“I’m with you, buddy.”
“We’ve only got about 15 minutes of sun left. If we haven’t found land by then, we’re going to have to wait until its completely dark.”
“Then what?”
“Hope that we see lights on the coast. Otherwise, we’ll send up some flares. We should be close enough that someone is bound to see us.”
“You do realize that if fishermen rescue us from the sea, you’re never going to live it down at work, right?” Mark asked, weakly attempting to find humor in the situation.
“Yeah. But right now, what I wouldn’t give to find some fishers of men.”
They lapsed into silence and Mark scanned the horizon anxiously as the sun began to slip beneath the waves. At last it was gone completely. With a weary sigh, Dave slowed the boat and then brought it to a stop.
“And now, we wait,” Dave said grimly.
“I know the point of these fishing trips is to relax and do as close to nothing as possible, but I’m getting really tired of just sitting and waiting and doing nothing.”
“You could always fish.”
Mark stared at Dave, but couldn’t tell whether he was trying to be funny or not. Mostly his friend just looked tired and his forehead was furrowed in pain.
“You need some more medication,” Mark said.
“Save it. I want to be alert right now.”
“How bad is the pain?”
“Don’t ask.”
“So, read any good books lately?”
Dave turned and looked at him as if he was out of his mind. “Besides the actual Good Book?”
Again, they fell silent for a few minutes. Mark kept his eyes fixed on the horizon, hoping to see lights appear. Dave kept looking around, as if he couldn’t keep his head still.
“You really think we’ll see the lights of the coast?” Mark finally asked as the sky grew darker.
“Not if the fog reaches us,” Dave said softly.
Mark felt a chill dance up his spine as he turned around and realized the fog they had left behind was now swirling toward them across the water, its wispy tentacles reaching out, ready to engulf the boat once again.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
~
Sally fell asleep clutching her phone, desperately hoping to hear more from Mark. She’d tried calling a half a dozen times before going to bed, but none of the calls had connected. She felt a sick knot in her gut as she settled down on the bed. She buried her face in his pillow, breathing in the scent of him and missing him desperately.
He’s been out on the water hundreds of times. He always comes back. Dave’s an expert pilot. They’re going to be just fine.
She recited the mantra over and over, hoping it would bring her comfort. Somehow, though, it just made her more agitated with each reiteration until she finally stopped altogether.
After what felt like forever, she drifted to sleep. She was sinking deeper and deeper. She heard Mark’s voice and she struggled to answer, but she was falling and couldn’t respond.
~
She was on a tiny raft, adrift in a sea of fog. The raft bobbed up and down in the water, which was dark and choppy. Waves splashed over the edges and she desperately tried to edge away from the water. Something terrible was lurking beneath her. She knew it, but she was too afraid to glance over the side and see for herself exactly what was there. All she knew was that it was circling her, coming closer and closer. It bumped the underside of her raft and she screamed as the one side of the raft lifted into the air, only to drop back down with a crash.
It’s going to get me.
It’s going to consume me.
There was nothing she could do. There was no one around. She could shout for help forever and no one would ever hear her.
Whatever it was slammed into the bottom of the raft again, raising it up out of the water entirely. Then the whole raft crashed down and nearly capsized. She clung to the logs of the raft, digging her fingernails into the cracks, clawing and trying to hold on.
She had to look. She had to know what was stalking her, what was trying to kill her.
In the distance she heard Mark’s voice. He was calling her. He needed her. She crawled over to the edge of the raft and gazed down into the darkness below. Then she began to scream.
7
Mark woke up with a shout, sweat dotting his brow. He’d fallen asleep in one of the chairs on deck and had a nightmare that Sally was trapped on a raft in the middle of the ocean with a monster from the depths trying to kill her. He’d shouted and shouted, trying to warn her, but it hadn’t helped.
“What’s wrong?” Dave asked sharply.
“Sorry. Bad dream. I fell asleep.”
“Unfortunately, you don’t have to fall asleep to have a bad dream.”
“What does that mean?” Mark asked.
“There’s something wrong with the ocean.” Dave’s voice was tight.
Mark hastily stood up. “What do you mean wrong?”
“Last night, I thought it must be my imagination. I haven’t gotten much sleep lately. I’ve been working too hard.”
Dave’s voice had an eeriness to it that made Mark’s hair stand on end.
“You’re sleep deprived now. And you’re in a lot of pain.”
“You think it’s just my imagination? Go ahead. I dare you. Look at the ocean.”
Mark hesitated. “I don’t want to.”
Maybe if he didn’t look at it, it would go away.
“Look!”
Mark walked to the side of the boat. He didn’t know why, but he was shaking. Hesitantly, he glanced down. The boat’s running lights were on, but the fog muted them a mere foot away from the boat.
No! It wasn’t fog.
Darkness.
He shuddered.
He looked up at the sky. Just as it had been the previous night, there was no moon. Everything was pitch black. There were no stars, either.
