by Bobby Akart
She hauled all of her finds down the stairs then opened the hatch as they’d done before, until it locked in place.
“Jake, I found what I was looking for!” she shouted as she reentered the compartment.
“What’s the plan?”
“Last night when I was rummaging through the cabinets in search of alcohol, I found this.” Ashby used her flashlight to illuminate the front of a package labeled West System Fiberglass Boat Repair Kit.
“That’s great, but will it adhere under water?” he asked skeptically.
“I haven’t read the instructions, but I doubt it. We’re gonna have to pump this water out of here and find a way to plug those holes, at least temporarily.”
Jake added, “Stop the bleeding, or, in this case, the flooding.”
“Right. Once we stop the flow of water, we can dry the area and work quickly to patch the fiberglass. It should at least enable us to get to shore and fix it properly at a marina.”
“What do we plug the holes with? And, while I’ve been waiting, I’ve felt stress fractures around the holes in the fiberglass. I’m afraid the pressure could cause the breach to expand.”
Ashby looked around and saw that the water levels in the engine compartment had fallen by half. “The bilge pumps are doing their job. I need to help eliminate water from the compartment where you are. Can you keep your thumbs in place?”
“Yeah, they’re freezing cold, but they’re still there.”
Ashby grabbed the bucket and crawled into the cramped space just behind Jake’s legs. She turned around so that their butts were touching one another.
“Hey, baby,” said Jake in his best sexy baritone voice.
“Stow it, Captain. No hanky-panky until I know we’re not gonna sink and become a great white’s breakfast.”
She began to scoop the plastic pail full of water and poured it over the threshold into the engine compartment. “Between the four bilge pumps, my hope is that we can empty the water faster than it’s seeping in. I’m a little surprised the water levels in here haven’t dropped more.”
“It’s possible there are more bullet holes we haven’t discovered yet,” added Jake.
“Marvelous,” muttered Ashby as she continued bailing the water out. Soon the levels were dropping around them and the engine compartment was becoming fuller.
Jake was pleased with the progress. “We’re getting close, but we still need something better than my thumbs to plug up these holes.”
“Let me think.” Ashby closed her eyes momentarily and focused on what she’d seen around the ship. She guessed that Jake’s thumbs were about an inch wide. She needed something that was about that size.
Then she remembered lying sideways in the shower stall during the gunfight. She tried to put the sounds of the bullets flying through the sleeping quarters out of her mind and in turn focused on her surroundings.
“The toilet paper holder!” she exclaimed, which startled Jake.
“What?”
“I remember looking around the bathroom and how opulent it was considering this is just a boat. The spindle thing that you put the toilet paper on was made out of teak instead of plastic like everybody else’s.”
“That may work, but it will have to be a perfect fit. Is there anything else?”
“Yup. I’ll be back.”
Ashby set aside the bucket and climbed back out of the compartment. She made her way to the guest head and dismantled the toilet paper holder. She removed the bath towels from the towel rack and pulled down on the teak rod until it broke. The rod was slightly larger in circumference than the toilet paper holder.
She had started back when she heard Jake call out, “Grab my knife. It’s stuck in the doorjamb.” She abruptly stopped, almost slipping on the remnants of blood covering the teak floor, and pried the knife loose from the wood.
As she crawled back in with Jake, he gave her some bad news. “I think water is still coming in from another location. I’ve got my thumbs crammed in these holes, and a little water is seeping past, but it’s still rising.”
“Okay, we’ll find the leak. Let’s plug these first. What do you need the knife for?”
“Let me see the toilet paper spindle.”
Ashby held it up in the light. “It’s slightly larger than my thumb. I also have this.” She showed Jake the broken towel rack’s rod. It was larger than the toilet paper spindle.
“Okay, good.” Jake began to explain his approach. “We’re gonna trade places for a minute. While you plug the holes with your thumbs, or even the palms of your hands, I’m going to shave the teak rods into a tapered, cone-shaped plug. I’ll gently hammer each piece into the two holes until the water stops seeping in.”
Ashby pointed over her shoulder. “There’s a tool kit in the hallway that has a hammer, razor blades, duct tape, and other things you might use.”
Jake took a deep breath and said, “Okay, let’s switch.”
He removed both thumbs, and water immediately began to rush through the one-inch holes. Jake was unaware that nearly forty-seven gallons of sea water per minute could gush through a hole of that size located below the waterline. Two holes doubled the inflow. Combined, the four bilge pumps aboard the Grand Banks 60 model were capable of pumping out two thousand gallons an hour, not enough to keep up with the water intrusion.
Ashby slid past him and covered the holes with her palms. “Wow, the pressure is more than I thought it would be.”
“The ocean will win this fight if we don’t hurry,” said Jake under his breath as he quickly carved away strips of teak, creating a pointed end that gradually tapered upward. He repeated the process on the other half of the broken rod until he had two tapered, rounded plugs to use to stop the inflow.
