Steam Me Up, Rawley

by Angela Quarles

  “Let’s go,” he shouted.

  “Loki!” She followed Rawley, grabbing her monkey as she ran.

  Rawley spun the first hatch open. Come on, come on, come on. Getting on the other side of that door couldn’t come fast enough. Adele, heart hammering, peeked behind her. Guerrero was still unconscious, but afloat with the help of his cork vest. The submarine was filling slowly but inexorably, the cool water at mid-calf already. The underwater suits, hanging like limp skin, beckoned.

  “No time,” she whispered. Escape. They had to escape. And as fast as they could.

  Rawley held the hatch open, and she ducked inside, Rawley right behind. He grasped her shoulders, eyes locking with hers. “You’ve done this before, and you’ve practiced.” He slammed the hatch closed and pulled the lever to let the water into their chamber to equalize the pressure. “Remember what I taught you. Before the chamber completely fills, I’ll open this next hatch. Grab the sides and push through. Swim straight up and float. Remain calm and make your flotation device if you feel you need more than the cork vest. I’ll be right behind you.”

  She nodded. No time for fear. None. She grabbed Loki and rearranged him so his arms were latched around her neck, straddling her back. Already the water was to her waist. She reached under her skirts and took off her pantaloons and gripped them hard in one hand. “Ready. You better be right behind me.”

  “Or else?”

  “Or else I’ll never forgive you.” She grabbed the back of his head and kissed him. Hard. Water surged up between their bodies with the movement.

  They broke apart, and surprise and heat flared in his eyes. Already they floated above the water with about three feet of air to spare. “Hold on to something. I’m opening this before we should.” He took a deep breath and dived under. She felt a gush of water, pushing her against the chamber wall. She gripped the railing along the vestibule’s wall and pulled herself forward, reciting a Hail Mary. She neared the opening. “Hold your breath, Loki!” She took a deep breath and dived.

  The pull was relentless, but she bent her legs and brought them to the opening’s edge. She made out Rawley’s form, and his hands gripped her waist, guiding her. She pushed and shot for the surface, the cork vest’s buoyancy helping her ascend.

  The air in her lungs burned, and she struggled against the instinct to breathe. Dark spots mottled her vision, but she broke the surface with a splash and gasped in a blessed lungful of air. Loki spluttered and coughed. She grabbed him and brought him to her front. He still had the wherewithal to reattach himself around her neck.

  Rawley.

  She tread water, turning frantically, gasping in heaps of air. “Rawley!” A cold thread speared through her, jangling, twisting—visions of her brother underwater with blood surrounding him assaulted her. “Rawley!” she sobbed as she thrashed in another circle. Off to her right, bubbles broke the surface, and the cold thread turned into a flickering hope. She held her breath.

  Rawley broke the surface in a large spray of water. He pulled in a gasp of air and coughed. He’d emerged facing away. “Adele!” he shouted as he rotated.

  His eyes caught hers. “Adele. Stay focused,” he said between gasps for air. “You know what to do.” He swam to her and flipped onto his back.

  Seeing him so calm, she was able to dig deep and find her own strength. She unfurled her pantaloons and tied them like she’d practiced. Soon she had it inflated and snuggle-fitted under her arms. Combined with her cork vest, it gave her more than enough buoyancy to calm her fear. She probably didn’t need it, but the practiced motions were a needed balm.

  Loki was breathing better now, but he had a death grip around her neck, making her own breathing more difficult, but she didn’t dare dislodge him.

  “We’re going to be fine,” Rawley said. “Look behind you. White beaches. Stay floating, semi-reclined like you are, and paddle in that direction.” He pointed behind and to the left slightly. She adjusted and forced herself to breathe calmly. She kicked out and swam for shore. Rawley came alongside.

  Something brushed her leg. Probably her voluminous skirts. But it latched, vice-like, around her ankle. She screamed and spluttered. The unseen thing yanked her downward.

  Phillip’s heart plummeted.

  The killer.

  Phillip lunged downward, grabbed her under the arms, and pulled, keeping her above water.

