by Tom Hilpert
“Sure,” I said. “You can help me carry drinks” I felt wooden, sure my face would betray me.
I went to the cooler in the galley and removed cans of soda and handed them to the women. I considered telling them I would be right up, but I thought that might be pushing my luck. I grabbed two sodas and some napkins, and went back up into the cockpit in front of them.
Tony was standing at the wheel.
“Leyla’s been teaching us how to sail,” said Jasmine, handing her husband a can of Diet Coke. We were level with Outer Island on the port side. Directly in front us lay only the lake, a vast freshwater ocean. Most of the islands were low smudges behind us. We couldn’t see Michigan or Minnesota, and the Bayfield massif was merely a dim smear. But when I saw the towering clouds to the west, I gave a silent prayer of thanks. The sunlight was fading even as I watched.
“I’ve got bad news,” I said, looking meaningfully at Leyla. I jerked my thumb at the western sky. “I just heard that is turning into a major storm. We need to run home for shelter.”
“Are you sure?” asked Angela. She sounded very concerned.
“It sounded pretty serious,” I said. I looked at the towering wall of clouds behind us. By a massive stroke of good fortune, the weather appeared to be cooperating with my desperate ploy. The sun was behind the clouds now, and Superior heaved gray sullen waves at us, each one seemingly bigger than the last. Here and there, the wind whipped the top of a wave into white foam.
“It’s not worth taking the risk,” agreed Leyla.
“How did you hear about it?” asked Angela. “On the radio?”
“That’s right,” I confirmed.
Angela’s face went dark, and I knew my mistake at once. Of course they knew the radio didn’t work – they must have rigged the weather report themselves. And then just like that, Angela and Phil were holding guns. Big, black automatics.
“I’m sorry,” said Angela, “but we won’t be going home.”
Leyla stared at the guns, standing motionless with her can of Coke poised between her hands in the act of opening it.
Stone gave a quick glance at Jasmine, nothing more. Jasmine took a breath and let it out. She seemed almost relieved. I was puzzled. I expected them to produce weapons as well.
I looked over at Outer Island, maybe two miles away to port. In normal water, I could probably make it. I wondered if Leyla could. But Superior was already well below fifty degrees Fahrenheit; sometimes it was as low as thirty-nine by this point in the year. Water that cold stole your breath, slowed your reactions and drained the life out of your body. The waves were now rearing up to five feet or more. I probably couldn’t last for half a mile.
Stone caught my glance and almost imperceptibly shook his head. I turned back to Angela.
“Angela,” I said gently and calmly, hoping my face didn’t betray me, “we can still talk about your marriage. You don’t need this cruise so badly. But it isn’t safe to stay out here in the storm.”
She gave a short, harsh laugh. “Don’t try that crap on me. You found something, or figured it out,” she said. “Because I know the radio report didn’t say anything about a storm.”
My heart sank. Everything might depend on them believing that I knew nothing up until the moment they pulled their guns. “Yes, it did,” I said. “The AM news station in Ashland said it. There was a lot of static, but I heard it clearly enough. You can go listen right now.” I prayed that the past few minutes hadn’t taken us out of range.
“AM news?” asked Phil quizzically.
“Damn it!” said Angela. “Richard forgot about the regular stereo.”
“What are we gonna do about the storm?” asked Phil.
“Well, it’s too late now,” said Angela. “We’ll have to keep on anyway. Actually, it’ll help to sell the story.”
Stone started to turn toward Angela. “Listen,” he began.
“Shut up!” snapped Angela. “Keep your hands on the wheel until I tell you otherwise.”
She smiled without mirth. “I guess I am the captain now. You will all do what I say without question.”
“Angela,” I said. “I don’t know what – ”
“You shut up too,” she said, gesturing with her gun.
“Can you drop us off on Outer Island?” asked Jasmine. She was looking at Angela intensely. Angela looked back. It struck me as a weird exchange.
“Sorry,” said Angela after a moment. “Can’t be done.”