He entered the engine compartment, where the light was better, and compared the tapered rods to his thumbs. He identified the point on the rods where they were the approximate size of his thumbs. Jake quickly unpacked the toolbox and grabbed the hammer and the duct tape. He wrapped the duct tape around the rods with a single layer at the point where it was the width of his thumb. He hoped the flexible material would expand into the uneven bullet hole, stopping the flow of water completely.
“Here goes nothin’,” said Jake to himself as he exhaled. He crawled back into the hull compartment next to Ashby.
“Will it work?” she asked.
“I hope so,” Jake replied. “We’ll do the right side first. Hold your hand over the other hole and open wide.”
“Huh?”
“Your mouth. Open wide. I need you to hold the other plug while I tap this one in place.”
He shined the light in her face and saw Ashby’s scowl. She furrowed her brow and then opened her mouth as wide as she could, intentionally overexaggerating the act to make a point.
Jake stuck the pole sideways in her mouth like a dog who’d just fetched a stick, and he gently tapped under her chin.
She raised one side of her upper lip in a snarl in response, then clamped down hard on the wood.
Jake chuckled and gently moved her hand to the side as he forced the tapered rod into the hole. He used the hammer at first to tap it into place, and then he used his weight, together with a twisting motion, to firmly fill the void left by the bullet.
He smiled and nodded at what appeared a viable solution. He reached towards Ashby’s mouth for the other rod and she playfully pulled away.
He reached again. She pulled farther away and growled at him.
“Ashby, I’m gonna put you in time-out!”
She smiled and allowed him to remove the rod, but not before taking a playful chomp at his hand.
She moved away from the second hole and gave Jake room to work. Using the same technique, he plugged the hole and then sat back on his heels to admire his work.
“The water is going down in the engine compartment again,” said Ashby as she shoveled another bucketful of water over the threshold. “Take over and I’ll find some more dry towels. Once we ge
t the area around the holes completely dry, I think this fiberglass repair kit will finish the job.”
Jake crawled next to her and gave her a peck on the cheek. She touched his face with her wet hand and crawled into the engine compartment.
After twenty minutes of bailing water and using the entire supply of dry towels on board, the hull compartment was dry. They worked together to create the right combination of epoxy, fiberglass fabric, and fillers to repair the cracks surrounding the bullet holes and fill in the miniscule gaps around the rods forced into the holes.
They sat there for a while in the cramped, dimly lit space, admiring the fruits of their labor.
“Do you think we would’ve sunk?” asked Ashby.
“It didn’t look good, I’ll put it that way. We were taking on water faster than the bilge pumps could expel it. Our next best option was to head for the coast or abandon ship.”
“With the sharks? Not a chance.”
Jake shrugged. “Well, one thing I forgot about was the Zodiac topside. We could’ve dropped it in the water and headed to shore. But in the heat of things, I didn’t even think about it. We really need to learn everything there is to know about this boat.”
“Yacht,” Ashby corrected him.
“Yeah, yeah. Yacht.”
“Well, that was my fault,” she said apologetically. “Last night you wanted to be responsible and look through the manuals and check this thing out. I wanted to play. I won, and it almost got us killed by Mike and his goons, or by a sinking ship.”
Jake pointed toward the engine compartment, which was nearly empty of water. They both crawled out, and he flashed his light inside the hull compartment one more time.
“There’s one more thing that I’d like to do down here,” he suggested. “Let’s see if we can find some talcum powder, baby powder, you know. Anything like that. I want to dust the area around our repairs to monitor water intrusion. If the plugs begin to fail, we can see the water dripping through the talcum powder more readily than relying upon our eyes in this dim light.”
Ashby stood and helped Jake to his feet. She wrapped her arms around him and gave him a passionate kiss. “You amaze me, Captain Wheeler.”
“I’m proud of you, Ashby. Let’s finish this up, and then I want to talk to you about a mistake I continue to make.”
“What’s that?”
“I shelter you too much.”
“Yes, you do. Jake, honestly, I’d rather be fighting with you, side by side, than scared in the dark, lying on the floor like that seven-year-old girl I used to be in the Philippines.”
“No, I get it, and I apologize. You’ve proven more than once that you can handle yourself. I need to stop treating you like a porcelain doll that will break just because the wind might blow too hard.”
“That’s right. We’re a team.”
“Okay. The first order of business after we decide whether we’ll stay afloat on this thing is teaching you what I know about weapons and dealing with a live-shooter situation. Deal?”
“Deal,” replied Ashby as she and Jake exchanged high fives and set about the task of cleaning up the blood.
Chapter 10
The Pacific Ocean
Off the coast of Morro Bay, California
The sun rose over the California coast at Point Buchon and reflected off the buildings of the Diablo Canyon Power Plant. Jake was shocked at how far their yacht had drifted during the night. It was a reminder to treat the ocean with respect and remember that no boat could withstand what the Pacific might have in store for them.
“It’s still dry,” announced Ashby as she pressed the stairwell hatch down until it locked in place. She twisted the latches so they dropped flush into the teak floor. “I would still feel better if we got it checked out. What do you think?”
