by Bobby Akart
“Ashby! Come on out. It’s over!”
When she didn’t respond, Jake looked down the steps to the sleeping quarters and saw no movement. He immediately became concerned when he saw bullet holes in the wall next to the head.
“Oh no. God, no!” he shouted as he set aside his weapon and scrambled down the steps. He tripped over the dead men and crawled through their blood, which had begun to seep under the door to the bathroom.
With his outstretched bloody hand, he reached for the knob and tried to turn it, but the door had been locked from the inside. He began to pound on it, screaming her name.
“Ashby! Ashby!”
He ran his hands across the bullet holes in the walls created by Mike firing wildly through the hatch. Jake closed his eyes as he began to tear up.
He slammed his fist against the wall and continued to say her name in a softer tone of voice. “Ashby, please answer me. Please.”
“Jake.” He heard her voice through the wall. “I can’t move. I’m sorry.”
Jake scrambled to his feet, thrilled that she was alive, but fearful of a possible gunshot injury. “Are you shot?”
“Almost.”
Jake exhaled. Apparently Ashby was in shock, not physically injured. “Okay, don’t move. I’ll come for you.” Jake hustled upstairs and retrieved his knife. Another red light was flashing on the instrument panel.
He arrived at the door to the head and pried it open with his knife, leaving the blade stuck in the doorjamb. He turned on the light and found Ashby curled up in a ball on the floor of the stand-up shower. Her hands were trembling as she gripped the handgun with white knuckles.
He dropped to his knees and crawled to her side. As he reached out to help her, he saw two bullet holes in the shower wall just above her head. He glanced to his right to see the corresponding holes in the other wall nearest the hallway. It didn’t take Jake but a second to analyze the trajectory and reach an obvious conclusion—had Ashby been standing or sitting upright, she’d be dead.
“Come here,” he said in a comforting tone. “It’s over.”
She didn’t respond physically, but emotionally; she broke down in fits of sobs and tears. Jake wrapped his left arm around her back and helped her to sit upright. He held her tight, gently rocking her back and forth, allowing her to let out her fears and emotions. For several minutes, they held one another without speaking, allowing the strength of their love to bring her back into the present and away from the dangerous gun battle she’d tried to avoid.
She exhaled and was about to speak when an alarm began to sound from the salon. Ashby’s body tensed and a look of horror overcame her face.
“Jake, are they back?” She broke their embrace and began searching for the pistol. Jake found it first and grabbed it before her nervous hands did.
“No, they’re all dead. There were warning lights on the instrument panel. I need to see what they mean. Can you stand and go with me?”
“Yes.” Ashby nodded and used Jake’s shoulders to push off of as she rose. Jake joined her and held her hand as they eased their way into the hallway.
“Don’t look, Ashby. Just stick with me.”
Ashby followed Jake’s footsteps to avoid the dead bodies and the ever-expanding pool of blood, but then paused when she saw the bullet holes in the wall. She lowered herself to look through them as if they were a peephole in someone’s front door, and then she glanced into the stateroom at the open hatch.
She had to know.
She looked to Jake, who gave her a reassuring smile and squeeze of her hand. He said, “You’re gonna be all right. We are always going to be strong together.”
Ashby returned the smile and nodded to Jake before they continued up the stairs.
Jake released her hand and made his way into one of two bucket seats behind the ship’s wheel. He looked at the many gauges and associated the flashing lights with the buttons just behind the wheel.
His chin dropped to his chest and he let out a noticeable sigh.
“Jake, what is it?”
“It’s the bilge pumps. They’re both working overtime, but if I read these gauges correctly, it’s not enough. We’re taking on water.”
Chapter 7
The Pacific Ocean
Off the coast of Morro Bay, California
“What do you mean?” asked a nervous Ashby, who was beginning to recover from the trauma of lying on the shower floor, helpless and in the dark. Throughout the ordeal, her mind had regressed to when she was a little girl riding in the back of her parents’ Dodge Ramcharger, curled up in the backseat as lava bombs from Mount Pinatubo crashed all around them. After the gunfire started, she considered helping Jake, but chose to remain hidden as he’d instructed. Eventually, a primal fear forced her to regress, and she dropped to the floor of the shower, an act that likely saved her life.
