by James Axler
However, there was little cause for such disappointment as, both rafts now fully inflated, Ryan and J.B. moved forward to disconnect the canisters from the valves.
J.B. cursed as he wrestled with the aged valve, creaking and stiff from lack of use. “Dark night, if this all leaks out while I try to seal it…” The canister came away easily but he could hear the gas escaping through the valve opening. Closing the valve with a minimum of delay, the Armorer tested the tubular sides of the raft to see if they had lost any of their tautness. The plastic was still hard to the touch, almost like a solid block of wood.
Ryan, having similar trouble, swore to himself as he secured the valve on his raft. As had the Armorer, he found the valve to be stiff from age and lack of use, but, thankfully, the gas had leaked at such a low rate the raft was still solid to the touch.
“Okay, people,” he said, standing back, “guess we’re ready to go for this. J.B., you take that raft with Jak, Doc and Dean. I’ll take this one with Krysty and Mildred. We’ll divide the baggage so that we get slightly more in this one,’ he continued, prodding the raft with the toe of his combat boot.
“Sounds about right,” the Armorer replied, casting an eye over the assembled companions before polishing his spectacles in readiness for the journey ahead.
The division of personnel and supplies was based on the size and weight of the individuals concerned. With seven people and two rafts, one would have to take four and one three. The problem was how to divide the personnel so that the weights would be roughly equal in each craft. Given that Ryan would pilot one craft and J.B. the other, it made sense to put the three lighter people in with the Armorer—who was himself wiry rather than muscular like Ryan—and to take the two heavier individuals with himself. Krysty and Mildred were both muscular for women, whereas Jak and Doc were very light for men. Dean was still—in this sense—a child. This arrangement would leave the weight distribution a little uneven, with the emphasis on the Armorer having the heavier boat. But by taking more of the supplies on with Mildred and Krysty, the one-eyed man would be able to balance the weights more successfully.
The two parties divided and loaded the rafts before carrying them to where the waves gently lapped at the shore.
“Take it out some way before launching,” Ryan yelled to J.B.
The Armorer agreed. “Figure that this tide is deceptive—could push us back easier than we think. Go up to the waist?”
“Yeah, that’ll make getting aboard real easy,” Mildred said to Ryan.
The one-eyed man grimaced. “I know, I know. You figure how we can get past the wave limit, and I’ll go along with it.”
Mildred chuckled. “Yeah, okay, boss. I know we don’t have a choice, I was just moaning some.”
Krysty raised an eyebrow. “Oh, that? Yeah, I think you’re speaking for me, as well.”
The good-natured banter helped take their minds off the fact that the seawater was icy cold on their legs as they moved deeper into the tide. The current tugged at the sodden clothing around their limbs, flooding the boots on their feet. It had been a conscious decision to not shed these, in case they became separated at some point from the rafts and thus lost their invaluable footwear. It was just that right now it felt as though that very same footwear was weighing them down as the waves washed over them, trying to tug the raft into shore as they pushed out.
J.B.’s estimate had proved correct. By the time the water washed around the waist of even the tallest of them, they had passed the point where the gathering waves tried to take the raft back to shore. Now they could mount the crafts to begin the short journey in earnest.
As the raft bobbed on the water, Ryan held it steady as Krysty and Mildred climbed in. They found it hard to get purchase on the slippery plastic, which gave too easily beneath them, allowing seawater to pour into the shallow basin. Both cursed heavily but managed to balance the raft as Ryan heaved himself over the lip and into the main body.
“Fireblast, I hope this island is worth it,” he breathed heavily. “You wouldn’t reckon on something this simple being so damn hard.”
“Gets harder, lover. You take first pull at the oars,” Krysty said slyly, handing him the paddles and pointing in the direction of the island. “Shouldn’t take too long.”
Ryan took the oars from her without comment and began to pull toward the island.
