by Brenda Beem
Greg laid his sleeping son down and pulled his wife’s body, wrapped in a sleeping bag, out of the tent. “Her name was Beverly,” he mumbled. He insisted on carrying Beverly to her grave. Dylan steadied him from behind and twice had to help him up when he fell.
We gave Greg and his deceased wife some time alone. He knelt beside the grave, sobbed, and told her how sorry he was. Alone with his sleeping sister, Byron woke up and began to wail. I ran to him. Dylan went to the shore to check on the burning tents.
I handed Byron to Greg when I felt it was time and began shoveling the sandy dirt over the top of Beverly’s body. Dylan showed up and took over. When the grave was filled in, Dylan brought the rocks he’d used to make a fire pit and stacked them on top of the mound of dirt.
We left Greg and Byron at the gravesite. Beth slept through it all.
Dylan headed for the shoreline. He gestured back at Beth. “She’s sick.”
I shrugged. “Maybe she just got really dehydrated.”
“You and I are out of here first thing in the morning.”
“We can’t leave them here. They’ll die.”
“If we take her with us, she could make us all sick.” Dylan kneeled and washed his hands, using sand as soap.
“She doesn’t have diarrhea. That’s the kind of sickness everyone on shore had.” I poured gin over his wet fingers.
Dylan reached for the bottle. I held it behind my back.
He glared at me. “What if we tow them behind us in the dinghy? We have to find water before we head to the mainland anyway, and Zoë could treat her from a distance. With a little medicine, food, and water, maybe she’ll get better on her own.”
I exhaled with relief. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was something.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Dylan was gone when I awoke. I’d slept surprisingly well on the hard sand, but then it was also the first full night of rest I’d gotten in days.
I peered out from the tent flap and found Dylan building a fire. Greg perched on the log he’d been leaning against the day before. There was no sign of the children. All but one of the tents we’d burned had washed away. We’d have to drag the last one back down into the water. That wouldn’t be fun.
The morning air had a chill to it and the clouds seemed darker than normal. I wrapped my sleeping bag around my shoulders and joined the guys.
“How are the kids doing?” I plopped down next to Greg.
He hung his head and mumbled something I couldn’t hear.
“Sorry?” I faced him.
He raised his bloodshot eyes. “Byron is okay. Beth isn’t doing as well. But she woke up and went to the bathroom this morning.”
“She can pee? That’s good, right?”
His head drooped. “Her skin feels hot and she keeps asking for her mother.”
I glanced at Dylan. His lips were pursed.
“You’re going to leave us here, aren’t you?” Greg said softly.
I shook my head. “No. But as long as Beth has a fever, we can’t let you onboard our boat.”
“So you’re going to stay?”
“No. We have to leave. Our boat is out of fresh water now, too. But, we can tow you in our dinghy. It’s large. We have extra blankets and even a tarp. And we have some medicine onboard. As soon as Beth’s fever is gone, you can get on our boat.”
Greg stared at Whistler. “You have a blue sailboat.”
His statement caught me off guard. “We do. It’s my family’s boat. Dylan’s my brother.”
Greg nodded. “There was a couple who traveled with us. They were looking for a blue sailboat.”
Dylan stopped feeding the fire and stared at Greg.
“Do you remember their names?” I croaked.
“Debbie and Alan. They rode bikes all the way from Seattle.”
I began to tremble. Dylan closed the distance between us in seconds. “What happened to them? Where are they?”
“You’re their kids, aren’t you?” Greg said. “You look like your mother.”
Dylan was ready to pounce. I pulled him down beside me. “Please. Tell us where they are.”
“I don’t know where they are. They didn’t come with us into the bay because there wasn’t a blue sailboat or people around. They were looking for the boat or people who might have seen their children. They decided to keep going along the coast.”
“Were they healthy? Did they say which bay they were headed to?” Dylan’s eyes narrowed.
“They were dehydrated and exhausted like the rest of us, but otherwise, fine. They didn’t say which harbor they were going to.”
