Captain Rourke

by Helena Newbury

  “So I swim for the surface. Scramble on board, dump my tank, and get two fresh ones. Dive back down faster than I ever have. I manage to feed a tank under the walkway to Edwards and he gets the fresh mouthpiece in his mouth. Now I’ve got a half hour, maybe forty minutes if he can breathe slowly. But I still have no way to get him out. And that’s when I start to panic.”

  “I think about calling for help: no good, we’re way out at sea and it’d be four or five hours before the coastguard arrives. I know the winch won’t lift something that heavy.” I shook my head bitterly. “If we’d just stuck to the plan, scoped it out ourselves, and then come back with a full crew and equipment, we would have brought a heavy-duty winch with us. And we wouldn’t have been stacking the gold there in the first place: it would never have happened.”

  It was difficult to talk, now, the tension working its way up my chest to my throat. “Over the next half hour, I try everything I can think of. I try and pull him out. I try to push it off him. I try to lever it off him. I even start undoing bolts, trying to take the damn thing apart. Nothing works. And I can see Edwards getting more and more scared: it’s even worse for him, all he can do is lie there and watch.”

  “Our air runs out again. I go up and get fresh tanks...and I realize these are our last two. We didn’t think we’d need more than six tanks. If we’d had our crew with us, we would have brought twenty or more. Enough that he could have held out until the coastguard arrived.” I stopped for a second, my guts twisting in remembered terror. The years hadn’t dulled things at all. “I’m standing there on the deck, looking down at the blue, and I realize I don’t know what to do. As a captain, there’s always a strategy, a tactic. But there was nothing. He had one tank of air left and then….”

  “I go back down and give a fresh tank to Edwards. I’m trying to breathe shallow and calm but I can’t: the sweat’s pouring off me. My face is maybe a foot from his. A piece of steel maybe a quarter-inch thick is all that separates me from him but I can’t get to him.”

  “I get my hands under that thing, use my legs, and heave. I push like I’ve never pushed before because my best friend’s going to die if I don’t do this. My leg’s screaming at me. I know that muscle isn’t as strong as it should be. If I hadn’t been injured….”

  I could feel Hannah looking up at me in horror but I couldn’t meet her eyes. If I did, I knew I wouldn’t be able to continue. She knew now why I hated my injury so much, beyond just the pain.

  “I push and I push and I push. Edwards is doing the same, we’re giving it everything we’ve got. We don’t quit until our muscles fail. But the fucking thing won’t budge. I know we’ve both been gulping down air. I check our tanks: maybe a couple of minutes left. I stare into his eyes and we both know what’s going to happen. He gives me this look, just nods, like he understands. And I can’t….” My throat clenched up and I had to start again. “I can’t speak to him. That’s the worst part. I’m about to lose my best friend in the world and I can’t speak to him. There’s so much I want to tell him, so much I know he wants to say to me, and all we can do is look at each other.” I stared determinedly up at the stars. They were blurring. “He grabs my hand and holds it tight. We just look at each other. And then his air runs out.”

  “I still have a minute or so left so I take out my mouthpiece and ram it in his mouth. I want him to have all of it, to give him as long as possible, but he keeps passing it back to me, won’t take a breath unless I take a breath. Then my tank goes empty, too.” I pressed my lips together tight. “He starts pointing to the surface, signaling for me to go. But there’s no way I’m going. I’m not going to leave him there alone.”

  “He glares at me. He’s furious, doesn’t want me to drown too, and I think—I think he doesn’t want me to see him go. But I’m not leaving him. I watch him hold his breath for as long as he can and then the fight begins. His body needs to breathe but there’s nothing but water. He fights it, fights it...and then he takes his first big gulp of water and his body just goes wild, kicking and straining, trying to get to the surface. He’s coughing and choking, water burning in his lungs, and every time he opens his mouth he’s taking in more of it.”

