Tahoe Ghost Boat (An Owen McKenna Mystery Thriller)

by Todd Borg

  After another minute, it was obvious that the boat was getting close, but no lights showed. The driver was committing a serious error in piloting his boat without running lights. The eccentric lady said the ghost boat had no lights. I dismissed it. But maybe she was right. When another minute had passed, I made an obvious, but startling, realization. The sound had gotten louder, but the direction of its source hadn’t changed. Simple geometry meant the boat was coming toward us.

  We had no lights, either. Two boats striking each other out in the lake was a very unlikely event. But if the other boat did, in fact, have no running lights, and if it were on a collision course with us, I had only its sound to avoid it.

  Gertie turned around and looked behind us. It was dark, but there was enough cloud light that I could see the fear in her face.

  I started paddling, trying to go left at a 90-degree angle to the course of the incoming boat. I thought about how you can’t outrun a tornado, so you go at right angles to it. We couldn’t outrun any motor boat. But by turning more to the left and paddling fast, we could easily get out of its way.

  I stroked hard. The sound of the boat got louder. What was its driver thinking?

  I adjusted my course even more to the left. The approaching boat got louder still.

  It still sounded like an outboard on a runabout, and the pitch of the engine sound hadn’t changed. But the engine seemed to be running at a much higher throttle setting than I’d earlier thought. The closer the boat got, the more its engine seemed to race. I paddled harder. Left side, right side, left side.

  I glanced around behind us. There were still no running lights on the approaching boat. I saw nothing in the darkness. As I turned more to the left, the boat always seemed to be coming from behind us. But we had no running lights, either. And as a human-powered boat, we made no sound.

  I started to wonder about the worst scenario. What if Mikhailo or one of his men were out on the lake, trying to kill us?

  But there was no way for someone driving a boat in the night to know where we were. It made no sense. We were invisible. Yet we were being chased. Maybe the woman was right. Maybe there was a ghost boat. Maybe it was chasing us.

  The boat seemed to roar behind us.

  Gertie turned around in her seat again. Her face showed the strain of horror.

  I paddled furiously as the boat behind us came closer, its whine like the growl of a night predator chasing down its prey. I turned again. Paddled harder. But no matter what I did, the dark, unseen, ghost boat followed us. By some magic, its captain could see us in the dark.

  In a moment, Gertie’s face transformed from concern into a fright mask. She screamed.

  The sound behind us multiplied. I jerked my head around to see.

  In the dark gray of the last twilight, I saw the shine of an aluminum hull’s bow hit a wave behind us and loft into the air. The boat was a touch to the right of our stern, but it was going to slam down onto our kayak.

  I stabbed the right blade of my paddle down into the water and jerked it back through the water with as much power as I had.

  Our kayak’s bow lifted and turned left. My effort pushed the stern down into the black water as the kayak arced to the left.

  The ghost boat slammed down onto the waves. The left part of its hull hit the right side of our kayak. Gertie gasped. The kayak bounced left. Water rushed into the kayak. The ghost boat’s momentum carried it forward. I strained as I made another paddle stroke with maximum power and speed. We pulled farther to the left. The ghost boat continued forward at high throttle. I turned to watch it go, to see the crazy, idiot skipper. But the boat went into the darkness, and I couldn’t see anything.

  Our kayak sloshed with the water we’d taken onboard, but it was still floating. Gertie was crying, and I couldn’t get enough air. I continued paddling into the darkness. I didn’t know which way was land and which way was sea. I just wanted to put distance between us and the boat that nearly destroyed us.

  But by my third paddle stroke, a chill permeated my body.

  The sound of the ghost boat was changing. It twisted in the night, unseen, but heard. And then it began to get louder.

  The boat was coming back to run us down again.

  But we were invisible! We were a silent kayak in the darkness!

  I was frantic. I couldn’t breathe. The racing motor grew in the night. How could the driver know where we were?! He had no searchlight. Even with an infrared scope, the waves would make it nearly impossible to see us.

