“I thought about it,” I told him. “But, I’m guessing it has a fairly deep draft, right?”
“Twenty eight inches,” he agreed. “What about yours?”
“Angel draws less than a foot and has concrete on the bottom. If she grounds, it’s no big deal. I’ll get out and pull her off if I have to.”
He shot me a mild look of surprise. “Her name is Angel? I didn’t notice that when I came in.”
Gabriel dug through his pockets and pulled out a brass key. “Here, take this. Over in the pilot house, there’s a compartment next to the helm. I have a .32 revolver in there. Go get it and take a look at the stern before you come back.”
I climbed through the netting, excited at the thought of having another weapon. The gun turned out to be heavier and larger than I’d expected and carried a longer barrel than the snub nosed varieties I’d seen. A box of bullets lay next to it. I snatched up both and locked the pilot house behind me.
Halfway back to Angel, his comment about the stern came flooding back. I turned and walked to the end of the dock, stared for a moment, and headed back to the sailboat.
“Ark Angel?” I asked as I climbed through the netting, wondering how many people had looked at the name and thought the man couldn’t spell.
He grinned weakly. The casual, comfortable image of a man leaning against a doorway had evaporated. Sweat beaded across his forehead even though he shivered in the cool air. His eyes had a glassy, detached look about them. I slid the pistol into my pants pocket. Extra eyes would be fine. A hallucinating man waving a gun would not be.
“It’s a play on words and my name. When I was working on the boat, one of the delivery men looked at it and asked me if I was building a miniature version of Noah’s ark.”
He settled back against the cabin bulkhead and crossed his arms as if he were cold. “Gabriel was an archangel. So, I ended up with Ark and Angel. But, here’s the question of the year. Who would have thought that out of a million boats on the East Coast, we’d end up with two angels parked at the same dock? Maybe it’s an omen.”
“Let me get you a jacket,” I told him. “I’m not sure what’s left on the boat, but I’ll dig up something. As far as the omen goes, let’s hope it doesn’t mean we’ll need angels.”
I went below and poked through the lockers with little success. Joshua and the girls had stripped Angel bare. Other than sailing gear, the water in her kitchen tank, and a few personal items, the cabin had been cleaned out. Even the glasses and silverware were gone. Apparently, they hadn’t deemed the cartons of cigarettes important enough to bring. I dug a pack out and hunted down a lighter in the sink drawer.
I ended up making another trip across the dock, returning with a jacket and a blanket. To my dismay, Gabriel didn’t seem to be a tea drinking man. I settled for a six pack of Cokes I found stuffed inside a cooler.
With a couple of hours to spare, I turned on the old laptop and studied the map of the inlet. We would need to steer close to forty-five degrees on the way across. The angle surprised me. In my mind, the island lay due north.
The GPS would serve as both compass and ship’s clock on the trip. I cut power to everything else. I wanted Angel to present as little light as possible while we were on the water. At the same time, I needed the best options available for navigating the crossing. Choosing between the huge marine compass and the GPS display came down to a trade-off between how much light we gave off and being able to see the route ahead.
A true sailor might have gone with the compass. I’ll admit to not being a true sailor. I had set the screen on the GPS to its maximum range of three miles. With a six-mile crossing ahead of us, that meant display should start etching off the coastline of Ocracoke at the top of the screen about the time Portsmouth dropped off the bottom. I’d also set a waypoint on the GPS while moored to the dock. The unit would go crazy trying to find a road in the middle of the water, but the little arrow at the top of the screen would point the way home when I punched the return button.
Men had crossed oceans for centuries with a compass as their main aid to navigation. I’d take being able to visually see my destination over the little marks on the illuminated dial any day. My Dad might roll in his grave at the thought. If so, he could roll away. I’d rather him do that than snicker because his son was lost.
When the time readout clicked over to nine, I pulled in the lines, fired up the engine and backed Angel away from the dock. Gabriel sat facing me, his bad leg stretched out on the port seat, and his back against the cabin bulkhead. He seemed alert enough, raising glazed eyes and studying the dark waters as they slid by. At the same time, the infection had clearly been working on him. He spent most of the ride shivering, huddled up inside the blanket as if we were steering through arctic waters.