  “Tears are running down my face under my mask. I grab hold of the walkway and give it one last heave but it’s like trying to lift a truck. He’s scared. I’d seen him walk through gunfire and fight sharks and jump off cliffs but this, this terrifies him. He grabs hold of my hand again and now he needs me to stay, and I grip it hard because I’m not going anywhere.”

  “He fights. He fights so hard. Thrashing. Clawing. His eyes begging me to help him, to find a way. I can see it happening, I can see the bubbles each time his mouth opens, air coming out, water going in. And all I can do is hold his hand and watch and not leave him, even though by now my lungs are bursting. I think that’s the worst part, watching him thrash like that, but it’s not. The worst part is when he starts to weaken. When his movements become all slow and dreamy. When no more bubbles come out and there’s just the occasional twitch. And then...nothing.”

  Hannah clung to me, squeezing me so hard it hurt, but it was exactly what I needed. Her face was wet with tears where it pressed against my chest and I could feel my eyes were wet, too.

  “I just hang there in the water for a few seconds. My lungs are close to giving out: I know that if I don’t go, I’m going to drown too. But part of me wants to. I deserve to drown, right there beside him. I don’t want to go up to the surface because there’s no Edwards, up there. But at last, I let go of his hand and kick for the surface. I almost don’t make it: a few feet from the surface, I can feel my lips opening to take my first gulp of water...but then I break through into the air and cough it up. I drag myself aboard...and Edwards is right there, sitting on the deck, waiting for me.”

  Hannah lifted her head and stared up at me, her eyes shining with tears. She shook her head slowly and then just hugged me again. There were no words.

  I went limp on the deck, exhausted from telling the story. Exhausted but...better, as if with the words had come a lot of the poison I’d been carrying around with me. We lay there in silence for a moment but then I had to speak, had to tell her that: “I know he’s not...real. But I still see him.” I shook my head and grunted. “I’m crazy.”

  Hannah smoothed her hand over my chest. “No. You’re not.” She looked up at me. “Will. It wasn’t your fault.”

  Hearing that shouldn’t have made any difference. I’d blamed myself every day for years. I’d ignored anyone who told me different: Carla. Hobbs. Edwards’s family. Of course it was my fault.

  Yet when Hannah said it...it wasn’t like with the others. She was too close to me for me to discount it as bullshit or ignore it and push her away. I had to let myself believe that, just maybe, it was true. I felt the last of the poison ooze out of me and it was the thickest, darkest, and oiliest of the lot.

  That left...emptiness. A void. It ached, but it didn’t feel as if the pain was constantly being renewed.

  I didn’t say anything. I just put my arms around Hannah, hugged her to me, and nodded my thanks. When I finally spoke again, the words came more easily.

  “I sailed back to Nassau. Went back with cutting gear and got the body so his family could bury him. I never took a single bar of gold from the sub. I even tossed back the two that we brought up. I told my crew I wouldn’t be needing them anymore and took to just sailing. Going a little further out each time, hoping that the sea would take me. Didn’t care about treasure, anymore. Didn’t care about anything.” I paused and looked down at her. “Until I saw you on the beach.”

  She looked up at me. I cradled her cheek in my hand. “Since you came along,” I mumbled, “everything’s different.”

  Hannah swallowed. Then, hesitantly, “Does Edwards...approve?”

  I felt a hot swell of anger in my chest. Damn her. Goddamn her for being so understanding! I could actually feel my face getting hot: I was blushing like a child. “I know h
e’s not real,” I said again, looking away. I couldn’t stand her thinking I was crazy.

  She put a hand on my cheek and turned me back towards her. “I know.”

  I cursed under my breath and looked at her again. As soon as I saw those soft blue eyes looking up at me, all my anger melted away like clouds under a fierce sun. I couldn’t get angry with her, not anymore. I’d lost that defense. Now I actually had to communicate with her. I couldn’t put what I was feeling into words, though, so I just leaned down and kissed those blush-pink lips instead.

  When I broke the kiss, she asked, “What happens when we get back?”

  I found her hand with mine and knitted our fingers together. That was one thing I was sure of. I’d been sure from the second I jumped off the boat to swim to her. “We’ll be together. If you can put up with a half-lame Scot with a foul temper.”

