by Rob Sangster
He looked at Gano, coiled in on himself to preserve what little heat remained. He stared back at Jack with glassy eyes, almost nothing left except raw will to survive.
Then a low-pitched sound swept across the water.
MOAAAAUM—a sound like a giant foghorn.
Seconds passed. MOAAAAUM. This time he counted. Five seconds. MOAAAAUM. He was so low in the water, with swells blocking his sight, that he was able to see only a few yards away. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision. First he saw dim lights, then, in the flickering light from the fires, the silhouette of a huge ship, barely moving forward. His excitement turned to horror when he realized the ship’s course would plow straight through the field of floating crewmen. He tried to call out, but couldn’t expand his chest enough to get air, could hardly make his lips move. Some in the water saw the danger and began waving. Most were too deadened to react. When one drifted away from the board he’d been hanging onto, no one reached out for him.
Jack made out men standing at its railing, but they were all pointing at the stricken platform. Several powerful flashlight beams shot across the great hulk. At last, one of the men peered down, swept his light across them, and excitedly pointed them out to the others. Jack heard a new sound—huge props reversing. The engines were backing down, trying to stop the ship before it ran over them. Or maybe the captain just didn’t want to get any closer to the platform. The big ship pitched and rolled in the swells as the men at the rail seemed to be in a heated argument.
“Come get us, you bastards,” Jack tried to scream, but he made no sound.
Minutes passed. Then he heard creaking of winches and squealing of steel on steel. Two lifeboats inched down from their davits and settled in the water. They were still secured to cables descending from the winches so they couldn’t leave the ship’s side. The captain wasn’t taking any chances. Three men in black foul weather gear stood in each boat, waiting.
Jack didn’t want to believe it, but they weren’t going to reach out. Anyone who couldn’t make it to the boats would not be saved. Feeling like an arthritic Border Collie, he sluggishly swam to groups of crewmen and prodded them toward the lifeboats. When the first man got close, he summoned up a frantic spurt of energy and tried to seize the boat’s gunwale with icy fingers. He missed, fell back, and floated up and over the crest of a wave on his back, quickly swept out of reach. Men on the lifeboats leaned over the side with boathooks to haul swimmers aboard like stunned fish.
Gano had revived himself and was struggling forward with clumsy, ineffective strokes. Molly swam beside him, pulling him along as much as she could. When they reached a lifeboat, Gano got his hand under Molly’s arm and lifted her up to grab a boathook. As soon as she was aboard, she helped haul Gano up.
Jack and Drake pushed Renatus, still in the center of the pallet X, next to a lifeboat. His head was lolling side to side as he mumbled quietly. Jack took him in his arms and shouted up, “Careful with him,” but his voice sounded like the croak of a bullfrog.
The boat crewman above looked uncomprehending but set down the boathook and used his hands to pull Renatus up. Jack put his arms around Drake’s waist from behind, scissor-kicked as hard as he could, and lifted him enough for the same crewman to seize his arms and drag him aboard.
It took all his will power to keep his brain from slipping into idle. He kept going, rounding up stragglers and the ones who had lost hope. He edged each of them into position within reach of a boathook.
The boats slowly cycled upward with their loads. After three or four more rounds, only one boat returned to haul in remaining survivors. Seeing no one else left in the water, Jack pulled himself over the side and collapsed on the floorboards among the others. When the coxswain signaled to be brought up, the winch protested as it tried to lift the lifeboat out of the sea. The boat, whose capacity was probably fifteen, held twenty-three.
Just as it started up, a swell dropped out from under it, causing the boat to tilt sharply. The master electrician lost his grip, pitched forward, and slammed his head into the low side rail. A lifeboat crewman seized the back of his life jacket, but couldn’t hold the man who was twice his size. The electrician went over the rail and hit the water face down, neck twisted to one side. The lifeboat was already even with the ship’s deck, and Jack could do nothing.
Onboard at last, Jack saw several members of the Chaos crew laid out on deck in rows like dead seals, many curled into fetal positions. They were probably the ones in the worst shape. The rest must have been taken below.
