Landfall: Islands in the Aftermath (The Pulse Series Book 4)

by Scott B. Williams

  “Someone has taken the dinghy!” Casey said.

  Artie wished he had the binoculars Larry had taken with him, but even without them, he could see well enough to tell that the two occupants of the dinghy were men—both of them black men and likely Bahamian islanders. But why? Why were these too strangers sailing the dinghy instead of Larry and Jessica? Artie felt knots of fear in his stomach as he realized why the dinghy had veered away. Obviously, the two men who had taken it were not expecting to see the catamaran anchored there, and had changed course to avoid passing near it. Artie knew Larry would never give up that dinghy without a fight. If these men had managed to take it, what had they done to Larry and Jessica and where were they? There was only one way to find out.

  “We’ve got to catch them!” he said.

  “I’ll get the anchor up! Can you give me a hand, Casey?” Grant was already moving forward to the front trampoline.

  “There’s no time!” Artie shouted, as he reached into the galley for a knife. I’ll just cut the rode. You and Casey get the main up! Tara, you take the helm! We can catch them if we get going now!”

  Artie didn’t hesitate to slice the nylon rode attached to the Casey Nicole’s best anchor. It would have taken an extra 10 or 15 minutes to haul it in by hand and that was 10 or 15 minutes they didn’t have. As soon as Grant and Casey had the main set, Artie set to work on the jib halyard. Tara brought the helm over to fill the main and the catamaran was moving. When Artie glanced out at the dinghy, he saw that the two men had reacted to the sight of the sails going up and had turned to the northwest, running before the wind away from them as fast as they could go.

  “Let’s get the foresail and staysail up too. We need to put on everything we’ve got!”

  The catamaran was moving well and would pick up speed fast, but the dinghy had a good head start and it was out in better wind, far from the lee of the island where the Casey Nicole had been anchored. With that breeze, the little boat was still gaining on them, but Artie figured that would change once they got the catamaran a little farther out.

  “They’re heading straight for a line of shoals!” Grant yelled from where he was perched by the shrouds on the port side cabin top. “Check the charts! I’m not sure we can get over them! I can’t tell if it’s just sandbars or reefs!”

  Artie scrambled for the chart book in a panic as he told Tara to just stay on course until he said otherwise. He had not paid close attention to what was in their immediate vicinity since Larry had prior knowledge of these waters and it had been his decision to anchor where they did. Thankfully, Larry didn’t take the chart book with him, but it took Artie several minutes to find the right page and then pinpoint their approximate location.

  “They’re going on across! Maybe it’s deep enough!” Grant shouted from the cabin top.

  When he finally found the shoal area Grant had to be seeing, he saw that it was a large area of sandbars and shallow reefs, stretching almost all the way between Staniel Cay and several small low cays not far away to the west. Although much of the area showed three or four feet, there were hazards less than two feet deep in spots. Larry had said the dinghy drew even more than the catamaran with the centerboard down, but as the two men in it were running almost straight downwind, they didn’t necessarily need the centerboard. If it was raised, the little boat could skim along in mere inches of water. Artie didn’t know what else to do but take a chance. They needed to catch those guys to find out what happened to Larry and Jessica.

  Tara was saying nothing, just steering with a look of grim determination on her face. Artie didn’t know how she felt now, but he figured it couldn’t be good. He stood there beside her, a rifle in his hand for when they closed the gap to effective range.

  “Shoals coming up!” Grant yelled. “Cut it to port a bit!”

  Artie held his breath as they sliced into an area of clear white sand, the water over it so clear it was almost as if it wasn’t there. The next thing he knew he was flying forward across the cockpit until he landed at the base of the foremast, a sharp pain in his upper right arm where it had struck something solid. The boat had plowed into the sand and come to a sudden stop. Only Tara had managed to keep her feet, hanging on to the wheel through it all. When Artie scanned the decks around him he saw that Grant and Casey were still on board, but were sprawled on the forward deck of the port hull.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, directing his question at both of them.

  “I think so,” Casey said.

