A Killing Tide (31 page)

The
Kasmira B
rocked to port, hard. She glanced out the window. They'd drifted north, putting them closer to the river bar. The swells were getting huge. Restarting the engines, she turned the trawler into the oncoming waves. Leaving the engines on idle, she ran back out onto the deck.

Spying a length of line, she fetched the cleaver. Kneeling beside Michael, she drew the line around his leg, above the bleeding area, and tied it tight.

"Tighter," he said, his voice more faint than it had been a few minutes ago.

A wave crashed over the railing, its icy foam hissing and bubbling as it engulfed them. Michael sucked in a breath. His body started to shake. He was going into shock. She had to get him out of the water, or he'd die before she could get help.

She used the cleaver to rip his jeans to take a better look—there was a small entry wound about midway up his thigh, and an exit
crater
on the opposite side. She let out a sob. The leg looked funny—it was bent at an awkward angle. "Is it broken?" she made herself ask.

"Yeah, I think so….feels like it." He managed to get up on one elbow and look at it. "You'll have to tie it tighter, love, or I won't make it back to port."

Ripping her turtleneck in half, she fashioned two pads out of it, then rolled him to press the second one to the back of his leg. She positioned the line over each pad pulled it tighter. He let out a groan. The bleeding slowed but didn't stop. Her makeshift bandages were already turning bright red.

"I've got a better idea," she said. The deck was pitching hard, but if she could manage to get him below... "Come on."

She put an arm around his shoulders and helped him sit up. His face was white, his teeth chattering, his skin clammy with sweat. She had to move fast—he wouldn't be conscious much longer. "Okay, on the count of three, we're going to stand up. You're going to use me as a brace to get down the stairs."

"You're insane, you know that? I've got a perfectly good deck I can lie on right here—"

"A deck that you'll slide right off of when we go over the bar. Plus, I can get your leg elevated down below, and tie you in, in case you conk out."

"Make that cruel and insane." But when she counted, he heaved himself up, leaning heavily on her. "Here you are almost naked," he panted, "and I'm in no shape to follow through."

"I am not amused, Chapman."

They almost lost balance twice before she got him to the stairs. Bracing her body below his and using the stair railing to hold herself upright, he leaned across her as they hopped down the stairs. Once in the galley, she laid him down so that half of his body was on the dining table, then hauled his legs up until he was lying flat. Then as gently as possible, she propped his injured leg on the hanging spice island. The platter was designed to move with the boat's motion, and it would keep his leg immobile.

She raced back up on deck, fetching the roll of duct tape Sykes had left behind. She taped Michael to the table, then taped his leg to the hanging platter. Through it all, Michael kept his eyes closed. His face had lost all color.

Finally, he was immobilized. "Are you still with me?" she whispered.

"…Yeah."

The elevation had slowed the bleeding, but not enough. "I have to tighten the rope again. Hang on." She re-tied it as a slip knot, and tightened the rope by degrees. When he groaned, she cringed but kept going. She tied the rope in a double knot, then yanked a blanket off the berth and threw it over him.

"I've got to get us over the river bar." She rummaged in the locker for a sweater and pulled it on.

"Lucy and Ivar called the Coast Guard….They should be looking for us…" his voice faded.

"Yeah, but Sykes ripped out the handset; I can't get off a signal. And with the weather like this, our best bet is to cross the bar and hope to meet them on the other side." She took a precious moment to lean down and kiss him, then lay her cheek against his. "Try to stay conscious, okay?"

"…yeah." He grimaced, then leered half-heartedly at her. "Liked you better…just the bra."

She laughed softly. "Another time, I promise. I'm going to get you back over that bar, you hear? So no wimping out on me."

There was no response.

"Michael?" She felt for his pulse. It was too rapid, and his breathing was too shallow.

#

"Kasmira B,
come in.
Kasmira B,
can you read?" Bjorn's voice crackled through the radio.

Kaz took the stairs two at a time, grabbing the radio mike off the deck. She twisted the ripped wires together, praying that the radio would work, then flipped the switch. "This is the
Kasmira B.
Bjorn, Michael Chapman is on board, badly injured." She gave him their position. "Do you copy?"

"Kasmira B,
do you read? We have you in sight. State your condition."

Kaz stared at the mike, flipped the switch again, retransmitting.

"Kasmira B,
do you copy?"

She threw down the mike in frustration. Searching the churning waters, she couldn't see anything. Climbing to the flying bridge, she searched again.

Nothing.

Jumping back down to deck level, she threw open the stern seat cover and searched for a flare. Breaking it apart, she held it up as high as she could for a few moments, then tossed it into the waters off the stern. Hopefully, Bjorn would see it.

She returned to the wheelhouse and waited. After an agonizingly long minute, the radio crackled to life.

"Kasmira B,
we have the flare in sight and have transmitted your position to the Coast Guard. They are currently just east of Sand Island. Kaz, you have to cross the river bar—they can't get to you where you are. If you have navigational capabilities, set off a second flare to confirm."

After complying, she waited for the next response. "Confirmed,
Kasmira B.
We will follow you through the bar. Over and out."

Quickly, she assessed the conditions. The storm surge was still building, the winds now howling through the rigging. She pushed the throttle bar forward and heard the trawler's engines roar to life.

For a split second, she thought about that night fifteen years ago. Then she shoved the memories down deep and forgot about them. Failure wasn't an option. Losing Michael wasn't an option.

Taking a deep breath, she climbed up to the flying bridge where her visibility—what was left of it—would be best. Her feet planted wide, her body braced against the wild pitching of the trawler, she turned the trawler into the oncoming breakers.

