by Amber Stuart
It would take a little under four days to reach Catalonia, Chal reasoned, and then they would not have to worry about being caught in a boat they did not have papers for. Once she was able to withdraw funds in Catalonia, she could arrange for the boat’s return. Still, she felt guilty as she watched Alan sign the receipts under his false name.
Chal motored the boat out of the harbor, relying on the engine to take them out past the rocks before she attempted to put up the sails. One of the reasons she had chosen a small boat was to avoid suspicion; the other was simply that she didn’t know how to sail very well.
She had one boyfriend in the past who was an avid sailor, and now as she knotted the line to the sail she tried to remember what he had taught her. It took a few tries and some experimentation, but soon both the main sail and the jib were up and they were sailing along without the use of the motor.
The wind was light but gusty and the first time Chal tried to tack she almost knocked Alan off of the boat with the boom. He caught it in his hands before it could hit his head and sat down hard.
“Are you trying to kill me?” he asked, teasingly.
“I told you to sit down when we’re turning,” Chal said, too focused on negotiating the swells to be polite.
“Let me give it a try,” Alan said, once they had straightened out.
“Can you do this?” Chal asked. She was surprised—had they built this capacity into his brain too? Alan read her thoughts and laughed.
“No, but I can learn,” he said. “After all, it can’t be too hard if you can do it, right?” Chal cocked her head in an admonishing scowl, and Alan grinned. They had implanted sarcasm. Great.
She showed him the basics that she knew and let him take the helm. It was strange to be helping Alan with a task that wasn’t programmed automatically into his system. He fumbled with the tiller, forgetting which way to turn and not knowing immediately how to adjust when the wind changed.
“You’re learning quickly,” she said to encourage him after he turned too far into the wind and the sail began to flap loosely. He frowned.
“Not quick enough,” he said. “It’s strange.”
“How is it different?” Chal asked. “Different from before?”
“It’s just terrible,” Alan said, grinning despite his words. “Everything is fuzzy in my brain, like I’m trying to reach out and grab something. But I just can’t keep ahold of it for long. Not like when I was flying.”
“When you were flying...”
“It was like all of the information was just under the surface of my brain, and it was easy to tap into. The first time I read the manual, I understood exactly what I had to do. Like my muscles had already been trained.”
Chal wondered if Fielding had done anything to Alan’s body before implanting his brain’s core. Something to strengthen it in certain ways. It could just be that his brain pathways made it seem like muscle memory.
“It’s interesting to see you struggle with something,” Chal said. She laughed aloud. “I don’t mean that I like to watch you having a difficult time.”
“Sure you don’t.”
“Just that it’s very intriguing to watch you learn in different ways.”
“Well, it is a little more fun,” Alan said. “I like a challenge.”
“This has already been challenging enough,” Chal said. “Right now I’d like a break.”
Once they had straightened out into an easy course, she let her attention drift to the coastline. The beach was already far away, a thin line of gold under the dark trees. The sunlight warmed her skin. She yawned, covering her mouth with one hand.
“You should go nap a while,” Alan said. “Take a break.”
“Oh, so you think you can handle the boat by yourself already?” Chal asked. She was sleepy.
“I’ll yell if I need you.”
“Here,” Chal said, handing the Spanish dictionary to him. “You can start learning if you get bored. Catalan isn’t that different from Spanish.”
Alan caught her wrist, enveloping her hand in his. Chal felt a pulse of desire run through her body.
“Thank you, Chal,” Alan said. His voice was warm, caring, and Chal felt herself retreat involuntarily at the display of affection, stamping down the feeling that was threatening to take her over. She had been growing closer and closer to Alan, but hadn’t stopped to realize the implications of her feelings. Now she was faced with the depth of emotion that he had woken up inside of Chal. It frightened her.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and retreated to the side of the boat where she curled up under a large towel, a large floppy hat resting loosely atop her head.
Stockholm syndrome. In the airplane she had thought about pretending to be the victim, but as she considered it now she grew more worried that she might have become an unwitting captor. What right did she have to take Alan to Catalonia? What right did she have to make these plans, to lead him off into a strange place, to make him dependent on her?
Her stomach turned as she realized that his affection for her might simply be a result of his fear and dependence. There was nothing there between them, nothing real.
Chal suddenly felt lonelier than ever. She bit down on the feeling, not wanting to let weakness change her mind. It was impossible that they should go on like this; she should have realized that earlier. When they arrived in Catalonia, she would help Alan become independent and then she would let him go where he wished. Before then, she would simply have to stamp out any spark that flared up between them.
Thus decided, Chal settled down under the towel to sleep. Her heart was hollow, but her mind was made up. She ignored the tears that leaked from the corners of her eyes, hiding them from Alan with the towel over her head. It was tiredness, she told herself, that made her weep. Nothing more.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
When she woke, the air had a chill to it and the sky was a dark gray. The stars were just beginning to become visible in the dusky sky and the coast was a blurred darkness in the distance.
“Despiertate,” Alan said, seeing her stir under the towel. “Buenas noches.” He tossed the Spanish dictionary to the side of the boat.
