Landfall: Islands in the Aftermath (The Pulse Series Book 4) (22 page)

Larry was beating himself up inside even if had outwardly calmed down and stopped his cussing. He wondered after all this time and all they had been through how he could have still done something so stupid. This could have been completely prevented by taking the simple precaution of carrying the shotgun with him when they stepped ashore. He doubted he would have had to shoot the two men, because they probably wouldn’t have even shown themselves when they saw that he was armed. Instead, like a dumbass, he’d left the shotgun in the boat and lost everything as a result. And he knew they were truly lucky that these men were probably just honest fishermen driven to desperation. If they had even a streak of the bad in them that so many they’d encountered did, there’s no telling what they would have done, especially to Jessica. But they had what they wanted and now they were gone, sailing off to the south in the same direction Larry and Jessica needed to go to return to the
Casey Nicole
.

On top of the inconvenience of losing their ride back to the catamaran, there was the real possibility that it wouldn’t be there much longer if they didn’t find a way to get back in a hurry. Larry had given Tara permission to take charge in his absence if he didn’t get back in a reasonable time, and now, considering the predicament he and Jessica were in here, he didn’t see how they could. The island they were on was closer to Staniel Cay than it was to Bitter Guana, It would be possible to swim to Staniel, but then what? Hope that someone in the anchorage would be kind enough to give them a ride? But when they made their way through the rocks and bushes to the west side of the little island, Larry saw they might not have to try that after all.

“There
is
a dinghy!” Jessica said.

There was something there that might pass as a dinghy, but it certainly wasn’t in the league of Tara’s father’s handcrafted wooden beauty. Larry picked his way down to where it was pulled up on the sand and turned upside down, glancing at the hull bottom before stooping to flip it upright again. It was an ancient and battered fiberglass hull, built of the cheapest construction using chopped fiberglass sprayed into a mold. It was heavy and poorly shaped and designed, barely over six feet long and nearly four feet wide. A big chunk of fiberglass had been broken off the starboard sheer near the bow, but there were two rusty oarlocks still in place and in the bushes nearby, Jessica found a pair of oars.
 

“What an utter piece of crap!” Larry spat. When he saw the oars, he just rolled his eyes. They were the clunky, plastic-coated aluminum kind with stubby, plastic blades more suited use with a pool toy than a real tender. And they were only six feet long. No wonder those two men wanted their dinghy bad enough to steal it at gunpoint. Being stuck with this sorry excuse for a boat was a punishment worthy of purgatory. But, Larry had to admit that it probably
did
beat swimming. Maybe.

“Do you think it will float?” Jessica asked.

“Oh I’m sure it will. That’s about all it will do, but it will do that. The question is whether or not we can get anywhere in it. Especially with those pathetic toy oars.”
 

“I’ll leave it up to you to be the captain!” Jessica said.

“Thanks a lot!”
 

Larry had no time to waste complaining though. It was going to take some time to row this tub to Bitter Guana Cay, and if they were going to make it, they had to get started now. With Jessica’s help, he dragged it to the water and held it steady while she got in. The tiny boat was barely big enough for two adults. It was the most minimalistic dinghy imaginable designed to ferry a crew of two smaller than average adults from their boat to shore in the calmest of harbors. Larry seldom saw dinghies like this anymore, but he knew they were more common back in the 60’s and 70’s when young, adventurous couples with little money were sailing to the islands in much smaller cruising boats than those typically seen today. This type of dinghy was the biggest size that would fit on the decks of boats like that. It would do the job for which it was intended, but it would do it so much better with a real pair of oars of the proper length. As it was, they would have to make do. And he was glad that Jessica was a young, slim and agile female. It certainly would not have worked with another man his size as crew.

As it was, they were scrunched into the short boat facing each other, the seat so close their knees were touching and Larry feeling as if he were invading her personal space each time he bent forward to set the oars for another stroke. Jessica didn’t seem to mind though; she just smiled and tried to stay out of the way, impossible though that might be.
 

