LC 04 - Skeleton Crew

by Beverly Connor

  "But 440 years and thousands of storms later, no telling where it is. They had to move several feet of silt and sediment off the Estrella. No telling how deep the other one may be buried." John yawned.

  "You must be tired. Why don't I send you to bed?" At the word bed, Polly jumped from her lap and ran down the passageway to the cabin area.

  "After this is finished and I dismantle the dam in a few months, maybe we could go somewhere, take a trip."

  "I'd like that. Someplace calm."

  "Rabbit, I don't think you could take calm."

  "Do you ride?"

  "Ride what?"

  "A horse."

  "Not since I was a kid."

  "There's a trail ride across Iceland I've always wanted to take."

  "What? On a horse across Iceland? That's not what I had in mind at all."

  "It'd be fun."

  "No, it wouldn't." He stood up and pulled her up with him. Stan awoke, meowed, and followed the trail of Polly down into the bowels of the ship. "This is what I had in mind." He kissed her.

  "The two are not mutually exclusive."

  "They are if we're on frozen tundra or a glacier or whatever's up there."

  "Well, where did you have in mind?"

  "I've always wanted to go to Aruba."

  "You mean with sand and beach and ocean? I think by the time this is over, I'm going to want a change."

  "You be thinking about a place. Somewhere that supports life."

  John walked Lindsay to her barge and they kissed good night. Over his shoulder Lindsay saw an opening in the clouds and a patch of stars. She hoped that was a good omen.

  Bobbie was already in bed when she returned, but not asleep. "Jeff's out of the hospital. He's staying on the island," she said.

  "How is he?"

  "He looks a little pale, but I think he's all right. He's grateful not to be in jail. Do you think you can solve all this mess?"

  "I don't know. It's not really my job."

  "Jeff hopes you do. He's really worried."

  "I'm just out of ideas and people to interview. The FBI has more resources. I'm sure they will come up with something."

  "Well, everyone has faith that you are going to get to the bottom of it. It was impressive the way you described a man by just seeing his toe print."

  "That's not exactly what I did."

  The morning brought bad news. Hurricane Harriette had been upgraded to category two and was moving. The steering winds had increased in strength; however, the meteorologists were not sure where she would go. She was moving northward, closer to their site, and she had been moving all through the night. The local weather was deceptive. The winds had died down and there were patches of sky among the clouds. But to the south the distant horizon looked dark gray.

  Lindsay worked on excavating the sea chest. The night shift had been suspended and the night crew were working with the day crew. Many of the divers were helping with the excavation. It was almost crowded in the well of the dam.

  It gave some a sense of security to have all the people in the dam. But it made Lindsay nervous. It radiated a sense of hysteria.

  At noon the sky grew darker and the sound of the waves grew louder. No one ate lunch. Lindsay was reminded of the Gordon Lightfoot song "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald"-"boys, it's too rough to feed you."

  Lindsay looked up to see John's silhouette at the top of the dam. She had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. He started down the ladder. A wave sent a spray of water over the top, wetting them all.

  John came to the center of the site and stood with Trey on the scaffolding. "The hurricane has changed directions. She is heading here," John announced. "And she is now a category three. When the siren goes off, those who are not in the skeleton crew, evacuate. The archaeology barge will take you away to safety. My barge will take those who stay behind."

  "I hate this," Gina said. "It's so scary. I wish I'd stayed on the island today. I'll bet they are already evacuating."

  "It'll be all right," Juliana assured her. "They won't let us stay longer than is safe. Will they, Dr. Chamberlain?"

  "No, they figured everything out ahead of time."

  The excavation stopped and everything that could be was taken up and stored on the barge. No one spoke except to give or respond to orders. A few looked as if they might have tears in their eyes. It was hard to tell, because everyone was covered with a fine mist of salt water. Lindsay wanted to comfort John. She couldn't imagine how he must be feeling.

  That sea chantey, the sad one, the last one sailors sang while working the pump before they left the ship, played in her mind over and over.

  Lindsay felt like crying. But every time she looked at John, up on top of the dam working with his crew, he seemed calm, undisturbed. Maybe he welcomed a test of his dam.

