by Lori Power
A wave, with the force of a swinging baseball bat, smashed into Vivian’s forehead. She saw stars and gulped for precious air, unable to distinguish between up or down. Grateful for the firm hold of Nate’s hand on her own, her other arm flailed in the roiling water as she tried to find the surface. I can’t catch my breath. There is no surface.
She heard shouts, but couldn’t place the direction. He ears filled with the gargle of the sea. Darkness with flashes of light filled her vision. In between the sparks, she saw Nate struggling as well.
Something was tangled around her leg. Vivian saw the coiling rope fixed to her ankle. The cable tightened with each kick of her foot as she tried to get unsnarled. She should stop kicking, but her need for air and the confusion over which way was up, only served to further ensnare her in the lines.
“Uggkk.” Bubbled from her lips as the dropping weight of the mast pulled her down into the cold, deep unknown. Panicked, she lifted her leg into a crouch to free the snare, but the wet cord wouldn’t unleash its grip. With each effort to tug her leg free, the rope tightened, digging more severely into her skin. I’m not ready to go! She frantically reached for Nate’s arm, but she couldn’t get hold as she continued to fall, spread eagle, dragging him along with her.
Then, like a buoy, her life jacket popped, springing her up out of the water. She gasped for the life giving air before the deep sea yanked her under again. We are going down. She was frantic surrounded in the blue-grey swirling water. An eerie calm descended as she broke to the surface again. She gulped all the air she could into her lungs and forced her mind to work. The first rule she had learned in her Bronze Cross swimming training was to stay calm when others were not. Better said than done at this point. Quivering as she might be on the inside, Vivian forced her flailing arms to relax.
Nate’s hand was like a death grip on her wrist. They made eye contact briefly before the next thousand pounds of water sent them under. She just barely saw the disappearing length of splintered timber, lines, and rigging fanning out like hair on a doll, the canvas having unrolled and floating free like a giant cape.
The tugging on her ankle increased. She was running out of time. Survival meant getting out of the snarl of ropes or she would never be able to buoy back up. Nate was tied to the boat by his harness, but she had run out of the wheelhouse so fast with only one thing on her mind, saving Nate. She hadn’t attached her harness. If she didn’t get free, they were both going down—fast.
Timing as much as she could, when next they surfaced she pulled on Nate’s hand. “I’m caught up in the rigging. I have to get my leg free or we’re going down!”
He nodded. “I’ve got my knife!” Nate shouted just before they were under again.
In his free hand he gripped a knife, but she couldn’t reach it, the the pull downward exhausting her slithering energy. I’m out of time. As tight as his hold was, he couldn’t drag the weight attached to her leg. Nate’s hand slipped on her wrist. He can’t hold me!
It happened too fast. She saw the flash of metal catch on the lights from above the waterline and with a last ditch effort Nate flung the blade through the water in her direction. Reaching with the tips of her fingers, she missed and Nate’s grip was lost. Vivian was tugged downward out of his reach.
She reached for him, but the distance swelled. His life jacket pulled him to the surface as she went further down. The last thing she heard was him shouting no!
****
Tuck was monitoring boat traffic on the old fashioned CB radio tuned for boat traffic. His worse fear was realized when he upped the volume, his father’s voice relaying the first SOS.
“Vessel in distress. Coordinates provided.”
Tuck swore his heart stopped, having never imagined any vessel under his father’s command would dare to be in distress.
Then the next SOS. “All available vessels within range to come to aid of sailing school tall ship taking on water. Two souls overboard. Coordinates provided. Repeat, two overboard.”
Tuck held his breath as another SOS came through. “All available hands are on deck. One life rescued from water. Another still missing. Storm not letting up. Vessel in distress. Coordinates provided. One life saved. One soul still missing at sea. Rescue attempt failed.”
With a hand over his eyes, Tuck couldn’t believe what he had heard. The hand held radio lay on the table in front of him as though diseased. The landline cradled in his other hand, Coast Guard on the phone. “There was no way a storm like this was not properly forecast. What have we sent those people into? The storm changed its path so rapidly and without time to prepare.”
Tuck had already received a call from the reserves to activate into service when the distress signal came in from the Navigator. This SOS represented a first for this generation of MacLean’s.
Tuck gathered his gear and made his way to his SUV for the forty-five minute drive to the launch site. As a reservist, he was technically always on call in a crisis situation, but contrary to popular belief, that seldom happened.
Family tradition demanded the MacLean men had to serve. You live by the sea and you know what’s expected of you, that was their family motto. Tuck and Nate had spent a minimum of two years working Coast Guard. While Nate navigated, Tuck swam. He was strong, and powerfully built, and made for the sea. Billy was set to start his term when he turned twenty. At a time like this, Tuck was glad for family traditions.
The shoreline was being pounded raw, but that didn’t matter when the people you loved were fighting for survival?
As Emily and the kids arrived, joining Tuck’s mother, Daniel and Billy manned the radio on full alert, leaving Tuck to drive through the pounding rain to meet up with his Coast Guard crew.
My family is out there, fighting for survival.
