Getting Away from it All, Pt. 3

Here’s the whole thing.

Kira finished packing the plastic bottles of drinking water into a cooler, and stood upright. She winced and bent backward, stretching the complaining muscles in her lower back. She heard the thump of approaching footsteps and glanced at her watch as Flanagan drew alongside her.

“Got it all?” He inspected the rows of water in the royal blue box.

“All I could find, anyway,” she said, and settled her hands on her hips. “They’ve been gone a while. You sure there’s no way to get ‘hold of Willy?”

His mouth curled down in a disappointed frown. “Cell phone’s out. How ’bout yours?”

She checked it, and sighed. “Nothing. Oh well. At what point do we worry?”

He shrugged. “Sorry to say, this is a new one on me.”

“Where are those guys?” Sam’s voice was edged with tension as she stepped from the cabin, Edward close behind.

“We were just saying that,” Kira said, noting the needy touch of Edward’s chunky, sausage-like fingers on Sam’s elbow. She also noted when Sam gave his hand an absent swat and stepped away toward the bulkhead.

“Well, we don’t have all damned day. I wish the hell they’d hurry it up.”

“They’ll be back soon, sweetie,” Edward crooned, and approached Sam again, but she moved away from his trajectory and stood beside Kira.

“Well … how’re we going to – ?”

They turned in unison when they heard paddling approaching through the mist.

“Willy? That you?” Flanagan called, his eyes narrowed into the fog.

“Aye, Skip, ’s me.” The form of the dinghy materialized from the ashen haze and the voice seemed to echo from the water.

Flanagan scooted around the others to get to the bulkhead and took the bowline on the raft when it bumped into the side of the charter. Willy took his hand and clambered over the gunnel while the others watched, faces frozen into curious masks of anticipation.

“So? What’s the deal?” Sam spat, wringing her hands at her chest.

“Well … I dunno, ‘zactly,” Jurgen said, and gave a helpless shrug to Flanagan. “Skip, there weren’t nobody on deck, and no lights in the cabin, neither. We called, but nobody answered us. All’s quiet. But we decided one o’ us oughta stay aboard ‘er just in case, ’cause she’s movin’.”

Flanagan’s face went slack. “What?”

“What do you mean, ‘moving’?” Sam demanded, a line forming between her brows.

“I mean, it’s movin’. Slow, but gainin’ speed. Don’t seem t’ be nobody aboard her, Skip, but she’s able to move. Didn’t get a good look at ‘er riggin’ though, so can’t say if she’s sailin’ or driftin’, but we’re dead here, and that one’s a movin’. Figured we’d come back an’ get the rest of ya before it gets away.”

“Abandon ship?” Flanagan seemed stunned for a moment, but cleared his mind and stared at Willy. “How fast’s she movin’?”

“Can’t say, Skip, but if we don’t hustle outta here pretty quick, she’s gonna get lost in the fog, and Mr. Beaushanks didn’t look too keen on stayin’ alone aboard ‘er.”

“Damn it, Willy, ya forced my hand. We got no choice now.” Flanagan set his jaw and sniffed a sharp breath through his nostrils.

Jurgen dipped his head. “Didn’t mean to, Skip, but … we ain’t moving. She is.”

Flanagan sighed again. “Why’d you leave Charles alone out there?”

“Two of us agreed on it. Figured if the boat drifted outta sight, we could at least call out an’ he’d answer. Play a game o’ Marco-Polo and track it. But, Skip? We gotta go now. See?”

Jurgen pointed toward the fading silhouette of the ship, wafting and waning into the fog, growing fainter.

“Yeah, I see, and ’sides, we’re losin’ daylight. Awright, everybody get onboard the dinghy. Cripes, Willy, ya shoulda talked to me first.”

“Couldn’t, Skip! Didn’t have no way to!” Willy’s eyes pled for understanding. Flanagan’s face softened.

“Hell, no sense worryin’ ’bout it now. We can come back for my boat when we make land.”

“Even if she’s only drifting on the current, won’t be more ‘n’ a day or two ‘fore the fog lifts and we can use the flares, Skip.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“So what the fuck’re we doing, then? Going over to that other piece of shit boat? How the hell do we know it’s not sinking?” Sam crossed her arms and settled her weight on one leg, throwing her hip into Edward’s ribs and knocking him away from her.