  She kicked wildly, and water churned at her feet. A glass sphere emerged from the water. Inside loomed the killer’s grim features.

  Phillip locked his arms under her bosom and pulled her back flush to his chest. He’d be damned if he lost her now. In his ear, he heard her gasp and sputter out the salty Gulf water. She lashed out with her kid boots and kicked the glassy dome, freeing her captured foot.

  He risked a peek backward. Oh, God. The shore. What seemed close before... He kicked along with her, but the killer was inches from capturing Adele’s foot again.

  Anger surged through him and filled him with grim determination. Adele must make it to the shore. That was all that mattered. He needed to buy time. Embracing the energy rush, Phillip released his hold on Adele, splashed forward, and yanked out the air tubes. Panic widened the killer’s eyes.

  “Adele, swim hard for shore!” He pushed against the other man and launched himself toward her, arms whipping forward.

  “Like I’m going to linger!”

  He would’ve chuckled, but he was desperate to reach her. He risked a peek back. The killer went under, thrashing in the water, hands grasping at clasps around his neck, frantic.

  He didn’t stay down for long. He broke the surface like a cresting whale, face now free of the glass dome.

  Phillip’s muscles found new energy, and in two more strokes he was at her side. He hooked his arm under her shoulder, turned so he was on his side, and with his free arm, tugged her faster in powerful strokes. She used her free arm and legs to help propel them. With the other, she gripped Loki tighter.

  A wave swelled them toward the sky and then down.

  “We’re almost there, sweetheart,” Phillip panted. “Keep pushing. Where is he now?”

  “About ten feet behind us. Gaining slightly.”

  “Hell’s teeth,” he gasped, and increased his strokes.

  Waves were starting to break—they were closer to shore. One crashed over them, pulling them back toward the killer. They emerged, sputtering. The same wave had presumably sucked their pursuer down and spit him out.

  “How far back is he?”

  “Eight feet or so.”

  He shifted under her and emerged on her other side. He switched to gripping under her other arm. She switched arms too.

  “Six feet,” she squeaked.

  He shot them both forward with a new burst of energy from the fresh arm.

  “He’s struggling. The suit,” she gasped, “it’s taking on water and weighing him down.”

  Stroke, stroke, stroke. Come on, shore.

  “We’re gaining on him!”

  “Thank Christ!”

  Another wave hit them, disorienting them again.

  The bottom, he could touch bottom. Phillip shifted again, lifting her from the water and into his arms. She clutched Loki to her chest. The beach now stretched before them. He ran toward shore, legs churning in the water, breathing labored.

  “Put me down, put me down. I can run from here.”

  He dropped her and grabbed her hand. They ran the last few feet onto the burning dry sand and fell to their knees gasping for air. Loki dropped to the sand, motionless.

  “Loki!” She shook him, turning him face down. He coughed up a tiny lungful of water and took in a shaky breath.

  She collapsed on her back, hugging Loki. “Rawley! Watch out.”

  Phillip whipped around, heart lodged somewhere at the top of his brainpan. The killer emerged from the Gulf, his bulky suit making him look like a bloated sea monster. He collapsed onto his knees, water and sea life gushing from the hole at his suit’s neck. />
  That man would not harm Adele. He’d make sure of it. Phillip stumbled to his feet, gathered all his raging emotions, and focused it all on the killer. He delivered a swift kick to the man’s jaw, pain radiating up his leg at the blow. The killer’s head snapped back with a crack. Phillip tumbled, carried by his own momentum and exhaustion, and sprawled into the sand.

  Get up, get up, get up.

  Adele set Loki down and twisted around, gaze darting. She had to help Rawley. A log jutted from the nearby sand. Perfect. Thighs grumbling in protest, she scuttled over and tugged. No give. She yanked harder, the bark rasping against her gloves.

  “No good, criminy-infested, good-for-nothing, wanna-be tree trunk.” She tugged the uncooperative piece of timber from side to side. Behind her, several grunts and a groan amped her heartbeat. She growled. Move, move, move! Then Loki grabbed an off-shooting branch. They yanked together, and the log sprang free. She landed hard on her bottom.

