Ready for Anything, Anywhere!

by Beverly Barton

  “We’re spotted by another vessel and rescued. Or better yet, the engines become operational again or maybe the radio.”

  “And the odds are?”

  He shrugged. “I’m going to check the engines and see if I can discover anything wrong. Same for the radio.”

  “I wonder if my father and the others aboard the Sun Dancer encountered the same storm we did.”

  “If they took the same route we did, then the storm hit them, too, before it hit us.”

  “Then my father and the others could be alive and stranded just like us. Or they could be—”

  Will grasped her face, cradling her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Don’t think about the alternative. Remember, no death scenarios.”

  Half an hour later, Will joined Gwen at the helm where she’d been sitting while he checked out the engines. Both were in perfect condition. Both should be working, but they weren’t. He couldn’t figure out why. Same with the radio and the ship’s instruments. Although he didn’t believe in the supernatural or the paranormal, he’d seen enough of the world and its mysteries to keep an open mind. Almost every strange occurrence had a basis in scientific fact, so that meant whatever had happened to the Footloose could eventually be explained. No voodoo-hoodoo involved.

  When he approached the helm, Gwen jumped to her to feet and came to meet him. “What did you find wrong with the engines?” she asked, a hopeful note in her voice.

  He shook his head. “The engines are fine. So’s the radio.”

  Hope died instantly. “We’re still gliding along, due north. I don’t need a compass to tell me that.”

  He nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  “How long did that storm last?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “I’ve been trying to figure out how long the storm lasted, but for the life of me, I’m not sure if it was only a few minutes or if it was hours. Our watches don’t work.” She tapped her wristwatch. “Nor do the clocks. The sun is in the west now and it was in the east when the storm hit, so that must mean the storm lasted for hours, right?”

  “Right.” Like Gwen, when the storm had ended, he’d had no sense of time, of the actual duration of the event.

  “Why can’t I get a grip on time? I feel as if I’ve lost hours.”

  Will huffed. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

  “You feel the same way?”

  “Yeah. Everything that happened during the storm was weird, as if time stopped, as stupid as that sounds.”

  “No, no.” Gwen grabbed his arm. “That’s exactly how I felt. As if time stopped. But that’s not possible, is it?”

  Will shook his head. “No, it’s not possible.” He searched the sky, noting that the sun was deep into the western horizon, which meant it was late afternoon. “We both must have passed out for hours. That’s the only explanation.”

  She squeezed his arm. “Do you remember passing out? I don’t. I remember clinging to you, of being afraid, of thinking we were going to die. I heard the horrible noise of the wind and the waves. But from the minute lightning struck the boat until the sea calmed and the wind died away, it seemed like only minutes passed.”

  Will tensed. That was another thing he couldn’t explain. The Footloose had taken a direct hit from the lightning bolt. He’d bet his life on it. But there was absolutely no sign that the cruiser had been struck by lightning.

  “What is it?” Gwen’s gaze bolted to his.

  “Lightning didn’t strike the Footloose.”

  “Yes, of course it did. We saw it hit. We felt it.”

  “Yeah, we thought we did.” He clasped both of her arms, just above the elbow. “There’s no damage to the cruiser, not even a scratch, nothing to indicate we were hit by lightning.”

  Gwen’s big brown eyes widened. Wonder? Fear? Disbelief? He couldn’t tell for sure.

  “What’s going on?” she asked. “I don’t understand any of this and I don’t like it.”

  “You think I do? But there has to be a logical explanation of some kind for what’s going on.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why does there have to be a logical explanation? After all, we are in the Bermuda Triangle, a place that’s known for the unexpected, the strange, the illogical.”

  Hating her train of thought, he released her, his gaze narrowing as he glared at her. “The next thing I know, you’ll be telling me you believe your father’s mystical island is out here somewhere and we’re drifting straight toward it.”

  Her cheeks flushed. Her eyes sparkled. She smiled.

  “Damn it, Gwen, I wasn’t serious. Don’t you know a damn joke when you hear it?”