  She blinked up at me. “Can you put up with someone like me? I don’t know if I’m....” She looked down at the deck as if ashamed. “...suitable.”

  I frowned. What the hell did she mean by that? I honestly had no idea. “Hannah,” I said, and I could hear the Scottish thick in my voice, “I want you in my life. I need you in my life.”

  And I reached down, put my hands on her waist, and pulled her fully atop me so I could kiss her properly. It was a long time before we finally made it inside and fell into the hammock to sleep.

  52

  Hannah

  He was up before me. Whatever time we went to bed, he was always up with the dawn, usually doing things with ropes and sails while I was still warm and mumbling in the hammock. I’d have to get used to that. And that thought, of spending morning after morning together, made me thrill inside.

  This morning, though, he didn’t let me sleep. He knocked on the door and I slowly extricated myself from the hammock. I could feel the weight of Esme’s necklace shifting against my chest as I stood. He’d put it on me again, just before we went to bed, and now I never wanted to take it off.

  Rourke was sitting at a folding table and had breakfast waiting: fruit and bacon and eggs, with huge mugs of coffee. I pulled the blanket into a sort of toga and sat down, my eyes still half-closed. “What time is it?” I asked sleepily. The sky was still dark to the west and I am not a morning person.

  “Early,” muttered Rourke, sounding a little guilty. He passed me a mug of coffee.

  I guessed it was about five a.m. I wrapped my hands around the mug, drank deeply, and tried not to yawn.

  There were advantages to the early start, though. To the east, the sun was rising over the island’s rock walls, lighting up the sky in glorious pinks and oranges. The water around us was millpond-calm and it acted as a giant mirror, so we were floating in the center of a second sunrise. It was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen and for a while we just sat there in wonder, watching it as we ate. Even Yoyo came to sit on the boat’s roof, looking up at the sun as he nibbled on an orange. By the time I’d finished my coffee, I was feeling almost human. And when we hauled up the anchor and started to move, with both of us standing at the wheel, it really started to feel like our boat.

  Rourke maneuvered us carefully through the narrow passage and we emerged into a calm sea. It was the first time in a while that I’d had nothing but ocean in front of me: normally, we’d been heading towards an island and I could focus on that. The sight of the endless water made me gulp and press closer to Rourke: my fear of the sea was slowly fading but I still felt so tiny....

  Rourke noticed and slipped an arm around my waist. “We’ll be alright, lass,” he told me. “‘Long as we get out of the way of that.” He nodded to the horizon, where thick storm clouds were gathering.

  “At least the waves are small,” I said. The sea was almost as calm as the sheltered waters inside the island.

  But Rourke shook his head. “That’s because there’s no wind.” And I realized he was right: I couldn’t feel even a breeze on my face. “We’re stuck with the engine unless it changes. But we’ve got plenty of time.”

  I leaned my head against his shoulder. The engine might be slow but it had one advantage: it meant he didn’t have to run around hauling on ropes. We could stand there together, at the wheel. “Why don’t I make us another cup of coffee,” I said. “And then you can show me how to steer and—”

  A warm ball of fur landed on my shoulder. Yoyo grabbed hold of my ears. “Eek!” he squeaked urgently. “Eek!”

  I scratched the special spot on his neck but for once that didn’t placate him. “What?” I asked. “What is it?”

  “EEK!”

  He was looking at something behind us. Rourke and I slowly turned around.

  Ratcher’s boat was emerging from behind the island, belching black diesel fumes into the air as it bore down on us.

  53

  Rourke

  My first reaction was shock: it felt like the deck had dropped away from under my feet and I’d plunged straight into Arctic water. Then disbelief. Ratcher couldn’t be here. There was just no possible way he could have found us.

  And then, finally, the sick churning of fear. I hated the Pitbull. It was noisy and cumbersome and laden down with technology. It was no match for the Fortune’s Hope, never would be. In any other weather, we would have outrun him no problem. But right now, with no wind, those big, stinking engines could easily out power us. And when he caught up with us….