  “Damn! I didn’t see that in time,” Grant said.

  “I didn’t hear anything break. It must have been just sand.”

  “It is,” Tara said. Artie saw her step up onto the cockpit seat, looking around the boat on boat sides. “It looks like we ran smack onto a big sandbar.”

  Grant and Casey were on their feet and Grant was standing up on the highest part of the cabin top again.

  “They’re getting away! It looks like they’re headed to one of those little islands out there.”

  “We’ll never catch them now,” Artie said. “We’re hard aground.”

  “We’ve got to get it off,” Casey said. “We’ve got to go look for Larry and Jessica.”

  “Maybe I can get an anchor out off the stern and we can pull it back to deep water the way we came.”

  “Maybe. But now we’re missing our best anchor too. I wish I hadn’t cut the rode now.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Grant said. “We’ve still got three more and plenty of line.”

  “The tide is about its lowest right now,” Tara said. “Just our luck. We could have gotten over it at high tide, I’ll bet.”

  “Well, since we didn’t, we’re in luck. It is low. At least we know we’ve got more water coming in if we can’t get off now.”

  “I don’t know how you can call it lucky. There’s nothing lucky about any of this. Now we still don’t know if Rebecca and my boat is at Staniel Cay or not, and even if they were when Larry and Jessica got there, they may not be now.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant lucky with the state of the tide. Believe me, I don’t think there’s anything ‘lucky’ about this. My brother and Jessica could be dead, for all we know.”

  “Don’t say that!” Casey said. “I don’t want to think about losing Uncle Larry—or Jessica! Maybe they’re okay. They’re probably on Staniel Cay now, and needing a ride. As soon as we get the boat off, we can go find them.”

  “I know, Casey. I’m just worried, that’s all. I can’t imagine how anyone could have taken the boat from them. I wouldn’t have expected Larry to go ashore. But then again, maybe he found that house Russell was talking about. Maybe that’s how it got stolen.”

  Grant jumped over the side and asked them to pass him the large Danforth and its chain and nylon rode he’d pulled out of one of the anchor lockers. The water was nearly waist deep off the stern, but the bows were firmly buried in the sand where it was well under two feet deep.

  “You need to get it well off the stern in deep water so we can pull it straight back,” Artie said. “Larry told me about a trick to do that without a dinghy. Said he’d done it often.”

  Artie went to one of the storage lockers and fetched two of their empty 5-gallon water containers. They were the rigid plastic kind so he didn’t see why they wouldn’t work well for the purpose. He tied them together at the handles with a short piece of line and handed them to Grant.

  “Put the anchor between them and use them to float it out there when it gets too deep to wade. That way you can swim it out all the way to the end of the rode.

  Grant agreed that it was a great idea and soon he had the anchor as far from the boat as possible. Watching him swim back with the water jugs, Artie felt another wave of dread and horror sweep over him as he thought of his brother. What would they do if something terrible had happened to Larry and Jessica? Rebecca was already missing and that was devastating enough. Now they had no idea where Larry and Jessica were, and they were stu
ck. And when Grant was back aboard, he and Artie both cranked on the big winch for all they were worth, while Casey and Tara tried to help by pushing on the bows. But nothing worked. They were going nowhere until the tide returned.

  Twenty-six

  RUSSELL CAME TO WHEN he felt the painful sensation of his legs dragging across something sharp. He spat out a mouthful of seawater as a cresting wave broke over his head, smashing him against the jagged rocks beneath the surface. Realizing it was going to happen again if he didn’t move fast, he turned all the way around to get his bearings and saw the sand of a beach less than a hundred yards away, on the other side of the breaking surf that was pounding him.

  The inflated PFD was keeping his head above the surface but the water was too shallow to avoid the coral and rock hidden under the waves. He cried out in pain as another wave swept him over the reef, and then he was in the clear, floating in four or five feet of calm water on the inside. He could see blood in the water around his legs and feet, and he knew he had been badly cut and gouged on the rocks. His arms and hands were okay though, so he swam to the beach and crawled out onto the sand, thankful to get out of the water before the sharks found the source of the blood.