There was no talking for a minute, and the sound of the boat plowing into the thickening water was loud. Spray flew continuously from the bow, showering us like a light rain. The darkness was growing, and the boat began to push farther to starboard as the wind from the west strengthened.
“Turn a little to starboard,” Leyla instructed Stone.
“Shut up,” said Angela. “I’m giving the orders.”
“Fine,” said Leyla coolly. “If he doesn’t do it, we’ll all be in the water in about three minutes. The cold will kill us long before we can reach land. We’ll be dead within forty-five minutes.” She was so calm and brave and fragile and beautiful, I didn’t know if I wanted to cheer or cry.
Angela looked at her, and Leyla met her gaze calmly. At last Angela nodded reluctantly. “Do it,” she said. “For now.” She stepped over to Stone and held the gun up to his side. “But not too much.”
Tony nudged the wheel a little. We leveled out a little bit.
“We need to shut the hatch over your berth – in fact, any window or skylight that is open.”
“Philip, go get the GPS,” said Angela. “While you’re down there, make sure everything is shut up tight.”
“We already have a GPS,” said Leyla. “Right here.”
Phil hesitated. “Go!” snapped Angela. He went down the companionway.
I tensed. There were four of us and only one person with a gun. Stone caught my eye, and then without moving his head, flicked his eyes towards his left shoulder where Angela stood. Angela saw me looking at him. She stepped smoothly away from Stone and put her left arm around Leyla, holding the gun high where her jaw met her neck.
“One of you stupid testosterone junkies might be willing to take a bullet,” she said. “But are you willing for her to?”
I sagged, weakened by the rush of unused adrenaline. Stone’s mouth tightened. Jasmine stood tense, not moving except to brace herself against the swoop and dive of the boat.
A little later, Phil emerged, holding a small GPS unit. “I turned it on,” he said. “The course is all set.”
“Show it to her,” said Angela, jerking her head at Leyla.
“What about it?” said Leyla as she looked at the screen.
“That’s where we are going,” said Angela. “You need to follow that course, or your boyfriend will start losing body parts.”
“I can’t run the boat with you attached to my side,” said Leyla. I decided it was cheering that I most felt like doing. I was awed by her calm strength and courage.
“Phil,” said Angela. “Get the other one.”
Phil smirked and slipped behind Jasmine, wrapping an arm around her front. He held the gun up to her head. He seemed to be holding her pretty tight.
“Easy,” said Jasmine. She sounded more irritated than anything else. Angela looked at him sourly. “Don’t get distracted,” she snapped. She looked first at Stone and then me. “Now behave boys,” she said, and released Leyla.
The boat was heaving more violently than before and the sky above us was now already completely gray. Angela lost her balance and half-fell onto the starboard cockpit bench. I started to move but Phil said sharply, “Easy, or Jasmine gets it.”
“This is only going to get worse,” said Leyla. “We can’t make it through the storm like this.”
“Sorry, sister,” said Angela. “We are going through this storm, whether you like it or not.” She gathered herself together. “We need to immobilize them,” she said to Phil.”
“You will die with us,
” said Leyla. She was calm, but she had to speak quite loudly now to be heard above the sound of the wind and waves. “It is suicide to carry this much sail into a storm like this.” The wind was whipping her thick dark hair around her face. Her dark eyes were steady and serious. There was depth and strength I had never guessed at in Leyla.
Angela hesitated. “OK,” she too, spoke loudly to be heard over the increasing tumult. “What do we do?”
“We need to start by taking down the sails. Then, we really should run for cover.”
The Tiny Dancer heeled far over to starboard again as sudden blast of wind slammed into the big sail. I held on to the port side railing as we passed fifty degrees of slope. I glanced quickly toward Phil, but he had simply taken Jasmine to the deck, lying with his left arm around and underneath her, the right hand holding the gun to her temple. I thought he was holding it kind of loosely, but it wasn’t worth risking her life to try and get to him. Slowly, the heavy keel pulled us back more or less upright.