“We’re taking on water from a breach in the hull,” began Jake as he pointed to the flashing lights and the instruments. “My guess is that it’s below the waterline based upon these numbers.”
“What do we do?”
“Help me find some flashlights so we can look for the leak. We’ll start with the boat that’s tied off to the transom. They may have crashed into the fiberglass somehow.”
Jake and Ashby began sliding open the doors of the teak cabinetry in search of flashlights. For such an expensive yacht, the cupboards were bare. There was very little food stored. Although there was an abundance of alcohol and mixers. My Wet Dream was more party boat than it was luxury yacht.
“I found them!” exclaimed Ashby as she pulled the bright yellow flashlights from two clamps holding them inside a cabinet door. She turned them on and tossed one to Jake, who was already heading toward the stern.
They entered the night air together and carefully stepped onto the wet transom. Neither of them wanted to enter the chilly waters of the Pacific, especially with a blood-soaked body floating nearby.
Holding the railing, Jake leaned around the side of the yacht and illuminated the hull with the flashlight. There were no marks on the hull and certainly no cracks that might have been created by the Cobia bouncing against the larger vessel.
“Hold this,” said Jake as he handed Ashby the flashlight. He untied the ropes of the Cobia and walked around to the center of the transom, where he found two stainless steel boat cleats affixed to the stern. He allowed as much slack as the line would allow, and then he expertly tied a cleat hitch knot, one of many knots he’d practiced as a kid.
Ashby handed him back the flashlight. “Now what?”
“If water can find a way to get in, it will. We have to find how it’s coming in and how fast. I need to go into the engine compartment and inspect the hull. Come on.”
Jake raced up the steps into the salon and looked for the access hatch to the engine compartment. He expected to find a pull ring in the floor or under the area rug in the salon. There wasn’t one.
He made his way to the stairs leading to the staterooms and turned in a circle, contemplating the design of the yacht.
“Jake, we’re standing on top of it,” offered Ashby.
“Yeah, and I think I know how to access it. We have to move the bodies. Are you up for it?”
Ashby let out a hearty laugh. “First things first. I want to remind you of something,” she started as she made her way to the helm and grabbed the half-empty bottle of tequila. She removed the top and took a swig before handing it to Jake. Her face grimaced as she swallowed the harsh alcohol. With one eye closed, she continued. “We told ourselves we’re not alcoholics. That said, sometimes a girl needs a drink to steady her nerves.”
Jake laughed with her and took a swig, which resulted in the same this tastes awful but I’m gonna drink it anyway look on his face. “Same here.”
Ashby took another quick shot and then corked the bottle. She was ready. Jake positioned the dead man on top so that his arms were dropped onto the short set of steps leading down into the sleeping quarters. He mov
ed past the bodies and hoisted up the legs, allowing Ashby to take the lead by pulling the man by the arms. Together, they carried the first body through the salon, onto the transom, and rolled it off into the dark water.
For a moment, they stood and watched the body float off until it became entangled in the slack bow line of the Cobia.
“I’ll take care of that in a minute,” said Jake. “Let’s go get the other scumbag.”
Jake and Ashby quickly went back for the second body, observing the trail of blood left through the beautifully designed salon of the yacht. It would serve as a reminder of what they’d been through that night.
They hoisted the corpse up and toted it to the back of the yacht. This time, in order to avoid the bow line of the Cobia, they swung the body back and forth in order to toss it farther away from the transom. It landed with a splash in the water, sank slightly, and then bobbed to the surface, where it rolled over twice.
What happened next astonished them both. Initial fear turned to wonderment as they watched nature in action. With their mouths open in awed admiration and respect for the power of the beast that emerged from the depths of the Pacific, they watched a feeding frenzy reminiscent of one created in the digital studios of Hollywood.
