Apollo Project

by Brittany E Brinegar

  “We have to figure out what’s happening? Is it safer here or onshore?” Barb asked.

  Davidson’s voice rumbled. “We’re only five or ten miles from shore. Somebody will see us. I’m sure the Coast Guard is patrolling after the storm and the rough waters.”

  “I’m leery of the way the ocean is rocking.” Tom pointed to the rising waves and closed his eyes to the mesmerizing soundtrack. “The outflow from those clouds seem to be moving away from us, but as it does, the waves get bigger.” As he finished the statement, another crashing wave hurled the boat. “It’s imperative we get the lifeboat into the water.”

  Chapter 2 – Big Sky Camping

  Reagan

  Bacon crackled on the cast-iron skillet as the cook flipped an omelet with skill. Grabbing the battered dishtowel from her left shoulder, she removed homemade biscuits from the oven. She fanned the steam and admired the flaky, golden brown treats. She glided to the kitchen table, placing apple butter and a glass of orange juice in the center of the large oak surface. She returned to the stove in time to flip the maple-smoked bacon.

  “Granddad, breakfast is ready,” she called across the quaint ranch house.

  A pair of old boots and a cane tapped along the hardwood floor as Granddad appeared from the hall. He pressed the start button on the instant coffeemaker, doing his share of their morning routine.

  The cook tossed a dimpled smile to the older gentleman. “You make the best coffee, Granddad.”

  Granddad eased himself into his seat at the head of the breakfast table. “I won’t argue with you there, Reagan.” He propped his homemade cane on the windowsill. He made the cane from the old tree he chopped down. He added the intricate carvings along the shaft. Floyd Tucker, Granddad, made a point of never buying something he could make himself. He stuffed a napkin in his starched blue, plaid shirt.

  Reagan sat a smiling plate, the bacon a mouth and the eggs the eyes, on the checked, vinyl tablecloth along with a steaming mug of coffee. “Eat up.”

  “Thank you, dear,” he said patting her arm.

  Reagan disappeared into the kitchen and returned with her plate. She tossed an auburn braid over her shoulder and sat on her right foot.

  “Both feet on the floor please.”

  Reagan huffed but did as she was told. “After all these years, I still manage to forget your rule.”

  “Or you think one day I’ll be senile enough to allow it.” Granddad nudged his shaved head at the door. “How’s everything going out there this morning?”

  Reagan scooped eggs into her mouth and swigged the juice. “There was a hole in the east fence. A few head got out but we tracked them down. Mike and the boys are patching the fence as we speak.”

  Granddad lathered a generous helping of apple butter on his biscuit. “Maybe I should lend them a hand after breakfast.”

  “You hired a foreman for a reason, Granddad. You and your new hip deserve a break.”

  “I’m feeling plenty good to ride the fences,” he said with a dance of his bushy eyebrows.

  “You don’t want to wear yourself out before our camping trip tomorrow,” Reagan warned.

  He rubbed his short, well-groomed white beard. “I'm glad Annabeth suggested the trip. I get to spend some quality time with my two favorite granddaughters before they go back to school.”

  Reagan polished off her remaining bacon. “I better get ready for my last day of summer class. Can you believe those delinquents complained yesterday when I showed up smelling like horses?” She rolled her eyes as she toted her plate to the dishwasher.

  “It wouldn’t hurt those kids to rise at dawn and muck out stalls like I did when I was their age.”

  “Builds character, right Granddad?”

  “Absolutely,” he said sneaking another biscuit.

  Reagan returned to the kitchen wearing creased jeans and a charcoal blazer. She twisted her hair into a bun as she rushed. As she hopped into a pair of cowboy boots, Granddad handed her a paper sack. “I got your lunch.”

  “The one I packed this morning,” Reagan corrected with a teasing sparkle. “There’s leftover meatloaf in the fridge. Just warm it when you get hungry.”

  Reagan busted through the creaky screen door to her vintage baby-blue Volkswagen Beetle. The old car often required repairs but when she sped down the highway pushing thirty, the bug sprouted wings.

  The long-awaited camping trip arrived the following morning. As the sun peaked above the horizon, Reagan whipped Grandad’s new pickup truck into the u-shaped drive. A cold mansion loomed ahead. After her mother remarried, Reagan spent most of her time in a place never feeling much like home. Her stepfather became a radio personality across the state and her mother was a well-renowned pediatrician.

