Saving Rose

by Kate Genet

  ‘Fuck you.’

  ‘You know, your language seriously deteriorates when you’re stressed.’

  ‘Double-fuck you.’

  She scanned the instruments. The water was deep, no hidden rocks. They were a couple kilometres out from the coast. No other boats on the radar. Just them, Danny with a knife at a child’s throat.

  Rose cried out then, as though she’d had enough. Shock perhaps had silenced her, but within moments, she was awake and scared, her screams muffled by the blanket tying her to her father, but loud enough.

  ‘Let me have her,’ Claire said, letting the desperation show in her voice. ‘She’s terrified.’

  The answer was a loud growl. ‘You’ve got a boat to steer. And you’re not doing a good job already.’ He swayed and stood up, groaning again. ‘Jesus, Rose, shut up.’

  ‘Let me have her,’ Claire repeated. ‘I'm not going to do anything but make sure she’s okay.’ She turned to face him. ‘It’s not like I even can do anything. You’ve got us both exactly where you want us. I can’t do anything without endangering us all.’

  ‘And you won’t do that because you actually care about Rose, don’t you?’

  ‘She’s a little girl,’ Claire answered.

  ‘She’s my little girl, so you better remember that.’

  Danny took a staggering step towards her and loomed over her, the knife gleaming once again in his hand.

  76

  ‘What are you doing?’ Claire asked.

  ‘Giving you what you want,’ he said, stumbling as the boat rocked under them. ‘And you’d better fucking hurry up and help me.’ He waved the knife. ‘Because I'm getting tired of this whole thing, and when I get tired, I run out of patience.’

  The space in the wheelhouse was claustrophobic and Claire gripped the helm seat with fingernails that dug into the cheap vinyl. Rose screamed, fighting the blanket that bound her to her father, a small fist finding its way out and waving wildly in the red light.

  ‘I don’t know what you want,’ Claire said, watching Danny’s larger fist grip the knife. It was waving at her too.

  ‘Take her, goddamnit.’

  ‘What?’ For a moment, Claire didn’t understand. ‘What?’ she repeated.

  ‘Take her for fuck’s sakes. Untie the fucking sling.’ She saw his eyes glint within the dark shadows of his face and he narrowed them at her. ‘And do it fucking fast.’

  Her hands fumbled at the knot at his side. ‘Shh, baby,’ she said in an attempt to calm Rose. ‘Hush, love. I’ve got you.’

  The knot came free and the child tumbled backwards. Claire caught her, an armful of thrashing, screaming child.

  ‘Tie the sling around yourself.’

  Claire had fallen back into the chair at the helm. She stared up at him.

  ‘Do it!’ The knife turned up again, this time pressing its point against her own cheek. She could see it from the corner of her eye, felt its cold edge against the heat of her skin.

  ‘Strap her onto you, then get back to steering the bloody boat!’ His arm jerked, and she felt the pin prick of the blade.

  ‘All right!’ she yelled. ‘Get that fucking thing out of my face so I can do it.’ Her arms were full holding the child.

  He backed away, triumph hardening the planes of his face and she hoisted Rose up in her lap until the child’s little face was against hers.

  ‘Hush my love,’ she whispered into Rose’s ear. ‘It’s all right, sweetheart. I’ve got you now.’ The little girl was hot and wet, her clothes soiled, but Claire held her close anyway, whispering soothing words.

  ‘Hurry up.’

  ‘I'm doing it,’ Claire hissed back. She smoothed the blanket back around Rose, hooked it awkwardly over her shoulder like she’d seen Danny do, and somehow managed a knot at Rose’s hip. She swallowed, realising what Danny had done.

  She now had Rose, but he was the one free to move around.

  ‘What now?’ she asked.

  ‘What now?’ he repeated. ‘You get us down the coast. There’s a nice little town not too far south and when we get there, you’ll have the pleasure of never seeing me again.

  It almost sounded reasonable. ‘You’ll leave Rose with me?’

  He laughed, although it had a greasy, sick sound to it. ‘Not a chance in hell.’