“Mmm,” Chal murmured, pulling the hat off of her head. Her brain was a little fuzzy to be speaking Spanish at the moment. She checked the old GPS unit installed inside the cabin.
“How are we doing?” Alan called down.
“Twenty-six miles,” Chal said, slapping the GPS panel. The reading was jumping back and forth, but stopped flickering when Chal thumped it hard with her fist. “Make that twenty-two. Damn useless box.”
“Is that good?” Alan asked.
“Not bad. We’ll make it in four days if the wind keeps up. Or less, if this reading is correct,” she said, laughing at the GPS. “It says we’re doing fifteen knots right now.”
“How fast is that?” Alan asked.
“If we were going fifteen knots you wouldn’t be wearing that hat, sailor,” Chal said, flicking the brim of Alan’s cap with her finger. He grinned. “Right now we’re going maybe five.”
“Bueno. So what are we doing for the night, capitan?” Alan said.
Chal peered toward the coast.
“We should anchor closer to shore,” she said. She was nervous that the coast guard would see them, but there was no getting around it. “I think we can keep sailing for a while, then find a cove to stop in.”
Her stomach gurgled.
“Hungry?” Alan asked.
“Incredibly,” Chal said. It had been hours since she had had anything to eat.
“Take the helm and I’ll make something,” Alan said.
“I can do it,” Chal said. A shadow of guilt passed over her face.
“No, let me get up,” Alan said. “Coast to my right, ocean to my left. I’m sick of this beautiful view!”
Chal sat down, taking the tiller from him, and he quickly made his way down into the cabin. Chal settled back. She shouldn’t f
eel guilty. It wasn’t her fault that they had had to escape together, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was his captor, even now.
The view was beautiful, though, and though the sun’s last glow soon disappeared, the smell of frying onions greeted her from the cabin, making her stomach gurgle even louder.
“I heard that!” Alan said, bringing out two plates. The ocean swells rolled the boat, but he kept his footing while balancing the plates on his arm. “Here, take these.”
The fish was deliciously fresh and smelled divine, and Chal could not help eating even though it was sizzling hot. There were onions and diced potatoes on the side, and they fell to with an appetite borne as much from relief as from hunger.
“Our first real meal together,” Alan said, once their plates were both clear. He tossed the fishbones over the side of the boat.
“Cheers,” Chal said, raising the plastic cup of white wine that Alan had poured for both of them.
“Cheers,” Alan replied, taking a sip of his wine and grimacing. “This is strange stuff.”
“You get used to it,” Chal said. She had to remember that he was new to this. New to everything.
They finished their wine and Alan stood up, laughing at the dizziness he felt. He cleared the plates and washed up as Chal steered them closer to the coast. It would be time to stop soon, and she wanted to find suitable cover for their boat.
“They’re incredible,” Alan said, staring up at the sky.
“Hmm?” Chal asked.
“The stars,” Alan said, pointing up. Chal leaned back. The sky was full of light, the Milky Way painted brightly across the sky.
“Amazing,” Chal said. She had lived in big cities for so long she had forgotten how beautiful the night sky could be when untainted by light pollution.
“Are they really millions and millions of miles away?” Alan asked.
Chal nodded. “Sometimes I forget how small we are compared to everything.”
“Speak for yourself,” Alan said, flexing his muscles and grinning. “I’m a big, strong man.”
Chal’s lip turned up, but she stopped herself from laughing.
“This is wonderful,” Alan said. He moved closer to Chal, letting his arm fall over her shoulder. Chal tensed up, her body responding in two wildly disparate ways. She couldn’t do this to him. But as he squeezed closer to her, she couldn’t help but feel herself ache with the desire to lean into him, to give herself over to the electric thrills of lust that were racing through her system.
“I’ve got to get the anchor ready,” Chal said, standing up abruptly. “We’re heading toward that cove, right before the peninsula.”
“Sure,” Alan said. He sounded surprised and Chal turned away so that she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. No use getting close. She went below deck and poured herself another cup of wine, drinking it quickly. All of the conflicting feelings inside of her were blurred by the alcohol, and she steeled herself. No use.
They arrived at the cove in minutes and Chal busied herself with the anchor line. There was a Spanish flag in one of the cabinets below deck and she hung it up alongside the Portuguese flag. Good nautical manners, although she hoped there would be nobody around to see the flags anyway. Better safe than sorry, she thought.
The night ocean was smooth, with only soft swells rippling through the cove. The boat rocked slightly as Chal lay down. The wine had made her head fuzzy.
Alan came down into the cabin, his silhouette framed by the moonlight. He took off his shirt and Chal could see the gleam of the small scar on his chest. She closed her eyes. The thoughts that were running through her head were not at all what she wanted to be thinking.
“Chal?” His voice was close to her and she felt his body moving the cushioning beside her. She turned away, terrified about the changes that his presence had on her. Her heart was racing and she could not think of anything except the man who was in the darkness with her.
“Chal, did I do something wrong?”