  “I’m staying in the car.” Granddad folded his arms. He and his daughter didn’t speak often. “I’m glad your mother had some doctor emergency and isn't coming.”

  “Suit yourself.” Reagan’s honey eyes sparkled in the sunlight as she approached the intimidating door. She stared at her tall light brown hiking boots as she waited.

  Annabeth Parish, Reagan’s younger half-sister, sprinted from the house decked in camo from her ball cap to her boots. “I’m so excited.” She wrapped her sister in a bearhug. At only fifteen years of age, Annabeth was a clumsy five-feet-eleven.

  “Me too,” Reagan said regaining her balance.

  Annabeth tossed her camo Realtree backpack in the truck. “Bye Mom, bye Dad.” She waved to the pair standing on the porch.

  “Reagan dear, come here a moment,” Dr. Virginia “Ginny” Parish said with a wiggle of her manicured finger.

  “Have a good trip,” her stepdad, Donahue Parish said plodding away from the doorway, a sandwich in hand.

  “Annabeth said you’d be working at the high school this fall?”

  Reagan dusted a piece of lint from her faded red, blue, and brown plaid shirt. “Substituting here and there.” She held her breath, awaiting her mother’s judgment.

  “That’s far more sensible than your plans to write a little book.” Virginia didn’t mince words. Especially regarding Reagan’s future. “You should consider full-time employment. I spoke to the principal and they’re currently looking for full-time teachers. I’d act now before there’s another hiring freeze and you find yourself unemployed and uninsured.”

  “I’ll definitely consider it, Mom.”

  Virginia’s eyes focused on Reagan’s identical ones. “Am I detecting a hint of sarcasm in your voice?”

  “You would know.” Reagan grinned.

  Virginia masked the sense of pride from her eldest daughter’s quick wit. “You do realize I’m merely trying to help you, Reagan? You’re smart and talented. I don’t want you to waste your abilities perusing dreams which may or may not lead anywhere. In the meantime, you can make a living.”

  “I’ll consider it,” Reagan said. “But right now, I’d like to enjoy the camping trip.” Reagan clutched her battered brown Stetson and climbed inside the truck.

  Virginia smoothed her perfect brown curls and twisted them into a barrette as she waved goodbye.

  “Maybe we should let Annabeth drive,” Granddad suggested as he fanned himself with his straw hat. “I'm sure Ginny would love seeing that.” He released a booming laugh, as he pictured the panic surging through his daughter.

  As they maneuvered through picturesque mountains, Annabeth blasted an oldies shuffle - everything from Merle Haggard to Patsy Cline to Elvis. Six hours later, they arrived at a remote camping site in Glacier National Park. The temperature reached a balmy eighty-six but would drop come nightfall.

  “Are you sure you’re ready for the hike?” Reagan asked her grandfather.

  Granddad adjusted the collar of his green and blue flannel shirt which somehow stayed tucked into his cargo pants during the drive. “Don’t you worry about me girly,” he said thumping his cane.

  “First things first,” Annabeth said. “I want to set some ground rules for this trip. No c
ell phone use except in emergencies, Granddad. We are going to have a technology-free three days? Am I clear?”

  Reagan spotted Granddad smuggling a radio in the pocket of his gray cargo pants. “It’ll be us and the great outdoors. Scouts honor.” He displayed the three-finger scout sign.

  Reagan swatted her auburn French braid. “Hey Skipper, am I allowed to use my phone to see if the rest of our group has arrived?”

  “If you must.” Annabeth flailed her hands.

  Reagan smiled as she sent a text to her best friend – Kelly Pak. After a few minutes, the text went through. “My signal on the mountain is always spotty. But Kelly and Travis Wayne are hiking to the campsite.”

  Granddad attached a knife to his stretchy belt. “We better get a move on if we expect to beat them.”

  The group reached the campsite an hour before dusk. “Reagan, we beat you for once.” Kelly high-fived her Korean husband, Travis Wayne. “You owe me twenty bucks.”

  “How about I give you a piece of the cherry cobbler I packed?” Reagan offered.

  “Deal,” Kelly said swishing her sandy hair.

  As the group made camp, Granddad fiddled with his radio. “I’m not getting a signal and they were talking about the Cowboy’s defensive situation.”

