the other ladies.”
She shook her head. “Like hell,” Vivian said instantly, aiming for some bravado she certainly didn’t feel. When they made it through this, she wanted Tuck to know she had been brawn and strong. She didn’t want to walk away and think back about what she should have done. She wanted to be a part of it. “Captain Maclean says it’ll be a hell of a story to tell. I’m not missing the fun. Not on your life.”
“That’s a girl.” Howard smiled and left her to go check on his wife. “Captain MacLean’s presently running a course through the troughs of the waves, but at some point he has to turn the ship into the waves. When he does, he says we’ll have to brace ourselves for that will be the worst part.”
Vivian couldn’t believe what she was seeing when she went back on deck. Waves, seemingly as large as buildings, writhed on either side of the ship. She cringed at the thought of having to puncture the depths of one of those monsters to get through the storm. Passing over those waves seemed impossible. They were imposing rock walls, and the ship was a toothpick floating in a bathtub, waiting for a child to send it down the drain.
Nate moved toward her, his gait unsteady. “There she is.” He shouted to be heard. “You doing okay?”
Vivian nodded, sure her eyes were as big as saucers. Her fear of the waves and what she would face when she stepped over the threshold was holding her rooted to the spot. Words were beyond her for the moment.
Nate’s eyes, so much like his brothers, their color mirroring the consistency of the ranging ocean on either side, stared at her with concern.
“I’m fine,” Vivian said, finding her voice. “What can I do?”
Nate squeezed her shoulder and told her what was required. “Everything gets braced for the next assault. Double-check all the hatches. We check everything twice. Tie it down, tie it up, make sure it’s secure and don’t forget to tie yourself. The captain is watching the movement to time our transition through the wave from the trough we have been enjoying.”
“Oh…okay.” Vivian managed find her voice.
Connecting her harness, Vivian, along with others went about their jobs, sloshing, falling, listing, and generally trying to maintain footing. She was so cold, chilled to the very bone that she wasn’t sure if she would ever be warm again. She experimentally wiggled her toes in her new boat shoes, which didn’t look new anymore, just to know they were still working. She wondered how she ever could have been concerned with her planned outfit. Look at me now. Clothes ruined and I’m scared out of my mind that I’m not going to make it back to shore. Vivian tried to think of a really scary roller coaster ride—thrilled and scared for your life, but always came out the other side. Maybe if I close my eyes tight the ride would be over.
Chapter Eleven
Vivian finished her checklist and returned to the wheelhouse to see yet another monstrous wave crash on the deck and flow over their heads. How much could this ship take before it succumbed to the weight of the water bearing it down? What would happen if the wood splintered? The logical side of her brain kicked in, and she remembered the safety drills. She was confident she would know what to do if it came to that. But if she was this scared on such a large vessel, what would it be like out on the open water with the gigantic waves bearing down on a lifeboat? In her present state of mind, it gave her no comfort to think about the what-ifs.
She did think about her mom, dad, and brothers. Her nephews would take good care of Snickerdoodle. Stop-it! She admonished the thought even as she pictured the faces of her nephews and two godchildren, Marcy’s kids. Closing her eyes, Vivian could hear their giggles. Tuck and his mesmerizing, silver eyes entered her thoughts. Her breathing deepened. Everything else faded like the flashes of lighting. Visions of Tuck remained in her mind’s focus and ironically the image of him calmed her.
Vivian was brought up short from her reverie by Randy’s authority voice. “We’re here,” he announced. “This is where the devil does his battle!”
Vivian shivered. That didn’t sound like a good place to be at all!
In a mere second, the situation went from bad to worse. Now mixed with driving rain, flashes of lightning and reverberating boom of thunder filled the sky. The howling wind picked up, and the vessel was tossed about as a child would hurl their soap during a bath. Unable to hold anything in her shaky hands, Vivian tucked the bottle of water in the side pocket of her yellow slicker.
Lightning flashed again and the boom of thunder soon followed. So much for counting Mississippi’s to gauge the distance from the storm. Flash with an instant crash surrounded the ship. Small bits of hail assaulted her along with the pelting rain. Holding tight to the railing, her feet were spread wide to accommodate the swaying of the ship.
Hearing a loud crack, Vivian quickly turned.
Nate, the only one still out on deck, was sent to re-tie the canvas that had started to billow as a knot loosened in the driving wind and rain.
She reacted without thinking. Moving like a drunk on a late Saturday night, Vivian grabbed Captain MacLean’s arm. “It’s coming down!” She shouted as loud as she could to get his attention.
He turned his head to glance at her before focusing back on his task. “What?”
It’s no use. He can’t do anything. He’s needed at the wheel.
Shouts of one sort or another were being bellowed. She left the captain and rushed to the door. She wrenched open the wheelhouse door and sloshed onto the deck, trying desperately to keep her footing, her drive to warn Nate propelling her.
Holding onto the railing to retain her footing, her shout was nothing more than a puff of air lost in the wind. “The mast! The mast is coming down!” She pointed at the weakening post.
A blinding blue-silver ball travelled down the pole and across the planks to bounce close to her feet as she struggled forward—almost bent to get through the pressure of the wind and pelting rain. St. Elmo’s Fire! Vivian had read about this phenomenon and knew enough to keep her distance, but that was easier said than done in present circumstances. St. Elmo’s Fire was lightning seeking a home to explode upon, frying everything in its wake.
Nate was exposed and she had to get to him. She reached for Nate’s towline as the ball scooted up the mast. Vivian was out of time. With all her strength, she pulled the line. Nate finally turned to her. He shouted something she couldn’t hear. She pointed to the climbing ball of fire and wrenched his rope again, waving one of her hands to motion him toward her and out of danger.
The wood splintered and once the ball exploded that mast would come down. She had to get Nate out of the path of the lightning ball and impending doom. When the mast fell, it would fall like an ancient oak in the forest, crashing everything in its path. She couldn’t let Tuck’s brother be in that pathway.
Nate slipped and slid toward her just as the Navigator plowed the crest of a wave. The captain would be unable to change cou
rse of the vessel despite what may be going on at this point.
Vivian stared as a spectacular accumulation of catastrophic events unfolded before her very eyes as though scripted in a movie scene. She pointed to the crack in the mast again. “It’s coming down! Get out of the way!”
Like fireworks in the air, the fireball exploded off the end of the pole. Pull as she might, Nate remained directly in the path of the falling mast and the wall water coming over the side. How in the world did she ever think this vessel was large? Surely to God that wave must be fifty-feet high and this ship not big enough to take that kind of hit.
Nate regained his footing only to fall again as Vivian retained hold of his line and the railing. She and Nate glanced up at the firework display, not one bit diminished by the water pour down. The post groaned loose on its end, moving with the motion of the boat. Then it started to topple in slow motion. Nate hadn’t cleared the path. Nate, with the same eyes as Tuck’s, would be a goner. Vivian must get him out of the way or that fate would be a certainty.
With strength she did not know she possessed, Vivian let go of the railing and with the line held tightly in both hands, heaved with all her might. Nate once again found his feet, both hands reaching for the life saving cable that slid and skidded across the deck toward her. Then the wave crashed down, taking the mast and them with it.
Nate was safely out of the path of the mast, but Vivian was lifted by the water, her feet no longer in contact with the ship. Nate flailed to reach her hands, managing to grab hold of one her wrists just as they were tossed off the side of the boat and into the ranging sea. One hideous wave replaced another crashing down in its place. Together, with a tangle of splintered wood, ropes, and rigging, they were flung free of the boat and into the boiling mass of cold, open ocean.
