"Easy! Easy, Blair, hang on!"
Hands clutched his chest, Jim's hands. Blair struggled to ease the desperation in his lungs and throat. Something was pressed into his outstretched hand and he grabbed it, feeling the support of a flotation device adding to the arms holding him through the gasps. After another round of coughs, Blair's vision cleared and his lungs no longer feared the air would go away again.
"You okay? Blair?" Jim moved around to face him, still holding on with both hands.
"Yeah." Blair nodded, then coughed again, clutching what he could now see was a seat cover floating beside him. "I'm okay."
"I tried to get in the cabin, but I was tossed overboard." Jim ran a hand over his face, pushing water away from his eyes, then reached out to touch Blair's forehead.
"Ow!" Blair pulled back for an instant, then held still while Jim examined the spot above his eye where he'd struck the table. Satisfied with whatever he saw there, Jim moved his hand away.
"When I saw it was going down so fast, I grabbed the bow railing and tried to come down with you, to open the hatch. But it was locked."
Blair could only cough and nod, still trying to catch his breath.
Jim glanced around, then looked him in the eyes. "Just stay here, hang onto the cushion. I'll be right back. Okay?"
He nodded again, then reached up to push soaking wet hair away from his face. Jim swam off to the left and he watched, seeing bits and pieces of the MarySue bobbing to the surface all around them. Aside from a few small sections of wood and an oil slick, there was no sign of the boat, or anything resembling the relaxing night they had just enjoyed. Blair coughed again, and pulled the floating seat cushion closer, resting both arms over it. Jim returned and produced the end of a nylon rope he'd recovered.
"This is the only thing that came up." He took the end and tied it onto one of the handles of the seat cushion, then looped the other end through his belt. "I don't want to lose this thing. We'll need it to rest on."
Blair brought one arm down into the water and began to tread. "They didn't stop, did they?" He'd seen no hint of the yacht that slammed into them since coming back up.
"No. Probably didn't even know they hit something." Jim finished attaching the cushion to his belt and glanced around. "If they did, they were too drunk to care."
"What do we do now, Jim?" Blair knew how far away they really were from the land they could see on either side. "Stay here and hope for help?"
"We start swimming, Chief." Jim put a hand on the cushion so he could stop treading for a moment. "It's a long way, but we've got no other choice. We'll keep this with us to rest on, and keep your jeans on. I know they're heavy, but you'll need the protection. This hot weather brings a lot of jellyfish up, both stinging and harmless. There's no one else out here to see us. So unless the Coast Guard figured it out from what little you got out, we've got no one coming after us."
Blair nodded, glad he had worn his lighter, threadbare jeans. "It could take us all day and half the night just to get closer to shore where the ferry might spot us."
"Yeah." Jim glanced out over the small waves. "Okay, Chief, here's the plan: We swim slow and steady toward the point. Don't overdo it, we stop and rest when we need to, but if you get too exhausted before you stop, the rest won't do you any good. So no heroics, you got that?"
"You too, right, Jim?"
He smiled, nodding. "Right, Chief. Me too. We've got currents and the tide to fight, so this isn't going to be easy. You ready?"
"Yeah." Blair let go of the cushion, treading water for just a second to get his bearings, then set off in the direction Jim was swimming. Their only flotation device followed along behind without a problem.
Within the first few strokes, Blair established a pace that allowed him to stay just a few feet behind Jim and to his left. They swam steadily, with a rhythm designed for endurance. Blair made sure he stayed with his partner, whom he knew was keeping them on track and not veering off toward the open sea or further down the middle of the Strait. He kept going, numbing his mind to the chances of their survival. The distance to shore was impossible. The current would keep them one step behind their goal with every stroke. And if they stayed in the water too long, they'd freeze. There was a chance a passing pleasure boat would spot them, or they'd come within sight of the ferry they could hear in the distance. But being seen in the shimmering waters, when you're but a speck of flotsam to a passing ship, was never a sure bet.