  Then I had an idea. Maybe it was crazy, but everything about this was crazy.

  “Gertie,” I shouted. “Take off your hoodie!”

  She turned, horrified at my own craziness.

  “Take it off!” I shouted.

  “But it’s under your jacket!”

  “Take off the jacket. Then take off the hoodie. Throw the hoodie overboard! Hurry!”

  She struggled with my jacket. The zipper wouldn’t work.

  The ghost boat was coming closer.

  The sleeve caught as Gertie tried to pull her arm out. She pulled the jacket over her head, but her hand was still stuck inside the sleeve.

  “Pull it off!” I shouted as the ghost boat bore down on us from the side.

  Gertie leaned her arm and jacket back behind her seat as if I could help. I grabbed the fabric. Set my paddle down across my lap. Reached for her arm with my other hand. Pulled. Jerked. Gertie cried out. I gritted my teeth and ripped the jacket off her arm.

  The ghost boat roared toward us.

  I dropped the jacket across my knees and grabbed Gertie’s hoodie at the top of her head. “Lift your arms up!”

  She did as told. I pulled the hoodie up and off her. I felt her hair get caught in the fabric.

  The ghost boat was almost on us, its engine at full throttle.

  I pulled on the hoodie, felt Gertie’s hair tear. She made a small whimper but didn’t scream.

  The hoodie came off. I balled it up and threw it over my head behind us. Then I grabbed the paddle and took multiple fast strokes, straining arm and back muscles to make the kayak shoot forward in the water. Left side, right side, left side, right side.

  The ghost boat went from loud sound to sudden apparition in the night, bouncing on the waves, slamming shiny aluminum hull against black water as it bore down on us. It was twenty feet away, about to cut us in two, when it veered slightly away, behind us, and missed our stern by inches.

  I paddled again, turning away from the ghost boat, trying to get some distance between us. Another boat appeared in the dark. It was motionless, moored to a buoy. Then came another buoy without a boat. We were near a marina of some kind. Or a residential area with boat moorings. I kept paddling. More buoys appeared, all floating quietly in the harsh winter waters waiting for spring when a plethora of boats would be brought out of storage to spend the summer on the lake.

  The sound of the ghost boat changed once again, signaling another change in its course as it came around in another high-speed arc. I paddled faster, trying to get away. But this time the boat’s sound didn’t get much louder. Maybe it was still chasing us. Maybe not. I turned to watch and saw a vague movement in the dark as if the ghost boat were circling back toward the hoodie. But its path was interrupted when it hit the moored boat broadside. There was a tremendous screech of ripping metal. Crunching, splintering noises. A miniature meteor streak of sparks flew like fireworks. Then came a small flame, followed by a muffled explosion. A fireball the size of a compact car blinded me as it rose into the sky. Yellow light glowed bright on the side of Gertie’s face. Heat radiation was hot on our skin.

  Flaming debris arced through the night, curved streams of fire trailing gray smoke plumes. The fireball puffed out in a second. There was a ring of fire on the water’s surface as gas and oil burned. Burning debris hissed as the shattered boat hulls sank into the water. Soon, there was only a choppy scatter of flaming detritus. What we could see of the wreckage disappeared beneath the water.
Two minutes later, the last of the fires went out.

  I never heard the skipper call out. I never saw any other movement. But the collision was forceful enough that whatever ghostly skipper was onboard, he would have either been badly hurt or flung forward into the night.

  But maybe there was no skipper at all.

  FORTY-THREE

  I had no desire to paddle back and no light with which to inspect whatever debris remained. If there was a skipper trying to swim in the freezing water, it didn’t bother me to leave him. He was an attempted murderer. Trying to save him would just give him an opportunity to grab onto our kayak, tip it over, and drown us.

  “Here’s my jacket,” I said to Gertie. “You’ll want to put it back on.” She took it and, without unzipping it, pulled it over her head like a huge sweater. It engulfed her, and it took a moment for her to find the neck opening and get her head through it.

