Stu threw a leg over the edge of the Calypso, straddling both boats and holding them together as Jenn crawled across and squatted down in the doorway of the boat’s cabin. Mike, who was the most surefooted, began handing packs and weapons and bags of food to Stu, who handed them to Jenn. She laid them down as quietly as she could in the cabin.
“Hurry up,” Stu hissed at her. She tried to hurry, but the cabin was pitch black and she ended up tripping over a crossbow.
“Hello?” The word filtered down, soft and nervous, from the guard tower. “Who is that? I have a gun.”
Mike and Stu both put a finger to their lips as if Jenn was about to blurt out their mission. “It’s me,” Mike said as he handed a bundle of blankets to Stu.
“Who is me? And what are you doing?”
Another bundle was handed over. “Oh sorry. It’s Mike Gunter. Who is that, Phil? What did you do to get guard duty at one in the morning?”
Phil ignored the question. “Mike? Jeeze, what the hell are you doing here?”
Another bundle was pushed into Jenn’s hands as Mike answered, “I really should talk to Gerry first.”
“Gerry? Hold on.” There was a new sound from the guard tower; it was the unmistakable muffled thud of boots hitting the rungs of a ladder.
“The mooring lines,” Mike whispered, urgently. Stu went to the aft line while Jenn hurried to the bow and pulled on the free end of the mooring hitch and the knot came loose. Stu and Jenn pushed away from the dock and there was a hollow thump as the two boats came together. This was followed by more thumps as Mike began chucking their gear across as fast as he could.
“What’s going on?” Phil asked as he came off the ladder and began hurrying down the dock. “Is it about Jeff or William? Did one of them die? I just want…what the hell?”
Stu had his .357 out. Despite the dark, it gleamed. Phil stared at it with round eyes. “We need her,” Stu explained. “And we’re going to take her, so be cool.”
Phil took a step back and began shaking his head in disbelief. “No. You, you won’t shoot me. I know you Stu Currans. I know you wouldn’t shoot me.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
Jenn heard Phil’s breath begin to quicken and she knew he was about to shout a second before he did. “Help! I need help at the docks!” Stu cursed and lowered the gun. Phil had been right. Stu wasn’t going to shoot any of the islanders. “Help!” Phil cried, louder now.
“Switch!” Mike cried, leaping across to the Calypso, where he immediately attacked the lines wrapped around the sail. Stu was much less steady as he went to the Puffer. He reached a long arm across the space and hauled the small boat to them. Jenn scrambled to help. She grabbed the edge of the Puffer and held on tightly while Stu threw the rest of the gear across.
Phil continued to yell and in seconds the sound of racing feet could be heard thudding along the dock. By then, Mike had the mainsail up and was coaxing the Calypso away. Within half a minute, Stu had tossed over all their gear and climbed across. He pushed away the Puffer and then began to help Jenn clear the deck.
“It’s Mike and Stu Currans,” Phil yelled, as men came up. “They’re stealing Calypso.”
“Stop right there, Mike,” growled a voice. It was Rocky Duckworth, the head guard. “Bring her back in, damn it. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
They were only some thirty feet from the dock and Mike was in the process of worrying at a knot that was holding the foresail down. “I’m just borrowing her for a spell. Don’t worry, Gerry knows what I’m up to.”
“We both know that’s a lie,” Rocky said. “Now bring her back or else.” When Mike made no move to bring her back in, Rocky asked, “Do I have to declare this a theft? Is that what you want?” Normal theft could be punishable by banishment, but this wasn’t only Gerry’s most prized possession, it was the community’s as well and Gerry could implement the death penalty.
“It’s not theft if I’m only borrowing it,” Mike said, and then cursing, brought out a knife and cut the knot. In seconds, he had the sail raised.
“If that’s the way you want to play this,” Rocky said before barking out orders to get the next fastest boat ready. With a dozen experienced seamen working as a single unit, they had the Sea Sprite going inside of a minute.