  A large, thick screen lay at the end of the dam, along with piles of long spikes. The early afternoon was spent hoisting up the heavy artifacts and packing the smaller ones. Lindsay was so absorbed in work that when the siren came, she jumped. The sound went on and on and on. More waves sent water raining down into the dam.

  Lindsay asked Trey if she could stay and help with the skeleton crew. He nodded absently. She assisted in covering the wreck with the screen. Her wet hands slipped on the wire and she almost cut her hand. When the wire was laid out over the wreck, she helped with pounding stakes into the ground using a wooden hammer not unlike the one used on poor Lopez's head.

  The sky grew darker. It was then she noticed that there were no lights in the dam and the pumps were not running. They were going to let the dam fill up and simply pump the water out again. It wouldn't matter to the waterlogged ship at all. Most of the exposed wood had been removed anyway. The rest was under a layer of sand and mud. It was all they could do, and it was time to leave her to whatever Harriette had in mind.

  Lindsay was wet and exhausted; the salt water chafed her skin. Her sneakers were caked with mud and heavy on her feet as she made her way in the dark to the stairs. Suddenly there was nothing.

  Chapter 31

  LINDSAY AWOKE CHOKING on muddy water. Her head hurt. It was black, black like a cave, like THE cave. She panicked, punching with her fists at something hitting her face. Plastic. She was under plastic. She pulled it until she found an edge and gulped in several lungfuls of air. The words leave her, leave her, leave her, kept running through her dulled brain. She pulled herself up on something-a metal bar?

  Leave her.

  She was in the dam and the water was almost to her knees. She called out, but her voice was lost to her own ears under the rushing sound of the waves and wind and darkness. Lindsay felt around the metal jungle gym-like object. The stairway. Working her way around she found the steps and slowly climbed them to the top of the dam. In the darkness, against a howling wind, with ocean spray stinging her skin, she stepped from the stairway onto the wall of the dam.

  The sand, where was the sand? There was nothing but thick rubber stretched over the top of the dam like the head of a drum. The wind pushed her down and she slid on the wet rubber, hitting the bump where the inner bulkhead stood above the sand, slipping half over into the well. Electric panic sparked through her body as she clawed at the rubber, sliding. There was nothing to hold on to. She slipped over the side. By some miracle she caught hold of the tie ropes that threaded around the edge of the rubber like huge stitches holding it in place. She hung from the rope, suspended on the side of the dam. Her wet fingers hurt. Think. The stairs. They were not a yard away. Gripping hard with her left hand, she let go with her right, stretched it over as far as she could, and grasped another part of the rope. She remembered now-they were going to cap the top of the dam so the water would drain into the well or into the ocean and not soak into the sand. John's crew were doing that when she was taking up the artifacts. She held tightly with her right hand and moved her left over. She could reach the scaffolding again. Safety. Don't count your chickens.

  Lindsay took hold of the
metal scaffolding with her right hand, and before she could chicken out, she let go of the rope with the left and grabbed the metal bar with it, while searching for a foothold. With her feet on a lower bar and her hands on a higher one, she baby-stepped around the metal structure. It shook as if the footing was no longer on solid ground. She ducked under the bar and lay on the stairs, tired and sick. She yelled again. Only a crashing wave answered her. Don't let grass grow under your feet.

  She climbed the stairs again to the top, this time staying low. She crawled onto the slippery rubber. She strained trying to see out in the ocean. Off in the distance she saw a fuzzy light-the barge, a ship, the shore? She was alone. They left her. Trey and the others left her. John left her here in the dark. She yelled his name. He wouldn't leave her here. Her head hurt.

  In the flash from the lightning she saw the trailers. She crawled on her belly so she wouldn't make a target for the wind. Don't go in a trailer in a hurricane, some voice said in her head. But what if there's something there? Something? What? Take a breath-a deep breath. You have to get your brain back if you want to live. You're alone. You have to have your brain. Air tanks. Maybe they left some diving equipment. That's it. Good thinking. Would that help? It's calm underwater isn't it? Isn't it? Dear God, please let there be diving equipment. She inched her way to the trailer and held on to its side with one hand and turned the doorknob. It wouldn't turn. It was locked. No. No. There's no reason for it to be locked. Locked out. I can't be locked out. Left out and locked out. She held on to the side until she reached the other door. She turned the knob. Please don't be locked. The door flew open in the wind. She climbed into the trailer and stopped a moment, resting.