“Well, we don’t. But -”

“’But?’ You’re gonna say ‘but’ with that??”

“Honey, please, let the man -”

“Shut the fuck up, Edward, or the next trip you’ll take will be to HR en route to civil court.” She fired daggers with her eyes and Edward blushed and cowered.

“Ms. Whitaker, please – we ain’t gotta helluva lotta options, here. We’re dead in the water here, and that ship’s movin’. If it were sinking, it’d prob’ly be listin’ or leanin’ or somethin’. She’s steady and stable in the water, and we don’t have a choice.”

“We sure as hell do,” she fired back, and stepped toward Flanagan. “We can wait the fog out on this boat just as well, and fire flares from here, too. At least we know this one’s not sinking. Don’t we … ‘Captain’?” She didn’t mask the venom in the last word.

Flanagan put his hands on his hips and squared against her. “Look here – I’m the skipper on this boat. We got a man alone over there on that ship, and it’s settin’ sail without us. I have to make a damn decision here and I say we’re goin’ over. That boat’s movin’, this one ain’t, and that makes the odds of gettin’ help better over there. Clear ‘nough for ya, Ms. Whitaker? If it ain’t, you an’ your boyfriend can stay aboard this one, but I’m takin’ the food an’ water with us. You comin’ or not?”

Sam’s teeth ground and her jaw muscles twitched. “Fine. But you’d better be right, or you’ll …” She huffed and turned from him.

“Yeah, whatever. Okay, get aboard the dinghy.” Flanagan nodded to Jurgen, who hopped back into the lifeboat and waited for others, while the skipper held the bowline taut.

Edward tried to help Sam step over the bulkhead, but she gave a vicious slap to his forearm that caused him to shrink back, yelp and rub at the red angry mark that leaped to the surface of his skin. “Touch me again, Edward. Go on – I dare you.”

After she slinked into a seat on the raft, Edward threw a meaty, hairy leg over the gunwale to follow, but Flanagan pulled him back onto deck. His pate reddened and his jowls shook in confusion, his pig eyes glazing in fear.

“It’s ‘women and children first’, Mr. Timmerman.” Flanagan gestured to Kira with his eyes.

“Oh … right,” Timmerman stepped aside, rubbing sweat from his forehead. Kira took Willy’s calloused hand and almost fell into the dinghy, her legs too short to extend over the bulkhead and down onto the bobbing raft in a single motion. When Jurgen caught her, he pressed her into his chest for a split second, and smiled a filthy grin of lust at her. She turned away and pulled from his grasp, losing her ability to be subtle with the force required to break his hold.

Edward gave a panicky, inquisitive look to Flanagan, who responded with a tired nod, and the butterball man scrambled over the side so fast Willy couldn’t help him. He went top-heavy in his rush and fell face-first onto the pliable deck of the raft with an explosive expulsion of air when his considerable gut slapped onto the bench of the raft and his thighs slapped loud against the inflated sides. Flanagan shook his head, grabbed a denim shirt and pulled it on, fumbled in a cargo hold and pulled up a second oar, then dropped with far more grace onto the dinghy as Edward crawled gasping to a spot next to Sam, who rolled her eyes in undisguised disgust. Once Flanagan and Jurgen settled into position, they nodded across the craft to one another and began rowing toward the vanishing shadow of the ship.

The looming dark blotch began materializing, and in moments the lapping waves against the subtle slicing hull drifted through the fog, an ethereal background score to the damp quiet. Kira reached for something, gave a soft gasp and Sam glanced at her.

“What’s wrong?”

“My journal. I left it on the boat.” Her eyes locked on Flanagan’s, pleading. Flanagan shot a look over his shoulder, but the boat was out of sight, lost in the dense murk. He shook his head, face heavy.

Kira shrank back.

“We can get everything we left when we get some help,” he said.

Kira nodded, but stared aft, into the gloom. The paddles pressed the water behind them.

“Hey, Mr. Beaushants?” Jurgen’s sudden call startled them all. “Mr. Beaushants??”

“It’s Beaushanks,” Flanagan corrected. “CHARLES? YOU THERE?” His voice deadpanned on the black water.

No response.