That minute was enough for Mike to open a hundred-yard lead. To Jenn’s amazement, he didn’t point the Calypso straight out to sea. “The wind would be right in our face and a crew like theirs will be able to eat into this lead pretty quickly.” He took a north-northeast heading, aiming for Angel Island two miles away. Their lead was three hundred yards by the time he rounded its tip.
When the Sea Sprite followed the Calypso, Mike laughed, “They should have cut under and blocked our way out of the bay. We would have been trapped.” With the wind at their backs, their lead grew to half a mile and Mike was all smiles.
Five minutes later the smile dimmed on his handsome face. The Islanders had more than one boat. A quarter mile away, its sail grey and murky, was the Scalawag, looking like a ghost ship out of a storybook. It was rushing to trap them in the mouth of a side bay.
Even Jenn knew that if they cut back, they would lose both time and speed, which would allow the Sea Sprite to catch up. The captain of the Scalawag knew it as well. He trimmed his sail back and turned to the western coast of the bay. He was in the perfect position to pin the Calypso against the shore.
Mike turned as well, only he did so at full speed, causing the windward side of the boat to lift out of the water. When Stu and Jenn only grabbed something to hold onto, Mike snapped, “Get over there!” He meant the side of the boat that was pitched high in the air. The two crawled to the high side, their weight helping to keep the boat from flipping.
Gradually the Calypso pulled ahead and if there had been more room it would have swung to the left, ahead of the Scalawag before making its run out of the bay—there was no room for such a maneuver.
Jenn figured that Mike would turn the boat to the right and attempt to circle around, hoping to get between the other two boats. With what he’d said about the sailing qualities of the other crews, she didn’t think they would make it.
Mike had no intention of swinging around.
“Wait. What are you doing?” Stu asked. The question was rhetorical. It was obvious Mike was going to try to cut in front of the Scalawag with only a hundred yards to spare before they hit the shore. “You’ll never make it. Mike, please.”
To their left and slightly behind them, the crew of the Scalawag were screaming the same thing as the two ships raced at the shore. They were so close it looked as though Mike was going to run the Calypso right up onto the beach.
With a final curse, the captain of the Scalawag hauled hard on the rudder pulling his boat sharply to port. A quarter of a second later Mike did as well so that both boats turned as one. They were so close to shore that Jenn felt, as well as heard, a rasping sound coming from beneath them, they were in such shallow waters that they were running over sand.
“Jeeze,” Stu whispered, his face pale.
Mike let the boom swing to the left to catch the full wind, sending them cutting at a sharper angle. “Just a sand bar,” he said, as a shudder went through the keel. Of course, where there was sand there was rock.
They ran along the beach for a few more precarious seconds before the wind pushed them away and hurled them south under full sail and there was nothing the Islanders could do to stop them as they crossed beneath the Golden Gate Bridge and shot out to sea.
Chapter 21
Stu Currans
The sun was setting in long bands of pink and blue. Stu ran a hand across his cheek, listening to the rasp of the stubble as he watched. It reminded him of the sound of the sand beneath the keel of the Calypso. Stu didn’t think he would ever forget that particular sound. He’d had a case of the shakes for a good five minutes after that.
In the five days since that close call, they’d had a rather boring
time of it. All they had done was sail. Really, all they had done was tack from one end of the ocean to another, zigzagging up the coast, day and night, fighting both the current and the light breezes that always seemed to be in their faces.
It was dull, dull work. The days had stretched out one by one, each seeming longer than the last, and while the days passed, the scenery never changed. It felt like they were crisscrossing the same patch of ocean every day and worse, they were crossing it very slowly. They knew they had to get to Portland as fast as the wind could take them if they had any chance to save their friends, only the wind absolutely refused to help.
They had made landfall only once and that had been two days before. Despite strict rationing they had run out of fresh water and headed east until they came to Gold Beach and the Rogue River.