I went easy on the throttle in order to reduce the engine noise. We had plenty of time. With the GPS indicating a speed close to four knots, I estimated that the crossing would slide by in an hour and a half. I could be happy with that pace and even more pleased if we made it quiet enough to slip by Silver Lake undetected.
The biggest uncertainty lay with the incoming tide. I had no idea how far into the sound it would push us. I didn’t want to overcompensate and come in with the harbor entrance dead ahead. Nor did I want to end up so far out in the sound that I could motor all night looking for the outline of an island that lay several miles east. The ideal course would bring us up the sound side and leave Ocracoke lying off to starboard. The display on the GPS muted most of those worries. If the island failed to appear, I could bring my course back east until I picked it up. Either way, the window of uncertainty would be narrow. Within minutes of losing Portsmouth, I’d know if I needed to change course.
Fortunately, the swells were small and evenly spaced. Angel rode them well, giving only a brief shudder when the energy of the passing wave slid under her. The feeling isn’t one that’s easy to describe. Imagine the earth sighing. Even smooth water on the ocean can feel as if the world underneath you just exhaled when swells pass. The motor tells you too, going from an easy throb as it rides through the flat space between waves and up the crests to a sudden growl as it searches for water and torque in the trough.
The night, though dark, carried enough starlight to make out the water. Down on the horizon and off to the east, a tiny sliver of a moon pushed its way out of the ocean like a gleaming scimitar being shoved toward the sky. Overhead, the Milky Way crawled across the heavens in a wispy and transparent river of light. Stars glittered in every shade of the rainbow, sparkling like rubies, sapphires, and diamonds strewn across a sea of black felt. The air coming in off the ocean had enough of a bite to warrant a light jacket, but lacked the damp, miserable feel of sailing in colder waters.
Gabriel leaned back against the bulkhead with the blanket pulled tight around him most of the way. At times, he appeared to be sleeping. At others, he would sit up straighter and peer off into the darkness. Neither of us spoke. I didn’t know what fears rode across his mind, but mine centered on whether or not a giant searchlight would suddenly erupt ahead like a miniature sun. Slipping across an inlet in the dead of night would do no one any good if we both died in a hail of bullets.
Forty-five minutes after we’d pulled out, the lights to Silver Lake Harbor glimmered into existence off the starboard bow. A few minutes later the tan outline of the coast appeared on the GPS. Rather than make for the lights, I kept Angel’s bow pointed north and slid up the coast. A new window of uncertainty opened when we passed the southern tip half an hour later. I had no real markers other than speed. Elsie knew the vet’s house hugged the shoreline about a mile above the town. I didn’t have to be dead on at that point, but needed to be close enough to see the bonfire when he lit it.
I kept the engine at half throttle for another fifteen minutes to account for the extra mile and hit the kill switch. The engine died instantly, leaving us silent and drifting. Climbing out of the cockpit, I waffled my way through the netting and made my
way to the bow where I dropped anchor.
I couldn’t tell you how deep the water was except that it wasn’t. Line played out in my hand for only a few seconds before it went slack. I let out fifty feet of rode and snagged the end around a cleat. With the wind coming out of the southwest at no more than five miles an hour and the water only a few feet deep, fifty feet of line would provide plenty of scope to bury the anchor in the bottom. I waited until the current had turned us and ate up the slack. The line grew taut then, jerking a couple of times before holding firm. I stood on the bow, waiting until I was sure the anchor wouldn’t drag and listening to water trickle down Angel’s sides. Finally satisfied that the current wouldn’t push us farther down the shore, I rejoined Gabriel in the cockpit.
The older man nodded off at some point. I let him sleep. Not once on the way across had anything come fluttering out of the darkness. If the little bats from hell chose to show up in the next couple of hours, I could get both of us in the cabin.
