Wake of the Hornet

by R. R. Irvine

  As soon as she lost sight of the river and moved into the heavy foliage, wind-whipped branches stung her face. She stubbed a toe on a tree root, felt a stab of pain, and looked down to see blood mixing with the mud between her toes. Visions of gangrene danced in her head. If Buettner hadn’t thought ahead and put in a supply of antibiotics, she could be in big trouble.

  She gritted her teeth. Antibiotics were part of any archaeologist’s standard field kit. Elliot had taught her that. For that matter, she should have brought along her own first-aid kit. But she’d forgotten about it in her haste to leave Berkeley. She imagined what Elliot would say. You haven’t got any more sense than your mother. Maybe he was right. Maybe she’d been crazy to go after Coltrane on her own. Why had she done it anyway? Was it Coltrane she was thinking of, or his airplane? Crazy like your mother, Elliot answered in her imagination.

  “Damn you,” she answered, “you have no right to compare me to Elaine.”

  Listen to yourself, she thought, shaking her head sharply. Don’t lose it. Keep your mind on where you’re going.

  In that moment, she realized how dark it had gotten. There wasn’t more than a few minutes of light left. If darkness fell while she was still in the jungle, she might lose her way. Then she’d have to stay awake all night waiting for the coconut crabs.

  So turn back, common sense told her, or at least wait for the villagers to catch up.

  She was about to take her own advice when it suddenly grew lighter ahead. A moment later she was out of the trees and into the open. At the mouth of the river, the ocean churned angrily, but the river current and the tide had formed a small inlet that remained relatively calm. But the beach was empty. She’d made the trip for nothing.

  Exhausted, Nick doubled over, resting her hands on shaky knees as she fought to catch her breath. The wind, with no trees to break its force, staggered her.

  “For Christ’s sake!” Coltrane shouted. “Are you going to help me, or just stand there?”

  Nick lurched around as Coltrane stepped from behind a palm tree around which he was wrapping a rope. The other end was attached to the Widgeon that was still out to sea, obscured by mist and bobbing violently. Coltrane had missed the sheltered waters by no more than a hundred yards.

  “We’ve got to get her up on the beach,” he said as soon as she joined him.

  She took hold of the rope that was wrapped around the tree trunk. “I’ll cinch while you pull.”

  Coltrane nodded, took a deep breath, braced himself and hauled on the line while she took up the slack. It was an inch-by-inch effort. Minutes went by and the Widgeon looked no closer to the shore, though she knew that to be impossible because the rope was lengthening at her end.

  The muscles in her shoulders and arms quivered under the strain, and she felt herself growing weaker by the moment.

  “It’s taking too long,” he shouted over the wind. “She must be caught in the current. Let’s tie her off and take a rest.”

  They secured the rope and squatted side by side on the leeward side of the tree. Nick closed her eyes, raised her head, and opened her mouth, quenching her thirst with rainwater.

  Coltrane leaned close. “We’re running out of daylight. I’m going to have to swim back out there and get another line on her.”

  “It’s too dangerous.”

  “It’s my fault. I miscalculated. I nosed her in close to shore, then bailed into the surf to tie her down. But the current swept her back out before I reached the trees. It’s just lucky I didn’t lose the Widgeon completely.”

  “That’s no reason to kill yourself now.”

  “The weather boys say the storm’s going to get worse. When it does, one rope’s never going to hold her.”

  Nick leaned around the palm tree to check the surf. The waves were already crashing hard enough to sound like thunder. Only fifty yards to the north, at the mouth of the river, the water wasn’t nearly as rough. A swimmer might make it from that direction, though the overall distance to the Widgeon would be much greater. But Coltrane looked as exhausted as she felt.

  “Once I get to the plane,” he shouted, “I’ll start her engines and bring her in slowly under power, while you tighten the mooring.”

  “Look at that surf. The undertow will turn you into shark bait.”

  “I can’t leave her out there, Doc. She’s all I’ve got.”

