The Storm

by Amanda Jennings

  Lawrie nodded again. The boat heaved to the side and Lawrie stumbled, fell backwards, his head cracked against the wall. It would take a number of trips to find his sea legs and in a gale like this he didn’t stand a chance of keeping upright. Cam grabbed some rope which hung on a hook, and pushed Lawrie down on to the bench. He looped the rope around his chest and tied it secure, then tied it to the hooks either side. Lawrie started to protest, glancing nervously to Geren and Davy.

  ‘Let him,’ Geren said. ‘We want you alive. I’ll rip into you again when we’re sailing home safe.’

  Cam smiled at Lawrie. ‘Bet you still wish you worked on that building site, eh?’

  Lawrie laughed weakly and glanced out towards the deck, flinching when a lump of water the size of a tower block smashed against the side as if trying to bulldoze them.

  Davy and Cam secured the hatches. In weather like this, with the boat held fast on God-knows-what on the seabed, wires pulled so tight The Annamae couldn’t rise and fall with the swell, the stern could quickly flood and turn them over. They had to free the boat and they could only do this from the deck where they were in huge danger; no man would survive if he went overboard.

  Geren opened the door and a rush of driving wind and lashing rain burned their faces. Waves the size of mountains broke as the boat pitched and rattled and strained. There was an ominous grating noise, louder than overhead thunder, followed by a deep shudder through the body of the boat. They didn’t have long. If they couldn’t free her soon they’d be dragged under.

  The rain was coming in hard and horizontal and cut into Cam’s skin like arrow tips. The men didn’t speak. They knew what they had to do and got on with it as the wind rolled the boat like a cat with a mouse. Cam and Geren moved quickly to the winch control. There was nothing for Davy to do until Slim had managed to work The Annamae free and he stood in the doorway, his face serious, hand bracing himself to ride the waves. Slim hung out of the wheelhouse window and yelled instructions down at Cam and Geren. The noise was deafening, the roar of the sea and wind underpinning the ear-splitting noise of the engine and gearbox screaming as Slim pushed the boat forward and astern as he tried to free her.

  The men struggled to keep their footing, wedging themselves tight and making sure there was something to grab on to as each relentless wave swept from astern and flooded the deck. Ropes and fish baskets washed this way and that as the boat was buffeted on ravines and crests. They were in the heart of the storm now. Waves were coming again and again, hitting the boat like a thousand tonnes of concrete, causing her to groan and the windows to tremble in the battering.

  Slim’s face was set in concentration as he continued to manoeuvre the boat to release it from whatever held it like an anchor, whilst simultaneously steering The Annamae between the waves so as they hit, she was best positioned to ride them out. Cam’s heart thumped. He glanced at Geren as they worked the winch, and saw the thrill of it written over his face. This type of situation gave him a kick, an adrenalin rush as intense as a hit of cocaine.

  ‘Fucking come at us, you bitch!’ Geren shouted, his words whipped away as he tilted his face into the brunt of the wind.

  They all knew there was every chance they wouldn’t make it. Every trip they went on carried that risk. Even when they were lying on deck, heading home, sharing beers beneath a beating sun, they always knew things could turn. Complacency wasn’t something trawlermen indulged in.

  There was a violent jerk then, which came with a crash so loud Cam wondered whether the hull had been split clean in two. Geren swore and shouted something at Cam, but his words were lost as there was another horrendous crashing. Out of the corner of his eye Cam saw Lawrie emerging from the inside, his oilskin hood obscuring his face, gloved hands grasping the gunwale to balance himself.

  ‘Get your fucking hands off that rail!’ Cam screamed. ‘You’ll lose your fucking fingers. And get the fuck back down below.’

  ‘I want to help!’ The boy squinted against the rain and sea spray as another wall of water broke and collapsed over them like a demolished building.

  A sudden lurch knocked Cam off his feet. He cracked his head on the corner of the hopper and a sharp pain stung him. An irrational swell of anger surged inside him. If he hadn’t been talking to the lad he’d never have hit his head. Lawrie had no right to put his life in danger. Or those of the others. Cam righted himself and started to shout at Lawrie again, but another dramatic lurch sent The Annamae surging forward. There was no doubting it; The Annamae was freed. Cam looked up at the wheelhouse and saw Slim punching the air in celebration.

