by Darrel Bird
savagely with his glove. He was just about to blow the charge, when his ear caught the sound of a vehicle approaching the prison, and he waited. A plain pickup truck with a canvas-covered back came into view. Supplies? Could I get so lucky? Jim thought excitedly. He got ready to blow the rear charge as soon as the truck was through the gate.
A guard came over and began to unlock the gate as the truck pulled up to it. He motioned the driver through. Just as the truck began pulling through, Jim hit the transmitter button. The charge on the back wall went off, and shook the building and the ground. The force of the blast sent a shockwave through the whole compound.
The guards on the ground had all already started running back into the building. He aimed the AR-15 carefully, and shot the tower guard through the head. Jim headed for the gate as fast as he could run. The pickup had stopped with the back blocking the gate open. Jim couldn’t believe his good luck. The driver just sat there as Jim raced past him and headed toward Randy. He ran up to Randy, and Randy ducked.
Jim grabbed him by the arm and yelled, “Let’s go — we gotta go!” and began pulling him toward the gate. Jim slung the rifle over his shoulder and pulled the Glock 9 in one swift motion, dragging his brother along at the same time.
The driver started to get out of his pickup, and Jim aimed the pistol at his face. The driver hurriedly pulled his leg back into the truck and slammed the door. He looked as if he had just discovered there were ghosts. Jim thought about putting a round through the door then thought better of it. As Jim shuffled past him, pulling Randy, he looked into his scared eyes. The man looked harmless enough.
In twenty seconds they were in the jungle. His brother staggered, sucking in great gulps of air through his wheezing chest. He looked at Jim with horror in his eyes. Jim gently slapped his brother’s face and said sternly, “Look at me! It’s Jim, Randy. I’ve come to take you home! Now get hold of yourself!”
Understanding began to dawn in Randy’s eyes as he recognized the camouflage-smeared face that belonged to the man who had hold of him.
Jim took out the aspirin bottle, yanked the top off, and pushed five aspirin into Randy’s mouth. He shoved a canteen to Randy’s lips and said, “Drink.” Randy coughed as the water poured into his mouth, and he had no choice but to swallow. He choked, but the aspirin went down.
“Come on, we don’t have much time.” He began to half drag, half carry his brother through the jungle toward the boat. Jim had a good trail cut through the jungle by now, but his brother was in bad shape, and he was afraid he might kill Randy by dragging him. Finally, Jim backed up to Randy, took both his arms over his own shoulders, and leaned forward. He lifted Randy in a fireman’s carry, and shuffled toward the boat.
He finally reached the edge of the water and sank down. His brother slid to the side. Jim gasped for air and thought he was going to pass out. His skin was slick with sweat, his clothes soaked. The salty sweat burned his eyes, and he tried to clear them. He reached down, got handfuls of salt-water, and bathed his own face and then his brother’s.
He knew he didn’t have time to lose. How was he going to get Randy over the bow of the boat?
“Randy, you are going to have to climb onto the boat when I lift your legs. If you don’t, we are dead men, do you hear me?” Randy nodded weakly.
“Come on!” Jim said, as he pulled Randy to his feet and down into the water. It was waist-deep under the bow of the boat.
“When I heave you up, you grab the rail and pull yourself over. Ready?” He lifted Randy. Randy grabbed the rail, and then with Jim pushing, he flopped over onto the bow of the boat.
Jim struggled to grab the bowline, and he heaved himself up far enough to grab the rail and pull himself over. He grabbed Randy and dragged him back to the cockpit of the boat. He started slashing the ropes that held the limbs to the rail. Reaching up, he cut the big line he had fastened to the large overhead limb.
He made his way back to the cockpit and jammed the starter switch with his thumb. The little engine’s starter groaned, and then caught. Shoving the boat into reverse, he started backing out of the cutback into the lagoon. As soon as the bow cleared the cutback, he swung her around, shoved it into forward gear, and opened the throttle wide. The boat slowly began to pick up speed.
Within ten minutes, they were in the cut and headed out to sea. Jim walked forward, threw the rest of the debris from the camouflage overboard, and began to winch the sail. He got the main sail up, then the big Genoa, and walked back to the helm. He examined his brother, and thought he looked worse than when Jim had first found him.
He grabbed the wheel, spun it over some, and the sails caught the wind. “Can you hang on to the wheel while I haul up the spinnaker?” he asked Randy. Randy looked at him, at first not comprehending.
“Hold the wheel?” Randy asked, uncertainly.
“Yes, the wheel, Randy. I need you to hold it where it is while I haul the spinnaker.” Randy shook his head and reached for the wheel.
It only took Jim a few minutes, and he was back at the helm. “Ok, you can turn loose now,” he said gently. But Randy held on until he said, “Randy, move your hand.” He gently forced Randy’s hand from the wheel.
The boat heeled over and began to leap through the water as the big spinnaker ballooned out and caught the wind with a booming sound. That’s another miracle, Jim thought. The wind is at my back. The big spinnaker could not be used effectively except downwind.