  “Isn’t she insured?”

  “She’s pushing fifty, Doc. You know insurance companies. They’ll pay me replacement value and I’ll be lucky to be flying a paper kite.”

  Looking at him, she realized his devil-may-care image was nothing but a facade.

  “Help should be here soon,” she told him, hoping she was right.

  “Who knows where you are?”

  “My father does.”

  His shoulders sagged in obvious relief, though she couldn’t help wondering how long it would take the villagers to arrive. Considering the weather and growing darkness, maybe they wouldn’t budge from the village until daylight.

  Coltrane nudged Nick’s shoulder. “What do you say, Doc? There’s no use sitting here getting waterlogged and doing nothing. Let’s get back to work. Maybe we can drag her in yet and save someone else the trouble.”

  He got to his feet and pulled her up after him.

  “Easy,” she said. “I hurt all over.”

  “I know how you feel, Doc.”

  “And I’m never going to get dry again.”

  “Think of my poor Widgeon. She’s getting drenched out there, and you have no idea what saltwater can do to an engine, let alone the fresh batteries I brought you for your radio.”

  It was dark by the time Chief Jeban arrived leading a small contingent of men, including Elliot and Buettner, both of whom were armed with battery-powered flashlights. Yali’s men carried butane-burning lanterns, which flickered precariously with each wind gust.

  After their arrival, it took only a few minutes to drag the Widgeon onto the beach by the mouth of the river. With the plane out of the water, everyone worked to tie her down.

  Nick watched in exhaustion.

  “You haven’t been this helpless since you were a baby. It makes me feel young again,” Elliot said.

  “You don’t look it.”

  He snorted. “That’s my daughter. What would you have done if I hadn’t gotten the chief to come?”

  “That never crossed my mind,” she lied.

  Under the chief’s direction, the plane was quickly secured. Once that was done, he circled the plane slowly, inspecting the work. Coltrane and Buettner accompanied him.

  When the circumnavigation was complete, Chief Jeban gestured at Coltrane and said, “Your plane will be safe here. This is a safe haven. The waves never come higher than here.”

  With his toe, he drew a line in the sand well short of the Widgeon. “In a great storm, the only place safer would be on the other side of the island.”

  Just then Henry Yali stepped forward. “We do not go to that side of the island,” he said.

  “Then maybe we should all be on high ground,” Nick said, hoping the weather might change Yali’s mind about allowing them a look at the sacred mountain.

  Yali raised his head as if assessing the heavens, though there was nothing to see but blackness. “John Frum isn’t that angry.”

  “But it will be a very bad storm,” Chief Jeban put in.

  With that, he turned to the villagers, nodded, and led the way back toward the village.

  CHAPTER 37

  Nick came awake with a groan. Every muscle in her body ached. Dimly she realized that someone was shaking her. It was Coltrane.

  “Go away,” she managed to mumble.

  “You’ve got to wake up,” Coltrane insisted.

  Some part of Nick’s mind desperately wanted to slip under again. The swaying of the hammock she was in was lulling her back to sleep. She bolted upright. There was no hammock. She was in a sleeping bag on the floor of the house and the entire structure was
swaying.

  “When you come awake, you really do it with a vengeance, don’t you?” Coltrane said. “Remember that line Chief Jeban drew in the sand?”

  Nick nodded mutely.

  “Remember how he said that the waves never came any higher?”

  Nick groaned. “Don’t tell me,” she replied.

  “Okay, I won’t tell you. But I’ve got to get the Widgeon out of there. If I don’t, the waves will toss her into the trees.”

  Just then Elliot pushed aside the privacy screen. “The natives are abandoning the village. The chief tells me that they’re going to the dry side of the island. I think we’ll all be safer there.”

  Nick realized that she was still fully clothed. So much the better, she thought, now all she had to do was find her boots.