Meanwhile the other raft had proved to be less problematic for Dean and Jak, who were light enough to mount the raft without much trouble. But Doc had more of a problem, slipping in the water as he tried to thrust himself over the lip, nearly turning it over. It was only J.B.’s hand at his back, pushing him up, that stopped him from slipping back into the water.
“My apologies,” Doc gasped as he settled himself and lay back to help balance the raft for J.B.’s entry. “I fear that the sea is an environment I find all too alien.”
“Not the only one,” Jak commented, barely suppressing a shiver as the icy cold of the water still chilled his bones.
J.B. took the oars and began to row, with some distance to make up on Ryan. His muscles knotted as the sea gave hard resistance to his strokes, making the tendons stand out as he gritted his teeth and gave more effort.
Both Ryan and the Armorer discovered that, despite the seemingly calm exterior, the tidal currents beneath the surface were strong and pulled in different directions, countering each other and attempting to shift the rafts first one way and then the other. Progress toward the island wasn’t as swift as they would have liked, every stroke forward also taking two from side to side. If the sea was to prove this difficult when it appeared calm, how would it be when they hit the white water, the area where the turmoil beneath the waves was actually visible on the surface?
“Here it comes—better hold on tight,” Ryan warned as he looked over his shoulder to see the first rearing horses of white water approach.
In the other raft, it was Jak who sounded the alarm. “Real bad sea coming….”
If anyone had had the time to reflect, it might have been obvious that the patch of choppy sea was caused by a tidal stream that ran through the middle of the channel. A tidal stream with a current so strong that it cut through other crosscurrents as they pulled the direction of the water every which way—This tidal stream was stronger than any force that any of the companions could exert on the oars.
“Bastard!” Ryan yelled suddenly, his voice whipped away on the wind that now blew hard and harsh across the channel.
As the raft reached the white water, the first blow of the erratic and dangerous tide took him by surprise. He had been ready for something, but not this. The water moved beneath the raft like a solid floor, suddenly shifting direction and lifting it onto the crest, pulling the oars from the water and tugging them almost out of the one-eyed man’s grip. It took all Ryan’s strength to hold on to the oars, although they were next to useless as they paddled thin air. The raft was thrown up by the white water and spun in a semicircle before hitting the sea again with bone-jarring force. It was all that he, Krysty and Mildred could do to hold on to the ropes ringed around the tubular structure, curling them around their wrists as much as possible to gain a better purchase.
No sooner had the raft hit the water than it was pitched sideways by another conflicting current. It spun across the surface, almost hitting the raft piloted by the Armorer.
Not that J.B. was having any better luck in his attempt to control his craft. The first patch of choppy water had pitched the raft from underneath, upsetting the balance of the raft and almost overturning it. Water washed over the sides and filled the bottom, making it difficult for J.B. to pull on the oars. Dean and Jak immediately started to bail, but were stopped by the next buffet that lifted them up and propelled them forward. At least it was in the right direction. It did, however, bring them into direct collision with the other raft.
“Dark night! If I ever get off this crappy sea I’m never getting wet again,” J.B. muttered as the water forced the two c
rafts together, the hard, inflated plastic tubes crunching together and forcing his craft into a strange angle from which it was all the occupants could do to keep hold. For the briefest of moments the Armorer caught a glimpse of Mildred, their eyes meeting across the spray of water that washed into the bottom of each raft. He could see primal fear—the fear of buying the farm—in hers, and he was damned sure that she could see the same in his.
And then they were apart again.
“Fuck it! There’s more than just water underneath us!” Ryan exclaimed as the bottom of the raft hit the sea once more and bulged in a shape that was gone before they could even attempt to identify it. The shape appeared again at the side of the raft, where it slammed into the side and sent it spinning once more.
“Oh my Lord, what’s that?” Mildred whispered as a lithe, black shape moved out of the water and reared up before falling once more into the waves with an impact that sent a huge wall of water washing into the raft. The water hit them in the face like a rock, forcing its way up nostrils and into mouths, making it hard for any of them to breathe.
