Authors: Steven Becker
Wood's Wreck (26 page)
Mel bumped against him as a wave pushed her off balance. He grabbed the boat hook from her hand and reached for the man’s waist. The waves bounced the end of the hook away from its target several times before he was able to place the small hook into Armando’s belt. Twice he released his death grip on his collar to test the hook.
Both times it held, and he released his grip.
“Grab two dock lines!” he called to Mel, keeping an eye on the man in the water as she searched.
“Here. You want me to hook his legs?” she asked as she put the end through the preformed loop, making an adjustable lasso.
“Yeah. One’s good.” He watched her open the circle and toss it over the side.
The water immediately closed the opening in the line before it reached his leg, so she pulled it back and tried again. This time she tossed it well forward of his leg, landing the loop around him and allowing the force of the water to move it into place. She pulled the end of the line slowly until it hit his foot, then pulled back hard like she was setting the hook in a big fish. The loop grabbed and she looked at Mac.
“Tie it off and use the other to loop his arm,” he directed as he looked forward to check their position. The light blinked ominously several hundred yards away. They had only seconds now before the hull would be destroyed by the reef.
Mel tied the line to the cleat, wincing as if she felt the man’s pain as the line pulled his leg. Again she formed a lasso and worked it through the water, catching his arm.
“Now switch with me. Careful or we’ll tear his limbs off.” He moved back and took the line tied to Armando’s arm in one hand and waited to transfer the boat hook to her. She slid in front of him. The man screamed in pain as the pause in the transfer allowed the line attached to his foot to jerk. Mac tried to ignore him and focus on the work. He took the line in his hand, turned to the winch, and removed the jib sheet looped around it. With the two loops on the winch and the bitter end in his hand, he moved back to Mel and took the boat hook from her grasp.
“Now untie the line on his feet and yell when you’re ready. Then pull as hard as you can.” A gust came up, forcing him to scream as the wind whistled through the rigging. He waited for her to release the line and when she nodded, pulled with both hands, trusting her to be able to handle Armando’s legs. He pulled on the line around the winch and on the boat hook at the same time, using his knees to brace himself.
The man screamed again, but the line was coming. He looked toward Mel and saw she was doing her part.
With a huge effort and the last of his strength, he pulled and leaned over the side to grab the man’s belt with his hand. He was almost in the boat now. One more pull and the three bodies crashed onto the deck.
Mac was breathing hard, but he forced himself to his feet and moved to the wheel, ignoring the pain from the torn blisters on his hands. Despite the rough water and overcast conditions, the water was so shallow he could see coral heads passing to the side of him. A white mooring ball, used by snorkelers, passed to port, and he knew they were in imminent danger.
From the corner of his eye he saw the depth finder reading eight feet, and he grabbed for the spokes of the wheel to disengage the autopilot. The wheel spun free and he had to react quickly to grab it before the boat spun beam to the waves. Once the boat was under control, he turned 180 degrees and pointed the bow toward deeper water. He watched the depth finder as it climbed out of single digits into the high teens. Finally out of danger, at least of grounding, he engaged the auto-pilot again and slumped forward.
A hand touched his shoulder and he jumped and turned to see Mel standing by his side.
“I can keep watch for a while. Why don’t you take a break for a minute?”
“What about Armando?” he asked as he looked at the man on the deck.
“He’ll be OK. I think he dislocated his arm and he’s in some pain, but he’ll live.” She moved to the wheel.
He needed to decide on a course and looked towards the ominous looking ocean reflecting the last of the sunlight. In the distance, a freighter made its way east, marking the edge of the Gulfstream. Commercial traffic used the current to save fuel, and the best indicator of where the stream was currently running was the closest eastbound boat. Past that point, he knew they would face hours of wind and weather, but on the other side they would be in the Bahamas, and could use the shelter of the island chain to hole up and regroup, then maybe sail south toward the Dominican Republic and points farther south.
He knew the boat could survive the trip and was sure he could as well, but after the man-overboard drill they had just completed, he was worried about Mel and Armando. But he also knew they had no choice. He needed to reach the Bahamas and clear customs before his name was red-flagged for stealing the sailboat and skipping bail. There was also the matter of the fires and dead bodies, and he hoped Jules could help there.
He kissed the back of her neck and gave her shoulder a squeeze before taking the wheel.
Charts, Pictures, Drinks and More
Check out the Author’s Note here
Http://www.whitemarlinpress.com/wrecknote/
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