He also saw the big ship’s crew clearly for the first time. They were short men with wiry bodies, light brown skin, black hair, and dressed in the rough gear of seamen around the world. It took a moment before he recognized their language as Japanese. To his left, six men dressed in white, thigh-length coats stood apart from the crew, not helping with the rescue. Two looked Japanese. The others were taller, pale-skinned, with facial hair, and wore glasses. When they realized Jack was watching them, they stepped out of sight.
Members of the ship’s crew, sometimes three or four of them at once, pulled men to their feet and helped them stagger through a cabin hatch flanked by ROVs that resembled the one Drake used.
Jack was one of the last to be led through the hatch and to the ship’s large engine room with its hefty diesel engines. The temperature—it had to be above 110° F—made his skin sting. He stripped off soggy clothing and took a towel from a stack to wrap up in. He took a second towel and draped it to hide the shoulder holster Renatus had given him. In a few minutes, he regained more feeling in his limbs, but still couldn’t corral his thoughts.
He watched two of the ship’s crew pull a rubbery-legged survivor to his feet and down a passageway, supporting him on both sides. Jack followed them and joined a line waiting to enter the shower room. For the moment, not being in control, not having to make plans or decisions, was a great relief.
After a shower, the last stop was a large rectangular room with aluminum walls, a steel-grate floor, and long rows of empty racks. Even though the temperature was only uncomfortably cool, he could tell they were in a very large walk-in cooler. That meant their rescuer was a seafood processing ship whose catch must have been moved on into freezers. He walked to where Gano was stretched out on the deck beside Molly, both apparently asleep, holding hands. Gano’s eyes opened, and he looked up at Jack. “Thanks, mate,” he said and closed his eyes. Just beyond him, Renatus lay still. Drake seemed to have emerged stronger than the others, possibly because his body was so compact. He was leaning on one elbow, looking at Renatus with an expression of concern. Maybe the hydrothermal vent had been a magnetic force drawing Drake to Renatus. The five of them were alive, but could have suffered organ damage that wouldn’t show up until later, and psychological damage that could last a lifetime.
Some of the crew had died on the platform, and more in the water. No way to know how many, but his rough head count came to about 150 in the giant cooler.
To get back control of his body, Jack did slow exercises. He gestured to others to copy him. After a few minutes, he noticed a middle-aged Japanese man standing near the door and walked up to him.
“Konbanwa,” Jack said. “Good evening. Please take me to your captain.” He started for the door.
The man, whose head was lower than Jack’s shoulders, held out a stiff arm to bar his way. He indicated that Jack should back away. Then he left. Jack hoped he was going to get the captain.
The Japanese in the room had completed their assignments and offered no further aid. While they didn’t look hostile, they spoke behind their hands and seemed to glance at the bedraggled crew with suspicion.
When the man he’d spoken to returned, he pointed out Jack to a taller man in his early twenties entering behind him. Jack pushed to his feet and joined them. “I am Tomohiko,” the man said.
“Konbanwa. I’m Jack Strider.”
Nothing about the man suggested he was the captain, so Jack said politely, “I’d like to speak to the captain to thank him for rescuing us.”
“My uncle prefers not to speak English. He sent me because I graduated from UCLA.”
“Glad to meet you.” He didn’t offer his hand because Tomohiko had not. “These men are in bad shape. Can you have food and water sent in? We will pay for it when we get to port. We also need a doctor.”
“No. You will remain in here until the captain decides what to do with you.”
“Seattle or Vancouver are the closest ports. Will the captain take us to one of them?”
“No.”
What was that about? Could this captain be up to something criminal? If he was, he might be worried about being caught, maybe having his ship impounded. That would explain the lack of hospitality—no food, no water, no medical help, and being confined to this space. The fundamental law of the sea that commands every mariner to rescue another in distress might be all that had kept their lungs from being full of salt water by now.
“Then maybe Kodiak in the Aleutian Islands?”
