by Amber Stuart
“So they didn’t notice anything?” Chal asked, choking on the words.
“They scanned me but they said I wasn’t in the system,” Alan said. “I guess it’s happened before, though, because I didn’t even need to make an excuse for it. They just shrugged and checked the lifejackets and things.”
“Thank god,” Chal said, breathing a sigh of relief. It was a blessing that technology had a habit of malfunctioning.
“I think they just wanted to get on with their day,” Alan said. “I played the good American tourist and offered them some beers.”
“Well, I’m glad you all had a great time while I was hiding underwater,” Chal said, pretending to pout.
Alan pulled her close for another kiss, but Chal stopped him.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Look,” she said, disentangling herself from his arms, “This isn’t a good idea.”
“What?”Alan said.
“Us,” Chal said simply.
“I don’t understand,” Alan said. He waited, but Chal didn’t answer. “You don’t want this?”
“It’s not about what I want,” Chal said.
“Then what?” Alan said. “Because I want you, Chal. I care about you. Tremendously.” He put his hand on her arm.
“Stop,” she whispered faintly. His touch made her resolve melt, but she could not let him sway her.
“I know there’s something between us,” he said. His finger brushed back a strand of damp hair from her face. “So what is this about?”
“It’s about what’s right,” she said, shaking her head to try and sort out her thoughts.
He stepped back suddenly, his face dropping into a hard frown. Chal swallowed.
“And you think this is wrong,” he said, his voice flat. It wasn’t a question.
“I just don’t know if what you’re feeling toward me is real,” Chal said.
“Real?” Alan said. “That’s it, then. I’m not real to you.”
“No, Alan, that’s not what I mean.”
“I couldn’t expect to know what you mean, Chal. I’m not a real person, after all. I can’t feel the way you feel, maybe.” He gestured toward himself, his body. “This is all grown, fake! Fake feelings!”
“No--”
“Just manufactured emotions!”
“No!” Chal cried out.
“What then?” Alan said, seizing her suddenly by the shoulders. She felt his strength, the power of his muscles, and the restraint that kept him from crushing her between his hands.
“What is it, Chal?”
“Your feelings for me, how can you know that they’re genuine? This whole thing started out with me as your captor!” Chal said. Alan was shaking his head. “I manipulated you! I studied you like a lab rat--”
“You saved me from that,” Alan said. “You helped me escape.”
“I was saving the research,” Chal said, her voice uncertain.
“You don’t mean that,” Alan said, shaking his head. “I want to be with you, Chal.”
“When we get to Catalonia, you can decide what you want to do. If you want to leave, you’ll be free to leave. If you want to stay, you’ll be free to stay.” She pushed herself away.
“And you?” Alan said, letting his arms drop to his side. “What do you want, Chal?”
Chal looked at him. She wanted to throw herself into him, to let herself be engulfed by her overwhelming want for him. It wasn’t fair. She swallowed her emotions and set her mouth in a hard line.
“I want to get to shore,” she said. “I want to get home. That’s all.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
They rigged the sails in silence. Alan avoided Chal, keeping his focus on the knots and lines in front of him. He took the helm without saying a word and Chal went down into the cabin. It was hard to stay away from someone on a twenty-foot boat, but she aimed to stay away from Alan until they reached Catalonia.
She threw herself onto the bedding, feeling her whole body crumple with sorrow. For a moment she contemplated throwing caution to the wind and going back out on deck to apologize to Alan. She could hug him, let him kiss her and caress her body—
No, she thought. It was impossible. She turned over onto her side and tossed her way into a fitful nap.
When she awoke, the first thing she noticed was that the boat was rolling, big long rolls that made her stomach queasy. She was not normally seasick on boats, but this movement wasn’t normal. She checked the GPS, but the reading was buggy, jumping from one cardinal direction to another.
She pulled aside the curtain to be greeted by dark gray skies. The wind was gusting, the jib sail flapping wildly. The fabric made a loud snapping noise as the boat rolled first into, then away from the wind.
“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Chal said. The boat tilted hard and she had to grab onto a line to keep her balance.
“I thought it would let up,” Alan said. “It wasn’t this bad even a few minutes ago.” He was struggling to keep the tiller straight as the big swells tossed the boat from side to side. The wind was beginning to whistle above their heads, the ominous clouds turning blacker and blacker.
“We should take down the main sail at least,” Chal said. “Or at least reef it.” She remembered that shortening the sails was something you should do in a storm.
“We should take down everything,” Alan said, eyeing the storm clouds which were rolling in faster than either of them could have expected. Small mists of rain stung their cheeks, and Chal had to keep her eyes half-closed.
“No, not everything,” Chal said, unlooping the line from the mast. “We’ll have better control if we keep a sail up.”
“Control?” Alan said.
“Otherwise the waves will just roll us sideways,” Chal said. She tugged at the main sail. “You’ll be sick in two minutes under deck if that happens.” She tugged again. The sail slipped down another foot and stuck.