Blair continued on, forcing his mind to accept the emptiness of his strokes as its only thought. Inside his head, a jungle beat played, matching the slapping of his arms and the kicking of his legs. He let the drums continue, using their beat as a reason to raise the next arm or kick once more. Twice, a seagull's cry blended so perfectly with the rhythm, Blair considered mixing the sounds together when he got back home. Maybe turn the drums into a nice mix of native and natural harmonies. When he got home. That's right, Sandburg, when you get home. That's what Jim would be thinking. Never give up, never stop trying. Jim wouldn't stop until they were safe, and he'd never leave Blair behind. So, if he held to his unfailing belief in his partner, Blair knew he'd be home soon.
He glanced up again, never skipping a beat, to check his position, and found Jim reaching out to stop him.
"Hey, Chief. Hold up." He pulled their floating cushion closer and Blair reached out for it. "Let's take a break."
"Yeah." He took hold of the handle that dangled a few feet below the surface so he wouldn't have to raise tired arms. "How far do you think we've gone?"
Jim put an arm on the cushion and wiped water from his face. "We made some progress." He glanced toward the distant shore and nodded. "The tide's been going out, I can feel the current. But it should slack soon, then give us a boost by heading inland. How you doing?"
Blair sighed, then was seized by a fit of coughing. Jim reached out, instantly taking hold of his arm until the attack subsided. "I'm okay." He brought an arm up to rest on the cushion so his legs could take a break from their constant motion.
"You're okay?" Jim didn't release his hold until Blair nodded.
"Yeah, I'm fine, Jim. Just swallowed more water than I thought coming out of that wreck, I guess."
"I think we both did a good job drinking the level down a few feet."
Blair put his chin on the edge, closed both eyes and tried to convince his tired body that he was pool-side at a resort somewhere, just taking it easy after a nice swim. But if that were true, he'd be in shorts, not jeans and a shirt. He'd be hearing voices, and maybe laughter and music. And he was sure there wouldn't be such a strong taste of salt on his lips.
Blair opened his eyes and looked at Jim. He was treading water gently while holding onto the cushion with one hand. His eyes scanned the horizon every few minutes, but his breathing seemed calm and normal. There was no hint of fear or remembered phobia that Blair could see. Of course, they weren't in open water, and land could be seen. But being in the water, this far out with only your stamina and some luck keeping you alive...
"How are you doing, man? This is a lot of open water. From down here it seems even more so."
Jim nodded, still scanning the horizon. "I'm fine, Chief." He stopped his visual search and looked at Blair. "I'm just not thinking about it. Seems to be okay."
"Good. That's good, Jim. I just wish I could do that with heights, man." Blair laughed a little, shaking his head.
"You can, Sandburg. And you have." Jim switched arms on the cushion. "How many times have you gotten right past your fear without even thinking about it, huh?"
"Yeah, but that's different, Jim. Those times I had no choice. It was do it or die, you know?"
Jim shrugged, sending little ripples of water away from him. "That's how it works, Chief. Fear is a luxury. You'll only feel it when you have time to think about your situation. But when there's no time to think, you find yourself just doing whatever it is that would have stopped you before. Like on that rig. I had time to think about the w
ater, the openness, all the way out there. Then onboard, the storm just added to it, and I couldn't get past the feelings." He paused and Blair nodded, changing arms on the cushion. "Then, when it came time to swim out to that ship, I was consumed by what I'd had all that time to stew over. If it hadn't been for you, Chief, I might not have been able to jump off that platform."
"Sure you would, Jim. You had to. You might have been afraid, but you'd have jumped anyway."
Jim shook his head. "I didn't have to, Sandburg. There were no lives at stake on that ship, they'd left all the hostages on the rig. I could have waited till we got the Coast Guard and had the ship found. But if I had, if I'd never gotten past that fear and found out about the bomb, we wouldn't be having this conversation."
"So you just didn't think about it?"
"No, I took your advice and zoned out on that ship. That's the only thing that got me off the rig in the first place, Chief. I had a problem and you had a solution. It made sense, and you've never steered me wrong before. I just put trust ahead of fear. That's what you have to do, put something stronger in the way and give the fear no time."