A great white shark thrust itself out of the water, revealing itself as the king of the marine jungle. A great white’s jaws were like a precision machine. They unhinge while attacking the shark’s prey, allowing the teeth to extend their reach. This combination motion created a partial vacuum that served to suck in the prey before being clenched in the powerful jaws.
Despite the urgency Jake and Ashby had moments earlier from the yacht taking on water, they were now frozen in time by the spectacle. The first bite took half the dead man’s body tangled in the bow line, easily ripping the torso in half and snapping the line, casting the Cobia adrift.
As the fishing boat floated off with the waves, the shark came around for seconds. This time, the bobbing body of the second man was the target. The shark was toying with its next meal, circling the body, mouth agape, before its jaws receded and bared its teeth.
With one large chomp, the head and shoulders of the dead man were removed. The shark whipped its head from side to side as it tore the body apart. Then it was gone, ostensibly carrying it meal to its lair in the depths of the Pacific Ocean.
“I’ve seen enough, how about you?” asked Jake, who’d remained remarkably calm throughout the feeding.
“That was amazing,” muttered Ashby, her eyes transfixed on the remains that floated aimlessly behind the transom. “A little too close for comfort, however. Come on.”
Ashby turned and was headed inside when a large splash caught her attention. The shark was back, and it had brought a friend. A smaller, younger great white appeared, calmly breaching the surface and whipping the water with its caudal fin.
The killing field was full of blood and bits of dead bodies serving as chum, ideal for the young shark to feed. While the larger great white swam around aimlessly, sometimes upside down as if intoxicated, the younger shark nipped at the dead, practicing its predatory feeding habits. Nature’s fiercest predators were enjoying a rare feast, oblivious to their surroundings. Had it not been so gruesome, it would’ve been beautiful.
Chapter 8
The Pacific Ocean
Off the coast of Morro Bay, California
Ashby found several beach towels stowed in two drawers underneath the bed in the master stateroom. She laid them out on the blood-covered floor in the hallway leading to the short set of steps that also served as an entryway to the engine compartment. Jake lifted the steps upward on their hydraulic hinges until they locked into place. A toggle switch was just inside the entry, allowing the compartment to be illuminated.
Jake made his way into the engine compartment and wondered at the expert design. The twin Volvo diesel engines took up the majority of the space, with various other critical components interspersed throughout, such as generators, four bilge pumps, and the water tank. He leaned over to the bilge pumps and found three of the four were humming steadily.
He flashed his light under the equipment, looking for signs of water leakage. The floor was dry, indicating to Jake there wasn’t a problem around the propeller shafts at the stern. All the hoses appeared to be intact, and there was no evidence of moisture anywhere in the compartment.
Jake looked around and discovered another hatch, which led to the front of the yacht. This access panel was secured by two slide bolts and removable hinges. He thought for a moment before he opened the hatches. He ran his fingers around the hatch, which had a rubber gasket sealing it tight.
He sat in a crouch, looked into the hallway, where Ashby stood in front of the master stateroom, and back toward the hatch. “Ashby, we have to clean up this blood so I can see the floor.”
“I have extra towels already set out,” she said before turning back toward the bed. She had three more colorful beach towels covered with the Tommy Bahama signature marlin across the front. “I can just drag the bloody ones into the shower stall and wipe up the excess with these.”
Jake studied her demeanor. “Are you okay to do this?”
“Yeah, seriously, I’m fine. Between the shots of tequila and witnessing shark week back there, nothing can faze me for the rest of the night.”
Without further discussion, Ashby swept the bloody towels into the guest head, then dropped another beach towel to the teakwood floor and monkey mopped it with her feet. Her efforts revealed what Jake had suspected; bullets had penetrated the teak floor and possibly breached the fiberglass.
