He screamed again, still trying to pull himself up on the remnant of the boat, and then he stopped and juddered in the water as though in the grip of seizure. Like the lifeboat, something in him cracked, then he vanished below the water, swift as a hanged man down the throat of the gallows. The crystal blue Caribbean waters blossomed with crimson.
“Swim!” Tori shouted, standing up in her own lifeboat. “Chief, swim for it!”
Boggs had been staring along with the rest of them, but they were near the shore and he was bobbing out there in the gap amidst the graveyard of ships. Shaken from his entrancement by Tori’s voice, or Mitchell’s blood on the water, he turned and started kicking for the nearest derelict ship.
Pang and Bone were shouting for Boggs to swim as well. Tori tore her eyes away from the Chief and looked at Kevonne, who stared back as they shared a sudden realization. He lunged for the starter, got the motor coughing, and grabbed the throttle.
“Gabe!” Tori yelled.
But the captain could not look away from the sight of Boggs frantically thrashing in the water. Tori glanced that way, saw a ripple on the surface of the water, and knew that whatever had dragged Mitchell down was now aiming for Boggs.
The Chief reached the wrecked cabin cruiser. He grabbed hold of the frame of a shattered window and hauled himself out of the sea, got his footing on a railing and climbed higher on a ladder of empty window frames. Only then did he turn and stare down at the water.
The third man, not-Mitchell, never emerged from the overturned ruin of the lifeboat. The ripple in the water vanished, whatever had caused it swimming deeper or falling still.
“Gabe!” Tori screamed. The captain snapped his head around to stare at her. “Get back on shore!”
Kevonne throttled up and the lifeboat roared toward the beach. They’d only drifted a dozen feet from the island, but Kevonne gunned the motor and drove the boat right up onto the sand. Tori collided with Pang as they hit the beach. Bone leaped out, jumping around, clutching at his head with both hands like it might break apart.
“Come on,” Tori said, grabbing Kevonne’s hand.
Pang scrambled so madly to get out of the lifeboat that he fell over the edge, splashing in the shallows. When he came up, spitting water, his sunglasses had fallen off, revealing his terrified eyes. Tori and Kevonne jumped after him.
Gabe slogged to shore, eyes wide with some mix of fear and fury.
“What the hell are you doing?” the captain screamed at Kevonne. Then he looked at Tori. “Get back in the fucking lifeboat.”
“Are you crazy?” Tori snapped, heart racing, face flushed. “Didn’t you see what just happened? Something’s out there!”
Gabe rounded on her. “No shit. I’m not fucking blind. But we can’t just stay here. If we don’t get back to the Antoinette, we’re as good as dead.”
“What?” Kevonne said. “Why? We’re on land, Captain. That thing, whatever it is, that’s in the water. No, man, we gotta stay here, figure something out. We got guns. We got—“
“So did the crew from the Mariposa,” Gabe said, his words clipped and his eyes cold. “And where are they?”
Silently, all five of them turned to look out to sea—at the graveyard of ships, and at Hank Boggs, stranded amongst the wrecks, and at the Antoinette, which sat waiting for them less than half a mile offshore.
~41~
Rogan hated going down into the bowels of a ship, with the engines and boilers, the sweat and the heat, close around him. He never visited Angie when she was on duty belowdecks, and was glad that she had never asked him why. How could he admit to her that it frightened him? More than frightened him, really. With the metal closing around him and the water beyond that, he felt as though he would be crushed. Once, while visiting New York, he’d been trapped for over an hour on a broken elevator. Panic had closed off his throat and amped up his adrenaline so that he thought he was suffocating and having a heart attack, all at the same time. But he’d been claustrophobic long before that elevator ride.
He followed Tupper down the metal steps into the engine room. His eardrums were unused to the noise level and he winced as it pressed around him. The heat embraced him, but Rogan clenched his jaw and kept moving, down through the engine room, out into another corridor, and then into the boiler room, where humidity blanketed him in an instant.
“Tupper!” he barked.
The engineer had gotten ten feet ahead of him, but turned now, wide-eyed and anxious. “Come on, man.”
Rogan wiped sweat from his forehead, then ran both hands through his red hair, spiking it, wishing for a shower. “Tell me again what we’re doing down here? ‘Cause I’ll tell you, boyo, you seem like you’ve gone off your rocker.”
Off your rocker. One of his Gram’s favorite sayings, from back when he was a boy. Stress had a way of making him regress, and always had, as though subconsciously he wished he could go back to a simpler time. Rogan figured everybody felt that way sometimes.
The suggestion pissed Tupper off. The engineer narrowed his eyes, nostrils flaring. If they were in a bar, Rogan would have thought he was squaring off for a fight.
“Haven’t you been listening to a word I said?” Tupper demanded.
“A bit difficult when you’re muttering half of it.”
Tupper squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. When he opened them, he spoke with barely controlled anger. Yet Rogan thought the anger itself was a kind of control, and what it held the reins on was fear.
“Look, the whole ship’s on edge,” Tupper said. “I get that. But you’ve gotta listen to me, man. Better yet, don’t listen to me. Listen to the ship.”
