Captain Rourke

by Helena Newbury

  Hannah was panting in fear as she clung to me. This was about a thousand times worse than when we’d been above deck. Ask any sailor: there’s nothing scarier than being overboard in rough seas with the waves towering over you.

  We needed something, anything, to help us keep our heads above water. I pushed Hannah over to the upturned hull of the Fortune’s Hope and helped her scramble aboard. The boat was sinking but it would be a while before she finally slipped below the waves and we needed every minute we could get. I climbed up next to her and—

  My hand caught on something. A box the size of my fist that shouldn’t have been there. I squinted at it, then cursed when I realized what it was. A GPS beacon. When I saw that diver swimming away, after we’d battled the shark, he hadn’t been sabotaging us: he’d been placing this. That’s how Ratcher had kept finding us. If I’d only remembered to swim down and check the hull, instead of getting all dreamy-eyed about Hannah…. I pulled the thing free and hurled it into the ocean.

  The waves were carrying the upturned hull high into the air and then smashing it brutally down: it was like trying to cling on to a raging bull. Worse, I could hear cracking sounds over the wind and I knew it wouldn’t be long before the boat broke up. Waves broke over it, threatening to wash us into the water, and the wind did its best to tear us free.

  I helped Hannah drape herself over the hull and spread-eagled her so that she was clinging on like a starfish, making herself as hard to dislodge as possible. But she was still shivering from the cold and I was still worried she’d be swept off. So I covered her body with mine, giving her my warmth, and sealing her to the wood. I opened the neck of the dive bag just a little to make sure Yoyo had air and then there was nothing I could do except put my lips to Hannah’s ear, tell her how much I loved her and that it was going to be okay.

  I had no idea what time it was: the sky was so dark, it was impossible to tell. And I had no idea where we were: I knew the storm was carrying us with it, but there were no landmarks.

  The sea wanted to claim me. It wet the wood under my fingers to make it slippery. It used the wind to claw at me, trying to lift me off Hannah and send me spinning into the waves. It soaked me with enough water that I felt I weighed a thousand tons, drove spray and rain down my throat until I coughed all the strength from my body. It’s time, it whispered in my mind. This is what you wanted. To finally meet Edwards down in the darkness.

  But I clung on. I clung on harder than I’ve ever held onto anything in my life because if I went, she went. And I wasn’t letting the sea get her. And for the first time in years, I didn’t want it to end this way. I wanted a life on the water with her. Hell, I’d even take a life on the land, with her, and I never thought I’d say that about anybody.

  The Fortune’s Hope was as stubborn as me. For hours, it refused to sink. But the storm was merciless and my heart ached as I heard her beams begin to snap, a sound as intimate as bones breaking. She slowly slipped beneath the waves and I instinctively lunged beneath the surface down to grab hold of a rail or a rope. I had to save her, or go down with her—

  But if I did that, I couldn’t be with Hannah. I had to choose.

  My fingers closed on empty water and I watched, chest constricting, as the Fortune’s Hope disappeared down into the darkness. Then I swam for the surface. But as I grabbed hold of Hannah, the boat that had kept us safe for so long threw out one last gift: a ten foot section of her hull broke free and floated up to meet us.

  I hauled Hannah aboard and we used it as a raft. As the wind howled and raged around us, we lay with our arms and legs wrapped around each other, clinging to each other for dear life.

  And then, after God knows how many hours, the waves seemed to become a little less violent. The wind lost its howl and the rain eased and then stopped. The world lightened, beyond my closed eyelids, and my back started to feel warm.

  We opened our eyes.

  The sea was calming. The waves were settling and the clouds were beginning to break up. I could see an island in the distance.

  We slumped on the raft in relief, taking deep lungfuls of air that was sweet and warm, not frozen and stinging. I opened the dive bag and Yoyo scrambled out and climbed up on Hannah’s shoulder. It was evening, which meant we’d been in the storm an entire day. The sun was a glorious disc of molten copper, just sliding down into the sea. The best sunsets always come after a storm and this one was fantastic. For a moment, we just hugged and drank it in.