“You two go below,” called Angela to Phil. I’ll check with you every five minutes. If I don’t check in, then kill her.” She looked at me and then Stone. “Do you understand?”
“Got it,” I said shortly. Stone nodded. Jasmine went down into the cabin, followed by Phil, who didn’t seem to be covering her very closely. Angela braced herself in the front port corner of the cockpit. She waved her gun at us. “Now get to it.”
First, Leyla opened one of the cockpit lockers, and handed life jackets to all of us. She hesitated when she came to Angela, but Angela reached for it, so Leyla let her have it.
After we had secured the life vests, Leyla took the wheel from Stone, and called out instructions to us. We all had to lean to port, and crouch and hold on to things in order to keep our feet. I loosened a rope to port while Stone cranked the mainsail closer to the boat. We started heeling over again, but Leyla turned more to starboard and we leveled out a little more. “Get up to the mast,” she called to me. I climbed out of the cockpit to port, and scrambled forward, holding onto the cable railing, and then the ropes until I was kneeling at the foot of the mast. Stone came around on the starboard side. I freed the rope that kept the big sail fully open. Stone and I reached up and grabbed big handfuls of canvas, pulling toward the deck. As the sail came down, the starboard pressure decreased even more. We were still swooping up and down waves that now approached ten feet high, but we no longer felt like were falling over so much to starboard. Following Leyla’s shouted commands, we pulled the sail all the way down, and then secured the canvas in a rough, untidy bundle around the boom. Leyla let the boom out a little to starboard so it would be out of the way of the people in the cockpit.
The waves had whitened all around us. I wasn’t completely sure if it was raining or not, but we were soaked with either rain or spray. The temperature had dropped twenty degrees, and the cold began to numb my fingers.
“Wave! Wave! Wave!” screamed Leyla. I caught a brief glimpse of a white-streaked gray wall climbing in front of the bow. I dove for the mast and got one hand on it before the water hit me.
CHAPTER 3 3
The water was smooth and slow and very heavy. It was like a giant had poured the contents of a large swimming pool out onto the Tiny Dancer. The cold was deadly. My breath exploded out of me with the shock. I clutched at the mast with my left hand, but I couldn’t reach all the way around it. I couldn’t lift my right hand against the massive flow of icy water. My hands had been numb and freezing to start with. Slowly, my fingers slipped, plucked off one-by-one by the inexorable force of Lake Superior. Dimly, I heard a scream behind me.
I couldn’t breathe. Suddenly, I lost my hold entirely and slid helplessly backwards. Something slammed into my chest. I felt a sickening weightlessness, and then landed with bruising force on my face inside the cockpit.
“Jonah!” Leyla screamed. “Jonah!”
I forced myself up to my hands and knees, hacking and coughing. Leyla was kneeling beside me. The wind was howling now, and there could be no doubt that water was falling from the sky as well as whipping up from the waves. It was as dark as dusk. The cockpit was half full of water, but it drained out quickly through drainage holes made for that very purpose. I recalled vaguely that they were called scuppers.
“I’m OK,” I said weakly.
“Watch the wheel!” shouted Angela sharply. She was completely soaked, but she remained braced in the corner, her gun held steady. Leyla stood up shakily and returned to the wheel.
“This is crazy,” she called. “We’re all going to die unless we get out of this.” She was taking small steps and straining at the wheel as it bucked in her hands.
Angela shook her head. “I have every confidence in you. Follow the GPS course.”
I sat back on my heels. Stone was also as wet as if he’d stepped fully clothed into a bath. His legs were dangling into the cockpit, while his arms were still tightly intertwined with the rope that went from the traveler on the deck, up to the boom. As I watched, he let go and slid down to a sitting position on the starboard bench.
He glanced at me. “That was close.” If I was given to imagination, I might have thought he looked mildly concerned. Suddenly, I was very glad he was with us on this trip. I returned his look.
“Yeah. Fun though.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. I swear it did.