Daniel’s three oldest boys and a daughter, boys and girls no longer, but grown men and women with their own families, were out there.
The woman Tuck couldn’t get out of his mind and heart was out there.
Did Vivian see his message when she sailed away? Does she know what he meant when he touched his heart?
She owned his heart. Was it love? Tuck didn’t know, but he wanted to find out. Could he really be in love after only a short period of time? Yes! He heaved a sigh as he drove.
The ego side of his being fleetingly hoped if he claimed her sexually, that would be that and he would resume life as he had before. But it wasn’t that easy. Even as he watched the Navigator sail out of sight, with Vivian on it, all he wanted to do was jump on board to be with her.
There was no denying his true emotions. He had to get to her, to see her to safety. Vivian was now a part of him—his family, and his family was in trouble.
Tuck radioed his mother. “Dad’s the best sailor, Ma. I’m sure he has everything in order. Nate’s strong too. He’s a good sailor. Everything will be okay.”
“You be safe too,” she whispered through the radio, sniffing away her distress.
Ending the call with his mother, he adjusted the frequency just in time to hear another call over his handheld. “Immediate assistance to the Navigator requested. Repeat, immediate assistance to the Navigator. Coordinates provided.”
“Oh, God, no!” Tuck moaned, both hands gripping the wheel as he floored the SUV over the slippery road surface.
Who went over and for how long? Dear God, let them survive this raging storm.
Chapter Twelve
Instinctively, her arms reached out to flutter and create resistance against the drag of the water as she struggled toward the surface. Her eyes tried to focus on the receding grey light of the breaking water. Calm, I must stay calm!
The pressure of the water surrounding her weighed heavily against her head. She bent at the waist, reaching for her ankle. It was an almost unachievable task pushing through the wall of water. Vivian struggled with the bindings that held her firmly in their grasp. Images swam out of focus. Feeling lightheaded from the lack of air, she prayed for strength and fou
ght for calm.
Her body convulsed and she straightened like an arrow ready for flight. She couldn’t go anywhere, she was trapped and going down.
Calm. Ohmigod, I’m not ready for this!
Bending again, her fingers gripped the bindings, hoping for an escape. Just as she considered the situation helpless and all lost, something sharp sliced her finger. The knife? Nate had tossed it to her when she couldn’t reach it, but she missed it, yet there—caught in the rope by the tip of the blade, was Nate’s knife. Grappling for the handle with renewed vigor, Vivian began to saw loose of the bindings. She covered her mouth with one hand to prevent the natural instinct to suck in water in place of much-needed air. She had to work fast and didn’t care if she cut her foot in the process.
More flashes of her life ran through her thoughts like a slide show. Unbidden, Vivian recalled the conversations she had had with Tuck about being a rescue swimmer. She had wondered what kind of bravery it took to voluntarily cast into the ranging ocean swells for the life of another.
Would he come for her? Will they find me?
She grew weaker. I can’t loosen my grip on this blade. She convulsed again, her body wanting to give over and pull the water into her lungs. Moments mattered. Spots appeared before her eyes. It is not over. I have to be strong. Someone will come for me. But no one reached in and saved her from the raging sea. There was no one to rescue her from the black depths of the ocean. I have to get free from this rope!
With all the strength Vivian had left and as the final drops of oxygen ran through her lungs, she sawed the rope and finally floated upward. Giving over, she allowed the life jacket to buoy her to the surface, floating as in an ascent to heaven.
****
“One person recovered. One still missing. Coordinates to follow.”
Tuck, in full survival gear, boarded the Hercules helicopter. “Dear Jesus, who?” he shouted to part of a three swimmer team.
Curt words flew between Tuck and the CO upon his arrival, to the effect that Tuck was too close to the victims. He was told he should sit this one out, but Tuck’s record as an exceptional swimmer won the verbal battle.
“You need me,” Tuck said with a firm voice. “You need all the help you can get in this storm! My family needs me and one way or another, I’m going.”
Vivian needs me. He didn’t need to be told. His heart sensed it was Vivian in the water. I have to get to her. She needs me.
He tried to project his thoughts to her. I’m on my way, I’m coming for you, my love.
****
After what seemed like an eternity, Vivian’s head broke free of the water. She had but a moment to sputter, barely able to draw in a new breath before she was under again. There was no time for coughing or gagging, or to rid her body of the unwelcomed salt water she had sucked into her lungs despite her best efforts. She would suck in more water than she already had. I need air.
When Vivian broke the surface once again, she was ready. She blew out hard and sucked in as much air as to fill her lungs before another wave struck. The waves tossed her like a seed in the wind. Rising out of the depths from which she just plunged, gigantic currents with the hand of a God would fist around her, taking her back down to the desolate darkness. Being physically strong did not determine survival.
The rain slicker over her life jacket was simply a hindrance at this point. Making it harder for her to break the surface, its billowy form sucked the weight of the water and pulled her further down when she needed to ride the surface. Vivian struggled out of the rain slicker while being tossed under the raging sea. Although the slicker was bright yellow, it covered her orange life jacket, which had a signal attached. I have to pull the cord. The signal would allow air rescue to see her despite the swelling seas. As she upended, her feet were tossed over her head and she somersaulted over the next break. Please God, let someone come. Let someone see me. Let Tuck find me.
