A Time to Swill

by Sherry Harris

  My stomach started to feel a little woozy even though I’d never been seasick before. I closed my eyes and tried to calm my breathing and heart rate. Both were banging along in double time.

  “How did you end up on this boat?” Maybe the poor thing had climbed aboard when the boat was onshore. The door could have slammed shut when the boat was being flung around as it went back into the Gulf. The cat continued purring.

  “Anyone else here?” No response. This room was a mess too, as if someone had tossed it or the boat had been whipped around by the Gulf for a long time. Clothes, bedding, and shoes were strewn everywhere. I hoped we’d be out of the riptide soon. Most riptides only went out about twenty feet. I prayed that’s all this was.

  Besides, Delores would have people looking for me. I hoped the waves wouldn’t obscure where the boat had disturbed the sand. Maybe my phone would wash up onshore and someone would spot it, or my shoes. I wouldn’t think about a scenario where none of those things happened and everyone assumed I’d gone home or continued my run. In that case, it would take hours for someone to realize I was missing.

  I talked to the cat until I ran out of things to say trying to keep my mind off the dire situation we were in. We continued to be bounced and pitched at the whims of the Gulf. Down here the boat creaked and groaned like banshees had taken possession. My fear level was high as I wondered if the boat would hold together. I said some prayers and stroked the cat. I’d read in books that people said time had no meaning and finally understood what they were talking about. Then, at last, the waters finally calmed. Now what?

  I was chilled because of my damp clothes, even though the air and water temperatures averaged in the eighties during October in this part of Florida. I grabbed a floral shirt off the floor and put it on. It was mildewed and the smell made my nose itch. I picked up a straw hat, with a tall, stiff crown and crammed it on my head.

  “Let’s go see where we are,” I said to the cat and it followed me up onto the deck.

  I gazed about trying to figure out where I was, disheartened to see that I was way farther away from the shore than I’d hoped. In three directions I saw endless views of the Gulf of Mexico. At any other time I’d admire the sparkling water and enjoy the warmth of the sun. Ominous clouds hung in what must be the southwest. Maybe that was what had passed over and tossed the boat around. Please, don’t let them be headed this way. The fourth direction—north, I assumed—I could see fog still obscured the shoreline. It looked like I would have to save myself.

  I stayed still for a couple of moments to get used to the gentle rocking. I wasn’t sure I could sail a boat this size even though I’d been on plenty of sailboats on Lake Michigan. These sails looked ragged anyway. But if the boat had a working engine or a radio of some sort, maybe I could get help. I pictured myself sailing back to shore like a modern-day, older Pippi Longstocking. Hailed as a hero.

  I went to the helm and put my hands on the wheel at two and ten. This isn’t driver’s ed, Chloe. The wheel spun a full circle, so it must have been disconnected from the rudder. That was no help. Even if I found a working engine, I couldn’t steer the boat back to shore.

  “Is there a radio around?” I asked the cat. It didn’t answer but followed me as I went back below.

  I opened doors off the main cabin. One of the doors opened to a bathroom, or the head, as my uncle always called it. I tried to open a second door, but something behind it wouldn’t let me open it fully. I peered through the one-inch crack. This was another cabin with a bed. It too was in terrible condition, with things all over the place. Wood paneling that probably once gleamed was now dulled by sea air. What had happened to this boat and how had it ended up here?

  The cat sat in front of a door at the far end of the main cabin. I threw it open. A skeleton sat at the head of a bed. I shrieked. It wore a hat and a dress. Its bony hand stretched out toward me. I stood as if someone had glued me to the floor. The skeleton’s jaw had dropped down in what looked like a creepy grin. I slammed the door closed.

  How could someone have died on this boat long enough ago for their bones to remain, yet this cat still be alive, meowing away? Never mind that now. I needed to find the radio. I scanned the room. There. There it was.