  ‘You fucking beauty!’ Davy shouted.

  Geren clapped him on the back and shook his shoulder with joy.

  ‘That lad should be down below.’

  ‘We need him,’ Davy shouted. ‘We need all the men we can get.’

  ‘No, he’s too inexperienced—’

  ‘Davy’s right,’ Geren shouted. ‘We need the trawls on board quick. He can help.’

  Cam hesitated, glanced at Lawrie, then nodded. He lurched over to the young lad. ‘Get up front with Martin. Do what he says. We need to get the trawls up and on deck as quickly as possible. You hear me? Do what Martin says,’ he repeated. Lawrie nodded and walked unsteadily up to the front of the boat, bracing as a lump of water broke over the boat.

  With Geren and Cam back on the winch and Martin and the lad under shelter at the front, the four men worked to haul both sets of gear to the surface. Next they needed to get the trawls on deck. And fast. The first caused no problem. Lawrie did what he was told. Between waves, they lifted the trawl clear of the water, then lowered it with Martin and Lawrie at the forward end of the beam, Davy steadying the aft, and Cam and Geren working the winch. Slim shouted instructions down from the wheelhouse as he concentrated on keeping the boat as steady as possible. They’d usually take time to land it carefully, allowing each piece of gear to slot into place. But in conditions like these, a storm raging, they had no time to waste. They needed to get the gear on deck as fast as possible then haul in the other trawl.

  When it was landed, they didn’t stop to breathe, but immediately began working on the second trawl. They were tiring now, digging deep into their energy reserves, wet and cold and struggling to keep balanced as the deck swilled with water. They lifted the trawl and guided it over the deck. And then, with the gear suspended, a lump of water the like of which Cam had never seen, crashed over The Annamae. There was a loud crack. Something whipped past his face, so close he could feel the wind of it.

  ‘Fuck!’ Cam shouted. ‘A wire’s gone on the derrick!’

  Cam looked up towards Martin and Lawrie and saw they’d lost control of the beam and it was swinging dangerously close to them. They had to secure it. He needed Lawrie out of the way. The kid was going to get himself killed.

  Cam tried to shout over the wind, but there was no way he could hear him. He tried again, but he was stopped short by another mountainous wave hitting the stern and sending a cascade of water over them.

  Cam swore and turned his back on Lawrie. ‘Davy, we need to get the gear secure. It’s like Indiana Jones and the fucking Temple of Doom out here!’

  The boat nosedived into a trough. Cam held his breath and grasped the rail. As the boat righted he breathed in, awed as ever by the trawler’s ability to ride these waves. How did a hunk of iron and steel stay afloat in conditions like this?

  ‘Physics,’ Slim once told him, when Cam remarked on it. ‘Don’t know the first thing about it myself, but I know it’s physics we have to thank.’

  The deck was almost impossible to walk, up to their knees in water which was unable to drain before the next wave struck. The men fought hard to try and secure the rogue beam, but they were exhausted.

  What happened next was a blur.

  A huge wave – thirty, maybe forty, foot – swept from astern, filling the deck with seething water. Cam went down a second time. He was tumbled. Saltwater filled his mouth as he was dragged ac
ross the deck as if it were an ice rink. There was a sharp pain to his thigh. Terrified of being swept into the sea, his hands grabbed madly for anything to stop his slide as he hurtled to the side and was winded against the gunwale. As the wave drained from the deck, he scrambled to his feet, and searched for the others. Geren was nearby, holding the rail, a thin trail of blood trickling from his nose. Cam looked forward in time to see the beam careening into the whaleback casing at the front of the boat. There was a god almighty yell. Then Lawrie screamed and Cam watched in horror as he saw Martin pinned between the beam and the casing. Lawrie jumped up and was pushing fruitlessly against the beam. Time slowed. Cam and Geren started to run forward to get to Martin. The boat rolled as another wave hit. Cam unbalanced and fell into the gunwale again. As he got up he saw the beam was swaying away from Martin with the movement of the boat.

  ‘Get up to Martin. That beam’s going to swing back,’ Cam screamed at Davy. ‘We’ll get it secure. Get up to him and get him the fuck out of the way.’