Blair nodded slowly, absorbing what he was saying. The faith and trust Jim had in someone proven to be making it up as he went along never ceased to amaze Blair.
"You've done that yourself, Chief, you just didn't see it for what it was. Jumping off that cliff into the river wasn't high on your list of things to do, but you did it."
"Sure, Jim, it was that or get blown away. I think saving your own life is a great motivator."
Jim shook his head. "No, don't sell yourself short, Sandburg. On that oil rig you were thinking of me first, then when you knew there was a bomb onboard, you thought of all the other crewmen when you could have jumped off and swum to safety. Which is what I wanted you to do."
That stunned Blair for a second. So much so, he didn't register what Jim had said at first. When it fell into place, it still wasn't clear. "Jim, you wouldn't have let the crewmen die. If it was you on the rig and me on the ship, you would have stayed till you found it, or died trying.
Jim turned back to Blair from his scanning of the watery horizon. "No, Chief. I wanted you alive. That doesn't mean I wanted anyone dead. My first concern was your safety." He paused, sighing a little, glancing somewhere over Blair's shoulder. "I know you think of me as some kind of self-sacrificing hero or something..."
"Or something?" Blair smiled, trying to lighten the mood. This conversation was getting pretty deep. He'd known for a while now that Jim would put him first--or at least he'd thought he'd known that--but neither of them had really come right out and talked about it. Well, Blair had never come right out and talked about it. That facet of Jim's friendship was still a little hard to grasp. What it said about Jim was nothing compared to what it said about his opinion of Blair.
"Listen, Chief, you come first, that's no secret. And if I'd gotten you to jump off and save yourself, and the crew died, I'd have carried that guilt for the rest of my life. But I'd have you around to tell me it wasn't my fault. If I'd lost you, and them, that would have been too much."
Blair nodded. "Thanks, Jim." That little statement hadn't been the least bit difficult for Jim to admit. He hadn't paused, changed his tone or even looked away from Blair at any moment. That, more than the words he used, told Blair all he needed to know.
"That's what makes us work, Sandburg. Between the two of us, at any given time we've got it all covered." Jim let go of the cushion then and looked toward shore. "Tide's slacking off. You ready to go again?"
"Yeah." He let go as well and treaded water for a moment, waiting for Jim to lead the way. When he did, Blair set off in the same position, keeping his partner in view and not worrying about the shoreline he could barely see. If he could keep up, they just might stand a chance. One thing was for sure, Blair was not going to let this man down.
He found a rhythm again, sending one arm up and over, followed by another. The jungle beat that helped set the pace returned, and Blair let his mind concentrate on the music and the motion, and nothing more. With each stroke, he told himself he'd be feeling the rocky shore any second now. Once he wondered what Jim used to keep his mind occupied. Most likely, he was zoning out on their goal, concentrating on nothing more than survival. But if that were true, he wouldn't be able to snap out of it and rest every hour, forcing Blair to rest as well. It was Jim keeping track of how long they swam, how often they rested, and what direction they were going. By their fourth rest break, Blair was in such an automatic mode, Jim had to physically hold him still long enough to convince him they were stopping. Exhausted, Blair rested both arms on the cushion, alternating between tired gasps of air and coughing fits.
"Are you okay, Chief?" Jim held onto their support with one hand and put the other on Blair's arm.
"I'm okay." The coughing subsided and he nodded. "Are we making any progress, Jim?"
"Yeah, we are." Jim let go of Blair's arm and rested his hand on the cushion. "I know it's hard, partner, but we'll make it." He dunked under the surface for a second, then forced the water from his eyes and ran a hand over his short hair. "The tide's going out pretty heavy now, so we might as well rest up instead of wasting our time."