  The radio was built in to a wall. If the battery that ran it had any juice, it wouldn’t have much. I needed to try to figure out how to work it before I switched it on. A mic was attached by a curly cord to one side. I found the On/Off switch and a volume knob, which I turned up. It looked pretty basic. I hoped it was tuned to the right channel. But what to say? Something short and sweet. I took a deep breath, grabbed the mic, hit the On switch. Nothing happened, but I went on anyway, just in case. “Mayday. Mayday. Adrift off the shore of Emerald Cove. Mayday, Mayday—”

  I hoped you were supposed to say “Mayday,” and that wasn’t just something you read in books or saw on films like Jaws. Ugh, why did I have to think about Jaws at a time like this? I released the button and listened. No staticky crackle. No calm voice assuring me they’d heard the message and help was on the way. Nothing but the sound of the ocean and the creaks of the boat. The cat meowed.

  It was clawing on something wedged under the counter. It glinted in the dim light. I leaned over and saw a ring. It looked expensive. I pried it out and tucked it into the little pocket in my sports bra. I looked at a stain on the floor. Maybe it was only some dinner spilled, but I scooped up the cat. Where would help come from? A helicopter? A boat that heard my message? A plane? The Coast Guard?

  How could I make myself more noticeable? A mirror or something shiny to reflect off the bright, bright sun? I searched the bedroom. It had a mirror securely attached to the wall. I crossed to the bathroom. It had an old mirrored medicine cabinet. I tugged on the door, trying to pull it off, but the rusted hinges fought back.

  A crowbar would work, or a screwdriver. Tools? Where would they be? My uncle’s boat had a storage space below the main cabin so I went back out. I scanned the floor, kicking stuff out of the way until I found a hatch. I pulled it up and looked down into the dark space below. It was small. Probably where the engine was. I lay on my stomach and dropped my head down. It was hard to see anything in the dim light. But as my eyes adjusted, I saw the outline of a toolbox sitting on a metal table and tools latched to a pegboard.

  I eased myself down, dropping the last bit. The waves felt rougher down here, and I staggered a bit as I grasped the toolbox. I carried it back to the opening, lifted it over my head, and managed to get it out onto the floor. I went back and studied the tools. I picked out a hacksaw and a crowbar. I shoved them through the opening as another wave jolted the ship. The hatch cover creaked.

  “No, no, no.” If it slammed closed, I’d be stuck down here in the dark and could soon become the next dead body on this boat. I leaped for the edge, pulled myself up, and rolled away as it crashed back down. I lay on the floor for a minute until the cat licked my face in a time’sa-wasting message.

  I opened the toolbox and found a couple of flares and the gun that shot them. They looked old, and I knew from my uncle that old flares could be dangerous. I picked up some tools, and the cat followed me to the bathroom, where I pried the mirror from the cabinet.

  I took the mirror up to the deck along with the toolbox, which I set down. I almost blinded myself when the sun hit the reflective surface. Okay, so this might work. As long as I didn’t look at it. I scanned the horizon again. The fog seemed farther away. I hoped that meant it was receding and not that I was farther from shore. I spotted a tanker on the horizon, but it was so far away that I doubted it would be able to see the tiny speck I must be in the vast Gulf.

  Usually when I ran on the beach I saw fishing boats dotting the horizon. None were out today. Maybe the fog had kept them in their harbors—the small one at Emerald Cove and the much larger one in Destin. Joaquín, the head bartender at the Sea Glass Saloon, where I worked, fished every morning before coming to work. Was he out here someplace? Did he know I was missing
? News traveled faster than a radio message in a small town like Emerald Cove.

  My shoulders slumped as I realized no one was racing to my rescue. The cat meowed something that sounded like don’t give up. Or maybe it was just a plain meow and I was losing it.

  I held up the mirror and turned in a circle, hoping as I wiggled it around it would catch someone’s attention. My arms ached, but I kept at it. I saw two fighter jets scream by overhead. Probably from Eglin Air Force Base. They’d be too high to see me. But it was a good sign that the fog was dissipating. Otherwise they wouldn’t be flying.

  The bad news was, I couldn’t see fog or shore. I’d drifted farther out to sea.

  CHAPTER 3

  I had to set the mirror down because my arms trembled from holding it up. I propped it up in a spot where the sun hit it. I looked out again and spotted a small, red speck heading this way. A boat! I grabbed the mirror and found a spot where the sun struck it. I lifted it up and down so the light would be like a beacon. It didn’t look like the boat was getting closer.