  “Dad, I’ve got to go with Lee. He needs help.” She recovered her boots from under a pile of dirty clothes and jammed her feet into them. She felt a stab of pain from where she’d injured her foot. Thank God Buettner had brought along antibiotics.

  “I don’t think the plane can be saved,” Elliot said. “I won’t be able to get the villagers to help this time. They’re busy salvaging what belongings they can. A family has already been injured by a collapsing house. Most of the spare men have already gone to the church with the injured.”

  “I’ve got to try,” Coltrane replied.

  “And I’ve got to help him,” Nick said.

  “There’s no arguing with you, daughter. I know that. Curt and I will collect as much of our gear and notes that we can carry and head down the Mission Trail. We’ll meet you at the church.”

  Nick threw her arms around her father. “Be careful,” she said.

  He smiled. “Funny, I was just going to say the same to you.” He turned and left quickly.

  “Let’s move,” Coltrane said.

  The journey back to the plane was worse than the previous trip. Nick wasn’t sure if they would have the strength to do anything once they got there.

  By the time they reached the plane, water was lapping at her and the wind was so fierce that Coltrane had to shout in Nick’s ear to make himself heard. “It won’t be as hard to unleash her as it was tying her down. The big worry is that the wind will pick her up and flip her. Wait here.” He staggered to the Widgeon.

  Nick braced herself behind the trunk of a palm and wondered how her father and Buettner were doing. She hoped the wind wasn’t as ferocious toward the interior of the island. Suddenly Coltrane was back.

  “Here,” he said, handing her an axe. “I’m going to start up the engines. Count to ten after I’ve started both engines, then cut the ropes. Got that?”

  She nodded. “What happens after that?”

  “She’s already floating, so I’ll use the river current to get me out to sea while you skedaddle back to the Mission Trail. The villagers are right about the church. It’s built on the more protected side of the island.”

  “You can’t fly into that storm,” she protested.

  “I don’t intend to. I’ll taxi her around the island. The Japanese knew what they were doing. The lagoon by the lighthouse is where they anchored their ships. If I can reach there, the old bird just might make it through the storm.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “For Christ’s sake. Risking my life is one thing, but yours . . .” He shook his head and stared at the sea.

  Nick followed his gaze. Out there the angry wind was whipping up waves twenty feet high. The rain was nearly horizontal and hard enough to hurt bare skin.

  “She’s going to bob like a cork,” Nick shouted. “You’re going to need help to beach her again.”

  “I don’t want to have to worry about you and the Widgeon too.”

  “I can take care of myself. Besides, I’d rather be with the Widgeon than go back the way we came on my own.”

  Wiping rain from his eyes, he stared at her. “Good God, woman, you are stubborn.” He grinned. “Just be ready with the axe when you hear the engines.”

  Bent over against the blasting wind, he plunged toward the Widgeon and was soon knee-deep in white water. By the time he reached the plane the waves were waist-high and strong enough to bang him against the fuselage.

  Nick caught her breath. It was going to be hell when her turn came. She wasn’t as tall as Coltrane, and not as strong either. Strength aside, the Widgeon was going to be loose when Nick’s turn came. That meant Coltrane would have to hold the seaplane in place with the engines. If he put on too much power, Nick would find herself swimming for her life. If he didn’t power up enough, the Widgeon would be swept back onto the beach.

  So now’s the time to back out, she reminded herself. Otherwise . . . Otherwise didn’t bear thinking about. She clenched her teeth. She was committed.

  As she watched, Coltrane latched open the fuselage door so it would stay put. Then he looked back at her, gave her a thumbs-up, and disappeared into the Widgeon.

  Nick sighed with relief. At least she wouldn’t have to struggle with the door. And by leaving it open, he’d committed himself, too. He didn’t intend to leave her behind, not on purpose anyway.

  The port engine coughed. Nick crossed her fingers. The waves seemed to be growing by the moment, but so far the Widgeon was riding them like its namesake.

  The prop began to turn, then caught.