Stone patted his soaking blue jeans to make sure everything was there. He patted again and then looked down. He glanced all around the cockpit, then stood up and looked at the deck forward. He sat down again and started to swear vehemently.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“I lost my pager.”
I was puzzled. Surely a pager should be the least of his worries at this moment. Human nature is funny though. Sometimes we focus on peripheral details to avoid dealing with the big problems right in front of us.
Angela smiled like she was sharing my thoughts. “Your pager is irrelevant now. You aren’t going to work, even if you’re called in.”
Stone took a deep breath and then shrugged.
A big gust slapped the foresail, and we tipped far over to starboard again. I held my breath while the waves pounded at us, keeping us over. As slow as spring thaw, we came up again, dragged by the great counter-weight of the leaden keel.
“We should switch to diesel and bring down the foresail too,” said Leyla. “This wind, it’s safer with no canvas.”
“Do it!” snapped Angela.
“We can do this from the cockpit,” said Leyla. “Jonah, take the wheel.”
I did. Immediately I understood why Leyla had been moving about. The wheel was like a live thing trying to jump out of my grip, first pushing down to starboard and then leaping back up the other way. I fought to hold it steady, taking little steps to keep my balance against the plunge and roll of the boat and the kick and buck of the wheel.
Leyla reached around me and turned a key. Through the increasing roar of the storm, I could feel, more than hear, the engine throbbing to life. She pushed the throttle lever forward about one third of the way.
“Keep it there,” she shouted. I did my best. Then, with Tony Stone’s help, she cranked the foresail until it was completely rolled up on the forestay.
“Now the dodger,” she shouted, shaking her head. “I should have had that up the whole time.”
The folded-up dodger was apparently what had struck me in the chest when I was swept back into the cockpit. Leyla and Stone unsnapped the retaining straps, and with some difficulty pulled up a canvas hood that was stretched across a metal frame. It looked a little bit like one of those manually operated convertible tops on an old car, except it was backwards, folding out the windshield first, then a yard or so of canvas roof, leaving the back open.
There was something wrong with it, however. The metal frame appeared bent, and I realized that it was probably my body that had done it. They wrestled with it for a few minutes. Finally Stone was able to get the starboard side strapped t
ight into place. Immediately, the noise in the cockpit abated a little bit and the spray slammed up against the clear plastic windshield instead of onto us. But the rear port side of the hood flapped insanely in the wind. Stone stepped over to where Leyla struggled with it.
While they were trying to get it secured, Angela rapped on the closed companionway door. I glimpsed Phil’s face as he opened it. They exchanged a few words, and the door shut again.
Leyla and Tony finally settled for tying down the port side of the dodger with a bit of rope secured to one of the many cleats lining the gunwale. It still flapped and shuddered, and water flew through that side fairly easily.
“It will have to do for now,” said Leyla in the slightly quieter air of the cockpit.
“Speed up now,” said Angela. Leyla looked at her without comment and then leaned in front of me and pushed the throttle all the way forward. The result was not spectacular. “These engines aren’t made for speed,” she said.
A minute later, there was a rap on the companionway door. Angela moved over to Leyla and put the gun against her head.
“You know the drill,” said Angela to Stone and me. “Behave if you value her life.”
Phil emerged from the cabin a few moments later.
“All secure?” she asked him.
He nodded. He stared for a moment at the wind and the waves. “This is getting worse.”
“A lot worse,” I said. “Superior is a man-killer. We need to run back for cover.” I glanced behind me, towards where the islands should be, but nothing was visible except big waves and driving rain.
“Shut up Borden,” said Phil. He walked over and stood by me. He pushed the power-button of the Tiny Dancer’s GPS. Then he looked at the handheld unit which Angela had passed to him. He programmed the boat’s GPS to match his. He watched for a few moments, looking first at one screen, then the other. Finally, he nodded.
“Now,” said Angela. “We have an appointment to keep, so we are going to follow the course on this GPS. You all will have your turn steering.” She turned to Phil. “Show us how to do it,” she commanded.