“Hold tight. If it hits us, we’re over,” Ryan gasped, securing his wrists to the ropes along the sides of the craft, any thought of saving the oars long gone.
No sooner had he spoken than the creature reared up in front of them. Whatever it was, it was obviously annoyed they had crossed its path and impeded its progress, and it was now going to make them pay for it.
Whether by accident or design, the creature faced the raft, its black, empty eyes staring. It was blue-black, the sea glistening off its skin and scales to give it a smooth look. The eyes were like black marbles. There was no glimmer of any anger, pain, desire. Unlike any predatory animals they might have encountered on land, this creature of the sea showed nothing of whatever it felt inside…even if this was anything other than merely the mildest irritation.
“Oh, shit, this is going to be bad,” Mildred whispered to herself.
Ryan gritted his teeth and tensed his muscles, expectant of an imminent impact.
Krysty pushed back into the side of the raft, her arms entwined with the ropes in the same way her hair entwined her neck, the sentient red tresses coiled close to her scalp and around her neck, reflecting the severity of the danger they all faced.
The creature seemed to hang in the air for an eternity, surveying them with an almost dispassionate and detached air of calm. It seemed as though the sea was suddenly as calm, the tides slipping away. There was no sound, no spray, no movement of any kind. It was one second stretching out forever. The moment of anticipation. The moment for which they were prepared, but which they hoped would never come.
And then it did. Even though their consciousness had slowed to let them absorb and prepare for the situation, there was still nothing they could do.
With a screech that may have come from the creature itself, or may just have been a trick of the winds and their imaginations, the creature rose, pulled back and then crashed down on the raft.
Even though it had seemed that the moment preceding had lasted forever, the impact was still unexpected. There had been no time to prepare. Mildred felt the thundering impact drive the air from her lungs as the raft was plunged beneath the water for a moment, the creature’s downward motion driving them into the swirling currents that plucked at their clothes, pulled at their limbs in opposing directions and tried to force the freezing salt water into their mouths and nostrils.
Krysty and Ryan clung to the ropes securing them to the body of the raft, muscles aching and on fire from the effort of holding on grimly, the nylon ropes burning into their flesh, the salt water stinging the torn skin.
And then the raft raced to the surface as buoyancy carried it upward, the giant eel continuing downward as the slippery raft slid from beneath its body, the flesh of the creature sweeping across Mildred and crushing her into the plastic as she passed. The raft broke the surface on a white water crest, the force of the tide adding to its momentum, throwing it up and out of the water.
The fragile plastic shell flew up, the canvas bags stored on the floor long since gone, the three companions secured only by the ropes they had used to tie themselves to the tubular body. The ropes holding Krysty and Ryan held firm, scoring their flesh but keeping them secured to the plastic shell as they hungrily gasped in air, unable to take in their situation but thankful for the ability to breathe once more.
Mildred wasn’t as lucky. The ropes on one side of the raft had been scored through at some point in the distant past and, although nylon didn’t fray or rot, she knew that the fibers twisted for the rope had been weakened. The weight of her body being flung back and forth had weakened those fibers that still connected. The upward thrust of the raft as it was thrown out of the water, combined with the momentum of her own body, was too much of a strain for the fibers. As she gulped air into her lungs, she was dimly aware of the rope suddenly giving way. Before she truly had a chance to register what was happening, she was flung from the craft and sent spinning through the air. Ryan and Krysty, barely conscious, were unable to see or to comprehend what was occurring. They were only aware of the jarring impact as the raft hit the water once more.
The occupants of the other raft had been bewildered spectators.
The whole process had taken only a matter of seconds and there was nothing that J.B., Jak, Dean or Doc were able to do about the events unfolding in front of them. They watched in helpless horror as the creature drove the raft beneath the waves, and in dismay as the tide tossed it back into the air, flinging Mildred out and away from them.
“Shit, we’ve got to do something,” J.B. whispered.
