by catt dahman
Tom didn’t ask, but he began helping Amanda. For some reason, he felt that they should hurry.
All the passengers had come into the main room and were pale or had frowns on their faces. They chattered softly with nervous energy. A swell made the boat tilt at a forty-five degree angle, and someone screamed. Voices rose in volume. Amanda looked at Tom; she felt helpless, and her eyes were full of concern.
“Bad?” Tom asked in a whisper.
She nodded.
They heard Tom’s father, Durango Jones, talking on the phone with the captain. He was cursing and fuming, not that this was anyone’s fault. It was random and a fluke.
Minutes passed.
Kelly put on her life vest and asked Wanda to sit with her and suck on the lemon. “I think the wind is dying down. The rolling isn’t as bad.”
She was correct. The rain had stopped, and the clouds were less threatening. The wind was easing up and was far lighter; it fact, it almost was just a strong breeze. The waves, with the water still dark, were farther apart and much smaller.
The crew and captain were grateful.
But Captain Worthington saw something to the east. It was a flicker and a lighter spot on the sea. He tried to determine what it was because it didn’t make sense in the scenery. What was that? It was fast moving, dark, then light, and….
The captain blinked. He had been looking at it as something small and strange. It was strange, indeed, but it wasn’t small. It was a tremendous wave, the last one of the storm, but the culmination of all the wind. He had never seen a wave of that size, and he knew with a sick feeling that it was way too late to turn the boat. This wave was from a different direction; it was a cross over, it was huge, and it was fast.
The captain blew the emergency horn and instinctively covered his face, despite his year of experience. The wave caught them sideways and flipped the big yacht like a toy, tossing it over and carrying it as the wave raced across the sea. The size and tonnage of the yacht didn’t matter because nothing compared to the power of the ocean.
The passengers sat on the floor, most had their life vests on, but with no warning, the room rose and flipped, slinging all of them to the side briefly and then almost upside down. Bodies twisted and fell violently; everyone yelled or screamed, some in panic and some from pain.
Wood and metal cracked all around and made terrible noises. The shuddering didn’t stop as they were carried along; the yacht was tearing apart, and sea water was rushing in, soaking everyone and horrifying each as he felt the boat sinking. Like rag dolls, they bounced and skittered around, slamming into one another.
They bounced across a small reef. Bones broke, and flesh was torn as the boat came apart. The water within the boat became red tinged.
The Connie Louise didn’t sink; it just became a trash heap containing live people, and it didn’t stop moving. It raced along with the rogue wave, never allowing anyone to recover as it was carried to a certain destination.
It was a long time until the horror stopped.
Chapter 2: Sand
Scott didn’t think he had lost consciousness, but the time was fuzzy to him. In ways, it had all happened very fast, but at times, during the ordeal, time had been sluggish, like syrup. He wasn’t sure if they had bounced around for a few minutes or hours. He lay in water, a reddish pool, and while it was shallow, it was irritating. Strangely, he felt the grit of sand mixed into the water, yet he was still inside the yacht. That wasn’t a good sign.
Carefully, he rolled over and saw slivers of sunlight peeking through the wood and metal. That made him wonder if he had hit his head and was seeing things, but no, the sun was real and hot; the yacht had broken apart.
He was inside the same room as before, but it didn’t look the same. He moved very slowly, waiting to find out if a particular place hurt, but he felt okay. Confused and achy, he felt no pain. He took inventory of his body and was shocked to find that while he was sore, had a few cuts and scrapes, a swollen and probably would-be-a-black eye, a nose that had bled but wasn’t swollen, and a raw-scraped tailbone, he was really okay.
He saw a woman next to him, her dark long hair in her face. The hair was tangled and wet, and she stirred, so she wasn’t dead.
Scott realized it was Helen. He hadn’t known her before this trip, but he certainly had enjoyed her wit and intelligence on this trip, but to be honest, the second he spoke to her, he fell hard for her because in his eyes, she was beautiful.