“Sonuva … he was s’posedta be waitin’ on deck.” Jurgen cupped his hand beside his mouth. “CHARLES! AHOY, CHARLES!!”

Kira and the others turned. The ship seemed to appear from the wisps of cloudy gray, and they could make out the weathered, wooden sides, the tops of the masts vanishing out of site above them.

“CHARLES! YOU THERE??” Flanagan shot Willy another look of concern, but Jurgen could only shrug.

The ship rose above the raft as they came alongside, but no human shape waited along the gunwale. The deck seemed to rise some twenty feet above the water, and Kira felt a knotting in her middle as she thought of scampering up some rope hand-over-hand like an action hero to reach the top while the swirling back waters waited below.

“She’s gained speed, Skip,” Jurgen said, panting as he pressed harder with the oar to gain on the gliding vessel.

Flanagan nodded, sweat forming on his weathered brow. “Gotta … catch her. How’d you get aboard before?”

“There’s a … line draggin’ … just aft.” Willy gestured with his head, and Kira turned to see a fat line of rope, knotted at intervals, trailing behind the ship. “But there was a … rope ladder on … deck, and we tossed it over … so I could get back on the … dinghy. Should still … be down unless … Charles reeled ‘er in.”

Flanagan squinted through the wafting fog. “Nah, I … I see it, hangin’. Make for it ‘fore … she gets any faster. Current ’round here drivin’ it?”

“Can’t say … but she’s … moving true an’ straight.” Jurgen perked a brow at Flanagan. “She’s not spinning … or tacking … I can see.”

Flanagan nodded and they pulled alongside the vessel. A rope ladder clattered soft and eerie on the bulkhead with wooden rungs clunking on the planking. The knot in Kira’s midsection tightened. She worried for an instant she might vomit, and drew a deep breath through her nose, letting it out slow through her mouth.

“All right?” Flanagan stared at her with brows knit, worry on his face.

Kira tried a smile, failed, nodded. “I’m … none too fond of heights. Or being stranded on the open ocean.” She shrugged. She sure was glad to have been lucky caller seven.

Flanagan crooked one side of his mouth in a mischievous grin. “You’re a sharpie,” he puffed, pushing hard with the oar. “You’ll be … all right. I’d bet … on it.”

The two sailors dripped with perspiration as they heaved water behind the tiny raft and gained on the vessel, moving in swift lunges past it. Jurgen gave a final rake of his oar, then stood and leaned as far as he could, his fingertips brushing the bottom rung of the ladder as it slipped away. Flanagan rowed in desperate slaps, and glared at Edward.

“Could sure … use a … hand … Mr. Timmerman,” he gasped, exertion taking its toll on him.

“Me?” Edward pointed a meaty forefinger into his chest.

“Grab the goddamn oar and row, you little pussy!” Sam snapped, and shoved Edward off the bench. He landed on his hindquarters and toppled, flailing arms and legs before regaining his balance. “Hurry up, you pathetic pantywaist! It’s getting away and we’ll be fucked for sure then!”

Edward scrambled and took the oar from Jurgen, and tried to keep up with Flanagan’s strokes. But his stubby arms didn’t reach the water over the fat roll of air-filled rubber and canvas composing the dinghy’s sides, and his ineffectual slapping cost them precious distance as the ship started outdistancing them.

“C’mon, Eddie, harder!” Jurgen chided, and stretched for the ladder again. Edward whined and whimpered frantic gasps, his face turning an angry beet red as his heart labored in his chest to drive oxygen to his flagging arms. He teetered on his bulging gut on the side of the raft to stab at the water with the oar and pulled, but the water’s weight knocked him off balance and he fell backward into the stern with a simpering cry.

“Goddamn you, you fat fucking asshole, give it to me!” Sam snatched the oar from Edward and turned to start rowing, and she matched Flanagan stroke for stroke, driving the dinghy back alongside the ladder.

“I – GOT IT!” Jurgen cried, and he took hold of the nylon rope running around the top perimeter of the life raft with his free hand, pulling the dinghy into the bulkhead of the schooner. Flanagan set down his oar and waded toward Jurgen to help.

“Everybody else get on the port! Get to port!” he ordered. Sam and Edward crawled for the other side, and Sam shook her head with a snarl on her lips at the fat man, still huffing gulps of air. Kira shifted to balance the weight in the raft to the opposite side of the bench, while Flanagan attached the rope on the dinghy to the bottom rung of the ladder.