“Better sick than dead,” Alan said. A wave came through, slapping the side of the boat. The water whipped over the deck, drenching Alan’s right side.
“Angle us into the waves,” Chal said. She reached over and put her hand on his, moving the tiller where it needed to be.
Suddenly she stood up and looked around.
“The coast.” The familiar black line that had guided them for the past few days was gone. Gray sheets of rain obscured the horizon. She turned around and around, looking for any hint of guidance, but the boat continued to rock on into a dark mist. Panic crept into her voice. “Where are we?”
She bent down and checked, knowing already that it would be futile. The GPS was completely screwy, reading negative numbers for their position. Her stomach churned with nerves.
“We can’t keep sailing,” Chal said. “We could be headed the wrong way.”
“There’s a compass in the first aid kit,” Alan said.
Chal scrambled to get the compass, stumbling on one of the stairs and banging her knee.
“Goddammit!” she said. Her fingers scrambled to unclasp the kit. The compass was rudimentary, but it would work. They were headed north-north-east.
“That’s fine,” Chal said, looping the compass around Alan’s wrist. She had to talk louder to be heard over the wind and rain. “Just keep us on that heading. Worst case we’ll end up far from the coast.”
“Why?”
“The shore,” Chal said. She was tying off the lines as quickly as she could. “Rocks. We don’t want to head towards the shore.”
The boat was rocking faster, surging forward and back on the waves, and as Chal reached the mast the sky opened up above her.
The thunderstorm was upon them before they had a chance to react. Chal was clinging to the mast for dear life, the jib flapping wildly in the air right next to her, as booms of thunder echoed through the air. The main sail was stuck. Water poured down, chilling her to the bone as she jerked the line, trying to lower the sail. It loo
ked like the line had gone off of the pulley track.
“Into the wind!” she cried to Alan. The sail picked up a heavy wind and suddenly they were sideways, the boat tearing through the water. Every wave picked them up and dropped them sharply with a loud crack into the next. Chal hung onto the mast with her legs, trying with all her might to heave down the sail that was pulled tight in the wind.
“Be careful!” Alan shouted. Chal looked forward just in time to see a huge swell coming at the boat. She let go of the sail, clutching the mast for dear life. The boat rolled hard sideways, tipping Chal toward the roiling sea. She felt her fingers slip on the metal mast, scrabbling for purchase. The next second they were sliding down the back side of the swell and she had her hand around the lines. The wires cut into her hands, but at least she was more stable.
There was no way they could continue in this weather; the sails had to come down. Chal was not strong enough to do it, though, and she wondered how long the sails would hold before something disastrous happened.
As if in answer to her thoughts, the jib flapped again in the air, snapping back with such force that the rope broke. Chal shied away from the line that was whipping the air just above her head, making her way back to the helm. The broken sail flapped ferociously, its cracks like lightning.
The waves were coming over the side of the boat with regularity, drenching the deck with cold washes of water.
“I can’t get the sail down!” Chal shouted. “We need to pull it!” She slipped and fell with a jolt next to Alan, a shock of pain running up her back. “Pull it down!”
She took the helm as Alan stood up and began to tug at the sail, which was nearly sideways. He managed to pull it down a few feet, then a few more. Chal could feel the power of the boat easing, the tilt less severe.
Then the gray sky in front of the boat was replaced, a black wall of water rushing toward them. Chal had only an instant to react to the swell, and as she swung the boat to the side the swell came up under them, pushing the boat up to the crest. A gust of wind hit the boat with a force that felt to Chal as though a huge invisible hand had slapped them aside.
The boat tipped over completely and then righted itself, the keel flashing up from the underbelly of the boat for only a moment. Chal hung onto the side cleat, forgetting the tiller amid the chaos. Alan, who had been holding to the mast while pulling down the sail, fell to the side.
Help. She could see his lips form the words as he scrambled to hold onto the slick side of the boat, his eyes fixing onto hers for a split second. The boat was still moving, skimming the water, and as the waves rolled them again he lost his grip and fell over with a splash.
Chal yelled out and reached for him but was knocked down by the next wave. She clung to the tiller and looked back over. The boat rocked over again so much that Chal thought they would be upended, but it swung upright, the metal boom slicing through the air violently.
“Alan! Alan!” Chal screamed. Her eyes flashed to the ocean, trying to find him in the waves. There was only dark water, nothing visible past ten feet.
“Alan!” Chal yelled again. Her heart pounded with a fear that she had never known. She had to stop herself from throwing her body into the water to swim blindly anywhere in the hope of finding him. “ALAN!” She had a sudden mental image of his body sinking down into the black water, and she bent over suddenly, retching air. Rain pelted her from above and ocean spray billowed up from below.
She blindly realized the uselessness of trying to find Alan while the waves continued to pour in over the side of the boat. She clutched the tiller and knelt down, keeping the boat tilted at the right angle into the waves. Her knees scraped roughly against the gritted deck, but she didn’t care. Alan was gone, and the numbness that now fastened itself to her bones was not due to any kind of chill.