  I tried to push the throttle forward but it was already against its stops...and Ratcher was gaining fast. No matter what I did, they’d catch us.

  If I was on my own, I’d have fought. It was suicide: Ratcher had upwards of twenty crew and all of them would be armed to the teeth. But I could at least make sure I took some of them with me.

  But I wasn’t on my own. I looked around at Hannah and saw her big, scared eyes. If I tried to fight, she’d wind up with a bullet in her. I couldn’t surrender, either. This wasn’t just about the treasure: Ratcher wanted her. And I wasn’t going to let that happen.

  I had to come up with something else. I ran below deck, Hannah close behind me.

  “Can’t we call for help?” she asked. “The Coast Guard?”

  I’d just picked up my shotgun and was checking it was loaded. I picked up a fistful of cartridges and shook my head. “We’re hours from anywhere. This is going to be over long before anyone can get to us. We need to get ready to be boarded.”

  “What?!” I saw her go pale. “But they can’t—They can’t just—”

  My chest contracted. God, she was so beautifully, terrifyingly innocent. She really didn’t understand how it worked, out here on the sea. I should never have brought her out here! I pulled her to me. “It’ll be okay,” I said with a confidence I didn’t feel. “Just stay close to me.”

  I had to get her somewhere safe, somewhere a bullet wouldn’t hit her when they swarmed aboard. I looked furiously around and my eyes lit upon the heavy door to the maintenance room. “In here!” I snapped. “Quick!”

  The maintenance room is where all the wiring and pipes route to. It’s barely more than a closet but it has one advantage: the door is steel lined, to stop fire spreading. I was hoping that would stop a bullet. And it has a glass window that looked out into the main room, so we could see what was going on. I pulled Hannah inside and called to Yoyo. As soon as he jumped onto Hannah’s shoulder, I slammed the door.

  Seconds later, I heard boots land on our deck. Then they killed our engines and we slowed to a stop. More boots came aboard, then a much heavier footfall I knew must be Ratcher’s. The first man looked cautiously around the door. Not Ratcher himself, of course. He wasn’t brave enough to lead the way. When the guy saw our faces through the window in the door, he leveled his gun at us. In answer, I raised my shotgun and pressed the barrels against the window’s glass. The man cursed.

  I’d created a stalemate. It was the best tactic I could come up with. If they came below deck, I’d shred them with the shotgun: in such a confined space, the blast would be devastat
ing. They could probably win, if they sent down enough guys and put enough bullets in the reinforced door, but they’d lose a lot of men. And Ratcher’s men weren’t loyal enough to sacrifice themselves.

  On the flip side, we were trapped until they left.

  I heard muttered voices out on deck. Then Ratcher’s bald head slowly appeared around the door frame. I had to resist the urge to pull the shotgun’s trigger.

  “All we want’s the treasure,” he yelled. “No one has to die.”

  “We didn’t find it!” I yelled back. “The map was wrong!”

  Ratcher threw back his head and laughed. “Right. That’s why you’re riding so low in the water, your balls are wet.” I saw him eye some of the crates stacked around the room.

  “You take a step into this room,” I snarled, “and this shotgun’ll cut you in two.”

  Ratcher’s upper lip drew back in a sneer. “Fine by me. We’ll pour gasoline all over your decks, then light a match.”

  Shit. He didn’t want this to turn into a gun battle any more than we did. But if we denied him the treasure, he could just torch the whole boat from the safety of the deck. By the time he let us out, the fire would be out of control, and we’d either burn or drown when the boat sank.

  Every fiber of my being was telling me to run out there with the shotgun and die in a blaze of glory. But when I was dead, he’d grab Hannah. Grab her and— No. No way.

  There was only one other way out. It made me want to throw up, but it would keep her safe. I had to fight to speak, dragging the words up from an enormous depth. “Take it.”

  Hannah grabbed my arm. “What?!”

  Ratcher grinned. “What was that, Rourke? Didn’t quite catch it.”