  His legs and feet were sliced and scraped from the knees down, as well as a nasty scrape on the back of his right thigh. He’d been wearing only shorts and a T-shirt and the inflatable PFD. Russell also felt a throbbing pain from the side of his skull and when he reached up to touch it, discovered he was bleeding there too. It was from the winch handle. He remembered seeing it after feeling the first blow to the back of his head and turning in surprise to see the girl attacking him. He’d been so stunned and surprised by her first strike that he couldn’t react fast enough when he realized what she had in her hand. Now he remembered seeing it coming, but he didn’t remember the impact or how he got in the water, but obviously he had fallen overboard. The automatic PFD had inflated, saving him from drowning while he was unconscious, and the wind and waves had carried him to the island they were passing when it happened.

  It hurt like hell, but Russell struggled to his feet to try and see. Where was the little bitch now? Had she already sailed over the horizon, out of sight forever? He was sure that she had, but oh, if he could only get his hands on her now! There would be no more Mr. Nice Guy trying to be her friend. He would straighten her out and he would do it quick. He looked out to sea due south where they had been sailing when it happened and saw nothing. Turning slowly, and almost falling in the process, he scanned the horizon to the southwest and then west, in the direction of the next island in the chain he remembered seeing from the boat. And there it was—a sail! It had to be her. He squinted and stared until he was certain it was. The triangle of sail was about right and after looking several minutes; he thought he could tell he was looking at the hull from astern. It was pretty far away, too far to see any details, and he was sure it would only get farther with those sails up and the wind still steady. It looked like she had kept the boat on the same course he’d been sailing, aiming for that next island, probably with the intention of anchoring for the night.

  And night was coming soon. The sun had set and now the biting sand fleas called “no-see-ums” were out in force, attacking Russell’s exposed skin and his wounds and swarming his face, ears and neck. He slapped them in the places where he wasn’t cut or bruised, but without clothes or a way to make a smoky fire, he had little defense until they went away after full darkness arrived.

  Taking stock of his surroundings, Russell didn’t even have to move to ascertain that he was in a far worse predicament here than he was the entire month he was marooned on Green Cay. The little cay was tiny! And there was nothing on it—no trees—and barely any bushes and plants of any kind. He was certain that he would find no abandoned cistern here as he did on Green Cay; because it was highly improbable that this cay had ever been inhabited. There was little reason for anyone to even set foot on it, especially since it was not big enough to even create a lee in which a cruising boat could anchor. And to make matters worse, Russell already knew it was absolutely in the middle of nowhere—even farther off the beaten path than Green Cay. He was surely and truly fucked this time. Stranded here with no water, nothing to eat, little clothing and no tools, not even a knife, much less a fishing spear. And to make matters worse, he was bleeding all over the sand and wracked with pain from his bruises and lacerations.

  How could he have been so stupid? Why did he let the girl out of the cabin in the first place? He had been a fool to trust her so soon. He should have left her locked up until he reached a secure anchorage where he could deal with her while not occupied with navigating and sailing the boat. It was a stupid mistake on his part, one that had nearly cost him his life and might anyway if he didn’t figure out a way off this miserable speck of sand and rock.

  He made his way to the highest part of the island were there were some large, exposed limestone rocks several feet tall and found a place to sit down with his back supported. He had removed the PFD and deflated it. It might be useful for something, but he had no idea what. Nevertheless, it was now the only thing he owned other than his T-shirt and shorts. How quickly his fortunes had changed again! He’d had everything he could hope for considering the circumstances: a fine sailing yacht, a rifle and ammunition, and still weeks of food for him and the girl, not to mention a few bottles of cheap liquor. All of that in the palm of his hand, and now nothing! It wasn’t fair! Life had never been fair to Russell. All his life, it seemed his dreams had been just out of reach. Every time he’d thought he was closing in on making one of them come true, something happened to derail him yet again. It was the story of his life. The story of a loser. Maybe he’d be better off dead anyway. At this point, did it even matter?