He hadn’t tried to kiss her and was waiting until after the trip to ask her out on a real date, but he found that they were always together, talking about deep subjects or diving off the lower deck to swim and have fun. He laughed a lot with Helen. He was shy, but he had to get past that now. Reaching his hand out, he touched her arm. Her other arm was cut and seeping a little blood, and he was worried.
“Helen?”
“Scott?” she asked in a whisper, “is it over?”
“Yeah, I think maybe we are on land. We wrecked.”
“Are the ambulances here?”
Scott stopped to think. That was a smart question. Why had no one come yet? He was sure that there had been time and that someone had to have seen the massive wreckage of a yacht. Where was the help? The questions itched at his brain, bothering him. They were on a small island with limited emergency services. Sure.
“Not yet. It could be a while, so let’s see your injuries and then everyone else’s.”
Helen sat up carefully as Scott helped her, and they checked her, finding only the one long cut. She said she felt sore, and a few bruises were already bluish, but she was mostly uninjured and thankful that she had been close to the big sofa that shielded her.
In the mess of wreckage, Scott saw the first aid box on the wall. They were right side up, and the floor was solid and even normal. The bottom must have torn away and tossed this section up onto the beach intact.
He refused to wait, so he cleaned her arm and made her hiss with the stinging of the antiseptic. He then applied antibiotic cream and bandaged her arm. “It’s not bad. You won’t need stitches, but the bandages will be irritating more than anything. It bled a lot because it was long, but it’s very shallow.”
He knew he was blithering, relieved that she was okay.
Throughout the maelstrom, Tom had held Kelly, taking the blows to himself and protecting her.
Tom was on the sofa with Kelly where he had pulled her once they stopped moving. He popped his own shoulder back in place as Tom finished bandaging Helen’s arm, and he made a slight yelp but then sighed as it felt better. It wasn’t the first time that he had popped it back. The pain stopped at once, thankfully. He knew he was fortunate.
“You shouldn’t use it for a while,” Kelly warned Tom.
“I’ll need it. Hand me the box.” He did a fast first-aid treatment for a bad cut on Kelly’s forehead that went up into her hairline. A small gash made her hair sticky with matted blood, but it was a scalp wound, one that tended to bleed heavily, but that was superficial.
She took the box and led the three to help the rest.
Wanda was near but twisted around a table; she was already black and blue with bruises, and her arm was mangled and mashed by something heavy that had rolled and fallen on it. She was out cold, but breathing steadily, and her heart beat was good.
Kelly huffed and said, “This looks very bad. See? It’s broken in two places that I can see. But all this…this…her skin and flesh look as if they went through a meat grinder. I’m going to pour antiseptic on her, and she’ll come awake, screaming. Calm her, Tom, and then find something that is supportive but has give and is soft such as those long noodle floats. If you can find one…no…maybe we can later. For now, use this or find clean cloth and wrap it, and then find something stiff and strong and gently put her arm in it, and tie it to her chest.”
“Ummm. I. Kelly?”
“I have to leave you with her after I clean her arm because others need help. You can do it. If you see a towel�
�there…it’s dry…keep her warm and calm. We don’t want her to go into shock.”
“Okay,” Tom said.
“I have to go to the rest; we have a ton of people on board.”
Wanda did awake screaming, and it made others wiggle around in the wreckage. They could follow the sounds. Kelly shrugged and left Tom to be her assistant nurse. Later, she would stitch what she could if she had to. Someone should come soon and whisk them away to a clean and dry hospital.
Pamela popped up and called, “Help!”
They went to her. She had ended up rolling in the glass from the bar. On the positive side, the wounds were disinfected from broken alcohol bottles, and they smelled strongly, but she was covered in glass that stuck out all over her body. “Get them out. Please, get them out.” She had removed several big pieces, but the little slivers were frightening to see.