  Not reasonable at all. Claire hugged Rose to her and kissed the sweaty head of curls. Rose whimpered against her chest.

  Back to the original plan, then. Such as it was. Getting her bearings again, Claire adjusted the helm, turning the boat straight into the swell, sending Danny staggering and swearing against the wheelhouse wall behind her.

  ‘Can’t you fucking get this sailing better?’

  She kept her grim smile to herself. Adjusted again and another wave smacked them square on the beam. A glance down at Rose and she saw twin wide eyes staring up at her.

  ‘It’s going to be all right, sweetheart,’ she whispered. ‘We’ll have you home before you know it.’

  ‘Pilot,’ Rose whispered. ‘I want my doggy.’ Her fingers crept into her mouth.

  ‘You can see him as soon as I can arrange it, okay?’ She smiled down at Rose and hoped that would be real soon. At least the little girl wasn’t seasick. She was terribly pale, but that was currently better than green.

  Which was the interesting shade her father had turned.

  ‘You all right, Danny?’ Claire asked, looking his way.

  He didn’t reply. On his feet again, he took a step, swayed wildly for a moment as another wave beat against the boat, then fell to his knees. With a satisfying gargling sound, he crawled out of the wheelhouse and a moment later, Claire heard sounds of retching.

  It was what she’d been waiting for.

  77

  Claire looked down at Rose and swallowed, her throat dry.

  There was no choice but to make a move. Here was the opportunity.

  They were further out to sea now, the waves bigger, the boat shuddering and complaining under the weight of them. She stuck the engines in neutral.

  ‘Okay, Rose,’ she said, hands going to the knot she’d just tied. ‘Nothing for it, sweet girl. We’re going to do this.’ Her heart thumped against ribs that felt suddenly fragile, but she made no move to stop, her gaze sweeping forward to the tiny berth there.

  The knot came undone and then she was moving, breathing heavily, but calm, legs steady. Dropping down into a crouch, she grabbed a cushion, laid it on the floor of the berth, slipped Rose down to lie on it, pulling the blanket tight around her, tucking another cushion beside her.

  ‘I’ll be back,’ she promised, then backed out, shut the door so that the latch clicked, and turned, striding through the wheelhouse, stopping for a moment just before stepping out on to the aft deck.

  She’d seen what she needed earlier, but she would have known it would be there anyway. Every boat she’d been on carried them. Unhooking the fire extinguisher, she hefted it experimentally.

  If she swung right, it would work. She stepped out into the cockpit and the wind whipped her hair into her eyes.

  He was leaning over the side, panting. The moon twitched behind high clouds and the waves pitched the boat under her feet. She edged closer, lifting her arms, ready to swing, knowing she’d only get the one chance, willing to do it anyway, wanting this whole thing over already, wanting for the first time in her life to be back on land, warm, dry, drinking coffee.

  For Rose, she thought, angling herself for the best swing, the metal already wet in her hands with spume. It was heavy enough, not large, but heavy enough, if she got it right.

  He moved as she swung, the red metal extinguisher barrelling through the air towards his head. But he moved, and it hit a glancing blow on his shoulder instead. She heard the smack, the crunch of metal against skin and bone, felt it as the blow juddered up her own arms and she let the fire extinguisher fall, stumbling backwards.

  But she hadn’t hit his head. The wind picked up his startled, hurt scream and threw i
t away over the ocean, leaving him gripping his shoulder and staring at her.

  Then they dropped their eyes, both of them, and it was a matter of who was quicker, who was sure-footed as the boat pitched and rolled under them. The knife gleamed wet, full of sharp, dangerous promises. Claire stared at it only a second, then dived for it, flinging her slight body forward, angling in under Danny.

  But he was feinting, and instead of diving down for it, scrabbling on the wet deck for it with his one good arm while the other dangled stunned and useless from his shoulder, he simply lifted his leg and stomped his foot down on the knife.

  And on Claire’s fingers. She squealed, not hearing her own cry of pain over the crashing sea and fell backwards, yanking her hand out from under his shoe.