  Don't rest long. Remember what happened when you rested too long in the cave. It was so much calmer in the trailer. No wind to hit her, no rain, just a little rocking. It's deceptive, her inner voice said. It will blow away and you with it. Get on with it. Lindsay headed for the closet where she knew they kept tanks. She passed the bathroom. Aspirin. She felt in her pocket for her key chain and the small flashlight on it. Never, never be without light. Light is life. If people wouldn't think she was nuts, she'd put it on a bumper sticker. She took four aspirin. It will make you bleed. Was she bleeding? She felt her head. Wet, but not sticky. I'm not bleeding. Don't scare me like that, she admonished her inner voice.

  Lindsay almost jumped for joy when she found a full air tank and diving gear. She pulled on the buoyancy compensator, tank, and mask. Someone's weight belt. Not hers. The wrong weight. Doesn't matter, any weight is good weight. She grabbed a diving knife from the floor. No flippers. Flippers would have been good. She could go fast in flippers.

  She hated to leave the trailer. It felt so much safer. It rocked violently. It's not safe. Go outside. There was a map next to the door. She didn't know what of, but she remembered Nate's advice. Always orient yourself in the right direction. Good advice, she didn't want to swim farther out into the ocean. She recalled a mental image of the dam and where land was and where ocean was. Remember that image. She put the mask over her face and stepped out the door. The wind knocked her into the side of the trailer. Maybe she could crawl under the rubber and wait. And suffocate. Maybe she could hold on to the stairway until the storm passed. John thinks the dam will hold. But, John doesn't have his butt out here testing it, does he? What if it doesn't hold? The alternative is the ocean. Look at it. It was dreadful, choppy, boiling. But people escaped sinking ships in boats. Boats! They always kept a boat at the dam. That was a rule. Never leave the dam without a boat. They had a small one on the land side of the dock, an outboard. You don't know how to drive a boat, her inner voice told her. "I'll learn," she screamed at it. She had two plans-swimming underwater and driving a boat to shore. One of them would work. She'd think about what to do when she got to shore.

  Lindsay crawled to the stairs leading down to the dock, grateful to have something to hold on to. Her hands were cold and wet, and she squeezed the bars until they hurt as she descended. The boat was there. It was a small motorboat. A mouse of a boat. Not worth taking along with them-thank heaven.

  It was tied to two moorings, fore and aft, and bucked in the water like an unbroken horse. The ties kept it from crashing into the bulkhead. She somehow managed to climb into the rocking boat and fell onto its bottom. It had water in it, but that was all right. It was only five miles to shore. Five miles, short for calm water, a light-year in a hurricane.

  How do you start the motor? Like a lawn mower? Does it have a starter button? She tilted it back so the propeller was in the water, trying to remember her father and brother taking her out fishing. Quick-rudder-she felt for the rudder. Clutch-she found the clutch. Start. What if there's not a key? There wasn't. A starter rope. It had a starter rope. She pulled. Nothing. She pulled again. Nothing. Third time wasn't a charm, but the fourth was and the motor rumbled to life and screamed at the sight of the storm waves. She took the knife and cut the ropes, positioned the rudder in a manner that she hoped would take her away from the dam, and gently moved the clutch.

  The boat shot away from the dam, bouncing as if it were made of rubber. Each bounce hit the water hard, jarring her head, making her nauseated. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but getting to the shore. Then what? Doesn't matter. Get to shore, get to shore, get to shore. She'd make it. The wind slammed at her side. Not good. She remembered the diary. Keep the boat into the wind to ride out a storm. I don't want to ride out the storm, I want to get to shore.