  I set the mirror down and scrambled for the flare gun and flare. I looked at the cat. “I hope this works and doesn’t backfire.” Literally, if it did backfire, it could injure us or start a fire. I aimed skyward and shot. The flare went up like it was supposed to. No way the red boat could miss that.

  I shaded my eyes to watch the red boat. It turned away from me. Turned away. It couldn’t have missed the flare. Why was it leaving? I drooped with disappointment, swallowing some curse words no former children’s librarian would ever say at the library. Why would it do that? I couldn’t come up with any good reason. I could, however, come up with a lot of bad ones—pirates, smugglers, drug runners, human traffickers. Of all of them, the last one scared me the most.

  My mouth was so dry it felt as if I’d been drinking salt. The cat and I headed back down below. I wiped at my face, finding tears I didn’t know I was crying. “We have to be strong,” I told the cat. But I knew the chances of our rescue diminished with each passing hour. We went into the kitchen and found bottles of water in a cabinet. I took a cautious sip. It tasted fine. My hand trembled as I poured some in a bowl for the cat. I finished the bottle quickly as I watched the cat’s little pink tongue dart in and out of the water.

  I leaned against the cabinet for a minute. The boat was swaying harder than it had a few minutes ago. Please let it be the wake of a rescue boat.

  The cat and I ran up the stairs to the deck again. But no. I didn’t see a rescue boat or plane or helicopter. What was in sight were black clouds gathering and swirling off to the south. At least I thought it was the south. The clouds I’d noticed earlier that I’d hoped had been moving away from me. Great. Perfect. What was next, sharks? Another wave buffeted the boat. The cat and I were thrown to one side, and the mirror was sliding toward the edge of the boat. I dove for it and managed to pull it back so it didn’t tumble overboard.

  I sat hugging the hot mirror for a minute. Even though it was warm out, I was shivering. Fear, I told myself. Adrenaline. Think. Don’t let the fear rule. It was a lesson I’d learned at ten, when I’d almost drowned in Lake Michigan. I thought about sailing on my uncle’s boat, and the time the wind had quit out on the lake. I’d panicked, but my uncle had laughed and said not to worry. He had two backup systems for the sails, a motor and a generator. Maybe I’d find a generator here. Maybe I could figure out how to start it. My uncle had showed me how both systems worked all those years ago. Maybe it would make the radio work.

  The logical place for the generator was in the room where I’d found the tools. I didn’t want to go back down into that claustrophobic place, but my other options weren’t good. As the waves grew larger, I crawled to the stairs. The cat pranced underneath me like this was some grand game. I slid down the steps and went back into the cabin. I took a long, cloth belt from a plush, purple robe on the floor and used it to tie the open trapdoor to a hook low on the wall.

  I tightened the fabric as best I could and dropped back into the dark space. A wave hit the boat and slammed me into the metal table. My breath whooshed out of me and I gasped. The cat cried above me. Its little face peered down.

  “I’m okay,” I assured her. The cat cocked its head to one side, as if it wasn’t sure that was true. “Just stay there.” The last thing I needed was to be worried about losing her—if it was a her—down here. She stayed as if she understood my command. Or maybe she was just smart enough to know better.

  I got back down on my hands and knees as the boat continued to rock. It wasn’t likely that a generator would be up high. I felt around me as I crawled, hoping I wouldn’t find any spiders or furry creatures dead or alive. Which made me wonder about the body up above. But no time to think about that now. I’d found a generator to my right.

  I squinted at it as if that would help me see better. It didn’t. This wasn’t some fancy generator that started by flipping a switch. But it wasn’t that different from my uncle’s. “Please have fuel and oil or whatever else you need.” I toggled a switch back and forth, priming the pump. It shuddered, coughed, and my heart felt like it literally leaped in my chest. Then the generator died. “No, no, NO!” I pounded my fist on it. “Ow.” Then I went through the routine again.