  “You’re not sure what’s happened to us, and it scares you. You don’t like being taken by surprise and not being able to get a handle on things.”

  “I’m not scared. I’m pissed. There’s a big difference.”

  “Well, I’m scared. We’re lost in the middle of the Atlantic, in the Devil’s Triangle, with hours of our lives missing, a boat with inoperable motors, useless instruments and we’re being pulled slowly but surely toward some unknown destination.” She glowered at Will. “You’re a damn fool to not be scared.”

  “Then I’m a damn fool.” He turned his back on her and stared out at the sea surrounding them. The big wide ocean. Calm, peaceful, tranquil. Then he glanced up at the sunny, blue sky.

  “Will?”

  “Just leave me alone for a while, okay? I’m going below again, so stay put.”

  Needing to get away from her and her fanciful ideas, Will left her alone topside as he went below to the salon. He had to think, had to consider his options, few as they might be. They either stayed aboard the Footloose and waited to see how long the mysterious current carried them and where it carried them to, or they boarded the seven-man life raft and tried to row free of the current. Either could be a death warrant.

  If he didn’t report in soon, Dundee’s would know he was in trouble. But since he had no idea how far off course the storm had taken them or where the current was dragging them, it could take weeks for a rescue team to find them, if ever.

  Will opened the minifridge, retrieved a beer, removed the cap and took a hefty swig. After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he flopped down on the sofa and closed his eyes. If they stayed aboard the cruiser, they had food and water that would last for weeks, but the current could guide them into the middle of nowhere, if it hadn’t already done so. If they took the life raft—No, that would be a last resort.

  Damn! He hated feeling helpless. He wasn’t accustomed to having no options. But then again, he’d gotten out of some deadly situations, a few that had seemed hopeless. It wasn’t as if, when he’d been on assignments, he hadn’t known the risks involved, that he could as easily die as live. One of the reasons he’d left government work and signed on with Dundee’s was because, at almost forty, he’d wanted a little more security, to work on cases that didn’t always put him one step away from the Grim Reaper’s grasp.

  “Will!”

  Gwen’s scream startled him. He dropped the beer bottle in his haste to stand, then ran up the steps and onto the deck. She came running toward him, waving her arms, gasping for breath. What the hell?

  She grabbed his arm and tugged. Her eyes were bright, her lips curved into a wide smile. “Come on. Hurry. You’ve got to see this.”

  “What is it?” He allowed her to escort him to the helm.

  “Look,” she said, pointing straight ahead. “See for yourself.”

  Will looked, blinked, shook his head, closed his eyes, and then looked again. He wasn’t seeing things. It was really there, wasn’t it? He scoured the horizon. A greenish tint colored the sky, which in the tropics usually meant reflected sunlight from shallow lagoons or shelves of coral reefs. He checked the sky, focusing his gaze on the fixed cumulus cloud hovering over the distant land mass, while clouds all around the cruiser moved ever so slowly.

  “My God, it’s
an island.”

  “Yes, it’s an island,” Gwen said.

  Land? How was that possible? “We must have gotten blown way off course, maybe back toward the Turks and Caicos or—”

  “That’s not possible. We’re drifting due north. All those islands are south of us.”

  Damn, she was right.

  “It’s an island out here in the Bermuda Triangle,” Gwen said, a wistful expression on her face and a hopeful tone in her voice.

  “It’s not what you’re thinking,” he told her. “It’s not your father’s mythical island.”

  “We can’t be sure.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. And I can prove it to you, once we set foot on the island. It’s probably a tiny, uninhabited landmass that’s uncharted.”

  “We are going ashore, aren’t we?”

  “Yes, we’re going ashore. I’ll drop anchor and we’ll take the raft. The raft doesn’t have a keel, so we can’t sail it into the wind, but we can sail downwind.”

  “What if the island is inhabited?” Gwen asked. “What if—”

  “What if up is down and down is up? What if the world is flat and we just sailed off the edge? What if this is your father’s mystical island and you’ve discovered it instead of him?”