“I can help. I’m just bruised and hab busted doze,” Sue said. She let Kelly check her nose, and Kelly said it wasn’t broken but had been twisted and bruised badly. She needed to leave it alone and not pick the clots out; she didn’t need more bleeding.
“Remove the small pieces of glass, and slap a bandage over the wounds if they bleed much. Oozing is okay for now. Clean them. Here is an unbroken bottle of vodka and some gauze. Use it, but don’t use all of it; we are going to need it later. Just give the wounds a swipe so they are clean, and if they are deep, clean more, but not so much that they bleed more. Does that made sense?” Kelly gave instructions.
“Got it,” Sue said.
“Don’t move the big pieces, or she will bleed more. I will come back and stitch her.”
“Is it my face?” Pamela asked.
“It’s not bad,” Kelly lied. The girl had been beautiful and had modeled some but never would again. The stitches she would need would be so extreme that they would destroy her good looks. She would look like Frankenstein’s monster, but Kelly didn’t know what else to do for her because the wounds gaped. If left alone, they were likely to get infected easier and scar more. There were just a lot of cuts, and Pamela’s face was solid red with blood.
“Kelly?” Helen sat back on her feet as she kneeled over who she was almost sure was Jordan. The body was big-bear-like and hairy like Jordan, and it was male; he had on one of Jordan’s bright green and orange shoes, so it was a safe bet to assume that it was him.
One leg was bent but looked fine, but the other leg stuck outside the hole in the wreckage, a big hole that Helen could look through. Had he been anywhere else, he might have been fine, but this was one part that tore away, and the young man had taken a lot of damage to his body.
Helen saw sunshine, distant green trees, and sand, and she saw that Jordan’s leg ended at his ankle. His shoe and foot were missing, and only white gristle, yellow fat, and blood remained. The bone shards were grey and stuck outside the hole.
Her head swam.
Scott put something to her mouth, and she drank. It was a plastic bottle half full of rum. Taking two sips, Helen willed the alcohol to calm her nerves. It worked; she stopped shaking.
Jordan’s head was a pulpy mess since he had been tossed over and over, landing on his head and face. The ruined metal and wood had gouged and mashed his head. All over his face, muscles were showing and were stripped of flesh; deep black gashes still were trickling blood at a steady pace; and part of his lower jaw was ripped away, exposing his broken teeth.
“He’s breathing.”
Scott pulled Helen away, “No, he isn’t.”
“He is!”
“Helen, he’s too badly injured. You have to let him go. He’s unconscious. Do you want to work on him and wake him? He would suffer. Let’s see whom we can save. Please, let him go.”
She sobbed twice and nodded. She saw Scott’s eyes were soft and wet; it was painful for him to make this choice.
Durango Jones, Tom’s father, had been knocked out but was awake again and nauseated, disoriented, and dizzy. He wasn’t sure where he was or what happened.
Scott and Helen gave him strict orders to stay where he was and rest until they returned. Kelly said Durango might have a concussion, but for sure he needed to stay seated. Knowing his expensive yacht was ruined and that his family and son’s friends were injured or dead was enough to cause a mental shock as well.
“I…do I…,” said Durango.
“You sit here a little while and rest. Let’s see how your head feels in a few minutes. You have several big lumps, and you’ve suffered a terrible shock. Please rest a little while.” Kelly covered him with a mostly dry coverlet made of wool and would provide warmth, even if damp.
Amanda waved weakly for help, and they moved junk off of her until she was free and they could see how she was. She had a small but deep hole that looked as if she had been shot in her side, and blood steadily leaked. Luckily, the spot was where there might be muscle and fat, but not a major organ.
Kelly waved the other two away and stayed to stop the bleeding, clean the wound, and stitch the hole right then. It wasn’t serious, but Amanda was missing two fingers that had been torn away. Despite being sea worn and strong, Amanda cried as she saw that her pinky and ring finger were stubs. Kelly didn’t think it would help to tell her how lucky she was that they were clean, sharp amputations and not mashed bits of bone left. Her opinion would not bring back those lost fingers.