“Were they heading North or South?” I asked.
“North.”
“Why didn’t you tell us this earlier?” Dylan gritted his teeth.
“I was pretty out of it yesterday. It wasn’t until this morning that I realized your boat was blue.” Greg hung his head.
Dylan hopped up.
I grabbed his shoulder.
He shook it off. “We have to go. If you want to leave with us, you ride in the dinghy. Come or not. Your choice.”
Greg turned and faced the hill where his wife was buried.
“Your children need a future,” I said, and headed to my tent.
****
It took us less than an hour to load the dinghy, with Greg, the kids, and our gear. He insisted on tying his rowboat behind the dinghy with his camping gear. We attached a couple of kayaks that had belonged to the dead campers behind his boat to put onboard Whistler later. We only had one kayak left.
Nick held up his hand to stop us as we neared the sailboat. “Guys, we’re a little worried here.”
Dylan swung the dinghy around so he could see Nick. “Worried? About what?”
Nick gestured at the shore. “A lot of people died there. We don’t want you exposing us. Zoë’s pregnant and Makala is just a child.”
“Greg and his kids are going to stay in the dinghy,” Dylan said.
Nick busied himself straightening the sail lines. “Yeah. But, we think you and Toni should stay on the dinghy too.”
Dylan almost dropped his oars in the water. “You’re kidding. You’re telling us we can’t get aboard our own sailboat.”
Nick turned to face us. “I’m asking you to not put us at risk.”
I grabbed the sides of the dinghy. “Nick. We told you. They all died from dehydration.”
“They’re dead. You aren’t doctors.”
“So, how long do you expect us to stay in the dinghy?” Dylan snarled.
Angelina and Nick studied one another. “Until the little girl is better or we get to the next anchorage. You can go ashore and camp,” Angelina said.
“Wow. Nice of you.” Dylan turned the dinghy back around and continued rowing.
A cold wind came up. The water in the bay became choppy. The ocean would be even rougher. We were in for a miserable time. Greg slid down on the floor of the dinghy and held his children close.
Dylan threw a line and Nick tied the dinghy a short distance behind Whistler. We brought the kayaks around and Nick and Angelina hauled them onboard.
“Are you really going to make us do this?” Dylan snarled as Nick raised the sails.
Nick nodded. “We don’t have a choice.”
Zoë joined Angelina and Nick on the stern. Boots and Makala were surprisingly absent.
“Honey,” Zoë began. “I’m sorry. But it was my idea. The little girl has a fever and must be sick. If the antibiotics make her fever go away, then we know we can cure whatever illness she has. We have to protect our baby. It’s not just all about you and me anymore, you know.”
Zoë had banned us from our boat. Zoë!
****
Nick, Angelina, and Zoë handled the sailboat well without us. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but soon we were out of the bay and sailing along the coast. The clouds grew darker and a drizzling rain began to fall.
We were moving at a fast pace. I hated to slow down our p
rogress, but we were getting soaked.
“Take the boat into the wind,” I yelled at Nick. “We need the sail cover.”
When the boat slowed, we pulled up close to the swim step. Angelina and Zoë threw raingear and the canvas sail cover at us. We moved Greg and the kids to the bow and tied the canvas over the top of the dinghy. We couldn’t see a thing huddled under the dark fabric, but we were dry.
The air grew stale, and when little Byron had a dirty diaper, unbearable. We had to throw off the canvas for a few minutes to keep from getting sick. But Greg rinsed the diaper out in the sea and soon the motion of the waves lured the children back to sleep.
I startled awake when Nick yelled, “Drop anchor.” Dylan and I yanked back the cover. The rain had stopped, although the air was still chilly. When my eyes adjusted, I scanned around the narrow inlet we had entered. Off the port side, a stream of water poured out of a cave and splashed down the side of the cliff. It was lovely––and had to be fresh water.
The entire bay was surrounded by steep cliffs that rose to what seemed like a hundred feet from the sea above us. The bay itself was only slightly wider than Whistler was long. I couldn’t believe Nick had brought us to an inlet that was so tight.