  “What now?” asked Hannah.

  I thought about it... and tried not to let my face betray how bad our situation was. We had no water, no food and no one was looking for us. Our only chance was to make our way to land: we were drifting closer to the island, but I had no idea what was there—

  I squinted. The shape of the island looked familiar. It was surrounded by large rocks, sticking out of the water like teeth….

  Oh, bloody hell.

  As if to confirm my suspicion, a fin split the water only twenty feet away. The storm had carried us all the way back to the island where we’d found the second clue. The island that was nothing but a barren rock, surrounded by more rocks that would smash us to pieces if we tried to land.

  And the injured shark we’d left behind was already sniffing around our raft, hungry for vengeance.

  I was at breaking point. Of all the places we could have been carried to by the storm! To have survived that, only to be dumped here. And the Fortune’s Hope was gone forever. That filled me with a despair I couldn’t explain, even to Hannah.

  Water lapping at my feet made me look down. Our raft was a section of the hull and the planks were starting to loosen and come apart. Already, one side was riding low, water sloshing onto our legs. I gave it a half hour at most and then we’d be in the water with the shark.

  58

  Rourke

  When I turned to Hannah, I could see the same realization on her face that millions of sailors have come to through the ages. That awful certainty. “We’re not going to make it, are we?” she whispered.

  I didn’t answer. I pulled her into my arms and sat with her in my lap, her back to my chest and my arms wrapped around her. The shark circled and then shot forward and rammed the raft. A piece the size of my head broke off and floated away.

  I’ve never been one to quit but I didn’t see any way out of this. I’d used every last trick to get through the storm and now I had nothing left.

  The shark charged us again. This time, a crack opened up along the length of the wood: another good hit and we’d split in two.

  I kissed the top of Hannah’s head, looked up, and saw Edwards sitting cross-legged on the corner of the raft.

  It was the first time I’d seen him since I told Hannah about his death. I’d thought that maybe he was gone. Part of me was disappointed because it meant I was still crazy. But most of me was relieved to see him. “I’m all out of ideas,” I thought. “You got any?” I squeezed Hannah hard. “Because I’m not ready to go. Not anymore.”

  And then I froze because I realized I hadn’t thought it. I’d said it out loud.

  Hannah twisted around in my arms, glanced at the spot occupied by Edwards and then threw her arms around my neck and kissed me. I kissed her back, hard, tasting the seawater on her lips, sliding my hands over her bare shoulders. When I broke the kiss, the shark was circling back towards us for a final run.

  And Edwards was looking meaningfully at it.

  I blinked and frowned. “What?” I asked aloud. There was no time to be embarrassed.

  He looked at me, then looked at the shark again. It was flicking its tail, building up speed.

  “What?!” I gave him a glare. The shark was close, now. I could see the spear I’d landed in its back when it attacked the launch—

  It suddenly clicked. I knew what Edwards was saying. Oh, you crazy, brilliant bloody idiot. It was exactly the sort of hare-brained, chance-in-a-million scheme he’d come up with. It might get me killed. Or it might just save us. The
important thing was, there was a hope, however slim, that I could save her. And that was better than quitting.

  Hannah was watching the shark approach, backing away from it across the raft. When she saw me stand up, she grabbed my leg. “What are you doing?!”

  I reached down and pulled my dive knife out of its scabbard. “Going fucking fishing,” I told her.

  And I dived into the water.

  59

  Hannah

  I scrambled to the edge of the raft and stared down into the water in horror. What the hell is he doing?

  The shark darted forward and Rourke had to dodge to avoid it. This wasn’t like when he’d fought it before: he’d had a mask and air tank, then, and flippers to help him move faster. Now he had to squint through the water and he could only fight as long as he could hold his breath.