The other man gave him a scornful look. “Very large U.S. Coast Guard base in Kodiak. Also, all wharfs probably destroyed.”
Oh my God. “The tsunami, where did it hit?” He braced himself for the answer.
“Coast of British Columbia but not so much. Alaska Tsunami Warning Center said Sitka, Seward, and Kodiak hit bad. Twelve hundred miles of Aleutian Islands, much damage, even Kamchatka Peninsula in Russia hit hard.”
San Francisco, Seattle, Vancouver, all safe this time. Jack was so relieved he felt almost ashamed. But he still had to get the crew to some port. “Wait a minute, please. I’ll be right back.” He hurried to Gano and Molly. “Can Renatus talk?”
“He’s been incoherent.”
Jack leaned close to Renatus’s ear. “Listen to me. You know Canadian waters.” He explained that he had to come up with a port that wouldn’t put the Japanese ship at risk. Renatus stopped mumbling and became still for several seconds.
“Port Alberni,” he whispered. “About two hundred miles north of Seattle on the west coast of Vancouver Island, British Columbia.”
“Any Canadian military there?”
“No.”
“Airport?”
“An hour away.” He hadn’t opened his eyes.
Ironic. Renatus had helped cause the crisis, but the information he’d just provided might save what was left of the Chaos crew.
Jack returned to Tomohiko. “Take us to Port Alberni on Vancouver Island, kudasai,” he said with a slight bow. He didn’t know many Japanese words, but he knew “please.” “It’s very small and has no military.”
Tomohiko’s expression didn’t change. “I will tell my uncle.” His eyes scanned the room full of exhausted people, many only semi-conscious. Just before he left, his nose wrinkled in undisguised distaste.
Ten minutes later, Jack heard the hum of the big engines grow louder, felt the revolutions of the massive screws increase. They were on their way to . . . somewhere. After another fifteen minutes or so, Tomohiko returned.
“Our charts say the water is deep enough at Port Alberni for us to get in. My uncle will take you there. Now I will have barrels of water sent in here. Also bread.”
The men were so dehydrated that water would be a lifesaver. “Arigatou gozaimasu. Thank you very much,” Jack said, feeling a rush of relief.
“Port Alberni is at the end of very long inlet,” Tomohiko continued. “If trouble along the way in, we turn around and put all of you overboard.”
The young man’s tone was so cold Jack guessed that dumping the Chaos crew back in the water had been the default option from the beginning. He was about to ask how long the trip would take when Tomohiko walked out.
“We need doctors in here,” he called after him and grabbed the door handle. It was locked.
A few minutes after that, their clothes were brought in on the makeshift stretchers and dumped in a pile for them to paw through. The clothes must have been hung out in the engine room because they were warm and dry. Hours later, the engines cut back slightly. That could mean the ship had entered the long inlet leading to Port Alberni. Another two hours passed before Tomohiko returned.
“Arrive soon. Port struck by small tsunami yesterday. Don’t know how much damage. Captain will put you ashore if possible with our lifeboats, four starboard, three port. We make one trip only.”
Now he was pissed. “Hold on. That will overload the boats. They could capsize, and these men couldn’t make it across a swimming pool.” Tomohiko responded as usual. He walked away.
Less than an hour later, Chaos crewmembers were jammed into the lifeboats. Last to be boarded were two more who had succumbed to hypothermia. Seeing their inert bodies and thinking of the others who had drowned made him revisit his decision to abandon ship. Would they all have been better off if they’d ignored his lead and stayed aboard, praying for rescue? No. It had been a tough call, but it was one he could live with in the future.
Just as his lifeboat began to descend, Jack noticed the same six men in white knee-length coats emerging through a hatch onto the deck, watching without expression. Then his attention shifted to a man standing alone on the flying bridge, scanning the landing area with binoculars. That had to be the captain, alert for possible hostility. When he looked down at the departing lifeboat, his eyes seemed to fix on Jack.