Dylan scowled with concern. “Nick, what the hell? Why’d you bring us in here?”
Angelina was behind the wheel. Nick counted the marks on the anchor chain as he lowered the anchor. The sails were down. The wind was blocked by the high cliffs anyway.
“Because of the beautiful waterfall,” Zoë said, and grinned.
“Are you crazy?” Dylan swiveled from side to side. “There’s not enough room to turn around in here.”
“Just back out,” Nick shrugged.
“Back out?” Dylan screamed. “We can’t sail backwards. And we’re almost out of gas. I don’t know how the engine started last time. We were running on fumes.”
Nick’s face fell. “I didn’t… We saw the waterfall and thought… I’ve seen sailboats bring the boom all the way around.”
“You idiot! You’ve been on Whistler for over three weeks now. Our boom doesn’t do that!”
Nick went silent. The stern began to swing toward a sharp rock jutting off the side of the cliff.
“Get us out of here. Now! Try the engine. Angelina, put it in reverse. Nick, pull the anchor up as Whistler starts to back up. Don’t wait for the anchor to be up all the way. If there is any gas left, there’s not much.”
Nick ran to get the key. Angelina stood behind the wheel. Nick turned the key. There was a clicking noise, then nothing. He tried again. There was a puff of exhaust out the stern. The engine rumbled for a second, then died. By the fifth try, there wasn’t even the clicking noise. Not only were we out of gas, the starter battery was dead too.
“We’re trapped.” Dylan slammed his fist on the dinghy. The toddler began to cry. I felt like joining him.
“Angelina, find the boat hook and keep Whistler off the rocks,” Dylan yelled. “Zoë, lift the storage hatch and pull out the stern tie ropes. We need two lines.”
“What’s a stern tie rope?” Zoë peered down in the deep storage locker.
“It’s a colorful nylon rope. Like a water-ski rope.”
“Is this it?” Zoë held up a reel of red, blue, and yellow line.
“Yes. Did you find two?”
Zoë laid the line down and dove head first in the locker. After what seemed like forever, she appeared with a tangled ball of the same colored line.
“Nick, help me,” Angelina yelled as Whistler’s stern headed for the cliff face.
Nick grabbed an oar and joined her. Together they managed to stop the boat from smashing on the rocky wall.
Dylan gestured for me to follow him and yelled at Zoë. “Okay. Fasten one end of the line to the port stern cleat, and hand that line down to us.”
“Which side is port?” Zoë turned from side to side.
“The side farthest from the cliff.” Dylan stood and pointed. “Greg, get ready to fend off the dinghy too.” Dylan and I climbed over all our gear, and jumped into Greg’s rowboat.
We rowed alongside. Zoë threw me the wheel of colorful lines. One end was tied to Whistler. I slowly let the line out as Dylan rowed toward the cliff.
“Why are we doing this? We have to find Mom and Dad. Takumi is waiting. We can’t stay here,” I said through clenched teeth.
“If we don’t stern tie, Whistler will be smashed on the cliff. We don’t have our other anchor. If we had it, we could just throw it off the stern. But we let it go, remember?” He took the line and began climbing the cliff. From a distance, it appeared to go straight up, but close in, there were a number of boulders that stuck out. About twenty feet up, two hardy trees hung on with deep roots. Dylan wrapped the line around one of the trees, and pulled hard.
Whistler’s stern slowly moved back to the center of the bay. Dylan climbed back into the rowboat and handed me the spool of line. I kept the line tight and fed it out a little at a time as Dylan pulled us hand over hand along the end of the line. There was about fifteen feet of slack line left when we made it back. Nick secured this end onto Whistler, too.
Zoë and Angelina were frantically untangling the second line. We floated and waited. Byron woke up and began to wail. His cries echoed in the tight little bay. I was happy to see Greg care for him.
“What are we going to do?” I studied the bay.
It was only slightly wider than Whistler was long.