He set the self-steering, got Randy below on a bunk, and gave him five more aspirin. Then he climbed back to the cockpit and grabbed the binoculars. He started scanning the horizon, but didn’t see anything at all.
“Geez,” he said, “we may make it.” The boat sailed on without hindrance.
Jim went below, stripped off the hot, filthy black clothing, and washed the camouflage from his face. He put on clean shorts and a t-shirt, and began heating some chicken broth for his brother.
Randy looked as though he had passed out, and Jim bathed his face with the now tepid water from one of the jugs. As Jim looked at his brother’s pale face, he remembered a classmate who had been in a bad car accident while drinking. The kid had been sixteen at the time. He had been driving way too fast and had missed a curve, going 85. There was another kid with him, who had been killed. It was believed that the driver would end up paralyzed. The church had prayed for him to be healed, and he had been able to walk again.
Jim thought this might be a good time to pray. There were no church people here to do it, so it was up to him. He knelt down beside the berth and prayed that God would heal his brother. He didn’t pray for very long, but he prayed fervently and the best he knew how.
He stood and went back up top. He scanned the horizon again, but saw only a distant ship. He thought about hailing the ship on the VHF but thought better of it, because his brother had no papers, and the ship could be Cuban. His brother would be a wanted man in Cuba for the rest of his life.
“No, I’ve got to get him to the states,” Jim muttered. “The Bahamas are even too risky.” He knew his brother had no insurance, and they might quarantine the both of them, and the boat.
An hour later, he went below. His brother was sitting on the edge of the berth looking a little drunk. Randy looked up in surprise as Jim came down the steps into the cabin. Jim was even more surprised. He grinned at his brother.
“How did I get here? This looks like a boat,” Randy said, wiping his face on the back of his hand.
“We are on my boat, and we are under full sail for home,” Jim replied. “Don’t you remember?”
Randy sat and thought for a moment, and then said, “I remember being in the yard and someone running up to me and grabbing me and dragging me toward a truck. Th
at was you?”
“Yeah,” Jim replied. “I was a little short of time for niceties.”
“You about scared me witless. I thought it was the devil making a run at me. I thought sure I was being drug off to hell,” Randy replied. Jim looked at him sharply, but he could see Randy was serious.
“No wonder I had to drag you! You looked bad sick to me,” Jim said. “Can you eat some food? I can make you a can of chicken noodle soup.”
“I think so,” Randy replied, and Jim got up to heat the soup. Randy ate the soup, along with a few sips of water, in silence, while Jim told him about the trip to the boat.
“You have to drink all the water you can hold, because you have lost fluids. You get back on the berth and rest now. I have to get up top and sail the boat. Here, see if you can get these on,” Jim said, as he handed him a pair of Bermuda shorts, a T-shirt, and clean socks. “Get these on and get some rest.”
He handed him five more aspirin. “Take these all. They’re hell on the stomach, but not near as bad as fever at sea. I got to go topside for awhile, but you just rest.” He went back up the steps to the cockpit and ran his binoculars over the horizon. There was nothing in sight.
He saw that the sails were losing some power because the wind was dropping, and the air was the only thing moving the boat forward. The big spinnaker would pick up any breeze that remained. They sailed on four more hours, until the wind had dropped to the point the boat was barely moving.
Randy came up the steps, looking a little better. He had changed into the clothes Jim had given him. He had cinched his belt tight to hold the Bermuda shorts up, and they looked huge on him. Randy had lost an awful lot of weight. Jim was amazed that Randy was up and around so quickly, and said so. Randy sat down on a cockpit seat cushion across from him and said, “I have told you many times how God answers our prayers, Jim.”
“Yeah, but I’ve never seen something like that. You were in bad shape. I know it had to be God. I was afraid you weren’t going to make it.” Jim went below, came back up with two more aspirin, two salt tablets, and a liter of water, and handed it to him.
“Take these, and try to drink all the water. If you start getting sick at your stomach, try not to heave. You need to keep the liquids down. You better go below and rest now, Randy.” He followed Randy down the steps. After Randy lay down on the forward berth, Jim clipped the little 12-volt fan to its footboard and aimed the fan toward his brother’s face. He patted his brother’s arm and headed topside again.
He hadn’t said it to his brother, but he had felt a change in the weather. He could always feel when the weather was about to change. It was like a sixth sense, and it was never wrong. He supposed his body picked up changes in barometric pressure; he just didn’t know how.
He had no more than gotten topside and sat down to scan the horizon, when he heard a low rumbling sound to the west. He put his glass on what looked like a long, low cloudbank peeping up over the water. He looked at the telltales, which hung motionless in the still air. The air was oppressive, and sweat poured off him. He swallowed two more salt tablets and a big slug of water from a liter bottle.
He heard another low rumble as the cloudbank slowly grew across the western horizon.
Big storm. Just what we needed, he thought wryly. Jim was not superstitious, but just the same, he didn’t dare scratch the mast. He had seen people do it, but he felt it was somehow akin to daring God, and he didn’t want anything to do with that. You could end up with too much