Kelly had to clean and bandage those poor finger stubs. Amanda periodically vomited from the pain and terror. The others found towels and an afghan throw to use to bundle her up so she would remain warm.
“Thank you,” Amanda said, tears in her eyes.
Helen smiled sadly. “I hate this for you. We’ll be done soon.”
They didn’t see anyone else, so they climbed out of the wreckage and looked around, trying to discover what had happened and maybe find the rest of their friends. It was warm and sunny on the beach. Trash from their wreck had washed up on the beach.
There were no buildings, shacks, boats, or anything else to indicate people lived nearby. The beach, other than having wreckage tossed on the sand, was pristine, making this feel more surreal. In one place was devastation and human suffering, and in the next was nothing but untouched beauty.
Scott ran to a body that lay in the water, rolling on the little waves that brought it up on the sand and then sucked it back to the deeper water. One leg was torn away but nowhere to be seen. The person was wearing a life jacket, but the missing leg indicated the cause of death.
“That’s Hooter,” Helen said. He was a crew member. She didn’t like seeing another human tossed around like flotsam and jetsam.
They grabbed him and pulled him farther up onto the white silky sand. He was white except for his butt, the back of his shoulders, and one leg where blood had pooled. He was dead. Scott patted Helen’s sun-warmed back. Three more crew members also bounced on the surf. They checked them, but they were dead.
Some bloody footprints were on the sand, trailing off toward the trees. There was a lot of blood as if someone injured had washed ashore and, despite injuries, had gone for help. Helen and Scott hurried after whoever it was. If the person were seriously injured, he needed medical attention, but whoever had walked up the beach was either brave enough to try to find help or confused by the nightmare and likely to harm himself farther down the beach.
“What the fff...hell?” Scott shouted. He ran, reaching for stones as he went. He lobbed the stones at the stupid lizards who were feeding on a body.
“Get away,” Helen scream as she waved her arms and tossed rocks. It was ghastly seeing the buzzards and other loathsome creatures who ate the dead. They served a purpose, yes, but it was too soon to see this, and maybe the person wasn’t dead.
The creatures ran away fast into the trees, except for the one Scott hit hard enough to kill.
Helen and Scott surmised this was Rob, another crew member, because he was dark skinned and was dressed in a uniform. It was difficult to be sure because his face had been eaten to the sk
ull, and only bright, white teeth showed in the lipless mouth. His fingers and toes were gone, and the soft parts of his chest and belly were gone--eaten.
“I think he was hurt badly and went this way in confusion and died. They were some type of carrion eaters.”
Helen nodded and said, “Yuk.” They went back to the beach, taking it all in. “What were those things?”
“Some weird lizards. Islands have weird things like that, I think. They were cowards.” He wasn’t impressed by them. They were no bigger than chickens and fat with muscles, they ran on their back legs, and were colored brightly: yellow, lime, and light green in mottled patterns. They might have been cute creatures, but like Helen, Scott felt they were no better than buzzards.
When they had time, he wanted to look at the dead one because he would swear it had tiny yellow feathers on its tail and shoulders. They were interesting animals which he was unfamiliar with.
Helen and Tom walked away and back to the water. Although the spiral staircase was bent and twisted and had to be used very carefully by turning sideways and sliding around, three decks still were intact and about 1400 square feet were on each.
Two other people lay slumped on the beach and looked up with surprise as Helen and Tom appeared. Connie Jones, with black streaks of make up on her cheeks, was crying and told them she thought her husband Durango was dead; he had drowned. She didn’t walk around to look for anyone. She stayed in her spot and sobbed. Emotionally and mentally, this was too much for her; back home she wasn’t used to anything more troublesome than having to call a pool cleaner for a clogged filter.
Helen explained that Durango did have a head injury but was okay as far as they knew and was sitting still inside the remains of the boat. Connie cried more. Helen guessed that wasn’t totally good news, after all. She was too shocked to make up lies.