  I winced as the shark attacked again. It didn’t manage to get its jaws around Rourke but it knocked him out of the way and its head thumped against the underside of the raft. The crack split wide open. We were breaking up!

  The shark went for Rourke a third time and this time he dodged and then grabbed the spear that stuck out of its back. He clung on, at the same time stabbing at it with his knife. Blood clouded the water, blocking out my view. The raft chose that time to finally break up. I scrambled onto the biggest piece, which was barely bigger than a coffin lid, and hugged Yoyo to my chest.

  And then everything went quiet.

  The water slowly turned crimson. I started to panic-breathe as I counted the seconds in my head. Too much time went by. He should have surfaced by now. I stared at the surface, bracing myself for a severed arm or leg to float up.

  The shark suddenly broke the surface, right next to the raft, and I screamed. Then Rourke emerged behind it, panting for air, and stabbing his knife down into it. The shark came to rest with its head on the raft, an inch from my knee. Its jaws snapped once, twice...and it went still.

  Rourke was panting and exhausted. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to hug him or kill him so I yelled instead. “What the hell was all that for? Why did you—”

  He shook his head: he had no breath to explain. He grabbed the shark’s tail and started to push. “Help me get it on the raft,” he wheezed.

  On the raft?! There wasn’t enough room for both of us to lie on the raft. Why the hell….

  But Rourke had never let me down yet. I slithered off the far side of the raft, grabbed hold of the shark’s torso and pulled while Rourke pushed. It was so heavy we barely managed it. But eventually, we got it lying on the raft on its side. The raft was barely afloat under the thing and there wasn’t an inch of space for us: Yoyo had to go back in the dive bag for his own safety.

  “Okay,” I said breathlessly. “Now please explain why we just did all that. You could have been killed!”

  In answer, Rourke reached up and stabbed his dive knife into the shark’s belly. Then he slashed right along its length. I screamed and turned away as everything in its stomach flooded out. But Rourke didn’t back away. He shoved his hand in, groping for something.

  When I dared to look again, Rourke was washing his hand off underwater. Then he held up what he was holding: the satellite phone the shark had swallowed, when we’d fought it on the launch.

  I threw my arms around him and hugged him as he powered it on and lifted it to his ear.

  The Coast Guard bundled us into a helicopter a little over an hour later. I sat next to Rourke, both of us wrapped up in a blanket. Yoyo nestled into my chest, his eyes just peeking over the top of the blanket. He’d been around boats his whole life but the sound and feel of a helicopter was new to him and he didn’t let go of me until we landed at the Coast Guard station on Great Inagua.

  Despite Rourke’s protests, they insisted on dressing his wounds before they’d let him leave. He had a cut on his head, a suspected broken rib, and some fresh grazes from tussling with the shark. Like me, he’d picked up some bruises from being hurled around in the storm.

  Then they turned to me. “Miss? Are you okay?”

  I thought about it. It had been too long since I’d had an attack. I was due one anytime and this next one would likely kill me. But there was nothing they could do about it. The one thing that could save me, Katherine, and all the other women in my family was with Ratcher.

  “Fine,” I told the medic. “I’m fine.”

  By the time we got to Nassau, dawn was breaking. We headed down to McKinley’s bar and borrowed a pair of binoculars from the bartender, who I learned was called Benny. The sun was turning the calm waters of the harbor to sparkling gold and it was clear enough that you could see for miles. Rourke pointed out the Pitbull, lying at anchor a mile or so offshore.

  “She’s riding low in the water,” he said. “And he’s posted guards. The treasure’s still aboard.”

  I could just make out men with guns strutting around the deck. “So what do we do?” I asked.

  He looked at me. “You stay here. I go and get the cure back.” And he outlined his plan to me.

  I felt my eyes bulge. “That’s insane! Ratcher will kill you!” I shook my head. “It’s too dangerous!”

  Rourke pinned me in place with those deep blue eyes. His hand found my cheek, thumb brushing my lips. “That bastard’s taken my boat,” he said. “My treasure. But he’s not taking you.”