  “What happened to the promise you made Annabeth?”

  Granddad shrugged. “Since the stupid thing is on the fritz again, I don’t guess I’ll be breaking my word.”

  Reagan tossed her eyes as she unpacked their dinner and placed a skillet on the campfire. The group settled as she cooked. Arkansas born Travis Wayne plucked his guitar. The first few notes of Friends in Low Places resonated through the campsite. “Blame it all on my roots, I showed up in boots and ruined your black-tie affair…”

  “It’s a beautiful time of year for camping,” Kelly checked the sunset sky. She ran a hand along her bare arms before snatching her raspberry North Face jacket.

  “Channel seven expects some rain to our south late tomorrow afternoon,” Granddad said. “But I don’t see a cloud in the sky.”

  Wrapping a large portion of potatoes in tinfoil, Reagan returned her attention to the steaks. “And our resident weatherman has never been wrong.”

  “I expect we’ll be grilling some fish tomorrow night.” Granddad smirked at Travis Wayne.

  Travis Wayne’s chocolate eyes glistened as stopped playing momentarily to jiggle his lucky lure. “Kelly bet me twenty bucks I couldn’t catch a dozen fish.”

  “Incentive.” Kelly shrugged her petite shoulders. “I’m hoping for a big fish fry tomorrow night.”

  Annabeth plopped onto a log, her long fingers digging in a bag of jumbo marshmallows. “Yummy.” She stuffed a half-dozen into her mouth.

  A grin crept across Reagan’s face. “Good thing I brought two bags.”

  The group shared a laugh at Annabeth’s chipmunk impression. “There are two bags?” she asked with a full mouth.

  As the sky darkened a sudden chill swept through the camp. Granddad reached for his cane and hobbled to his feet. “I think a storm might be coming. I feel it in my bones.”

  Kelly whipped out her phone and waited a few seconds as the screen loaded. “Nothing on the radar.”

  “Did Reagan forget to mention the rules of the weekend?” Annabeth asked.

  “It was an emergency,” Kelly said. She produced a thin pair of gloves from her pink and black fanny pack. “Your bones are wrong, Tucker. There’s not a cloud in the sky. Just look at all those stars.” Most of Granddad’s friends called him by his last name - Tucker.

  Granddad fingered his white beard. “I know a thing or two about the weather Miss Pak-man, and something’s brewing.”

  Reagan’s dimples made another appearance. “Stop the debate. I know it’s serious when the nicknames start.”

  “It’s all in good fun, girly.” Granddad removed his round glasses and snatched a hankie from his pocket. He lasered his attention to Kelly. “Fifty sawbucks says we get rain in the next hour.”

  “Again, with the betting.” Annabeth drew in the ground with a stick. “We don’t want a repeat of the July 4th picnic, do we?”

  “Those fireworks were faulty,” Granddad claimed. “Miss Pak-man care to make a wager?”

  “Watching the weather channel twelve hours a day doesn’t make you a meteorologist,” Kelly said crossing her arms. “No way we get stuck in bad weather.”

  Chapter 3 – Overboard

  Tom

  After a mini-debate, going to shore won. Andy’s bulk didn’t keep him from fast action as he helped Tom open a hatch and inflate the lifeboat. In moments, the traffic cone orange boat inflated. Ropes dangled off the edge and two paddles clipped to the sides.

  Counting with his fingers, Andy glanced at the boat. “Nine of us here. It’ll be a tight fit.” He shoved his hands into the maroon coaching shorts and shivered as a gust impaired his balance.

  Davidson crossed his arms on the top deck. “You’ll only need room for six. Me, the wife, and daughter are staying on deck.”

  “No way,” Dixie spat at her father. She eased behind Tom. “I’m bailing from this deathtrap before we get fried.” A wave turned the boat. “Or dumped in the drink.”

  The last wave knocked Davidson to his knees. As he dusted himself, Genevieve scurried away from him, her wedges, clogging on the deck. “Don’t be obstinate, William. We’re staying together and getting to shore.”

  Tom, Gus, Andy, and Dixie maneuvered the lifeboat to the edge and lowered it to the raging sea. Dixie descended a rung on the rope side and jumped to the boat, sandals in her hand. She helped Barb and Mandy inside, but sidestepped Genevieve and let her stumble onto her big butt. Gus jumped, copying Dixie but slipped. Barb hooked him to keep him from splashing into the water. Hibbert wasn’t as lucky and tumbled into the gulf, his fedora and backpack drifting away like Wilson the volleyball in Cast Away.