“Got ‘er!” he called, and Willy fell back into the raft, panting and dripping sweat.

“Damn, Skip … didn’t think we’d make it for a minute,” he said, grinning at Flanagan.

Flanagan smiled. “Me too. I was ’bout outta gas. Thanks for your help … Ms. Whitaker.” He nodded at Sam once.

“What the hell,” she said, and glared bald hatred at Edward, “someone’s gotta be a man onboard and help out. Glad to do it.” She turned away from Edward and he flushed, eyes averted from everyone else’s.

Kira blushed with him. For a moment, she burned with envy for Sam’s courage and commanding presence in the moment of need, and wished she had enough in her own character to stand up and be counted on. She was fine on the charter, but here … in the middle of the ocean chasing a mysterious, seeming-dead ship in what amounted to an inner tube with a canvas bottom, she was frightened. And her fear paralyzed her.

Sam caught her expression and came beside her. “How’re you holding up?” She took Kira’s hand in her own and gave a reassuring squeeze.

Kira smiled, then looked down. “I’m … I’m sorry I didn’t help you. Before, I mean. What you did was … that was really amazing.”

“Pff, please,” Sam gave a dismissive wave, then smiled at Kira again. “Look, we’re all afraid of something. I’m scared of … well, I’m scared of being stranded out here with Edward, to be honest. All my life I’ve had to do stuff for myself. I didn’t mean anything – you know, toward you – when I said that stuff about being a man before. I don’t want to be a man, but fucking Edward … that pussy, he makes me sick. I … I didn’t mean to -”

“No, no … that’s not what I meant. You didn’t hurt my feelings or anything. I just wish … well, I guess I wish I had your … your …”

“My balls?” Sam laughed. “It’s been from necessity. Besides, when the chips were down and people were panicking – including me – you and the Captain stepped up and got everyone’s shit together, Kira. You just need to be a little more secure. I’ll tell you what – we’ll stick together on this ship and you’ll see – you’re gonna be fine. Stay by me until you feel confident and then I’ll be following you. Watch.” Sam leaned to her and gave Kira a comforting hug. Kira embraced her back, with more emotion than she would have guessed. When they separated, Kira’s eyes stung with welling tears. Sam wiped at them with a gentle finger, then pulled her hand down with a surprised frown. “Ah, damn. Broke a nail rowing. Fucking Edward.” She clucked her tongue and smiled at Kira again. “We’ll get through this together, okay?”

Kira nodded. “Okay. Deal.”

“I’m probably gonna need a shoulder to lean on, too, and -”

“Ladies? Willy’s on deck, and he’s ready for you to climb aboard.” Flanagan stood between Edward and the rope ladder to ensure there was no breach of protocol this time.

“I’ll go first so you don’t have to deal with Stinky Willy and his wandering eyes up there,” Sam said, and patted Kira on the knee as she rose. “I’m up first,” she said, and Flanagan nodded.

“Careful on the ladder, Ms. Whitaker – rungs’re wet, okay?”

“Gotcha, thanks, Captain,” she said, and smiled. Her face set with determination and she took the first rung over her head, and stepped onto the ladder. Flanagan tugged on it to make it taut for her, pushing against the side of the raft with his feet to press it against the bulkhead of the ship, and the rubberized canvas squeaked and squealed. Sam scampered up the rungs like a spider traipsing its web, and Kira admired her athleticism again until she was too obscured by the fog.

A slap drifted down, and a grunt and “ow” carried down. “Watch the hands, Jurg-off,” Sam snapped. Kira smiled despite herself. The girl was a spitfire, and she couldn’t understand why someone like her would entangle herself with someone like Edward. She shook her head to clear it, and Flanagan watched her.

“You okay, Kira?”

She gave a nod and it was far more definitive than she felt. “I’m ready.”

Flanagan gestured up the twisting ladder, rocking side to side. She took a deep breath and grasped the first rung above her head, just as Sam did, and a sudden swamp of sweat coated her palms and chilled her.

Flanagan saw the pause. “I’m right here if anything happens. I can be with ya ‘fore ya ever hit the water.” He winked at her. “Don’t be scared.”