Jake was looking through the front windows across the bow toward the Channel Islands National Park. The high-powered binoculars brought the islands, which were forty miles away, into focus. But it was something else that had caught Jake’s attention.
He let out a sigh and lowered the binoculars before handing them to Ashby, who’d joined his side. “Take a look to the south. Do you think this is normal?”
Ashby took the binoculars and scanned the coast from Santa Barbara to the Channel Islands and beyond toward the Port of Los Angeles. “Whoa, how many are there?”
“Too many to count,” Jake began to reply. “A thousand, maybe? It’s hard to tell with so many small ones.”
Scattered about the Pacific, sitting stoically on the water, were hundreds of boats of varying sizes. Large tankers and cargo ships were anchored amongst sailboats and pleasure boats. As far as the eye could see, the California coastline had become a parking lot, a nautical traffic jam, of vessels all trying to find their way to port.
Jake powered on the marine radio attached to the instrument panel near his knees. Attached to the teak was a hard-plastic chart of marine frequencies for California. He ran his fingers down it until he located the Port of Los Angeles. He adjusted the dial on his radio to VHF radio channel 73 and turned up the volume.
“Repeat. Recorded message. This is the Los Angeles Pilot Service. The Port of Los Angeles has been ordered closed by the mayor of Los Angeles. No vessels will be granted admission or safe harbor at this time. The Los Angeles Port Police is responding to your requests for assistance via its water patrols, but under no circumstances will you be allowed entry to the port.”
“Repeat. Recorded message. This is the—”
Jake turned off the radio. “Well, that certainly rules out that option.”
Ashby nodded in agreement as she set the binoculars above the instrument panel. “My guess is the docks are full because nobody is leaving. As the ash fallout begins to travel farther south, all business operations will shut down their machinery to avoid permanent damage. It’s true, you know. It only takes a couple of millimeters of fallout, mixed with the fluids of these complex machines, to destroy their inner workings.”
Jake pushed himself into the captain’s chair and fiddled with the ship’s wheel. “All the more reason for us to keep moving. I say we continue to monitor the hull, especially after we get under way. It’ll have to become part of our routine. If something breaks underneath, then we’ll make for shore and use the Zodiac to ride to safety.
“I don’t think we have a choice,” agreed Ashby. “We’ll burn up our fuel looking for a marina. If the plugs hold, then we can refuel in a more desolate area than LA.”
“Like Mexico,” said Jake. “I’m sure there are marinas up and down Baja California to choose from. Let’s take a look at the chartplotter. I found the manuals for every bit of the electronics, shoved up under a cushion on the sky bridge. I also checked out the antennas on the roof. In addition to a Doppler radar, there appears to be a HughesNet antenna. If we can find the passwords, you can access the internet.”
Jake powered on the fifteen-inch display on the Furuno navigation computer.
Ashby ran her arm through Jake’s and cozied up next to him for the demonstration. “Sweet. Tell me about this toy.”
“The left side gives us a detailed map of our position relative to the coast, and all of these symbols indicate cities, ports, marinas, and other vessels.”
Ashby pointed to a series of rings that looked like a bull’s-eye. “Is that us?”
“Yes, and the sea of red and green symbols to our south are the boats we can see through the binoculars. We have to drive around them because plowing through might not be such a good idea.”
Ashby pointed to the right side of the screen. “Is that a fish finder?”
“Yep. It shows their depth and also indicates the depth of the ocean floor where we sit.” Jake pushed an X on the display’s touchscreen and the fish-finder data disappeared. “This is what’s the most important to us.”
A series of gauges appeared showing their heading and positioning in relation to the shore, plus some information that had not yet been programmed. Jak
e continued. “We can plug in the coordinates of our destination, and the chartplotter will provide us the most efficient route, from a time, distance, and fuel-efficiency perspective. It will provide us warning signals when another boat is approaching our path. It even allows the autopilot to be controlled from this single access panel.”
“Wow!” exclaimed Ashby. “Does this mean we can travel at night?”
“Yeah, it does, if I can overcome my need to see where I’m going. It’s kinda like getting in one of those driverless cars. Am I really gonna trust that thing to take me from point A to point B? Not on your life!”
“What else does it do?”
“Weather updates are nice,” said Jake. “We’re in the middle of the Pacific hurricane season. The storms usually cross the coast of Central America and head due east into the Pacific. Rarely do they trend north of Cabo San Lucas. It’s not a problem for the next couple of days, but it will become something to keep our eye on after we turn eastward along the Central American peninsula.”
Ashby leaned forward and looked toward the cloudless sky. “Looks like smooth sailing today. I say it’s time to go.”
Chapter 11
The Pacific Ocean
Off the coast of San Diego, California
Jake manually steered the motor yacht to the west of the large number of vessels congregated around the Port of Los Angeles. Once in the open ocean, and after repeated checks of their leak repair, Jake felt comfortable utilizing the autopilot. After some discussion, they chose to set their course for Cabo San Lucas, the southernmost point of Baja California, and a well-known tourist destination.