There were two more small cays between the island they’d been stranded on and Bitter Guana Cay. Larry aimed for the first one, to break up the crossing and minimize their exposure in the unseaworthy little boat. It seemed much more reasonable to make the short hops between each cay than to contemplate more than a mile of rowing the thing in choppy seas. Even the short hops were risky, and the boat took on a lot of water from bashing into the waves. They had no life jackets, or anything with which to bail, so when they reached the first stopover, Larry aimed for the beach and they pulled the dinghy up and dumped out the excess water.
 

“I told you it might be an adventure, didn’t I? You’re probably wishing you had stayed on the boat now, huh?”

“Not for a minute. I think I’m starting to like adventure and just sitting there waiting would be boring. You’d probably rather me not be in your way though. Not to mention having the extra weight slowing you down.”

“It’s not
you
slowing me down, believe me. This thing isn’t exactly a racing shell. But hey, don’t think I don’t want you tagging along. I just meant I hate you’re having to endure this. And that it could have gotten you killed back there.”

“Maybe I’m the reason they didn’t do anything to you. Seeing you have a woman to take care of and all. They probably thought I was your wife.”

“Or daughter,” Larry said.

“No way! You don’t
even
look old enough to be my dad. You don’t look a day over 30, beard or not.”
 

“Thanks, but you know I am.”
 

“Does it matter? It doesn’t to me. Anyway… that’s probably what they thought. I don’t think they thought I was your daughter.”

“Maybe not. It doesn’t matter anyway. What counts is that we’re still alive. We’d better get going though. Tara is going to be chomping at the bit to go look for the
Sarah J.
herself. She’s convinced I’m totally incompetent, and when I come back with this piece of junk instead of her dad’s fine sailing dinghy, she’s going to have her proof. I hope you’re prepared for the show.”

“Don’t worry about her. I’ve got your back. I know you want to impress her and all, but she’s got to understand this isn’t a game.”

“I don’t care about impressing her. Not after our trip across the Gulf. I’m ready to find her boat so I can skipper the
Casey Nicole
again and let her have it.”

Jessica expressed her doubts about this and Larry detected a hint of jealousy in her tone. He didn’t quite know what to make of this. Was Jessica just insecure around other attractive women because she was used to getting all the attention, or was it something more? Was she really interested in him? Or was she just interested in using him to make Grant jealous? Larry didn’t know, but he knew he didn’t mind their close proximity in the dinghy, and their pleasant conversation. Tara was more than a handful and Rebecca was her priority. Jessica, on the other hand, was unattached. If Grant didn’t take the opportunity he was given during all that time they were together on the passage from Cat Island, then he clearly was more interested in Casey. Maybe Jessica had come to that conclusion herself by now. Larry rowed on, the two of them having to work together to stay in sync so that he didn’t push her backward over the stern with every stroke. By the time they got to the next cay, they were laughing about the absurdity of it. But the boat was getting them there. After another stop to empty it, they pressed on and soon stepped ashore on the north end of Bitter Guana Cay.
 

“I think it’ll be easier to hike the rest of the way to the anchorage than to row. It’ll be faster and we need to hurry before they decide to leave.”

“Won’t we need the dinghy later, since we don’t have one?”

“Maybe. But I hate to even put this thing aboard the
Casey Nicole
. One thing about the catamaran is that we can always beach it or anchor in waist-deep water if we need to get ashore. I’ll decide after we get there. We can always sail around here and pick it up. But we need to go now.”
 

Bitter Guana Cay was rugged and difficult to hike. Where it was not rocky, it was choked with dense bushes, many of them thorn-bearing. The going seemed easier along the rocky cliffs of the east side, where they were able to pick their way along the precipice overlooking the pounding surf below. It was slow going and it was already late afternoon, but Larry was pretty sure his brother could keep Tara calm at least until dark. But when they finally found a path to the crest of the island overlooking the spot where he’d anchored earlier, the
Casey Nicole
was gone! Larry couldn’t believe it. Why in the hell was Tara that impatient? Anyone would know that a trip like the one he and Jessica undertook in a small boat could be slightly delayed. He could understand it if they had not gotten here until the next day—but this? It wasn’t even fully dark yet! Even though he gave Tara permission to take the
Casey Nicole
if he didn’t return, Artie and Casey and Grant should have been able to prevail upon her to wait just a little longer. They couldn’t effectively search for anything in the dark anyway, doing so would only put them at risk. It made no sense at all, and Larry was utterly disgusted as he tried to figure it out.
 