“Okay, we may have discovered the source of our leak.” Jake stood and looked around the engine compartment. He considered the ramifications of opening the sealed hatch and water flooding the space. He had to assume the yacht was designed to deal with excess water in the engine compartment too. The equipment was mounted off the fiberglass floor, and a six-inch dam was designed to prevent water from entering the sleeping-quarters hallway.
Ashby poked her head into the engine compartment and glanced at the hatch. “Are you going under the floor? I can’t imagine that there’s very much room under there.”
Jake felt the door with the palm of his hand. He removed it and rubbed his fingers together. It was sweating. He handed his flashlight to Ashby and motioned for her to stay on the teak floor and away from the engine compartment floor.
He stood to the side of the sealed hatch and worked the handles until they were almost fully open. Then, in a simultaneous motion, he flicked both latches and stood to the side. A rush of water slammed the hatch door open and poured into the engine compartment, quickly spreading throughout the space until it reached a level of two inches.
Jake turned to ask for the flashlight, but Ashby, thinking like a trained surgical nurse anticipating a doctor’s next request, tapped him on the shoulder with it.
He nodded and smiled as he took it from her. The marine flashlight was waterproof, so Jake had no concerns about getting it wet as he dropped to all fours in front of the hatch. As he did, the sound of the fourth bilge pump firing grabbed his attention, and the thought of being electrocuted immediately crossed his mind. Once again, he had to have faith in the boat design engineers that they had considered someone being in this position, and therefore he should be safe from electrocution.
With newfound confidence, he crawled into the darkened space underneath the sleeping quarters and flashed his light around. Like the engine compartment, the completely fiberglass floor was designed to hold water in the event of a breach. The hull compartment was filled to its six-inch capacity, and as Jake moved deeper into the compartment, water sloshed over the hatch threshold into the engine compartment.
“Can you see okay?” Ashby asked from behind him. She flashed her light throughout the small space. “Look, you can see the bullet holes in the floor to the left of your head. Can you see the light shining through?”
Jake instinctively looked up and raised his he
ad in the process, thumping it on a drain pipe from the shower where he’d found Ashby earlier. “Ouch.”
“Watch your head,” said Ashby with a chuckle.
The thump really did hurt, but her lighthearted remark eased the pain. Jake was glad she was coming around so quickly after her brush with death.
He tucked the flashlight between his jaw and bare shoulder. Then, with both palms pressed against the hull, he began to search the surface for bullet holes. He glanced up again to confirm there were two holes, and then he felt around some more, just to confirm.
“Got ’em!” he exclaimed as he continuously rubbed his fingers over the two holes. Water was coming in at a steady rate, but he found he could force his thumb into the holes and block most of the flow.
“Can we fix them?”
“Maybe. For now, I’ve got my thumbs stuck in the holes, which is slowing the rate of inflow.”
Ashby flashed her light in his face. Jake was on his hands and knees and looking back at her. She smiled and chuckled. “Well, Captain, looks like you’ve got this under control. I’m going to have a few drinks and dinner. I’ll come back and check on you later.”
“What? Ashby, that’s not funny!”
“Yes, it is.”
“Why don’t you come in here and take a turn?”
“My thumbs are too small,” she quipped.
Jake was quiet for a moment as the water level began to recede thanks to the efforts of the bilge pumps. Then he mumbled in the dark, “I hate you.”
Ashby laughed. “No, you don’t. You love me.”
“Maybe,” was all he could manage as a comeback.
Ashby decided to stop teasing him and offered a solution. “Hold tight, pardon the pun. I have an idea.”
Chapter 9
The Pacific Ocean
Off the coast of Morro Bay, California
Ashby left the engine compartment and closed the stairwell hatch behind her. She rushed back into the galley above the engine compartment. First, she rummaged under the sink to find a bucket she’d spotted earlier. Then she returned to the cabinet containing the flashlights and an orange toolbox. Also, pushed into the back recesses of the cabinet behind a flare gun, extra flares, and several air horns was an item she hadn’t given a second thought to when she was exploring the yacht last night, but was glad her memory served her at this point in time.