On and on the waves slaughtered her body. She thought the misery would never end. Vivian had no notion of time. She couldn’t even remember what time of day it had been when she first entered the writhing mass. Before dark? With the driving rain it was only a perception of the darkening sky. This did not intensify her fears as she had already been swallowed by the beast and was by this point beyond fear and numb with cold. Tired and exhausted, she still would not give in. If she were to survive she must stay awake. She forced her body to remain limp and flow with the water, rather than struggle and fight her way to the surface. Quickly adapting to the rhythm, she realized the waves had their own timing, and as each pull of the current sucked her down, the great hand of another wave tossed her back up.
Struggling to focus on something that would keep her alert, her only capable thought was Tuck. Those eyes, that easy smile, and the way he made love to her with passionate abandon. He was no passing fancy, she knew that from the start. He was also no holiday fling. Tuck was the real deal and she swore if she ever got out of this storm alive, she would take the chance necessary to make it work with him. She had been given something precious, and had to grab it and hold tight, doing whatever it took to keep it safe.
Breaking the surface with renewed flight, Vivian let out a primal scream. I will not be beat. “I’m here!”
****
There it is, the Navigator. Tuck never imagined he would ever see one of the MacLean boats in this condition.
Another swell took the tall ship and listed it to the side as though she would capsize before righting again. The bow was completely submerged under the weight of the driving rain and water. The long vessel twisted, righted, and stood fast in her struggled. You got it, Dad.
“The expedition is on its way…over.” Tuck’s father’s graveled voice filled his headpiece. “All hands save one accounted for…over.”
“Do you require immediate evacuation? Over,” the pilot asked.
“Negative. Evacuation not required. Can hold steady until the Expedition arrives. We are not taking on water in the hull. Repeat, ship sound except for loss of mast…over.”
“Received. Will proceed to coordinates to search for sign of missing sailor. You have veered quite away from your original course. Confirm coordinates…over.”
“Coordinates confirmed. Proceed…over.”
“Will maintain radio contact…over.” the pilot said.
“Affirmative…over.” Tuck’s father ended the transmission.
The Hercules flew through the driving rain like the great God for which it was named. When it reached the designated directions, it circled, falling right and veering, and steadying again. A dance in the ferocious clouds, man verses nature. Tuck was no fool to think that they had the upper hand.
The informative, unemotional voice of the co-pilot filled his headset. “No sign of life,” he reported. “Will continue to circle. Have enough fuel for three more runs then will have to return for refueling.”
The three swimmers sat beside Tuck at the edge of the open helicopter door, searching for anything floating in the riling mass of foam. Nothing. Circle again. Nothing. Goddamnit! It can’t be. Vivian had to be thrown off course as well. Tuck’s practical mind contemplated the unthinkable. Just because she was tossed into the water at these coordinates doesn’t mean the waves hadn’t tossed her body further afield.
A crewman at head quarters would run the longitude and latitude and combine this information with the ocean current and wind direction to predict approximate location. All of this information was relayed by the multitude of ocean buoys. When the Hercules next took to the air, their destination would be adjusted according to the new figures.
Tuck prayed. Please, let her be alive.
The expedition arrived at the Navigator as the Hercules returned to base for fuel. Before Tuck had an opportunity to interject the departure, the pilot continued with finality. “We will return.
****
The storm represented a never ending nightmare, the rolling, the rocking, the twisting, and turning. Vivian would cry i
f she had the tears to spare. Fatigue and cold enveloped her. She could perceive a subtle difference to the pattern, a change in the momentum of the waves, but despite her best effort, she was succumbing to the tiredness. She was getting to let go when she heard a bell toll. Wasn’t that something I read somewhere? Death was upon you when the bell tolled thrice?
Louder and insistent, the clanging penetrated the fog that consumed the present state of her brain.
Clang. As regular as the tossing of the ocean.
Clang. Two breaths.
Clang.
Wait a minute! Vivian mustered her waning strength to bob up higher in the water and glance around. She was no longer being dragged under consistently. She was actually bobbing, now riding the large swells.
Clang, clang, clang. What was that noise? Vivian couldn’t seem to focus.
Clang, clang, clang. Has the bell tolled and she’s in hell. Really, could this be it? She was no angel, but didn’t think she’d head to hell for her transgressions. The clanging sounded again. There was something familiar about the sound. Something familiar penetrated. If only the fog would clear.
Clang, clang, clang.
A buoy! Ohmigod, a buoy! Vivian straightened and kicked her feet to stretch out of the water as much as she could, kicking with one last effort. Where is it? Her eyes were pasty from the salt water and the driving wind. She could barely open them but a slit to see a couple of feet in front of her.
Clang, clang, clang.
Was it getting closer or was she drifting away from it? She had to find it. It was her only salvation. Just then, to her right, a blurred object appeared. She kicked, moving in the direction of the sound. The sound grew marginally closer. Or was she imagining the whole thing? She couldn’t be sure.