The overloaded lifeboats, sluggish and riding low in the water, put them ashore at a commercial pier at the edge of town. As soon as the ship’s crew was back aboard, the mothership started a turn to get away. As the bow swung around, Jack saw white letters spelling out the ship’s name.
Nikita Maru. That captain had ordered his crew to fire on Aleutian, driving it into the killer methane burp. That captain had killed Katie. “You filthy bastard,” Jack screamed across the water.
Chapter 45
July 31
5:00 p.m.
Port Alberni, British Columbia, Canada
“THAT’S IT, MAUD. I just brought in the last load of frozen fish.”
Jack heard exhaustion in the voice of the hospital driver who had been working nonstop to transport the Chaos crew from the waterfront to the admitting area of West Coast General Hospital in Port Alberni.
“Thank God there are no more,” the admitting clerk snapped. “We’re already swamped.”
The initial reception by the staff had been concerned and professional. As more patients kept pouring in, their attitudes deteriorated. At first, the admitting clerk had tried to dig IDs out of their pockets, but it was slow going. Then she ran out of official forms and took down names on a yellow pad. Finally, overwhelmed and out of patience, she gave up and used a permanent marker to write a number on the back of each left hand and passed the patient along for triage inspection.
Jack had already discovered that while his clothes were being dried aboard Nikita Maru, someone had stolen the cash from his wallet, but credit cards and his driver’s license with photo ID were still in place and he still had Renatus’s shoulder holster.
He saw the clerk come to Renatus, take a quizzical look at his face, check his pulse, and scrawl a number. She moved on without asking a single question. Renatus wasn’t entered into the hospital books.
A man with a high forehead, sharp vertical lines between his eyes, and wings of hair over his ears strode into the reception area. He wore a badge that read Dr. Harper-Chief Administrator. “Who’s in charge of you people?” he called out.
After no one volunteered, Jack held up his hand. Harper and two other docs immediately pulled him aside. Harper frowned. “You people should have given us notice you were coming so we could call in more staff, not that we have near enough for a crowd like this.” He sounded irritated that some protocol had been bre
ached. “What happened to you people?”
Jack wasn’t in the mood to be hassled. “We were working on an offshore platform. Fire and explosions forced us into the water. A lot of the crew was on their last legs, some had already died, when the Japanese whaling ship showed up.”
“I see,” the administrator said, clearly uninterested in hearing more details. “Well, we only have fifty-two beds. Most were already filled up with everything from a coyote bite to a head-on lumber truck crash plus fishermen and dockworkers beaten up by the tsunami. Our emergency disaster procedures require our whole staff to help your people. With no one working the rooms, blood, vomit, and shit are piling up. That’s not how we do things here.” He rolled his eyes. “And who the hell is going to pay for all of this?”
Jack wanted to tell the guy he had his head up his ass, acting like these half-dead men had been on a goddamn cruise ship where they could have called ahead for a reservation.
A different doc said, “Can’t take hypothermia lightly. We need risk assessments on every one of you. There may be cardiac problems, increase in blood viscosity, or pulmonary abnormalities.”
“Acidosis, coagulation issues, or ventricle fibrillation,” said the third, nodding his head slowly to show how serious he was.
Jack raised both hands to stop the barrage. “Gentlemen, we appreciate what you’re doing for us, but please shut up and listen.” They weren’t used to being told to shut up, but they did. He pointed to one of them. “Start by doing a risk assessment on me and my friend right now”—he pointed to Gano—“so we can get on with what we have to do.”
His medical clearance came quickly. The doc wanted to keep Gano for a twenty-four hour observation, but Gano gave him so much grief that he shrugged and signed him out. After that, Jack and Gano shepherded the rest of the crew through the testing procedures and the hospital’s paperwork. Many of those who checked out relatively well were still lethargic and confused and needed rest for a day or two. They would have to get whatever sleep they could on blankets on the floor while medical staff rushed around them. Jack was informed that the most serious cases would be transferred to the regional hospital in Nanaimo, an hour’s drive away.