  As Davy stumbled trying to get up to the forward end, he saw the beam tipping back with the swell. But Lawrie noticed too. Cam watched as he moved, quick and nimble, and threw himself at Martin, grabbing his oilskin and pulling him out of the way, moments before the beam swung back and crashed into the whaleback at the exact spot where Martin had been pinned.

  Geren and Cam worked quickly to secure the beam. They could hear Lawrie shouting for Slim. Davy was yelling. Martin was howling like a banshee. Slim got the message. The prop was clutched, the engine humming now, not fighting, and The Annamae suddenly became more stable as she rode with the waves rather than against them.

  Cam and Geren were able to secure the gear and, when it was done, Cam ran to the front of the boat. Lawrie was panting and white-faced, terrified, as rain ran down his face and oilskin. But it was only when he moved past Davy and Geren and looked down at Martin that the true horror of what had happened became clear.

  Martin was lying on the deck, wedged up tight against the whaleback casing, silent now, as shock had set in. His eyes were rolled back in his head, teeth gritted, foamy spittle bubbled at his mouth, his skin as white as a cuttlefish bone.

  ‘Jesus,’ Cam whispered.

  Martin’s arm had been crushed by the beam. The oilskin was torn and blood ran in scarlet rivulets in the creases of the fabric. The top of his arm was flattened, his visible flesh like minced meat, matted with slivers of skin and bone and yellow waterproof.

  Slim appeared behind them. A few seconds later, having taken the situation in, he started barking orders at them.

  ‘Geren!’ he shouted. ‘Get on the radio and get rescue out to us now. Ah, Jesus,’ he said, looking down at Martin and grimacing. ‘Stay with me. For Christ’s sake stay with me.’

  ‘The chopper will struggle in this,’ Geren said, his quavering voice lost in the roar.

  ‘If we have to, we’ll steam to a lee but let’s hope they can make it to us. Just get them on the radio. Tell them if they don’t get here, we’ll lose Martin Garnett. They’ll get to us.’

  Slim looked at young Lawrie. ‘Lad, get the medical kit. I need to strap his arm.’

  Nausea swept through Cam as he knelt by Martin’s head and stroked his wet hair off his forehead and rubbed his thumb across the deeply crevassed skin to remove a smear of blood.

  Martin opened his eyes. ‘The beam…’ he rasped. ‘I… didn’t… didn’t see it. Sheila. I…’

  Lawrie appeared, carrying the medical kit against his chest like a float.

  ‘Get the bandage out. And the morphine. I need to tie his arm to his side, then we need to drag him undercover.’

  Slim worked fast to strap Martin’s arm to his side to secure it. He cut the bandage with his knife, which he handed to Cam, before tightening the knot. Cam held the knife for a moment, felt the roughness of the etching, and wondered if he should throw it into the sea. It clearly wasn’t the talisman Slim believed it to be.

  The boat tipped as they rode over another huge trough.

  Cam and Geren grabbed Martin’s legs, Slim grabbed his good arm, and they dragged him under the shelter of the whaleback.

  ‘We’ll get you off the boat, Martin. You’ll be OK. You’ll be lying warm in bed with Sheila in no time.’

  Martin’s mouth moved in silent prayer.

  Moving Martin had clearly caused him immense pain. His lips were ghost-white and he was slipping in and out of consciousness.

  ‘Lawrie, get blankets from the bunk room. Quick as you can, lad.’

  Lawrie nodded at Slim and ran below.

  Slim prepared a shot of morphine and administered it. ‘That’ll help, my friend.’

  ‘My arm,’ Martin rasped then. ‘Can’t feel my arm.’

  Cam bent down and held Martin’s good hand. ‘Your arm’s fine. It’s all fine.’

  Davy hovered nearby, terrified eyes fixed on the mess of flesh where Martin’s arm used to be.

  ‘Hey. He’ll be OK,’ Cam said to him then. ‘We’ll get him to hospital and they’ll make him OK.’

  Davy slammed his hand against the deck. ‘Fuck!’ he shouted. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’

  Lawrie appeared from the wheelhouse with all the blankets he could find and they covered Martin, tucking the blankets around him like a baby in swaddling.