  Russell was so exhausted from staying awake for the entire passage from Green Cay that he slept despite the pain of his wounds. None of the cuts and scrapes seemed deep enough to be life threatening, and though they bled a lot and hurt like hell, no major veins or arteries were cut. The no-see-ums disappeared after dark and only returned for the first hour of early morning light, before the sun was high enough to warm the rocks and sand of the little cay.

  Russell’s head was throbbing and the knot from the winch handle still hurt to touch, but worse than the pain was the thirst he felt upon waking. He hadn’t swallowed any that he knew of, but seawater had gotten into his mouth and nose when he was in the water and the salt only aggravated his thirst. Looking hopefully at the sky for signs of rain, Russell was disappointed to see only clear blue overhead. If it didn’t rain, he would die in another day or two.

  Grabbing the rock behind him to assist, he managed to get to his feet and stand to look around. When he did, the first thing he saw was the triangle of sail he’d last seen before dark the evening before. Now the sun was behind him instead of behind the boat, and he could see the white of the hull as well as the sail. He had no doubt it was the Sarah J., and it was heeled over with the sail full of wind in the exact spot he’d last seen it nearly 12 hours before. What the heck? How could that be possible? The boat should have long been out of sight or else if the girl anchored it, sitting upright with the mast bare. But there it was, apparently still under full sail and going nowhere. Russell wondered if he could be hallucinating, and figured that probably had to be it. He had been hit in the head, had nothing to drink since yesterday afternoon, and had lost a fair amount of blood. But when he deliberately looked away, rubbing his eyes and focusing on other objects both near and far, the boat was still there in the same exact spot when he turned back to look for it. He stared and mumbled to himself, and then it hit him all at once. The boat was aground! That had to be it. The stupid little girl had knocked him overboard, but then she’d run into a reef or a shoal before she reached the next island. If he had binoculars, he might be able to tell for sure, but he was quite certain that was what happened. There were shallow hazards all around this chain of islands from what he’d seen of the charts, and
that was likely why they were still so pristine and seldom visited.

  It almost made him want to laugh, thinking about Rebecca in her new predicament after what she’d done to him. It served her right, that was for sure, but the only thing that wasn’t funny about it was that even though he could see the boat stuck out there, it was still completely out of reach. He figured it was probably two miles or so from his little cay, and even if he were uninjured and had food and water and a mask, snorkel and fins, it would be a long and hazardous swim. With his legs cut up the way they were, it was out of the question. It was painful to even stand there. Even if he could make it, if she saw him approach it might be difficult to board the boat. He still had the padlock key in his pocket, so she couldn’t get to the rifle, but she could throw things at him or hit him with something else as he tried to climb aboard in his weakened condition.

  But he couldn’t just sit here and die of thirst with the boat and all the stuff aboard it in plain sight. He had to figure out a way to stay alive long enough to get out there. There was one thing Russell could be pretty sure of. If that Tartan 37 was really hard aground, there was no way a skinny 14-year-old girl was going to get it off by herself. She would be there until she either ran out of food and water herself, or some other boat came to either help her or help themselves to everything aboard.

  He knew it was a long shot getting there, but seeing that boat stuck out there like a carrot on the end of a stick gave him new motivation to live. It would truly suck to sit here and die with so much, so close. He limped around the perimeter of the little island as best he could, scanning the high tideline just as he’d done every day on Green Cay, looking for something—anything—that might help him survive. When he found nothing but a few discarded plastic bottles and fishing floats, he began scouring the rocks of the interior. It was there that he found another ray of hope that he might just hang on. In the middle of a particularly large slab of pockmarked limestone rock partially covered by the sand, there were several shallow potholes eroded away over time. Some of the holes contained a little dirty-looking water at the bottom, and when he first saw them, Russell wasn’t sure whether the water was left by rain or a particularly large wave that had swept the rock. But when he knelt down and scooped a handful to his lips to taste, it was sweet and fresh. He would not die today.