Mike found a map in their quick scavenge and when he saw how far they had come he cursed savagely. They were just over halfway to Portland and far off their schedule. They had all agreed that if they didn’t make it back in two weeks it would be better not to go back at all.
“Time for me to freeze,” Jenn said, ducking from the tiny V-shaped berth and zipping up a faded blue parka that draped on her small body like a heavy curtain. It hung to her knees while the sleeves would have extended past her fingertips if she hadn’t pinned them back.
“You’re early,” Stu said, gesturing to the sun.
“By ten minutes. I didn’t want your dinner to get cold.” It was a joke and he had smiled. Although the weather had been mild for October it was still October on the open ocean which meant that it was chilly even with the sun shining down at high noon. At night, the temperature hoverd around the freezing mark. The three of them had been perpetually cold from the moment they had slipped beneath the Golden Gate.
Mike came out after her and gazed toward the sunset. “What do you think? Pink is close enough to red, right?” He was as superstitious as Jenn and sailed with the old adage: Red skies at night, sailors’ delight, red sky in the morning, sailors take warning, as a guide. Mike checked the horizon every day, morning and night.
Dutifully, Jenn turned to face west. The shoulders of her parka lifted slightly indicating she might have shrugged. “I don’t think pink counts. It is pretty, though.” He agreed that it was. When it came to Jenn, Mike was very agreeable. It seemed the more she shot down his pathetic attempts at marriage proposals, the more he wanted her.
He tried to hide it, but they were thrown together on a tiny boat out in the middle of the ocean. There were no secrets and each of them, Mike included, worried he would attempt another inept proposal.
While the sun set, Jenn turned in a full circle, a habit just as ingrained as Mike’s saying. She had an eye out for signs. These seemed to have deserted her from the moment they had set foot on the Calypso. The evening sky was as empty as the ocean.
“Let’s come about,” Mike said. He was the captain on board and when it came to all aspects of the boat and their course he was the ultimate authority, though in this case Stu had known the order was coming and could have made it himself. Every night at sunset, when it was Jenn’s turn to take the helm, they came about to take a northwesterly course. As it pointed them away from land, it was the safest course.
Jenn would be the first to admit that she wasn’t much of a sailor, though she was quite a bit better than she had been. Stu had gained in knowledge as well and he was beginning to get a real feel for the various forces at work: the wind, the current, the waves, the sails and the rudder. It was a dance of sorts. Mike was the master of this and when they came about he usually took the helm. This had changed the day before when he had said to Stu, “You get the next couple.”
The Calypso being so much bigger than the Puffer, Stu was too slow bringing the boom around, stalling the boat. “That’s okay,” Mike had said. “Just haul us around. Use the wind. It’s your engine.” Stu had tried again on six different occasions, getting better with each. Then it was Jenn’s turn. She had learned from Stu’s mistakes and had done a halfway decent job, but didn’t feel the need to try more than once.
“If there’s ever a need for me to pilot the boat, for real, I think it might be best for everyone to tie anchors to their feet and jump overboard.” She went back to sharpening her machete, which was finally getting an edge on it.
Now, with the last light, they came around, Mike making it look effortless. Then as usual, they sat staring up at the sky as the stars began to come out of hiding. Stu stuck his long legs out and pitched his head back, not really seeing the stars; they were only a backdrop as he thought about what they would find in Portland.
For Jenn, the stars were the focal point of her world; she was oblivious to the many quick peeks that Mike sent her way. Stu knew she was looking for a sign, just like he knew she would find one, eventually.
It came two hours later, a moment after Stu started a chain yawn. Jenn was just stretching when she jumped up knocking the tiller out of position and turning the boat side on to the wind. She didn’t seem to notice. “Do you see that?” She pointed into the sky with a gloved hand. “Right there! The lights!”
Stu’s first thought was that the boat was tipping alarmingly as the wind struck the sail flat. The winds were too light to capsize the Calypso and after the moment of alarm, he squinted up at the night sky and for all of two seconds he saw what looked like a blinking light moving in the darkness. Then it crossed the Milky Way and he lost sight of it against the bright background.