  “One down,” she muttered, her fingers crossed more tightly than ever. “Come on, Lee. Show me what kind of pilot you are.”

  The starboard engine belched smoke. Its prop spun and roared to life. The ropes went taut as the Widgeon strained to be free.

  Nick counted to ten, sucked a deep breath, and swung the axe, once, twice. Then she ran for the plane. Halfway there a wind gust pinned her in place. Her legs felt as if they were churning uselessly. All the while the engines revved and idled as Coltrane fought to keep the seaplane in one spot.

  Clenching her teeth, she struggled to move. Just as her strength started to wane, the wind shifted. The change sent her surging forward into the surf. A moment later, she grabbed the door frame, pulled herself aboard, and closed the door behind her.

  From the cockpit, Coltrane acknowledged her with a nod and opened the throttles. Nick didn’t know which grated more, the engine roar or the sound of the storm. By the time she reached the cockpit and dragged herself into the copilot’s seat she felt exhausted. But one look through the windshield rekindled her adrenaline. Against a black sky, an even blacker ocean roiled and seethed. The waves looming above them reminded her of oily, obsidian canyons.

  Somehow, Coltrane managed to keep from being overwhelmed by the breakers as he used one engine against the other to steer through troughs. Only when they were far enough out to sea to be free of the surf action, did he turn toward the lighthouse cove.

  “Now aren’t you sorry you came with me?” he shouted.

  “I’ll tell you if we live through this,” she replied.

  CHAPTER 38

  With the lighthouse just coming into sight, the storm worsened. The sky grew as dark as if the sun had been eclipsed. The sea churned, bouncing the Widgeon as if it were nothing but a piece of flotsam. Wind-whipped spray, or maybe rain, it was impossible to tell, engulfed them. The windshield wipers couldn’t cope. Nick couldn’t see more than a few feet. She shuddered at the thought of what would happen if they missed the lighthouse.

  “I’ve never been in anything this bad,” Coltrane said. “We must be near the eye of the storm!”

  The Widgeon was bouncing so hard Nick felt each impact through the soles of her feet.

  “The wind is shifting,” he told her. Even as he spoke, the plane’s nose sank as it plunged through a wave. Water swept over the windshield.

  “We’re fucked,” he said. “We’re going to have to get out of here.”

  “Where to?”

  “We’ll run the other way, with the wind. If we don’t, we’ll be swamped.”

  At that moment, the plane shuddered violently as a wave struck it head-on
. Coltrane immediately cut back on the port engine, and slammed the throttle to emergency power on the starboard. The seaplane rolled and for a moment Nick thought they might turn-turtle. Another wave hit them broadside. The port engine, already weaned to idle, sputtered and began missing badly.

  “Help me hold her!” Coltrane shouted.

  Nick grabbed the yoke in front of her and felt a shimmy strong enough to resonate through her entire body. “What now?”

  “Just hold on.” He freed his right hand to work the throttle and choke, fighting to smooth out the port engine. But it failed to respond, backfiring once before quitting altogether.

  “Hold her tight!” he snapped and let go of his yoke completely as he tried to restart the engine. After a few seconds, he hit the off switch and grabbed his yoke. “It’s no use. We don’t have any more time. We’ve got to beach her before we lose the other engine. If we can’t make the beach, go for the life raft in back.”

  He glanced at her, smiling or grimacing, she couldn’t tell which. Either way, his eyes said the raft was all but useless in this kind of sea.

  “Put on a life jacket,” he told her. “Then bring one for me.”

  She bounced from side to side as she fought her way back through the fuselage to where the life raft and jackets were stored. She struggled into her jacket, then battled her way back to the cockpit. A quick glance through the windshield showed nothing but black ocean.

  She held Coltrane’s jacket while he worked himself into it. That done, she eased back into the copilot’s seat and rubbed her shoulders where they’d slammed against the bulkhead. She was going to be black and blue tomorrow, she thought, then had to smile. You had to be alive to be black and blue.