  He leaned in and kissed me, slow and deep. His words had made a hot bomb detonate in my chest and the kiss turned the heat urgent: my hands grabbed at his shoulders and I clung to him. God, I loved this big, angry, Scottish seadog. But the way he kissed me scared the hell out of me. It was as if he was drinking me in, committing every press of my lips to memory.

  He kissed me as if—

  “R—Rourke?” My voice was shaking. I made him look at me. “I need you to come back!”

  He nodded. But he wouldn’t—couldn’t—say the words I needed to hear. He couldn’t promise. Before I could stop him, he was limping towards the rail that looked out over the sea.

  “Rourke!” I called desperately.

  But, stubborn as ever, he didn’t turn around. And then he was diving over the rail and into the sea below. A few seconds later, I saw a faint shadow beneath the waves, swimming out towards Ratcher’s boat. He was going on a damn suicide mission...for me. And I knew I might never see him again.

  60

  Rourke

  I swam a few feet below the waves, fast and silent. When I had to breathe, I twisted over and just barely broke the surface with my lips. Unless someone was looking in the exact right spot, I should be invisible.

  My plan hinged on it being early. I figured Ratcher had probably dropped anchor the night before and the first thing he and his crew would have done would be to break out the beers and celebrate the find of the century. At this time in the morning, they’d still be sleeping it off. Even the men he’d posted as guards would be hungover...or they’d be bored and pissed off because they hadn’t been allowed to join the fun, and that would make them sloppy.

  But even if I was right, all that would only hold true for a little while. That’s why I hadn’t let myself get drawn into an argument with Hannah.

  That, and the fact she was right to be worried. There was a very good chance I wasn’t coming back from this one. Ratcher had upwards of twenty armed men. I had a knife. There are bad odds and then there’s being plain stupid.

  But I didn’t have a choice. Hannah was dead if she didn’t get that cure.

  I saw the sea bed drop away beneath me. The Pitbull was anchored a good mile out: Ratcher was paranoid enough, with all that treasure on board, that he wanted some warning if he saw someone approaching from the shore. But it meant he was in deep water and that was a key part of my plan, too.

  I surfaced beside his anchor chain and waited, looking up at the boat. A few seconds later, a cigarette butt came over the side and I heard a grumbled conversation: at least three men. As I’d hoped, the guards were resentful about having to be up and awake while the others sl
ept. Instead of spreading out as they should, they’d gathered to moan and smoke.

  I climbed the anchor chain, freezing each time I made the heavy links clank. But I made it over the rail and dropped silently to the deck without being seen. I risked a glance at McKinley’s and saw a glint of sunlight on glass: Hannah was still up there, watching me. I waved in her direction but I had no way of knowing if she saw. Just the fact she was watching over me made me feel better, though.

  I crept below deck...and stopped.

  The room was a sea of snoring men. They’d drunk until they passed out and then just slept where they were: on the floor, slumped against lockers, lying across benches. Beer cans were everywhere. If my foot hit one, if I made the slightest noise....

  The hardest thing for me is to walk slowly. I need to put my weight on my bad leg and then swing it quickly over to my good one. That’s why I stalk around like I’ve got somewhere to be. But now I had to force myself to move at a snail’s pace, gradually shifting my weight onto a foot, ready to freeze if the deck creaked. It was beyond agony. Before I’d gone six steps, I was sweating with the pain. But there was no other way to do it.

  The room stank: unwashed bodies and stale beer, cigarette smoke and diesel fumes. Even this early in the morning, the air was warm and that didn’t help.

  I stopped. Ahead of me was the staircase I needed but four guys lay between me and it, so closely sardined that there wasn’t an inch of floor visible...except where one guy had his hand behind his head, elbow out to the side. I’d have to step in that six-inch triangle formed by his arm, my toes right next to his ear. Worse, because they were right up against the wall, I’d have to use my injured leg.