Jak was more than equal to the challenge. “Ryan, Krysty, okay. You tired, let me and Dean row,” he snapped, shifting easily in the raft, his balance sure despite the current tossing the raft around like a toy. Dean, not wasting his breath on speech, also moved around so that he and Jak were side by side.
The albino youth took the oars from the Armorer and handed one to Dean. “Take this. On count three, start pull. Count three each time,” he ordered.
“Okay,” Dean replied.
J.B. snapped out of his awe at seeing Mildred thrown up in the air like a rag doll and moved across the floor of the raft to counterbalance Doc, making it easier for the two rowers to pull through the water.
Jak counted, and the two young men began to pull at the oars, feeling the water struggle against them before yielding. Not only were they fresher than J.B., who had brought them this far, but they were two pulling where only one had pulled before. Their progress was swifter and more sure. The raft moved through the water across the current, heading for the drifting raft and the unseen figure of Mildred Wyeth, who lay somewhere beyond.
J.B. continuously scanned the water in front of them. There was no movement from within the raft, although he could see the arms of Ryan and Krysty entangled in the ropes. They were either unconscious or too stunned to move, but they were as safe as anyone could be on this sea while they were in the raft. He cursed as he tried to look beyond, his vision obscured by the spray that splattered on his spectacles, making the whole vista seem blurred.
He couldn’t see Mildred anywhere.
At that moment the woman lay on her back in the ocean, tossed lifelessly by the current. She had barely been able to take in what was happening as she had flown through the air, knowing only that she was able to breathe again after her immersion. Idly, somewhere at the back of her mind, it had occurred to her that she was weightless and could no longer feel the ropes around her arms and wrists. But before she had a chance, in her dazed condition, to assimilate what that could mean, she found herself hitting the surface of the ocean with an impact that knocked all consciousness from her mind and body. Now limp and seemingly lifeless, she was at the mercy of the currents.
It was Doc who spotted her. Mildred’s light-colored jacket contrasting with the black of her braids spread out around her on the water.
“John Barrymore, I
see her! Over to the nor’west,” the old man yelled above the sound of the crashing waves.
J.B. scanned the area Doc had indicated. They knew the island lay northwest of the coast, and there was land in view to the left. Desperately, hope lifting in him, J.B. ran his eyes over the surface of the ocean.
He saw her. Her jacket had spread beneath her and the air that had been trapped beneath the folds of the fabric was keeping her buoyant. It was imperative that they reach her quickly.
“Steer to the right,” the Armorer yelled at Jak and Dean, knowing that would take them to the left as the two rowers were in a reversed position. Jak and Dean didn’t waste breath on a reply, instead putting a stronger effort into their attempts to reach Mildred.
In the other raft, Ryan and Krysty were recovering sufficiently to realize what had happened.
“Fireblast and dammit,” Ryan said huskily, his throat blocked still by the unwanted onrush of salt water. He struggled into a more upright position, trying to unscramble his brain and to get a better view of what was happening. All he knew for sure was that Mildred wasn’t where she should be, two hanks of frayed and broken rope evidence of what had occurred.
Krysty struggled around. It was impossible to tell how her mutie sense felt about the situation and the imminent danger to Mildred, as her hair was plastered to her head thanks to the buffeting it had taken from the sea. But she didn’t need a doomie to see that unless Mildred was recovered from the water soon, it would be too late.
Particularly as an ominous black shape was bucking and rising from the water. The giant mutie eel, still not satisfied with the damage it had wrought, and perhaps in some way able to sense the danger and vulnerability of its enemy, was ready to return for the kill.
Ryan tried to disentangle himself from the ropes; but those that had served so well to keep him secure were now working against him, tangling and knotting as his still-weakened muscles couldn’t summon enough strength to pull his arms free. He wanted to wrestle the Steyr rifle and to fire at the creature. Perhaps its scaly hide would be too thick for the creature to be chilled, or even severely injured, but at least it would distract the creature from its intended target.