  “Grab the side,” Tom screamed. The meteorologist splashed and dipped in the water. Tom twisted to Andy and Davidson. “You two climb down and I’ll go for Doc.” He shrugged his navy-blue polo off, stuffed it into the waterproof bag and tossed it to the raft moments before he dove.

  “I’m drowning. I can’t swim.” Hibbert struggled in the water, spitting and gasping.

  “I got you, Doc. Don’t fight me.” The doc’s long legs stopped flopping and Tom steadied him. But the lifeboat drifted. “Hold on.”

  Waves lifted Tom and he almost lost Hibbert. Tom lost sight of the lifeboat and paddled in a circle toward the fishing boat. In horror, the boat pitched and flames coughed. With a furious pace, he propelled away from the blaze. The explosion sent shockwaves outward and tumbled him, making him lose grip on Hibbert. Swimming underwater, Tom spotted long arms and legs of the drowning man.

  Towing the fighting Hibbert, Tom struggled to the surface. Andy extended one paddle while Barb and Dixie pulled Hibbert into the unsteady, so-called lifeboat. After assistance from the coach, Tom claimed a paddle and Andy kept the other. Disoriented, Tom searched for the sun to paddle north. Ditching the plan, he settled on surviving.

  “Everybody hold on.” But he doubted his voice found their ears.

  The ocean water splashing into the boat stung his skin. Not warm and pleasant, but blistering. When swimming in the water, the ocean chilled. Now, confusion invaded his brain. A swirling typhoon-like wave spun the boat five or six times and catapulted it, almost spilling the passengers. Only one of them fell. Gus flapped his arms and screamed, his torso with the black and red Iron Man t-shirt bobbing in the water.

  As Andy paddled toward his son, Tom tossed the abandoned paddle to Dixie. He handed the other to Barb. The coach and Tom managed to pull the screaming kid inside the boat. Tom expected the kid to have burns on his arms from the intense heat of the water, but instead, a white film dusted his skin. He touched the kid’s arm with hesitation. Andy wiped the gunk away from Gus. The screaming stopped and a goofy, expression formed. Tom grabbed the paddle and steadied the boat. Gus
scooped his hat and stuffed it on his mop of hair.

  The intense battle with the ocean lasted ninety more seconds before a whooshing noise sucked upward and the storm dissipated. The calm surface went dark like a dormant television screen. Tom gauged the water. Chilly. Normal. A curdling scream broke the silence. Genevieve’s screech muffled as manicured hands covered her mouth.

  “Where’s Mandy?” Tom’s voice cracked as his neck on a swivel searched the surrounding water.

  “Mandy!” Andy said. He yelled her name repeatedly as he bounced from one side of the boat to the other.

  “I’ll dive under.” Tom sucked in a breath. “You stay.”

  But Dixie dove first, after shedding her shorts and a tank top. He joined her in the warm water. “I’ll check over here.”

  Barb hollered at her from the lifeboat, but Dixie dove under anyway. Tom plunged, scanning. He swam deep, aware Dixie could go deeper. She worked as a lifeguard and lived on the water during summers.

  Nothing appeared except for dead fish surfacing along with him. He knocked some of them away and honed in on Barb’s voice keeping the peace. Davidson yelled at Dixie and Andy screamed his wife’s name. With a glazed expression, Gus parked in a cationic state.

  Barb caught Tom’s eye. “Anything Tom?”

  “Nothing.” He propelled to Dixie’s search grid and his heart pounded as he waited. He checked Barb and Davidson, the worried parents. “She can hold her breath forever. She’s looking around.” After twenty seconds, Tom observed them again. “I’ll check on her.”

  Before he made it three feet into the ocean, Dixie surged upward. He surfaced with her and found himself gasping more than her. “I didn’t see Mandy.” She splashed closer to him and whispered. “A bunch of blood, but it could be from one of those dolphins.”

  “Keep looking,” Andy squealed.

  “We will, Big Guy. We won’t stop.” Tom ducked underwater as Dixie swam faster and deeper. She pointed to a bloody mess drifting underneath. Tom kicked and flesh floated away. But no signs of Mandy remained.