Part 4
* * *
The gentle rocking of the boat lent itself to Blair's dreams, sending him over the open sea on a three-masted schooner. The fact that the ship was named The Sentinel, and Jim was there with
Blair sighed, then pushed aside a clump of kelp that floated up to him. During their swim, he'd run into several large sections of kelp, seaweed, and about four jellyfish, but all were of the white, non-stinging variety. The water seemed to be getting colder as the day progressed, but the sun was still beating down with full force. Blair realized his tolerance was waning. If they were in the water through the night, hypothermia would almost definitely set in.
"Hey, Jim, last summer, that guy who fell off the ferry in the San Juans, he lasted 36 hours before he was rescued, didn't he?"
"It was around 36 or 38 hours, something like that. Sandburg, we'll make it. He was alone and freezing. We've got each other, and it must be about 80 degrees out." Jim glanced at the sky, nodding. "We could last through the night if we had to, but we'll be out of here before morning."
"Yeah? Can I quote you on that, Jim?" Blair smiled, grateful for Jim's confident attitude. The man was a rock, right when Blair needed one to lean on.
Jim laughed. "Sure. Hey, how are you at the back float?"
Blair glanced at the water, judging the small waves. "Not bad, when it's calm."
"Okay, take half so we balance out." Jim turned around, then carefully placed his head on the cushion while Blair steadied it.
Once he was settled, Blair followed suit, placing his head on the cushion and letting his body float on the opposite side. It was almost pleasant, floating there with his head supported. His jeans were light enough not to drag his legs down too much, and keeping his body closer to the surface warmed him. After some shifting and balancing, they both found a restful way to float there, and Blair felt his body truly start to rest.
The sun was beginning its downward trek, but there was still warmth to be had. They'd get another several hours of daylight, and the temperature shouldn't drop too quickly. The ferry could be heard in the distance, but was still too far off to see. Blair wasn't really sure if Jim was taking them straight for land, or toward the ferry route where they might be seen. He just knew his partner was his best chance for surviving this.
Blair sighed and closed tired eyes. This wasn't a shimmering pool in the jungle inviting him to let it take his concerns away and leave him floating happily. This water was his concern. But it seemed to be indifferent to him now. After a few minutes of listening to Jim's quiet breathing, Blair felt himself dozing off.
He woke with a slight start and his head nearly fell off the cushion. Glancing around, he saw the sun nearing the horizon. "Jim?"
"Yeah." The cushion moved slightl
y with his answer. "The tide's slacking now, Chief. You ready for another go?"
Blair nodded as best he could, then slowly rolled to his left to get his head off its perch. Something orange was floating toward him again, and he reached out to shove the kelp out of his way. The instant his hand touched the tendril, pain shot through his hand and fingers. It felt as though his hand had just been placed into a bucket of battery acid. He cried out, nearly going under in his haste to retract his burning hand, and realized he was surrounded by floating orange stingers clinging to his jeans and snaking all around the water next to him.
"Jim!" Blair couldn't resist the need to push away from the jellyfish, but he knew touching it would just add more pain to the hand that was already burning unbearably. But the tendrils were everywhere, and his hand was completely useless in keeping him afloat. He kicked once to keep from sinking under the surface, but that caused more tendrils to grab his jeans and stick with jellied tenacity.
Jim was there instantly, grabbing the back of Blair's shirt and pulling him away from their visitor with massive kicks of his legs. He kept moving, until they were well out of the range of the yards-long stingers trailing the bulbous body that pulsed away from the offenders. Blair watched as the clinging strands pulled away, holding his breath against the pain in his hand and the fear that any second he'd feel more burn through his legs.
"Easy, easy, it's gone." Jim stopped, then pulled the cushion close to them again and forced Blair's uninjured right arm onto it for support. "Let me see."
"God, it hurts!" He had to force himself to let Jim take his hand and pry the fingers open. The red welt already swelling over the palm of his left hand felt as though it was covered in acid, and he wanted to shove it under the water in an effort to rinse the burning away. He scanned the water for more of the orange stingers, trying desperately not to pull his hand from Jim's grasp. Holding still seemed to make the pain worse, but Jim wouldn't let go. Blair was sure shaking it and swearing would help the burning lessen.
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