“We’re lost,” he said, the words escaping his lips before he even knew he was going to utter them.
“Yes.”
“I’ve spent a lot of my life on the water. So have you. Have you ever seen this…this…darkness before? Or anything even remotely like it?”
“Not until last night,” Dave said. “I should have realized then that we were in trouble.”
“You’re really freaking me out now.”
“Imagine how I feel.”
Mark moved over to the ladder. He didn’t know what he was going to do when he got to the top, but giving Dave a hard shake was at the top of his list. He was halfway up when something slammed into the boat.
He lost his grip and fell, landing with a thud on his back and knocking the breath from his lungs. He realized with a gasp that the ship was starting to tilt violently.
“We’re going to capsize!” Dave shouted.
The whole world was spinning. A wave came from out of nowhere and crashed over the top of them. Mark sucked in seawater and his lungs burned like they were on fire. He tried to cough, but more water kept slamming down on him, filling nose and mouth.
I can’t breathe!
The boat tilted harder. He could hear things slamming about down below.
We’re going over!
Another wave crested over the boat and came crashing down on top of him. He couldn’t see and he couldn’t breathe. His ears filled with a roaring sound. He had no idea where Dave was. The water stopped and he desperately gasped for a breath of air, twisting on his side as he coughed up water.
“Dave!” he screamed, his voice hoarse from the seawater. He hoped the other man hadn’t been swept overboard.
“Hold on!” Dave yelled back.
The boat spun right before another wave hit it hard. He could hear Dave on the radio.
“Mayday, mayday. This is the vessel The Guardians. We are caught in some sort of freak storm. Waves are threatening to capsize us. We can’t hold out muc
h longer. We have no idea where we are. We believe we should be close to Miami, but our navigation is out. Two men on board, one badly injured. Need help. Mayday. Can anyone hear me?”
Mark struggled to his hands and knees, only to be knocked flat on his back a moment later when another wave slammed into the ship.
“Do something!” he shouted.
“I’m trying!”
The boat lurched forward, only to be spun around again. Through it all Mark was aware of one thing, which to him was more horrific than everything else he could conjure. The darkness that had been pressing in had made its way onto the ship itself. He could barely see Dave struggling with the wheel. It was as if the darkness was swallowing up first him, and then the ship.
“Dave!”
His voice was swallowed up just as it had been the night before, only worse. He shouted at the top of his lungs, his throat burning and aching, but he could only hear the faintest whisper. Panic seized him. He was with his best friend and yet he was going to die alone. Unheard. Unseen.
The boat spun again. Mark was completely turned around. He had no idea which direction the bow was facing, and with the darkness all around him, he couldn’t see anything. He crawled blindly across the deck, the dark and the noise serving to completely confuse his senses. He closed his eyes and struggled just to focus on the feeling of the deck beneath his hands. It was wet and his hands were stinging as though salt water was hitting cuts he wasn’t aware he had. He grit his teeth against the pain and kept reaching out, trying to feel something--a chair, a table--anything that might help him get his bearings.
His hand finally struck something solid. It felt like a wall. He didn’t know if he had made it to the bow or the wall on which the wheelhouse was perched. He moved slowly, feeling his way as best he could, not wanting to accidentally tumble head first down the stairs to the deck below.
He struggled to his knees moments before the ship lurched again, shuddering in the opposite direction of where it had been moving.
It threw him back down but he managed to keep a hand on the wall. He was screaming and screaming but he couldn’t hear himself. The waves of water and sound and darkness crashed over him again and again.
He reached his left hand up as high as he could and finally felt one of the anchors which kept the fishing rods in place.
He was at the stern. Resolutely, he turned. It took all of his courage, but he let go of the wall and started slipping and sliding and crawling his way back across the deck, trying to reach the other side.
He had no idea what had happened to Dave, whether he was still in the captain’s chair or had been swept overboard. In the absolute darkness, there was no chance of climbing up the ladder and taking the wheel, especially since he’d be steering completely blind.
I have to get below deck.
If the boat finally flipped, it would be the worst place he could be, but one more good roll and he might find himself in the water.
Alone, blind and without any kind of life preserver, he wouldn’t survive more than a minute in this storm. So far, the ship had stayed afloat, and he had to hope it would continue to do so.
He was frightened and exhausted. He knew he couldn’t give up, though, because he had three of the most precious treasures in the world waiting for him at home.
He had to make it back.
He couldn’t leave Sally and the girls alone. It was unthinkable.
Tears of frustration rolled down his cheeks, mingling with the saltwater that was already there. Through his mind, a montage of images started playing, like some perverse movie made to torture him. It wasn’t his life flashing in front of his eyes, because he wasn’t seeing his past. He was seeing his family’s future without him.
He pictured Sally grieving at his funeral, with Emma and little Jayne clinging to her and sobbing. Jayne was too young to really understand, but she was crying because her mother and sister were. She wanted her daddy but had been told he was in a better place and he wasn’t coming back.