  Gwen’s smile vanished. “You don’t have to be hateful.”

  “And you don’t have to be stupid.”

  Gwen gritted her teeth.

  She was right. He didn’t have to be downright mean, but if she knew him better, she’d know getting angry was the way he handled frustration. Angry with himself, angry with circumstances, angry that he couldn’t fix things.

  He was on the verge of apologizing when he noted the stunned and hurt expression on her face had altered. She stared at him with an ambivalent look as if she were torn between hating him and needing him. What was it about Gwen Arnell that had him tied in knots, that made him act out of character? It wasn’t his style to care so much about another person. But he cared that he’d hurt her. Cared so damn much that he’d been about to apologize—something he never did!

  “Okay, so I’m hateful and you’re stupid,” he said. “Does that make us even?”

  She stared at him, her nose crinkled and her eyes squinched as if she were studying him, trying to figure out what made him tick.

  “Round up some water bottles and packets of nonperishable food,” he told her when she didn’t reply to his question. “I’ll anchor the boat and get the raft in the water. Then we’ll go explore the island.”

  “Is it safe?”

  He grunted. “Safe? Probably not, but we’re no safer on this boat.”

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later Will spotted a point of land jutting out into the ocean and decided that if at all possible, that was the place to bring the raft ashore. Hopefully, safely ashore. Knowing they’d go through the surf to reach shore, Will removed the mast from the raft, then inflated Gwen’s life jacket and his own. He lowered the raft’s anchor over the stern, extending all the line he had. Using the paddles, he constantly adjusted the sea anchor to keep a strain on the line, knowing his actions would keep the raft pointed toward shore. Anticipating the next wave in the medium surf and feeling no offshore wind, he tried his best to keep the raft from passing over the wave too quickly and capsizing them. When the raft neared the beach, they rode it in on the crest of a large wave. Will rowed as hard as he could, bringing them as close to the beach as possible.

  “Don’t jump out!” he yelled to Gwen. “Wait until the raft has grounded, then get out as quickly as you can when I tell you to.”

  She nodded and then waited for his orders. When he told her to jump, she jumped. Good girl. He jumped out, grabbed the raft and pulled it ashore, securing it for their return trip to the Footloose.

  Once ashore and drenched from the ocean waves, they lay in the sand, breathing heavily. Will came to his feet first, then offered Gwen his hand. She took it, if somewhat reluctantly. Together, they scanned every direction. A sandy beach spread out from left to right, seeming to go on endlessly. Behind them, and equally as endless, lay an island jungle, the trees and brush appearing untouched by man.

  “It’s so quiet,” Gwen said.

  “What did you expect, a party of two-hundred-year-old natives to greet us?” Damn, why had he said that? There was no way she’d think the comment was funny.

  Gwen glared at him. “Are we going to just stand here or are we going to explore the island?”

  Will glanced at the sun hanging low over the western horizon. “It’s too late in the day to do much exploring. It’ll be nightfall within a couple hours. I suggest we stay on the beach, maybe hike a mile or so down one end. Then we can sleep here on the beach and get an early start in the morning to explore inland.”

  “We’re going to stay on the island tonight?”

  “Sure. It’s not a good idea to take the raft back to the cruiser tonight. Besides, if we can gather enough driftwood, I’ll build a fire.”

  “A fire that can be seen if a plane flies over.”

  “Maybe. But it could get chilly and I wouldn’t want you to be too uncomfortable sleeping on the beach.”

  Gwen had some difficulty keeping up with Will as they trekked down the beach. She wasn’t totally out of shape, but then again, she wasn’t into running marathons, either. It didn’t help that Will was taller, had long, slim legs and apparently had the lungs of a long-distance runner.

  They had traveled at least a mile in both directions and found nothing more than pristine beach. Not a trace of humans or animals. But they did figure out after their long walk that the island was probably no tiny speck, despite apparently being an uncharted landmass in the Atlantic. At one point, they had spotted what appeared to be hills, each progressively higher as they faded into the distance, their tops shrouded in a foggy mist that hid them from view.