  It belched smoke, but it rattled to life. I pulled myself up out of the pit and ran to the radio. The green light glowed. I grabbed the mic and yelled, “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. This is Chloe Jackson. I’m adrift on a ghost ship off the coast of Emerald Cove. Mayday, Mayday, Mayday.” “Ghost ship” was a term for lost, empty boats, not for ones with paranormal activity.

  I finally let loose of the button on the mic.

  “Hey, Chloe Jackson, this is Coast Guard Petty Officer Kevin Collier. Are you in imminent danger?”

  “No.” Maybe that was what Mayday was for and there were other terms for other situations. “Petty Officer Collier, I’ve never been so happy to hear a voice in my life.”

  “I feel the same. We’ve got a copter, planes, and boats out searching for you. I don’t know who you are, but the governor sure seems interested in your rescue. We have your coordinates.”

  “You do?” I asked. I’d never met the governor, but Vivi Slidell, my boss and co-owner of the Sea Glass with me, knew everyone. She was a power to be reckoned with when her dander was up. Which it had been for most of the few short months we’d known each other.

  “Yes. Your VHF radio is hooked to a GPS.”

  “Thank heavens.”

  “Let’s just talk until someone gets to you. I think the whole fleet of boats from Emerald Cove is out looking for you, and half of Destin’s fleet.”

  “There’s a body on board.” I’d been so caught up in my own drama, I’d forgotten to mention it.

  “Say again,” Collier said, his voice more urgent.

  “There’s a dead body. I think it’s a woman. And I’m not an expert, but I’d say she’s been dead a while.” I faced the radio and heard Collier talking to someone else. My nose itched and I turned. Smoke tendrils were curling up out of the hatch where the generator was. A belch of smoke rose as my eyebrows lifted in alarm. I whirled back to the radio.

  “Mayday. The boat’s on fire. Abandoning ship.”

  “Chloe—”

  I picked up the cat and raced up the stairs onto the deck, I heard a whunk, and flames shot up and out. I had no time to look for a lifeboat or life jacket. Flames chased us.

  “Sorry about this,” I said to the cat. I took a running start and leaped.

  CHAPTER 4

  We went a few feet under and I kicked away from the boat. I resurfaced holding the sputtering cat with one hand and paddling furiously with the other. The straw hat floated nearby, so I swam over, snagged it, and put it back on my head. I put the cat on top of the stiff crown so I could swim faster. Thank heavens the top of the hat didn’t touch my scalp, because the poor cat’s claws had to be fully out. The cat yowled in protest. Smoke roiled from the sailboat. The boat would be more visible at least.


  I focused on my strokes and kicks, fighting the increasingly large waves. Trying not to panic as thoughts of my almost drowning when I was ten swirled in my head. This was different. I was older and I wasn’t in a storm. Yet. I glanced over at the clouds that were swirling closer.

  A motor throttled, sounding like a boat was speeding toward me. I hoped it would be able to spot me in the waves. And then I saw it. I waved my hands. The boat slowed. A man threw a life ring toward me. I swam to it, latched on, and kicked while he pulled me to him. He reached down a strong, tanned arm. Deep laugh lines sprouted from the outer corner of his light brown eyes. He had a long, white beard and white, flowing hair. It was like Neptune himself had come to rescue me.

  “Take the cat first,” I shouted. The man lifted the hat from my head. He turned, placed the hat on the deck, and hauled me out of the water. It was a cigarette boat: built for speed, with a sleek hull and a narrow beam or width. These boats had a long nose and a short rear section for seating. Used by law enforcement, thrill seekers, and drug runners. I hoped he wasn’t the latter.

  He picked up the cat and gave it a cuddle before handing her over to me. “Are you okay?”

  “I think so. Shaken.”

  “Take a seat.” He picked up a handheld radio. “I’ve got Chloe Jackson.” He clicked off the radio. “You are Chloe Jackson, I hope, and not some other random woman stranded at sea . . . with a cat?” I nodded. He hit the radio again. “Yes. I’ll meet you.” His voice was sharp. He looked at me bemused as I held the cat and cuddled her to me.

  Her meows sounded angry. I couldn’t blame her. We were both shivering.