“What direction is that?” Jenn asked.
“North, mostly,” Mike said.
“Then that’s the way we go,” she said self-assuredly, a little smile playing on her lips.
Mike looked embarrassed as he said, “That’s already the way we want to go, and we’re going there. We just can’t go directly in that direction. You know, because of the winds.”
She only nodded, the smile still in place. Stu didn’t say anything. What was the point? She’d seen her sign and that’s what counted. Any logical argument to the contrary would be a waste of time. “I’m going to bed. Wake me at four.”
Stu took off his jacket but left the rest of his clothes on as he went into the little cabin where they had laid out their blankets to form a nest in which two people could sleep at once. Once bundled up, the bed was surprisingly comfy and with the rocking of the Calypso, he was quickly out.
He woke with the boat pitching up and down and the mast creaking against the strain of a much heavier wind than that which had rocked him to sleep. When he stood, he almost fell over backwards as the bow pointed suddenly into the air.
It was safest to crawl out of the cabin. When he did, the first thing he saw was a mountain of water behind them. It towered three times higher than the mast. He was sure they would be crushed by the wave, but it seemed to slide beneath them and then lift them into the air higher and higher so that when he turned, the boat was pointed down a slope that would have made a black diamond skier crap himself.
“Stu!” Mike cried. “Don’t just stand there, help me shorten the sail.” The teenage boy was at the very tip of the boat, tying down the foresail.
Before he could move, the boat slid down the embankment of water. Stu held onto the cabin door with both hands, his knuckles white. The ride was shorter than expected and they were already being lifted up again even before they got to the bottom.
Moving as carefully as he could, Stu leaned out onto the roof of the cabin and began shortening the sail. They would lose speed by this while gaining greater control…supposedly. Even with the shortened sail the boat was buffeted by crazy gusts that would hit them whenever they mounted the peaks of the waves. Sometimes the winds would be so strong that the Calypso would heel almost all the way over before Mike could get her pointed into the wind.
The wind was a struggle but it was the waves that continued to terrify Stu. When they were lined up in a row behind them he could stomach that, barely. It was when waves also came from the sides that Stu was sure
they would sink. The power released when these monsters collided was immense, sometimes making the Calypso leap and spin. There’d be a huge eruption of water which frequently rushed over the deck.
“What are we doing?” he called out to Mike. “Are we heading to shore?” In the dark with the clouds pressing down on them, Stu couldn’t tell north from west. Mike shot Jenn a look and that was all it took for Stu to know they weren’t heading to the safety of land, and judging by the sail and the neutral rudder position, they were heading north just as Jenn’s sign had directed.
At least for that night he gave up his skepticism of the supernatural. It didn’t seem to matter what he believed. They were likely going to die out there. All three of them tied ropes around their waists, a precaution that saved Jenn twice. She was the lightest and whenever a heavy wave broke over the boat she would be swept around like a piece of styrofoam.
The first time she went overboard, Mike left his station at the helm and Stu had to shove him back toward the rudder. The boat couldn’t be allowed to flounder. Stu hauled Jenn out of the water. She was soaked to the bone and freezing, then again they all were. Heavy rains swept them in grey sheets and sleet pelted them so that whenever Stu looked into the wind it felt like thousands of stinging bees were chipping away at the frozen flesh of his face.
The second time Jenn went overboard, Stu was too weak to haul her back in. The cold had sapped his strength, turning his hands numb and making his arms feel heavy and useless. With her many layers, her parka and her heavy boots flooded with water, she seemed to have gained a hundred pounds. The rope, like an oiled serpent, kept slipping from his fingers while Jenn slapped at the churning waters with just enough strength to keep herself afloat.
She managed to stay alive long enough to be picked up by a lucky wave and thrown back onto the boat as the wave crashed over them. Stu knew they couldn’t count on that sort of luck a second time, and begged them to turn to land.
Generation Z (Book 1): Generation Z Page 18