  “Why did you have me take off my hoodie?” she cried, her voice shaky with fear and trauma.

  “I don’t know if I’m right, but the boat that nearly killed us found us in the dark. We should have been invisible, but we weren’t. Your captors made you wear that hoodie. It seemed like it was about keeping your face out of view when they brought you up from Sacramento. But I’m guessing it was also a way to track you in case you got away. It may have had some kind of electronic chip sewn into it.”

  Gertie didn’t respond for a few seconds. Then she said, “The hoodie had a drawstring at the hem. The logo tag on the end of the drawstring was thick. Like the key fob for my dad’s car. Could that be it?”

  “That’s what I’m thinking, yes.”

  “And they could, like, home in on me wherever I was?”

  “Yeah. GPS or something. Maybe the boat chasing us was automated.”

  She went silent.

  I paddled slowly and quietly in case someone on the shore had seen the collision and fire and was looking out toward us. We came upon another empty buoy. From it, I ventured this way and that, my eyes gradually regaining their night vision. The snow increased, making a constant mist of melting flakes on our faces. After a few minutes, I saw a looming presence of darkness more complete than the darkness on the water.

  The shore.

  I stayed close enough to land to keep sensing the darkness while I paddled north, parallel to the shoreline, staying close to not get lost. Maybe a mile later, I found another group of buoys, all without boats, save one. There was one lonely, dark sailboat, maybe thirty feet long. If we could get inside its cabin and keep it dark, it would be a good, safe place to spend the night.

  We faced the stern of the boat as we approached. I could just make out the boat’s name in the dark. Nāmaka. I didn’t know the name, but it was probably something to do with sailing or water.

  I pulled up next to the boat’s side. It was a deep-keel design with a high lifeline rail. From down on the water in the kayak, the sailboat’s hull was imposing. I reached up and grabbed one of the stanchions near the stern.

  “Gertie, there’s a cable along the top edge of the boat,” I said in a whisper. “Like a really thin railing. Can you grab it?”

  “I can’t see it.” Her voice was loud.

  “Please talk quietly. Sound carries great distances over water.”

  She lifted her arm but didn’t quite have the reach. “I’ll have to stand. Is that okay?” This time she whispered.

  “Yeah. I’ll steady the kayak.”

  I put one of the paddle blades into the water, ready to react if Gertie made the kayak rock too much. She stood up slowly, leaning one of her hands against the sailboat hull. The kayak was very tippy and it shook, transmitting her shakiness. She reached up and out, her hand sweeping the air. She waved her hand up and down, and her fingers touched the cable. She grabbed onto it.

  “Great,” I said. “Hold on while I grab it, too.”

  I stood up and reached over to the sailboat.

  “Before we both get into the sailboat, I need to find a line to tie the kayak. Stay put while I climb aboard.”

  I set my paddle inside the cockpit of the sailboat, swung my leg up and over the gunnel, and climbed aboard. The only light was the faint glow coming out of the clouds. I felt around in the dark, touching surfaces, running my hands back and forth, looking for a coiled line. I found cleats and grab rails and the backstay, one of the cables that attaches to the top of the mast and helps hold it in place the same way utility power poles are held by guy wires. There was a storage locker drawer. I opened it. It had gloves and tools and a flashlight. I shielded the light with my hand, turned it on, and shined the beam around the cockpit. There were two large cockpit lockers. I opened them and looked inside. They were full with stuffed sail bags. I lifted up on them to see underneath. Nothing. I tried the companionway door. It was unlocked. Tahoe sailors were as trusting as vacation home owners.

  “I’m going down belowdecks to look for a line. Don’t move, okay?”

  “You’ll be right back?” Gertie’s voice vibrated with fear.

  “It won’t take more than a minute to see if I can find a line.”

  I stepped down through the companionway and used the flashlight to look around. The boat was neat and clean. The cabin was spacious but only six feet tall at the highest point, so I had to duck as I moved around.