“I don’t know. Even if we manage to turn the boat, the cliffs block the wind. I don’t know how they managed to sail in this far.” Dylan spoke loudly, not caring if everyone heard him. “We can try towing it with the dinghy and the rowboat. But I think we’ll need help.”
At long last, the line was untangled. Dylan rowed to the waterfall side of the bay. This time, Dylan found a log held fast beneath a pile of rocks to wrap the line around.
There was about ten feet of line in reserve when I handed it back to Nick.
“Won’t we get hung up when the tide goes down?” Nick asked me. He and Dylan were avoiding looking at one another.
“We’ll leave some slack, and let the line out or bring it in, according to the tides. Kinda like going through the Ballard locks. It’s good we have extra line. We’ll need it as the tides change,” I told him.
Angelina tilted her head back and stared up at the falls. “I’m ready to go explore. Do you think there is another way to get up there?”
I followed her gaze up to the cave the water poured out of. It had a fairly wide opening. The water ran in a trough in the middle of the cave. Clear fresh water splashed down into the sea and I wondered if my parents had found this water. Takumi would have loved the waterfall. I sighed and reached for the cell I no longer carried.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dylan and I kept a close eye on Whistler to make sure the anchor held and she was secure in the tight inlet. Nick and the girls left the deck and went below.
“What are we going to do now?” I asked.
Dylan stared up at the cliff. “If Zoë won’t let us onboard Whistler, I’m thinking of climbing up there, and checking out the cave. There might be a spot where we can spend the night. At least we’d be on land. Loading the water tanks is going to take most of the day, and I refuse to spend the night in this dinghy.”
“And then?”
“In the morning we tow Whistler out. Backwards!”
“With the rowboats? Will that even work?” I stared at our boat.
“They used to tow the ancient sailing ships with row boats. They had more men than we have, and it was slow going, but they managed.”
“They did? Really?” I craned my neck to better see the cave. “Okay, then. I’m going up there with you.”
“But—”
“I’m a high diver, remember? Heights don’t bother me, and if you can climb the wall, so can I. Besides, I don’t want to sit around in the dinghy all day just collecting water.”
Nick ap
peared on deck with Makala and a fishing pole. Without a word to us, they hurried away to the bow. Boots merrily followed.
Dylan elbowed me. “Tell Nick to fill the water tanks.”
“Tell him yourself.” I hunted through my bag for my sneakers.
Dylan sighed. “Hey, Nick. We need to fill the tanks with fresh water. Will you do that while Toni and I check out the cave?”
Nick stood with his back to us. He slowly turned and nodded. “As soon as Makala and I catch something. We’re out of food, too.”
Angelina brought up a large blackened pot. “We have rice. It’s cold, but better than nothing. I’ll help Nick collect water.” She scooped the rice into soup bowls and floated the bowls over to us in the bottom of a bin.
Zoë appeared and worked on starting a fire in the cockpit barbecue. While we ate, Dylan told Greg our plan.
We asked Angelina to dig out an old rope Dad stored at the bottom of the storage locker. I tied the ends together to make two very long lines. Dylan took one line, while I grabbed the other. We wrapped the lines around our waists and climbed into Greg’s small rowboat.
“Dylan,” Zoë yelled. “We need firewood. If you find some up there, bring it down.” Her voice echoed off the sheer walls.
I wondered how she thought we’d be able to climb down the cliff with an armful of wood.
“Throw me my backpack,” Dylan said.
Zoë tossed the gear to Dylan but missed the rowboat. Dylan had to fish his pack out of the sea and put it on his back. Water dripped down his legs as he tied the rowboat off, then started climbing the cliff. I followed close behind him. The first half of the ascent was slow, but not too difficult. The higher we went, the steeper and harder it became. Wind and water had smoothed over much of the upper cliff’s surface.
Dylan clung to an uncomfortable looking perch and called to me. “There’s nowhere to go from here. Nothing to hold onto. I’m coming down.”
Zoë yelled, “Careful, darling. Our baby needs a daddy.”