  “Thank you, Loki,” she panted.

  She got her feet under her and stumbled to a stand, the log a great prop.

  Rawley and the killer were rolling in the surf, their breaths and grunts competing with the surf lapping to shore. As she neared, dragging the heavy log in the sand, Rawley was on top of him, grappling with the killer to get a stranglehold around his neck.

  Close enough. With her remaining strength, she pulled back on her makeshift club, aimed for the head, and swung. Smack.

  The killer’s arms dropped. Rawley fell forward onto his palms, panting. “Well done,” he gasped. He took a couple more deep breaths. “Bloody hell, I’m exhausted.” He craned his head. “We need to find something to tie him with. See if there’s a boat nearby, or anything I can use to tie him.”

  She sprinted along the beach as fast as her wet skirts and protesting legs allowed, searching the ground and dunes. A bleached-white coil of rope, entangled in seaweed scraps, caught her eye.

  She grabbed it, seaweed and all, and ran back. Rawley was sitting on the man’s chest, facing her, with Loki standing guard at the killer’s head. Both looked so miserable, hair dripping wet and matted with sand.

  She collapsed next to him, and together they tied up the killer. Loki screeched a warning at one point, and Rawley delivered a quick punch to the killer’s temple, knocking him out again.

  Rawley tied the last knot and tugged. His head whipped up, then her face was plastered against his chest, his arms locked around her. They collapsed onto the sand, his heat, his scent enveloping her, spelling security. He was safe. Loki was safe. They were safe. Her monkey approached and chittered, wrapping his little arms around both their necks.

  They remained that way for a while, too exhausted to move. Rawley stirred first. “It’s going to be dark soon. We need to figure out where we are and seek aid.”

  She lifted her head from the sand. “What do we do about him?” She nodded toward the killer.

  Rawley searched the beach. “I’ll need more rope. I’d search, but I don’t want to leave you alone with him, in case he awakes. Stay within sight.”

  “I think I saw more where I found the other.” She shuffled back to that spot, clothes heavy but starting to dry to a salty stiffness. She grabbed as much rope as she could and returned to Rawley.

  “Help me drag him to that palm there.”

  They each took an arm and Loki followed, his eyes riveted to the killer’s face.

  Once at the tree, Rawley said, “All right. Let’s prop him against it, and I’ll lash him in place.”

  Rawley retied the killer’s hands behind the tree, tied his ankles, and wrapped the rest of the rope around his chest and the tree, securing him tightly. While Rawley was thus occupied, she put her pantaloons back on.

  “Now to find help.” He grabbed her hand, Loki leaped to her shoulder, and they walked inland. Nothing but pine, palms, and scrub brush surrounded them. After five minutes, a suspicious shimmer glinted ahead.

  She groaned. “More water!” They’d reached another sandy beach, this time facing a small bay, the farther shore too distant to swim even if they weren’t exhausted.

  Rawley blew a breath and leaned forward, hands on knees. “Good Lord, this looks like a wilderness. Are we in an unsettled region?”

  “I don’t know.” She looked back. “And the sun’s setting.”

  Rawley looked up and down the stretch of uneven beach head. “If this is a bay, the water should be fresh water.” He strode forward and scooped up a mouthful, testing it. “At least we’ll have water.”

  “There could be a fishing village nearby.”

  “Let’s rest here and wait for the sun to set.” He suited action to words and sprawled onto the sand.

  “Is that wise?”

  He looked at her over his shoulder. “Maybe not, but if there are inhabitants, we should see some fires.” He patted the sand next to him.

  “What about the killer?”

  “The devil can take him for all I care.”

  She sat in the sand, wrapping her arms around her knees. Loki dropped to the ground and stretched out, hands under his face.

  “He can’t get away,” he said in gentler tones. “We’ll find help and send whatever kind of law they have here to his location. He’ll be miserable, but he won’t die.”