Most of my fears had also died, washed away by the lull of the ocean and the throb of the motor. I had no idea whether or not we’d come close to grounding. All I knew was that Angel had made it without a hitch and no supernatural fiends had swooped in out of the darkness. Even better, blinding searchlights had failed to appear. The only worry I had left tied directly to the fact that I didn’t know where the old vet lived. Second grade math told me that we had to be close. A quick scan up and down the shoreline revealed no bonfires, but we were still an hour and a half early. I didn’t expect to see anything for a while yet.
My Coke had gone flat during the crossing. I sipped at it anyway. After a few minutes, I remembered the cigarettes I’d stuffed into my pocket. The step from remembering them to lighting one took about thirty seconds.
Gabriel moaned occasionally. I couldn’t tell if the outbursts stemmed from pain or fever-induced dreams leading him down ugly paths. At times, he twisted and jerked against the bulkhead. Others, he laid still, the groans sliding from lips barely parted. Sweat leaked down his face in a wet shine that gleamed in the dim light given off by the GPS.
I had no idea what else I could do for him. He had the jacket and a blanket to ward off the cool night air. Elsie had given him a handful of ibuprofen at the station. He needed stronger drugs, drugs I didn’t have. He needed knowledge I didn’t have, medical facilities I didn’t have. The list of things I didn’t have that might help dwarfed the pitiful list of items I did have. I watched him tug at the blanket constantly as if trying to pull it closer, but warmth seemed to evade him. Every time he shifted position or tried to pull the blanket tighter about him, another low hiss of pain slid from his lips. I caught myself glancing at the digital readout on the GPS every couple of minutes, wanting the time to pass faster.
At quarter past eleven, a small light flared down the shoreline in the direction of Silver Lake. Within minutes, the little yellow beacon had grown into a blazing fire. Despite the fact that I knew it had to be Elsie’s friend, the whole business had a rum-runner, smuggler’s den feel to it. The sight of the fire sat me up straight in my seat and sent little alarm bells racing along my nerves.
I’d never been a great judge of distance, but it looked like I’d passed the pickup spot by at least half a mile. Several minutes passed while I studied the shoreline for movement.
A groan from Gabriel finally stirred me into action. I pulled up the anchor and eased Angel toward the fire. We slid in at barely three knots. Twenty yards from the shoreline, I cut the motor and let her ghost in under her own momentum.
A small john boat sat moored to a floating dock no more than ten feet long. I eased Angel in on the opposite side and tied up to a cleat at the end closest to the bank.
The man waiting looked to be seventy at least. He shook my hand, squeezing it hard enough to make me wince. The years might have taken a toll on him in other ways, but Elsie’s friend still had the grasp of a man half his age. He was tall and lanky except for the little bulge of belly that threatened to spill over his belt. A wild shock of Einstein hair and white eyebrows stood out against his dark, leathery skin. The effect looked odd, like he carried his own personal black light. I almost looked down to see if my sneakers were gleaming.
He grinned at me while he pumped my hand.
“I’m Charlie.”
“William Hill, friend of Elsie’s,” I offered in return.
“Glad you made it,” he said. “Damn these days when the government thinks they can tell an honest man where he can go and where he can’t. Elsie said you had a sick one over there.”
I nodded. “We do. Actually, he’s in the boat with me. He insisted on coming.”
His face lit up.
“That’s good. I have penicillin and tetracycline for you. I drew up a few shots estimated at a weight of two hundred pounds, though you could go thirty or forty pounds on either side of that and be okay. Let me take a look at him. I’ll have a better idea how to treat him.”
I led him down to Angel. Gabriel lay spread out on the port seat, the same one where Zachary had spent his last night. I had to fight back a shudder at the memory.
Charlie started to climb aboard and ran into the netting. He stepped back confused. I lifted up the edge and let him pass without offering an explanation. I couldn’t think of one that made sense. Starting off a conversation with words like demon-shroud didn’t seem conducive to generating either good will or long term friendships.