“Wow, we’re really stuck, huh Larry? Unless they come back.”

“Why would they? They wouldn’t have left in the first place if they were planning to come back.” Larry looked at her and wondered how yet again so much could go wrong so fast. He’d lost the dinghy, and now he’d lost his whole damned boat! He had nothing but the clothes on his back. Well that wasn’t exactly all. He had the company of a gorgeous young woman who was quite content to be here with him, regardless of the circumstance. It might have been a dream to be stranded with her this way some other time but now, in addition to trying to save his own sorry ass, he was responsible for her as well, and she deserved better than this.

Twenty-eight

R
EBECCA
WAS
NERVOUS
AS
she steered the
Sarah J.
into the setting sun. She could see the low silhouette of the other cay out there far ahead of her, but in the blinding light she could see little else. It was impossible to see the color of the water ahead of the boat, so she had no way to judge the depths. The chart did her little good other than to remind her by the numbers printed on it that dangerously shallow water was all around her. She was simply steering on faith, hoping to find a place close to the other island to anchor so she could sleep until morning.

For a long time, she had been able to see the bright red of Russell’s PFD bobbing in the waves behind her. It had grown smaller in the wake until it finally disappeared from sight. It looked like he was drifting closer to the island they’d been passing when she hit him, but she couldn’t be sure. She kind of hoped he would make it there, if he weren’t already dead from the blow to the head. She didn’t really want to kill him. She couldn’t imagine taking a life, other than her own back when she still wanted to do that. But she had to get him off the boat, and once the decision was made and she saw her opportunity, doing it was easier than she’d expected. If he made it to the island alive, maybe someone would find him. But she couldn’t worry about it any more. She had enough to worry about trying to skipper this 37-foot boat all by herself. Rebecca had never been all that interested in sailing, even though she’d enjoyed going out on the
Sarah J.
in the summer with her grandparents, sailing along the Gulf Coast. She’d picked up a few things about the boat through simple osmosis, and had learned much more from Captain Larry in recent days, but she was in no way qualified for what she had to do now. She worried about how she was going to get the sails down and then back up again after she stopped. She worried even more about hauling the anchor. She had worked the windlass a few times, but had never completely weighed anchor by herself, manually cranking in more than a hundred feet of heavy chain. Then there was the bigger issue of navigation. She had to find her way all the way back to Green Cay—a tiny island in the middle of nowhere. Even Artie and Grant and Jessica had screwed up on their navigation, nearly wrecking the
Casey Nicole,
and they all knew more about it than she did
.
How was she going to get it right her first time with far less experience and knowledge?
 

All this was on her mind as she watched the sun touch the water on the horizon in front of her bow. And it was at about that same moment that suddenly none of it mattered, because her voyage came to an end before it really began. At first she didn’t realize what was happening. The boat suddenly slowed and felt heavy and sluggish. The feeling seemed to go away for a moment, as if whatever was holding it back had let go. But then she felt it again, a sudden deceleration as if someone had put on the brakes in a car. But sailboats have no brakes and the sudden slowing didn’t make any sense. The boat seemed to inch along for a few more seconds, before coming to a complete stop. Rebecca was baffled. She turned the helm back and forth, but it made no difference. The wind was the same as before, and the sails bellied out and full. But the boat was no longer moving at all. Rebecca let go of the wheel and looked over the side. The light was fading fast, but she could clearly see the problem. The water around her looked shallow enough for wading. It was clear and green, and beneath it she could see an endless expanse of wave-rippled white sand. She knew then she had run the boat aground, apparently right onto a sandy bank. But there had been no sound of hitting anything solid, and no crunch of breaking fiberglass or other destruction. The boat was simply stuck and stopped dead.