The main sail tore with a sickening ripping sound. Chal looked up, eyes slitted against the rain, and felt the boat slow dramatically. With the sail torn, the tiller was not as useful, and the boat began to drift to one side. She stumbled to the mast and pulled at the main sail line.
“Come on!” she yelled, pulling at the sail. The wind was whipping the crests of the waves sideways even as the swells began to subside, and she squinted her eyes tight against the stinging saltwater.
“Come...on!” Her arms felt as though they would fall out of their sockets. She jerked once, then again at the sail, her body straining to use every muscle against the jammed line. The sail came down halfway, and she almost fell when it loosened, jamming again a few feet lower.
Chal was readying herself for the third attempt when a wave crashed against the side of the boat and caused her to slip. She lost hold of the mast and fell to her knees, banging her head against the boom. Off-balance, she felt herself slide to the side of the deck, just barely managing to grab ahold of the slippery metal cleat with one hand as the rest of her body slid overboard. She held on for dear life.
You have to do this. If you don’t, you’ll die, so you have to.
The ocean was surprisingly warm after the chill of the rain, and for a moment Chal had the insane thought that she should just push off and let herself float wherever the waves would take her. The physical struggle had worn her to the edge of her willpower, and death was beginning to look like a more peaceful alternative than continuing on her current course.
Then she thought of her mother. What she would do when she learned of Chal’s disappearance? The worry and sorrow of another lost child. No. I can’t let that happen. Chal kicked her feet and drove herself up out of the water.
She pulled herself up, her legs shaking as they balanced her weak figure on the deck. She wrapped her arms tightly around the mast and closed her eyes, blocking out the world. Sobs racked her body and she curled herself against the metal of the boat. It was a shield against the softening wind, though it could not ease the ache of self-pity and loss that now swept through her. She gave herself a moment to grieve, but only a moment—she could not spare more if she wanted to survive.
She stiffened herself and spit out the saltwater in her mouth—god, she was already so thirsty. She reached up to the line and braced her feet against the mast, readying to pull. The storm was slowing down, and she would need to get the boat bailed out immediately.
“Chal!”
The voice came from right behind her, and she was so surprised that she lost her grip mid-pull, this time falling directly backwards into the water. Strong arms pulled her up so quickly that she did not even have time to register the danger. Alan was holding onto the side of the boat with one hand and her with the other, though he almost lost his grip when she threw her arms around his neck, hugging him breathlessly.
“Alan... Alan,” Chal said, her hand cradling his face. She did not know what to say now that he was alive and back.
“Up,” was all he said as he lifted Chal over the side of the boat, scrambling in after her. The water was to their knees and Alan quickly reached into the messy cabin for a bucket. It was true that the most effective bilge pump was a scared sailor with a bucket. Alan and Chal took turns bailing the water out with the bucket until they were both exhausted and the water was down to a less alarming level.
The cabin was secure, if a bit wet and chaotic, but the most important thing—their drinking water—was intact, and after some time Chal and Alan managed to get their bearings. The wind was gusty but manageable with the repaired sail reefed halfway up the mast. The skies were still gray with mist, but the GPS seemed to be functioning alright, at least as far as position went.
“Thanks,” Alan said. “It’s good to be back with you. He hugged her briefly with one arm, then pulled back, mindful of the nearness. Chal felt her body respond to his touch despite her best efforts to tamp them down. He was alive, after all. Alive!
“We’re three miles away from San Sebastian if these coordinates are correct,” Chal said. “If we go east, any shore we hit will be Catalonia, and we only have to avoid the c
entral port traffic. We need to remember to keep close to the border.”
And I need to remember to keep my distance from you.
“Then we go east,” Alan said. “And anchor wherever we hit land.”
“Yes,” Chal said. “Let’s get off of this damn boat.”
***
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals—and yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?”
- William Shakespeare, Hamlet
***
It was not long before the skies began to clear and they found themselves sailing closer to the shoreline. The cliffs rose high and dark against the lightening sky. They had raised the keel and were coming in to anchor just offshore in a small cove when the sun’s rays broke through the clouds. Chal wrapped a blanket around her shoulders as Alan lowered the anchor. They were in Catalonia.
The sand was white, the water clear, and it was all Chal could do to keep from crying through her laughter as they dropped down into the waist-deep water and splashed up onto the beach. She threw down the blanket, collapsed on the sand, and closed her eyes, soaking in the sun’s warmth.
“I’ve never met anyone so ill-suited for overseas travel,” Alan said, dropping down to his knees by her side. He shook his head in mock disapproval.
“At least I stayed aboard,” Chal said. “Unlike some passengers.”
“I’m so sorry I worried you,” Alan said. He leaned over and pressed his lips against her forehead, and some tension inside of her unclenched. She felt the tears stream down her cheeks without any warning. So many tears.
“I’m so glad you’re back,” she said. She put her hand on his shoulder, so steady even after all they had gone through. He seemed as though he would always be steady.
“Well,” he said, rolling over onto his side next to her, “you’re home. Anything else you want?”