  A wave slammed into her, almost turning her over. She was sitting in water. Nothing she could do. Pray you get to shore before she sinks. Maybe you should have stayed at the dam. Too late. The dam was behind her. Don't look back, you'll turn to salt. Besides, if she was lucky, the dam was a couple or three miles behind her. She put the clutch in another gear and went faster, bouncing harder. Get to the shore as fast as you can. Haste makes wastemaybe, but sometimes haste makes fast. She couldn't see the shore. What if she was going in the wrong direction? No, she was going in the right direction. Go, go, go. She was lucky-she bounced, but stayed afloat. People did get to safety in storms in lifeboats, she told herself over and over. Was that it ahead? The shore? There was a line of dark something ahead. Maybe it was the shoreline. Maybe it was clouds. Her head throbbed. Why wouldn't the aspirin take effect? Maybe that was the wrong thing to take. Too late now.

  Another wave slammed into her, tossing the boat over on top of her in the water. She sank. The water was not calm below the surface. Her inner advice had lied to her. The wind reached down under the water, churning it. It swirled her around like a mixer. She fought to get her regulator in her mouth and took a breath. She was hopelessly turned around. She'd never find her way to shore, she was going to drown. No. I'm not going to drown. The waves are going ashore. They will take me ashore.

  She felt sick, nauseated. Don't throw up, not now. Laterwhen you're on the shore. Breathe slowly, be calm, try to dive deeper where it's calmer. You'll go to shore, that's where the water's going. You're close, you were almost there, weren't you? Before you turned over, didn't you see the dark line of trees blowing in the wind? Lindsay let out some air in her BC so she would sink deeper. The water was still choppy. A wave must have gone over her, for she suddenly bobbed and tumbled forward. Just breathe until you have no breath. She reduced her BC some more, sunk a little farther. The water was still rough. Another wave went over. She hit the bottom of the ocean hard, the regulator jarred from her mouth, she slammed the side of her face against the bottom of the sea. Don't breathe, don't breathe. She scrambled for her regulator and put it in her mouth and breathed. It still worked.

  Bellisaro stood holding the stump of the mast, yelling at her to hold on, telling her he was sorry. She clawed at the bottom of the ocean until her fingers hurt. The water rushed over her like a river, but she moved against it, swept by some magic current. The floor of the ocean was so hard, and it hurt her fingers. She felt a stabbing pain in her arm. She was going to die.

&n
bsp; I'm sorry, she whispered in her mind to all those people who would mourn her. Another wave crashed over her, and another, and another, and she was on land. A tree limb blew on top of her. Her left arm hurt, but she wasn't in the water. She pulled the regulator out of her mouth. The bottom of the ocean still hurt her fingers as she dug them into it trying to rise. It's so hard. Where's the sand? She rose to her knees, pulling off her gear with shaking fingers. The wind blew another branch in her face. She wanted to scream at the trees. In the dim light she looked at the vegetation blowing in the wind. Why was she so high? She looked down, then all around her. No. It's impossible. She heard a creak, a groan, and a crash. She stood.

  She was standing on the deck of a galleon. The jagged stump of the mainmast was directly in front of her, the railing to her right. The wind pushed her sideways, the deck started groaning and giv ing way under her feet. She jumped, landing hard in the wet sand, knocking the breath out of her.

  On all fours, gasping for breath, she crawled to the trees. Impossible. She looked again. It was there, impossibly damaged, collapsing, majestic. With another groan, the ship keeled over. Lindsay crawled into the woods, looking for a low place, something with protection, anything. She fell into a shallow depression filled with water and laid her head on the sandy bank.

  Lindsay awakened with a start, gasping for air. She had slipped into the ditch and her mouth filled with water. But there was no sound. Had it passed? As she slept, unconscious, it had passed, and now it was morning. Was this the eye? Something told her that no, it wasn't. That, as bad as the winds were, they were not near hurricane strength. Her arm throbbed in pain. She remembered the dream. Bellisaro, the ship. She wondered how she had lived.

  She walked on aching, throbbing legs, out on the beach. It had to be a dream. But there in the sunlight lay the ship. Its bow plowed into the foliage, the rest in shallow receding water. It was enormous. Even decayed and crumbling, she was grand. Lindsay walked toward it, the water gently lapping around her ankles-as if only the evening before it hadn't treacherously tried to drown her.