How could any place where he was there and they weren’t be better? he wondered bitterly.
He saw Emma and Jayne growing up without a father. He watched how hard it was on Sally to try to be both mother and father to them and how she struggled every day with burdens she shouldn’t have had to bear. He saw his daughters graduate from high school and then college without him there to cheer them on. Strangers walked both of them down the aisle at their weddings.
He couldn’t let that happen.
He would die for his family if it came to that, but right now he needed to live for them.
Live, no matter what it took, no matter how impossible.
Sally, Emma, Jayne.
With each move he made, he chanted their names, letting them be the force driving him forward. He could do this for them. He could beat this storm—and whatever other unknown evils he was facing--for them.
He couldn’t judge how far he had gone, but he was sure he had to be getting close to the wall with the stairwell.
What if it was already completely flooded down below?
He should have thought about that, he realized. It must certainly be underwater by now. His hand struck the wall painfully and he sucked in a breath. He hesitated, wondering where he could possibly hide to try and weather out whatever was happening.
Without warning, something heavy fell on top of him with a thud. Instinctively, he jerked, pushing and kicking at whatever it was until he connected with something soft.
A hand reached out and grabbed his shoulder.
Dave. It’s Dave, he told himself, struggling to calm down.
His friend pulled him closer. He still couldn’t see him, but he grabbed Dave’s shoulder as well, not wanting to get separated in the whirlwind.
Finally, he felt Dave’s head touch his. His friend was leaning toward his ear, struggling to tell him something. Dave’s hands were gripping onto him like bands of steel. Mark tilted his head, trying to listen. Then he heard the faintest whisper of sound, which he instinctively knew was Dave shouting as loud as he could.
“We’re in trouble.”
~
Sally awoke just after seven. She hadn’t slept well thanks to the nightmare, so she rose early and started making breakfast, She felt far too anxious to try to sleep anymore.
Something was wrong. She could feel it. She’d tried calling Mark but it went straight to voicemail without even ringing. That wasn’t right. She bit her bottom lip as her stomach twisted itself into knots.
She turned back to the counter, steadied herself for a moment, and then grabbed an egg out of the carton.
Suddenly the doorbell rang, startling her. She dropped the egg. It cracked and broke open when it hit the ground, oozing all over the floor. She stepped over it and headed to the front door.
They never had visitors this early. Her mind raced ahead, trying to imagine who was waiting on the other side of the door. Perhaps it was Mark and he had forgotten his key. She reached it and hastily threw it open.
Standing on the porch were two police officers. They both looked at her grimly. Her heart stopped for a moment as she realized the significance of their presence at her home.
“Sally White?” the taller one asked.
“No,” she whispered raggedly, realizing Mark was gone.
8
“Ma’am, I’m Officer Fordham and this is Officer Ramirez,” the taller of the two uniformed men said. “May we come in?”
“My husband. What’s happened to him?” she gasped, her voice cracking.
“Ma’am, perhaps it would be better if we could speak inside,” Ramirez suggested.
“Tell me now,” she begged.
“Ma’am, we plan on doing that. We’d like you to sit down first,” Fordham said.
She turned and walked over to the couch in the living room, clenching her hands together until her fingernails dug into the skin. She tried to sit down, but her legs betrayed her a
nd she collapsed into the chair.
The officers came inside, closing the door behind them. They moved over near her and took seats.
Officer Fordham took a deep breath. “Ma’am, at approximately 2:30 yesterday afternoon, the Coast Guard lost contact with your husband’s boat. At 10:30 p.m., they received a garbled distress call indicating that one of the men was injured and they were being battered by a storm with heavy waves. Attempts to establish two-way communication failed.”
“What does that mean?” she croaked, trying to comprehend what he was saying.
Injured. Storm. Failed communication…
Officer Ramirez cleared his throat. “It means that while the Coast Guard was able to receive part of their distress call they were unable to confirm that the captain heard their response. They sent ships out looking for your husband’s boat immediately afterward to the last known coordinates, but they have yet to find anything.”
“Anyone, you mean. Just tell me straight. Is he dead?” She forced herself to actually say the word, but then had to swallow back the bile that burned the back of her throat.
The two men exchanged a glance. “They don’t know anything for certain at this point,” Fordham finally said. “As soon as the sun rose, they sent out more ships and a couple of helicopters. Given how close they were to shore when they lost their instruments, there is good reason to believe they will soon be found.”
“Even though they were being hit by a storm with heavy waves? Couldn’t that have thrown them farther out to sea?”
“There is always reason to hope and pray,” Ramirez said, not directly answering her question. “Please rest assured that the Coast Guard is doing everything within their power to locate them and bring them home safely to you.”
“What do the odds look like right now?”
The two officers glanced at each other. “Frankly, it’s hard to say,” Fordham said slowly. “A lot of factors go into something like this.”
“But the Coast Guard is searching?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The Triangle Page 5