  They returned to the raft, their arms loaded with driftwood, which they piled high away from the water’s edge and near the abundant thicket behind them. She watched in fascination as Will started the fire and fanned it to life.

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  “Thirsty.”

  He’d carried the supplies in a waterproof backpack and had left the pack hidden beneath the raft. When he lifted the raft and felt underneath, Gwen held her breath, halfway expecting the pack to be gone, thinking perhaps the natives had discovered it. Will pulled out the pack, laid it on the ground, unzipped it and retrieved two bottles of water. When he tossed one to her, their gazes met.

  “You look disappointed,” he said. “What’s wrong? Had you expected our food to be gone?”

  She didn’t reply. He already thought she was teetering on the edge. No need to give him more proof.

  He chuckled. “You did, didn’t you? You thought maybe the natives had come out of the woods and—”

  “Oh, shut up! I’m in no mood to be made fun of. I’m tired, thirsty, hungry and confused.”

  “And touchy.”

  She growled. “You’re acting as if this is all some sort of game. It isn’t, you know. We’re stranded—either on this island or on a boat that isn’t going anywhere. This is a life-or-death situation and all you can do is poke fun at my foolish hope that maybe my father isn’t as crazy as everyone thinks he is.”

  Will gave her a heavy-lidded glare. “Do you honest to God think we’ve landed on some mythical island?”

  “Yes.” She shook her head. “No.” Sighing deeply, she turned away from him. “I don’t know. I told you that I’m tired and confused.”

  She felt the heat of his body as he approached, coming up directly behind her but not touching her. Closing her eyes, she wrapped her arms around herself in a protective hug.

  “Gwen?”

  She didn’t reply. She couldn’t. Emotion tightened her throat.

  His big hands clamped down on her shoulders. She tensed. “I don’t deal well with frustration. I tend to take it out on whoever happens to be around, and this time, that’s you.”
>
  “Maybe it is stupid to think this is the island my father found fifty years ago.”

  Will drew her closer until her back rested squarely against his chest, then he engulfed her in his big strong arms. Holding her breath, needing his comfort and understanding, but afraid to expect it, she relaxed against him.

  He brushed the side of her forehead with his lips and said in a soft whisper, “I think you love your father.”

  She did love her father, despite his having abandoned her for a hopeless dream, an obsession that had not only ruined his life, but had brought her here, to the ends of the earth, to the very brink of death.

  Cheryl Kress’s stomach growled. She hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast that morning on the boat and now she wished she’d eaten every bite instead of picking at her food the way she had. Standing over the driftwood fire that Jordan Elders had built, Cheryl glanced around at the others. Captain Mick McGuire sat apart from everyone else, a good hundred feet down the beach. The Professor rested against the ruptured life raft that Jordan had managed to salvage after their disastrous landing. The raft had capsized, toppling them all into the ocean. She and Jordan had managed to get The Professor and Molly ashore, neither of them concerned in the least about Mick. Her father would have said that his type was too damn mean to die.

  Poor Dr. Arnell looked ninety. A tired, haggard ninety. She wondered just how long he could last if they weren’t rescued soon. And Molly. She had not regained consciousness. It would be a miracle if she lasted the night.

  Cheryl’s gaze rested on Jordan, who sat on the other side of the fire, his back to her as he faced the dark ocean. She would never again look at him and see a nerd. From the moment the storm had hit the Sun Dancer, Jordan Elders had transformed from a brainy geek into a rugged hero. In one way or another, he had saved all of them, even the nefarious Mick. Odd how taking charge, issuing orders, doing what needed to be done had come so naturally to Jordan.

  Walking around the fire that she hoped could be seen from the sky, Cheryl approached Jordan. Without saying a word, she sat down beside him. He neither moved nor spoke, just kept gazing at the waves as they hit the shore.