Rogan hesitated. Even the arch of an eyebrow right now might be enough to set Tupper off, and he really didn’t relish the idea of a fistfight down here. As it was he had to force himself to keep his breathing steady, keep his heart from racing, and he wasn’t succeeding completely. But Tupper was really losing it.
“Listen to the ship?” Rogan said, carefully.
Tupper rolled his eyes. “Fuck! I’m not crazy, Rogan. Come over here.”
He stepped into a narrow space between two large boiler tanks. Rogan started to follow, then froze. The gap held only shadows, not even wide enough for light to pass through. The boilers hummed. His hands clenched into fists and his throat felt tight. He managed to swallow, then took a long, labored breath.
“Rogan!” Tupper called from the darkness.
Rogan took a step back instead of forward. Yet in the space of long seconds, he heard a loud thump. He frowned, distracted by the sound. It came again and he stepped forward.
“Tupper?”
The engineer popped out of the narrow space, and Rogan jerked backward, startled. The thump came a third and fourth time, in rapid succession, muffled but still echoing low and deep in the boiler room.
“There. Did you hear it?”
Rogan nodded. “What the hell is that? Is something wrong with the boilers?”
“No, man. It’s not the boilers. That’s what I’m telling you.”
Then the engineer’s rant came back to him, his mutterings about something in the water, banging on the hull.
“That’s coming from outside?” Rogan asked, incredulous, as he pushed past Tupper and slid between the boilers. His skin crawled and panic threatened, but he kept on.
“Damn right it is,” Tupper said, right behind him. “Something’s knocking. And it wants to come in.”
Past the boilers, Rogan stopped, waiting, thinking for a second that the sound wouldn’t come again, that Tupper had been wrong and it really was something to do with the engines and the boilers. And how the hell would they get out of here if the boilers exploded?
He laid his hands on the inner surface of the hull.
The knock came again, louder than ever, and he jumped back. “Jesus!”
“What do you think it is?” Tupper asked.
Rogan stared at his palms, which still tingled from contact with the metal. He ba
cked away further, pushed past Tupper, slid quickly between the boilers, and quickened his pace as he threaded back through the Antoinette’s heart.
“Dude!” Tupper called, rushing to catch up with him, keeping pace just behind him. “What do you think that is?”
Rogan still didn’t answer. He hadn’t a clue what could be banging on the Antoinette’s hull, but he had the terrible feeling Tupper was right; it wanted in. And no way did he want to be trapped in the narrow labyrinth belowdecks if it got its wish.
~42~
Angie sat beside Suarez, up in the wheelhouse, looking out over the hundreds of metal containers stacked on the deck in front of them, and at the ocean beyond. Every few seconds she caught herself glancing to the right, where the windows offered a view of the island and the ruined, sunken ships that clustered around it. But Suarez never wavered. His focus remained on the radar screen, where the image continued to refresh, scanning for any approaching ships. She had thought that he would ask her why she had remained when Rogan had gone below, but Suarez seemed content to ignore her. Eventually, Angie couldn’t stand the silence.
“Aren’t you scared at all?” she asked.
The old Cuban cocked his head to one side and looked at her. “Pardon me?”
“I mean, you just sit there looking at the radar, calm as anything. We could go to prison. The FBI is probably moving in on us right now. And what happened to the guys with the guns, anyway? ‘Cause it sounds like a clusterfuck. That doesn’t make you nervous?”
Angie hadn’t meant to ramble on like that. She only wanted to make conversation, to set Suarez at ease with her presence, hoping he’d step away from the command console and the wheel long enough for her to grab the PLB and set off the beacon. But her fear came tumbling out in the form of words.
Suarez raised his eyebrows. When he smiled, she realized it was the first time she had ever seen any expression at all on his face.
“You gotta be serene, Angela,” Suarez said.
She blinked in surprise. “So you’re a wise old man, now?”
“Not so old,” he said. And maybe he wasn’t at that. The white hair and his innate gravity gave him the appearance of being sixty or more, but his eyes were bright and alive and his skin not so deeply lined. He might actually have been no more than fifty.
“I think serene’s out of reach for me right now,” she admitted.
“Then pray,” Suarez told her.
Angie arched an eyebrow, surprised, but then it occurred to her that she really knew nothing at all about the man.
“You’ve never heard of the serenity prayer?”
She shook her head.
“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
A smile stole across her face. “See? You are a wise old man.”
Suarez chuckled. “Don’t push your luck with that ‘old’ business.”
But while they joked about it, the words of the serenity prayer were working their way into Angie’s heart and mind. Suarez wanted her to surrender herself to some higher power, to accept that their situation was not only completely fucked, but totally out of their control. Maybe that was true for him, but not for her. She had already taken steps to change her circumstances, and serenity be damned.
“Thanks,” she said. “I’m not so afraid anymore.”
“My pleasure.”
He nodded, but his attention had returned to the radar screen. Angie glanced past him at the PLB, and knew the time had come. Single-minded and loyal, Suarez would not be easily distracted, which called for a more direct approach. With real regret, she looked around the wheelhouse for something to hit him with. If she knocked him out, she could set off the beacon and then go find somewhere to hide until the FBI showed up. There were a hundred little corners she could hole up in belowdecks, around the ballast tanks and boilers and engines. She could hide in a lifeboat, maybe even find a place amongst the containers out on the deck, or slip into an unlocked one.