The boat labored up the steep crest of a wave and then slid sickeningly down, bottoming out with a bone-jarring thud in the next trough. The trawler's timbers creaked, and for just one second, Kaz lost her nerve.

She couldn't do it, she didn't have the skills. Maybe she was better off turning around, heading back out to sea. Bjorn could notify the Coast Guard; maybe they could get a helicopter up in this…

Gary's voice was suddenly there with her.
You've got to know what you're doing to get lucky on the river bar, Sis. First thing, get your bearings. Then steer based on your instinct, on the feel of the water beneath you.

She took several deep, calming breaths. Trembling hard, she took a reading off the whistle buoy at the mouth of the river, then adjusted her course.

Cold rain fell in sheets, obscuring the channel markers, the faint outlines of land and blurry halos of lights on shore disappearing altogether.

Hold her steady, Kaz. Don't panic. Wait for the next lull in the storm to get your bearings again, then correct your position.

Number 4 Buoy bobbed past, off to starboard, its beacon so pale that she almost missed it. The
Kasmira B
shuddered as the next wave hit, her rigging clanking against the boom. As the trawler pitched hard to starboard, she gave a second's thought to Michael down below, praying that her makeshift setup was keeping him strapped in.

"Kasmira B.
You're looking good." Bjorn's voice came to her faintly. "Adjust one degree to starboard. Kaz, you're gonna make it. Hang in there." Tears streamed down her face, mixing with the rain.

As she neared Clatsop Spit, huge breakers slammed into the trawler, their giant, white-foamed crests obscuring the buoys. She wrenched the wheel to the right with all her strength, forcing the trawler to sluggishly change course again. A spate of icy sleet hit her numbed face like hot needles.

The roar of the surf was so loud now that she could barely hear her own thoughts. The radio crackled again, and Bjorn said something, but it was lost on the wind.

She eased her way toward the Lower Desdemona Shoal, where shifting sands made safe passage a game of Russian roulette. The trawler's diesel engine coughed, and Kaz froze, terror sliding sickeningly along her nerve endings. If she lost power...

The engine coughed again, then resumed its ponderous chugging. She steered for the next buoy.

Another wave crashed over the trawler, slapping her down, washing her halfway over the railing of the bridge. She clung to the wheel as it spun wildly under her weight, dragging herself back to her feet. Struggling against her waning strength, she willed the trawler back on course.

She caught a glimpse of another buoy, enough to adjust her course again, just before fog enveloped the boat. Concentrating on keeping her course and speed even, she released another trembling breath when the next buoy loomed out of the murky darkness in front of her, right where it was supposed to be.

You're almost there, Sis. Home free.

Instinct caused her to glance to stern. A sneaker wave slid with deadly intent under the trawler, tilting the stern up high, pointing the trawler straight down.

Kaz swallowed the scream at the back of her throat, waited three seconds for the bow to start back up, counting them off inside her head, then yanked the throttle full open. The
Kasmira B's
engine growled under the strain, fighting the river current. She felt the full power of the wave catch the boat and heard the roar of the water under the hull as the boat surged forward, surfing the flood. Moments later, the waters smoothed out.

She was across the bar. Braced against the console, she stood with shoulders slumped and head down, gulping air.

Out of the darkness the running lights of a large ship suddenly blinded her, washing bright light across the trawler's decking.
"Kasmira B,
this is the United States Coast Guard. Prepare to be boarded."

~~~~

Chapter 29

Kaz and Lucy backed up the stairs from the engine room, ahead of the two medics carrying the stretcher with Michael on it. Lucy cursed, her feet slipping on the treads made treacherous by the rocking of the trawler and the spilled gasoline.

Kaz hadn't wanted to let go of Michael's hand, but there wasn't enough room in the galley for two EMTs, the stretcher, and her. She'd had to stand off to the side and watch, terrified, while they pushed plasma into Michael's veins in an attempt to stabilize him.

They'd finally managed to raise his blood pressure and were now preparing him to be airlifted to the hospital. The Coast Guard helicopter hovered overhead, its deafening rotors flattening the waves.

"Creative use of duct tape," Lucy shouted as they moved into the wheelhouse to let the men by. "I'll bet you didn't learn that in that fancy MBA program down in California, did you?"

Kaz tried to smile, but tears leaked out, and suddenly, she was crying again. She'd been crying off and on for the last half hour.

Lucy put both arms around her and held her tight. "He's going to be all right, you know," she said. "You saved his sorry hide by elevating his leg." Then she straightened abruptly, sniffing Kaz and then her own clothes. "Ewww. Do you have
gasoline
all over you?"

Kaz nodded, wiping the tears off her cheeks with the palms of her hands. "Sykes poured it everywhere, and I had to roll through it to get to the cleaver that I used to cut myself free."

"Dammit! I just bought this jacket—you could've warned me." Lucy's disgust was comical as she surveyed the damage to the camel hair blazer she had on under her life vest. The EMTs had given Kaz a blanket to hug around herself, and it was the only item on her that didn't reek of gasoline and seawater.

"Sykes went overboard." Kaz watched the medics navigate the wildly rocking boats to attach the hooks to the basket in which Michael was lying.

"Probably for the best," Lucy replied. "I don't think this town could've stood the stress of the trial." Then her face crumpled. "God, Kaz. This is all my fault. I was the one who told him everything, including where to find you."

Kaz shook her head. "You couldn't have known."

"I
knew
there was a dirty cop, but I thought it was Jackson. I never even considered that the chief might also be involved. I blabbed everything to him, trying to get him to hold off on arraigning Gary until we could check out Jackson."