  ‘Helicopter’s on its way from Culdrose,’ Geren yelled down from the wheelhouse window. Slim shouted up to Geren and told him to put the boat back into gear. They’d need her moving if they had to steam out to meet the helicopter. The Annamae roared back to life, immediately bucking and pitching, her engine rumbling loudly.

  Cam had a flash of sharp fear that The Annamae would upend completely and catapult them all into the freezing sea. Martin slid against the wall and his scream split Cam’s head, like a fox being torn up by rabid hounds. Martin’s hand shot out from the blankets and grabbed for Cam and held on to him tightly. ‘Don’t leave me, Cam.’

  Cam shook his head. ‘Not going anywhere, old man.’

  Martin moaned and his eyelids flickered open to reveal the whites shot through with broken capillaries.

  Cam squeezed Martin’s hand as he braved another glance at the arm, at the flesh mashed in with oilskin, bits of bone, fingers twitching as if in the last throes of death. The skin was already turned pale purple, the tips of his fingers white as if they’d been dipped in paint.

  The helicopter lights eventually appeared through the angry gloom.

  ‘I’m heading up to take control of her,’ Slim said to Cam. ‘You stay with Martin and help the rescue team.’

  Cam nodded then patted Martin’s hand. ‘The helicopter’s here, Martin. You’re home and dry.’

  Cam knew the rescue team were going to have trouble landing a man on deck in this weather. He’d been here before. Too unsafe. But they would try. The crew of The Annamae stared up through the wind and driving rain at the helicopter. Slim was back in the wheelhouse, keeping her going at slow speed, as steady as possible. She was feeling more stable but beyond the deck lights Cam could see the ominous waves as tall as mountains, black and angry, and he mouthed a silent plea that they got Martin off before something else went wrong.

  Cam squinted through the rain and watched as the wire lowered one of the rescue team down. He carried a stretcher. The wire swayed dangerously. The helicopter was illuminated by the cockpit lights and Cam winced as he saw how hard the pilot was fighting to stay in control as he tried to keep station over The Annamae. Geren reached up and tried to grab the ankle of the man on the wire. He missed and stumbled. Righted himself then tried again. Missed and slipped backwards and lost his footing. Lawrie moved forward and jumped then, stretching up with his hand and managing to catch the end of the guide rope. But when the boat lunged to the left he was unable to hold on. The man at the winch in the gaping hole in the side of the helicopter made gestures. Crossed his arms. Slim was doing a fine job of keeping The Annamae heading in to the wind with just enough power to keep her as steady as he coul
d. Cam glanced up and saw him talking on the handset held close to his mouth as he communicated with the pilot. Face solemn. A single nod. A glance up.

  The helicopter rose into the air, swung away in a wide arc and the pilot repositioned to try again. The man on the wire swung rapidly downwards, a stretcher strapped crossfire across his middle and when he was close enough Lawrie made another grab for it and caught the man’s ankle. Cam could tell by the determination on his face that nothing was going to make him let go a second time. He held fast and Geren and Davy joined him to help guide the man and stretcher down.

  When the stretcher was ready, the men helped Martin on to it, slipping their arms beneath him and hefting him on to the stretcher, then strapping him securely and trying not to let his moaning get inside them. As the man gave his pilot the thumbs-up, Cam glanced at Geren. Any illogical pleasure he’d been feeling earlier had vanished. Now he looked haggard and distressed. They were all feeling it. Martin could’ve died. He still could. They all could have died.

  When Martin was at last strapped to the stretcher, they stepped back and watched as he was lifted up, skimming the peaks of the waves for a moment before spinning upwards towards the helicopter. Slim was wracked with worry. There were too many lives at risk, not only his crew, but the rescue team too. If anything happened to any of them, Slim would never forgive himself.

  Hands appeared at the hatch far above, hauling both the crewman and the stretcher inside, and within moments the helicopter was heading for shore and swallowed by the darkness.

  In the galley, clutching mugs of sweet tea, the crew of The Annamae sat with their thoughts. On deck they worked on autopilot, no time to think, but now, sitting in the aftermath, the shock had kicked in. Cam noticed Lawrie’s hands were trembling almost uncontrollably.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, reaching out to rest a hand on his arm. ‘You did good out there, lad. You saved Martin’s life. You did really, really good.’