  He was yelling something, but she couldn’t hear him, was too busy scrambling backwards, trying to get her feet back under her, teetering there for a moment then blessedly, wonderfully, finding her balance.

  But even while she gained her feet, she knew he was bending down, picking up the knife, extending the blade so that it too would gleam in the static of the moon.

  Then she heard him roar and there was a rush of cold air as he lunged for her and she knew the knife was slicing a path through the sky towards her, its cold blade aching to bite into her skin, unzip her from it like she was a piece of cold, wet fabric.

  78

  She did the only thing she could.

  The blade came toward her and she stepped into his arms, wrapping her own around him, feeling the heaving of his chest, the heat of his breath in her ear, hugging herself to him as though they were lovers about to dance, and as the boat pitched again, she jerked with it, holding on, sucking in one last, deep breath and a prayer, because they were falling, she felt the rail at her knee, felt them toppling over it, gravity pulling them down over the side of the boat, cartwheeling them into the water while she held on to him, held on as though he could save her.

  The sea grabbed them, drew them down, explosively cold and rough-handed.

  Everything was black, and Claire didn’t even try to open her eyes. She moved without thinking, the planning she’d had time for already done in the seconds spent falling.

  She felt the shudder of impact in Danny’s body and pushed herself away from him, clutching only one hand in the front of his shirt, then his pants with the other hand, slithering downwards until she was gripping his ankles, kicking in the darkness, pulling him down, farther and farther down, holding onto him with every ounce of strength, all the determination and anger she’d been collecting since Zoe had died.

  And there was plenty of that.

  Her lungs screamed and still she held on, head spinning, feeling Danny flailing in the water, thrashing, uncoordinated above her. She held on until she saw stars bloom underwater, until there was only time to push away, kicking like a fish towards the surface.

  Silvered night fell down on her and she gasped the wet air into pounding lungs, tilting her head toward the clouds, listening to the swish and thump of blood between her ears and trying to convince her body it had an air supply again.

  She fought against the black waves, feeling the cold now, the shock of it against limbs and chest, and looked wildly around for Danny.

  There was no sign of him. No pale hand waving above the surge of the waves. Just the heaving sea and above it the night spreading clouded wings over her. Spitting out a mouthful of water, she kicked out, moving away, watchful, listening for the boat.

  There was only the sound of the sea sucking at her and she shook her head, wet hair whipping raw skin. Somewhere there was the boat. Over there maybe, that dark shadow. A swell picked her up and dumped her down again and she lost sight of everything.

  She listened harder and heard it – the low grumble of diesel engines and never, she thought, had there been a sweeter sound. A sound to guide her home.

  Just the wind and waves and the sound of twin engines on a boat that got closer and closer as she swam towards it.

  Only a little further, she thought, looking behind her, convinced suddenly something had reached out and touched her foot. Someone. Danny, his hand about to clamp around her own ankle. There was nothing there and it was just a little farther to safety, to Rose, to heading into shore, getting warm, dry, Rose safe. Her feet kicked out against the waves and she kept swimming, every moment expecting Danny to erupt from the water beside behind her, in front of her, to grab her, drag her under the way she had him, holding her there until her lungs screamed, gave in, breathed water.

  But he never appeared, and the boat loomed over her instead. The taste of salt in her mouth, she swam around to the stern, looking for the emergency steps that had to be there.

  She found them, waited for the sea to send the stern of the boat dipping down, then launched herself at them, using almost the last reserves of her strength to climb back onto the deck.

  The boat caught her, let her sprawl panting aboard her and she lay there a moment before sitting up, standing, looking out over the ocean, using the skittish moonlight to scan the waves, looking for Danny.

  There was no sign of him and her mind quietened, hushed, calmed.

  She unhooked the life ring and threw it over the side into the sea. Perhaps he’d find it. If he wasn’t spread-eagled under the water, eyes staring at nothing. Blinking, she looked away.

  Then headed for the wheelhouse to turn on the VHF and get Rose.