The silence hung in the air, and Chal felt a lump in her throat. She coughed slightly to clear it.
“No,” she said, the word scratching as it came out quietly.
“Good,” he said. He lay beside her and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close. She opened her mouth to protest, but his body was pressed tight against her and she felt the words evaporate as soon as they were on her tongue. What could she say?
He enveloped her completely in his embrace, and the heat that swept through her at his touch only made her more flustered. He seemed completely at ease beside her, his skin radiating heat through the thin sheet of her dress. His breath was hot against her neck and she shivered at the ache of desire that it brought on. She wanted to turn around and press her lips hard against his, run her hands through his hair, take him into her.
He took her shiver for coldness and held her tighter. Even in such dire straits, under chase, far away from anything and anyone she knew, Chal had never felt so safe. It was as though his arms were protecting her from the world. Despite herself, she leaned back into his embrace.
“Buenas noches,” he murmured, his lips moving her hair. She closed her eyes and let her body relax against his. Soon they were both asleep, the boat rocking them in with the inexorable movement of the sea.
***
It was on the third day that they were stopped by the coast guard.
Chal had been keeping Alan at arm’s length during the day, although she had given into his comfort both nights that they had slept together in the small cabin. The small touches and caresses that he gave her were hard to ignore, but Chal was focused on getting them to Catalonia, and she pretended that any longing she felt would soon pass.
That day, though, they had dropped their sails to take a swim in the ocean. They were only a day’s sailing or so from freedom, and Chal thought they could spare a few minutes to rest. Alan stayed close to the boat just in case the wind picked up. He was like a little boy, doing cannonballs off of the deck and splashing in pure enjoyment of the ocean.
Chal lay on her back, letting herself drift on top of the warm Atlantic waters. Her hair was like white gold after being in the sun for only a few days, and although she had taken care not to let her skin burn, the water was still a relief on her sun-kissed body.
She felt so small, floating there in the gentle swells. Her legs kicked slowly, propelling her through the waves. She heard Alan’s voice through the water as though from far away.
“Chal!” He was calling her name. She looked up lazily and saw him leaning over the other side of the boat. He was looking at something. He came back over to her side and motioned to her.
“Chal!” She could hear the urgency in his voice now, and as she began to swam closer to the boat she heard the motor of the other vessel approaching, although it was still blocked from her sight.
She swam up to the front of the boat, peering around. It was the Spanish Coast Guard, and they were close.
“Here,” Alan said, slipping the snorkeling gear over the side of the boat. Chal caught the mask and snorkel and put it on quickly. She pressed her body against the side of the hull and waited.
They had planned out what they would do if they were stopped by the Coast Guard, but Chal still felt her heart race in anticipation. All units nowadays were equipped with ID scanners, and it was routine to do an ID check at any police checkpoint in most digital nations, including routine boardings. Although it was a risk to try and conceal a person from the Guard, they had decided it was better than risk having Chal’s face come up under an ID search. And if they were looking for a couple on the run, it would be easier for Alan to pretend to be alone.
“Hola,” Alan said as the boat motored near. Chal was submerged at the front of the hull, her head just a foot or so under the water. She tracked the motion of the Guard; they were coming around their sailboat. She circled slowly around the other side, almost panicking when they continued the external inspect
ion in a complete circle, coming around the front again.
There was no time to swim to the back of the boat. Chal took a quick breath and dove under, using her hands to pull herself down along the hull. The natural buoyancy of the saltwater pulled her up, and there was one terrible moment when she felt her hand slip on the algae-covered wood. Then her fingers hooked around the side of the keel, and she pulled herself directly under the boat.
Her mask was fogged and her heart was pounding. As soon as she heard the Coast Guard’s motor shut off, she let herself float up slowly along the other side of the boat. Her lungs were burning for air, but she forced herself to emerge from the water as slowly as possible so that there wouldn’t be any splashing. She tipped her snorkel to the side, clearing out the water, then lowered herself again. Her head would just be barely visible if they leaned over the side of the boat to look. She hoped that Alan didn’t give them any reason to be suspicious.
“Hola,” Alan said again. Chal could hear the voices talking loudly in Spanish, but it was hard to make out what they were saying. She caught the word fugitivos once, and her heart stopped in her chest. The talking went on, though, and they didn’t take Alan. She was so frightened that she almost screamed when she heard a knocking right next to her ear, realizing at once that they were simply looking through the cabin under deck.
Then there was more talking on deck, and Chal heard the Coast Guard’s motor rev back up. She did not let herself exhale until the boat was out of hearing. Alan was leaning over the side of the boat looking for her when she swam out from under the hull. She reached up to the side of the boat and he lifted her out of the water as though she was weightless. In a half-second she was back on deck, Alan’s arms wrapped around her.
He kissed her, and before she could think to protest she was already kissing him back, her arms coming up around his strong back. The light wind raised chills on her skin but her body was being heated from the inside. His hands ran down her back, sliding over the curves of her hips.
Too late, she broke the kiss, her hands pressing against his broad shoulders. He was gazing at her with an expression of adoration.