I imagine the old man had seen his share of injuries and wounds. Even so, he let out a hiss when he saw the mass of raw flesh. It looked worse than it had earlier. Tiny rivulets of clear fluid leaked across thicker streams swirling with yellow and red where blood mixed with pus. I don’t know how he stood the stench. It wafted up from the leg in a humid, throat-clenching cloud.
I held a penlight for him while he inspected the wound. The cabin light hadn’t been enough even though Gabriel’s leg lay in the bright rectangle that poured out of the open hatch. After a couple of minutes, he turned to escape the stink and took a deep breath.
“What in Heaven’s name happened to him?”
I hesitated, the same way I had with Gabriel when we’d first talked about the creatures. “Something got hold of him. I’m not sure what. I just met him today. He said it was an animal.”
“He needs a hospital. Even then, I don’t know if he’d make it or not,” the old man said in a low voice. “I tell you what though. I have run across about every kind of animal bite there is. That pattern and those marks don’t match anything I’ve ever seen.”
He stood up suddenly and pawed at the netting.
“Get me out of here. I need to set up an IV for him. Those shots will help, but he needs this in his blood stream as soon as possible. You have anyone over there with any medical training?”
“We have a dental hygienist,” I said, knowing how lame the words sounded even as they were coming out of my mouth.
He stared at me like I was an idiot. I didn’t blame him. I felt like one.
“Then you watch what I do. He needs to be on an IV for the next few days at least. You’re going to be the best doctor he has. Now, how in the hell do you get out of this thing?”
I leaned over and lifted the edge of the netting. Charlie climbed out and stood up on the dock. “Well? Come on. I’m not carrying this stuff down for you.”
The man reminded me so much of Elsie at her finest that I almost asked him if they were related. I followed him up next to the fire. A backpack sat atop a large crate. Two burlap sacks lay next to them.
“There’s food in the sacks,” he explained. “If I understood the Judge right, Elsie wanted some chickens.”
He turned and looked at me. “If I was wrong about that, you don’t have to take them. That crate has five hens and a rooster in it.”
“No, she will be happy with them,” I told him even as I wondered where I was going to put them. “Don’t worry about that. She’s ready to start farming over there.”
The veter
inarian chuckled. “If I know Elsie, she has no intention of farming anything, but I guarantee she’s ready to put you men to work.”
I shot him a humorless grin, but said nothing. I could easily imagine Elsie walking through a garden with her shawl pulled across her shoulders berating me for the weeds I’d allowed to grow between the vegetables.
“Anyway, that backpack has antibiotics in it, as much as I could put together from what I had in the office,” the old man said. “Well, let me rephrase that, as much as I could find that wouldn’t kill you. Not all drugs work for both humans and animals, you know”
“Yeah, well, let’s not kill anyone,” I said dryly.
“Most of it is in pill form. There’s enough there to see a small community through a winter of sore throats and ear infections,” Charlie continued. “Use it sparingly and if you go three or four days with no results, you’re probably looking at a virus. That means your body has to beat it.”
The fire blazed inside a ring of bricks that looked old enough to have provided the heat and light for a century of outdoor parties. He paused to warm himself, holding his hands out over the flames.
“I’ll take the backpack with me right now. After seeing him there’s a few other things I’ll add that might come in handy,” Charlie said and nodded toward a low ranch style house that sat about fifty yards away. “I’ll have to fetch them from the office.”
I could barely see the building in the firelight. A small porch light illuminated the back door and a few feet of brick wall on either side. Tall shrubs gone wild hid one side, their spindly branches casting writhing shadows against the burnt orange surface behind them. The other side disappeared behind what looked like a large magnolia tree.
“Why don’t you load this stuff up while I go grab a few things we’ll need to hook him up? There’s a five gallon can of gas over at the shed. That’s yours too. I know it’s not much but, over there, every little bit will help.”
Firelight played across his face when he looked up. After seeing him and Elsie next to campfires, I made a mental note to stay away from them when I got older. The wrinkles in his skin looked like canyons in the flickering light.
The Island - Part 3 Page 7