  The main cabin was both a galley and saloon with a settee area that had a dining table and a bench seat. Forward of the galley was the head, and past that, the V-berth visible in the forward stateroom.

  There were many storage lockers and galley drawers. Near the head was a clothes closet. Probably, none of them would hold lines or other sailing tools.

  At the base of the companionway was the chart table and on it a marine radio. If the boat’s battery was charged, I could call for help. But I’d underestimated Mikhailo and his men regarding the ghost boat. They could have a scanner and be listening. I didn’t want to take the chance. Not this night, anyway. Gertie needed a break from trauma, and we both needed sleep.

  I’d wait to use the radio until I had a plan for our next move.

  Next to the chart table was a narrow closet. I opened the door. On the floor were rubber boots. Hanging on hooks were two sets of foul weather clothes, hooded jackets and waterproof pants. In cubbyholes were several flashlights and gloves. On another hook were nylon lines, neatly coiled. I took one of the coils and went back up to the cockpit.

  Gertie was still standing in the tippy kayak, hanging onto the lifeline cable with both hands. I could hear her teeth chattering. The snowflakes were now visible in the night. They’d grown to medium size, and they floated to the lake like those in a snow globe.

  “I have a line,” I whispered as I tied one end of it to a cleat on the sailboat.

  Working together, Gertie and I got her and the kayak safely aboard. I was able to lash the kayak in place along the cabin roof. I used slip knots so that I could free the kayak in a hurry if I needed to.

  Gertie’s shivering had increased.

  “Let’s get you inside and warmed up,” I whispered.

  I shined the flashlight so that she could see the steps of the companionway. We went down. She sat on the settee. I closed the companionway door behind us. I shined the flashlight into the galley cupboards and drawers and looked for candles. I knew there were cabin lights, but I didn’t want to turn them on for fear they would be too bright and alert anyone on shore. A candle would be dimmer, but I couldn’t find any.

  I turned back toward Gertie and saw a hurricane candle lantern hanging on a hook above the settee table. On the cabin wall nearby was a shelf. The shelf had holes cut into it. Inserted into the holes were jars for organizing small items. One of the jars had matches. I lit the hurricane lantern. The single flame was too bright for comfort. In one of the galley drawers, I’d seen a dish towel. I draped it around the outside of the lantern, careful not to let it go over the top edge where the heat from the candle would be hottest. Now the candle light was dim.

&nbs
p; While Gertie sat and shivered, I moved around the cabin and into the forward stateroom to make sure that all of the drapes were shut tight over the little windows and portholes.

  In the main closet, I found some sweaters. One was woman-sized. I helped Gertie get my wet jacket off and pull the sweater on.

  There was a built-in propane heater near the settee. It had an electronic ignition. I followed the procedure for turning on the gas, then pressed the ignition button. The little pop of spark fired several times, and then the pilot lit. I turned up the thermostat, and the burner turned on. In moments we had a blast of warm air coming into the cabin.

  There was little to eat in the galley. I found some bottled water and a bag of dried cranberries. We munched them in the near dark of the draped lantern as the heater made the space warm.

  “We’ll spend the night on this boat,” I said. “There’s a large bed in the forward stateroom. You can sleep there. I’ll sleep here on the fold-out settee.”

  “I’ve never slept on a boat,” Gertie said. “Is it... safe?”

  “Yeah. Cozy, too. I saw several sleeping bags. You’ll be warm. And the gentle rocking of the waves is the best sleep aid there is.”

  “How will we ever get back to the shore without those men finding us?”

  “We’ll go to a different shore. If the weather is okay in the morning, we’ll sail across the lake. The men won’t know where we spent the night or where we’re going. They may even think we died in the boat collision.”

  Gertie was quiet for a bit. “So you think we’re finally safe?”

  To hear the question from a traumatized girl was heartbreaking. Kids should all have shelter and food and clothes and, perhaps even more important, love. But safety was the number one thing a kid should be able to expect.

  “Yeah, Gertie. I could be wrong, but I think we’re finally safe.”