  She leaned against his shoulder, and he put his arm around her. In their damp clothes, the approaching evening air made her chilly. That was the only reason she sought his comfort. His body radiated heat. It had nothing to do with the feeling of safety he projected or the little zing that vibrated through her at his touch.

  They turned and watched the sun set over the Gulf, its oranges, blues, and golds suffusing and blending with the dark silver water in the distance. A sight she could witness only if she crossed over the bay in Mobile. The sun now set, the waxing crescent moon became visible overhead.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  On The Kindness Of Strangers

  When night settled, they stood and scanned the beach for signs of life. They saw nothing in either direction.

  Rawley dragged a foot through the sand, carving a large arrow pointing to where they’d left their prisoner. He held out a hand. “Let’s walk north.”

  She fell into step beside him, Loki on her shoulder. After ten minutes of walking, a glow flickered ahead, slightly inland. She squeezed Rawley’s hand and pointed.

  He squeezed back. “You wait here. I’ll see if it’s safe.”

  She nodded, and he angled up the beach toward the light. Before she could start worrying about what to do if it hadn’t been safe and Rawley was now in trouble, voices rumbled ahead and dark shapes coalesced between the trees. She could make out Rawley’s tall form and stride. A squatter shape strode beside him, and the much smaller shape of a child followed in their wake, each carrying a torch.

  As they neared, the torchlight revealed the hunched shape of an older man gesticulating wildly and a young boy of about ten.

  “Hola! The doctor says you are in need?” said the elderly man. Judging by his accent and their looks, they appeared to be Cuban.

  “Indeed. We would be most grateful for any assistance you can lend.”

  Rawley stood next to her, his hand touching her lower back. Shivers danced up and down her spine. “This is Mr. Hector Jimenez and his grandson Alejandro. He says there’s a small settlement across the bay called Sarasota. It has a newly built hotel.”

  “Sí, the DeSoto Hotel. Very grand. Three stories!”

  “Well, that’s a relief. Will we be able to reach it tonight?”

  “He says he can row us over.”

  “What about our captive?”

  “We’re going to check on him now. He says his grandson would enjoy keeping a watch on him overnight.”

  Alejandro nodded and raised his rifle high.

  They angled back along the shore until they reached the arrow. Rawley related their adventures and the killer’s actions. When told he could be a Spanish spy, the pair grew more animated and determi
ned in their duties.

  At the arrow, they turned inland and found their captive where they’d left him, awake now and glaring. He jerked on his bonds, but Rawley had tied him well. “I do not suppose you would see fit to untie me.”

  “You suppose correctly,” drawled Rawley. He waved at the prisoner. “Here’s your Spanish spy.”

  With that pronouncement, Mr. Jimenez hurled a string of Spanish at the prisoner, who retaliated in kind.

  Loki jumped down, grabbed a loose palm frond, and swatted the prisoner’s legs, which produced only a louder stream of invective.

  “Maybe we should employ a gag?” suggested Rawley.

  Mr. Jimenez stopped his angry stream of words and motioned to his grandson. “Go. Fetch one.”

  The grandfather had a torch, but the light around them diminished with Alejandro’s departure.

  Adele had a sudden thought. “He’s safe with you, correct? He needs to answer for his crimes, but through our legal system.”

  The fisherman swore and spat into the sand.

  “Think of the publicity this will generate for the Cuban cause when this goes to trial. I’m sure you’re aware our government has been making noises of war against Spain. If this is done right, this criminal’s trial could be part of that story. Might even influence events. However, if he disappears quietly...”

  Mr. Jimenez stared at her a moment, grinned, and turned to Rawley. “You have one smart lady.”

  Alejandro returned, panting and holding a rag. The prisoner again spouted a stream of Spanish, cut off when the grandfather applied the gag. He tied it so his head was latched to the tree.

  “He goes nowhere,” pronounced Mr. Jimenez. “Let us leave now while the moon is high.”

  She gathered up Loki, who gifted the killer with a rude gesture, and they walked back to their fishing hut and helped them drag a skiff to the waters of the bay. All four tumbled inside, the grandfather and grandson pulling on the oars, while Rawley and Adele held the torches.