  It was time to go home.

  79

  Moana had insisted on going along, climbing on board the Navy rescue boat daring anyone to tell her she couldn’t.

  ‘There’s a child,’ she said, and they’d looked at her, all competence and authority, but none of them had said any different, finding her a place to sit out of the way, handing her a life vest. One of the women had even grinned when the story had gone around of how Moana had gotten herself out of the car boot.

  Now she sat hugging herself, listening to the chatter of voices, the powerful engines, the slap and hiss of the waves, and waited for them to find the boat. Back on shore, she’d organised everything there as well, calling the Wildes, and they’d been down at the dock straight away, calming the dog, looking worriedly out to sea. Frank Wilde had wanted to get in the boat too, but there the line had been drawn. Let the professionals do the job.

  She hunched over further, feeling the chill as the wind gusted against the boat. Her phone was still clenched in her fist. It had been a very long conversation she’d had with Superintendent Bryce, most of it a breathless recitation of facts on her part, and a ponderous disapproval on his. But he’d grasped it all quickly, and here she was on a boat searching the waves for Danny Fry. The fact that it had turned into a hostage situation made her stomach watery.

  ‘We’ve found them!’

  She looked up, trying to find the owner of the voice. The woman who had grinned at her earlier nodded at her. ‘The vessel is in radio contact with us,’ she said.

  Moana stared at her. ‘Vessel? Danny Fry?’

  The woman was listening to another conversation. She turned back and shook her head. ‘No. Fry went overboard.’ Her eyes were wide in the dim light. Moana felt her mouth drop open.

  ‘Overboard?’

  ‘So we’ve been told, yes.’

  ‘And the child?’

  ‘She is fine.’

  Moana closed her eyes, the tension finally draining from neck and shoulders. ‘What happens now?’ she asked.

  ‘We will take possession of the vessel and bring it in to be impounded.’

  She shook her head, impatient. ‘I don’t give a hoot about the boat,’ she said. ‘Claire and Rose?’

  ‘Oh.’ The woman had the good sense to look abashed. ‘They will come aboard here where we can provide emergency first aid if necessary.’

  ‘And take them straight to the hospital.’

  ‘To a waiting ambulance, yes.’

  Moana looked down at her phone, turning it in its blue case over in her hands. A few minu
tes later, she’d talked to Frank and Gracie Wilde, told them the good news.

  Claire’s hair hung lank and wet around eyes dark and bruised, but lucid. She stepped onto the boat and straight away saw Moana standing there. A smile touched her lips then she looked down at the blanketed bundle in her arms.

  ‘You’re bleeding,’ Moana said, seeing the seeping red stain against Claire’s ribs.

  Claire looked down. ‘And cold, and wet.’

  A blanket was thrown around her shoulders.

  ‘But safe,’ said Moana.

  ‘Yes.’ One of the Navy officers wanted to take Rose from her, but Claire shook her head. ‘Not without me.’ She went to follow him.

  Moana reached out and touched the wet cloth at Claire’s elbow. ‘Danny,’ she said. ‘Is he...?’

  Her eyes suddenly distant, Claire shrugged. ‘Dead? I don’t know.’ She looked like she wanted to say something else but hesitated.

  ‘I hope so,’ she said a second later.

  80

  Finally, everything was quiet. Claire stretched in the hospital chair and looked over at the bed. Rose’s eyes were open, and Claire was startled suddenly at how like Zoe’s they were.

  ‘Hey, sweet pea,’ she whispered. ‘What are you doing awake?’

  The little girl didn’t reply, simply continued staring at Claire. Her tiny fingers opened and closed around the blanket the nurse had pulled up over her.

  Claire got up on stiff legs and walked the couple steps to the bed, laid down beside Rose and tucked herself onto the bed, looking at the wee girl, hiding her wince as the neat row of stitches in her side pulled at the tender skin. Danny had cut her with his knife after all.

  But Rose had only a shallow scratch from the knife her father had held at her throat. On the surface, anyway. Claire was sure there would be scarring in other ways.