A metal fire extinguisher hung by the door. The moment she laid her eyes on it, Angie felt a pang of regret. Her hands already began to cringe away from the action. But thoughts of prison could overcome a great deal of reluctance, and she forced herself out of the seat.
“I’ll see you later,” she said. “Thanks.”
Suarez only grunted, barely glancing up to acknowledge her departure.
Angie walked toward the door. Halfway there, she froze, as Miguel Rio appeared on the landing outside the wheelhouse. He spotted her and frowned as he yanked the door open and stepped inside.
“What are you doing up here?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be off banging Rogan somewhere?”
A rush of anger flooded through her and Angie gratefully let it carry her away. This was familiar territory.
“Fuck you. Who woke you up on the asshole side of bed this morning?” she snapped, cocking her head and crossing her arms, daring him to fight back.
Miguel took a deep breath, shaking his head, then stopped himself from saying whatever he wanted.
“Sorry. Just freaking out a little.”
“We all are,” Angie said, forcing herself to put on a face that would pass as forgiveness, when what she wanted to do was lash out at the Chief Mate. How would she get hold of the PLB now? It wasn’t as though she could knock them both out, and when would she have another chance to get to the beacon?
The awkward moment stretched out between them. Eventually, Angie relented.
“I guess I’d better—“
Someone began shouting outside the wheelhouse. Miguel frowned and turned away from her, hauling the door open. Angie glanced back at Suarez, who’d looked up from the radar screen at last. Then the shouting came again, and this time she knew who that voice belonged to.
“Rogan?”
Miguel stepped out onto the landing and Angie followed, practically colliding with him as she rushed out. They hung over the railing and looked down to see Rogan hustling up the last flight of stairs to reach the wheelhouse.
“What’s the matter with you?” Miguel asked as Rogan arrived on the landing.
Rogan bent over, one hand up to gesture for patience as he caught his breath. “Down in the boiler room…something’s banging…on the hull.”
Angie didn’t think she had ever seen Rogan frightened, but he looked scared now.
“What do you mean?” she asked. “Someone’s—“
“Not from the inside,” Rogan said, his frantic eyes silencing her. He turned to Miguel. “There’s something in the water, Miguel. It’s ramming against the ship.”
“Something what? Like a shark?” Miguel asked. “Or you think we got FBI divers down there?”
Rogan steadied his breathing and leaned back against the railing. He’d settled down a bit now, but he still looked spooked. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead.
“It’s not the FBI. But there’s something down there, that’s for sure.”
Miguel ran a hand through his hair. Angie had always thought him good-looking—though never as good-looking as Miguel obviously considered himself—but he looked like crap now. Too much stubble, not enough sleep. He must have been a competent first mate, but in that moment it was clear that Gabe Rio had been made captain over Miguel by virtue of more than being the older brother.
“All right, listen—“ Miguel started.
Only to be interrupted by distant shouts.
“What the hell is that?” Angie said.
All three of them turned toward the island. Standing just outside the wheelhouse, they were high enough to see over the derelict ships half-sunken in the water around the island. One of the lifeboats had made it partway through the maze of wrecks, but it had overturned.
As they watched, a sailor tried to grab hold of the overturned lifeboat. He screamed, attempting to haul himself up, then somehow the lifeboat broke apart in his hands.
“Jesus Christ,” Rogan muttered,
his brogue emerging.
The sailor vanished beneath the water.
“Did something just…” Miguel began, but trailed off, as though unwilling to finish the thought.
“Pull him down?” Angie said. “That’s what it looked like.”
Rogan seemed to shrink, leaning on the railing for support. “Told you, man. Something’s in the water. And not just out there. It’s right here, too. Around us.”
They watched Hank Boggs pull himself out of the water onto a sunken cabin cruiser, and saw Gabe and Tori and a few others scramble back onto shore from the other lifeboat. For perhaps a minute, the three of them said nothing.
Then Suarez opened the door behind them. “Miguel. Radio.”
Angie could hear the static crackling inside. Miguel took one last look toward the island, then hurried into the wheelhouse. Suarez stayed out there with Angie and Rogan, and as the door swung shut behind Miguel, they watched the water around the broken-up lifeboat turn dark with blood.
“Lord help them,” Suarez muttered.
Angie agreed. If there was ever a time for prayers, it had arrived.
She ran for the stairs. Rogan called after her, wanting to know where she was going, but she didn’t slow down. They needed help, and she could only think of one way to get it. There were things she couldn’t do anything about, but she could damn well bring about change.
~43~
For twenty or thirty seconds after he’d spoken to his brother on the radio, Gabe didn’t want to be the captain anymore. His heart seemed to have shrunken in his chest, and memories flooded his mind. Maya liked to lie in bed on rainy mornings, tucked beneath his arm, her head on his chest, just listening to his heartbeat. Gabe could watch an old movie or a baseball game and she’d be entirely content just to cling to him like that. In happier times, she had always told him it made her feel safe. Protected.
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