She tried to smile but nothing happened. She swallowed but choked on the dry lump in her throat. She stared straight ahead of her at the planks in the ship’s siding and one after the other, she pulled rungs beneath her. The lapping of the waves on the sides of the vessel began to recede, and her head swam. Don’t pass out, she chided herself, do NOT pass out!

“C’mon, Kira, you’re doing fine, hon,” Sam’s voice knifed through the mist and bolstered Kira from the deck. “You’re doing great. Just keep doing that. I’m right here waiting for you.”

Kira tried to focus on the bulkhead in front of her, beaded with condensation from the fog, and listen to the sound of Sam’s voice.

“That’s it, Kira, just keep coming up, one at a time like that. I can almost reach you now.”

“What’s wrong, she scared?” Edward called from the deck of the raft.

“Shut the fuck up, Edward, or so help me God you’ll never make to deck. That’s it, Kira, you’re doing great. Just a few more steps and I’ve gotcha … come on, that’s it …”

Kira felt the warmth of Sam’s hand grasp her arm and another embrace her shoulders. “I’ve gotcha, Kira,” Sam said soft in her ear, “just keep your eyes closed and I’ll help you get over the – get away from her, pervert, she’s not interested in being harassed right now, you slimy fucker – I’ll help you get over the thingy here.”

Kira was on deck a moment later, and Sam led her toward the center of the boat. “You’re okay now, hon,” she said, and stroked Kira’s hair, “you can open your eyes now.”

Kira didn’t even know they were closed. She did open them and Sam smiled down at her. “You did great. Really, really great. I’m impressed.” She rubbed Kira’s back.

“I’m … thank you.” Kira threw her arms around the tall girl’s neck and hugged. “Thank you.”

“No problem. I know you’d do the same for me.”

The sound of Flanagan’s voice drifted up. “Awright, I’ve got the aft line secured to the cooler. Haul ‘er up, Willy.”

“Okay, Skip!” Jurgen shouted, too loud. He faded into the deep mist toward the rear of the ship and reappeared with the fat, knotted rope in his hands. “Ready below?”

“Willy, just haul it up – it’s not a mountain climbing expedition, awright?” Flanagan sounded tired and just a hair fed up.

Kira came beside Jurgen. “Can I help?”

“Nah, we got it,” Jurgen said, then turned and grinned at her. “But thanks.”

The cooler came aboard without incident. Edward was more trouble, but he did at last fall face-first onto the decking when Jurgen pulled him by the seat of his Bermuda shorts over the gunwale, grunting something about being like hauling a manatee aboard. Edward was harangued into helping Jurgen pull the ladder up with Flanagan clinging to it, leaving the deserted dinghy slapping and bumping against the side of the ship, lost in the heavy mist obscuring the water’s surface.

“Okay,” Flanagan said, rubbing his forearms and shaking his hands to return circulation to them, “everybody accounted for?”

A general assenting murmur confirmed their presence.

“Awright, then, let’s put the cooler near the middle of the ship, and don’t untie the rope. If somethin’ happens we don’t want it goin’ overboard where we can’t get it.”

Jurgen nodded once and darted off, yanking the cooler behind him.

“For the rest of us, we gotta find Charles an’ see what’s what with this tub. We’ll search the ship in teams an’ cover more ground thataway. Kira, me an’ Sam will go fore, an’ Willy an’ Edward’ll go aft. We’ll work from the deck down, an’ meet up back here so we know we’re all okay. Everybody awright with that?”

“No! I wanna go with Sam!” Edward’s whine was like fingernails on a chalkboard, and Kira closed her eyes and drew a breath.

“Look, Edward,” Kira said, and stepped toward him before Sam could speak, “she really doesn’t want anything to do with you right now. Why don’t you just leave her alone? I mean, c’mon … you really do need to grow up and act your age. She doesn’t need to hold your hand for you to go to the bathroom, okay? Leave her alone.”

Edward opened his mouth to object, his cheeks blotched with ire, but Flanagan cut him off. “We don’t have time for a lover’s spat right now, Mr. Timmerman,” he put his hand up to keep Edward from speaking. “Just go with Willy and let’s find Charles. Period. Done. Okay?”

Edward shrank. “Fine. Fine!” He huffed away a few steps, pouting.

“Okay, then. Let’s get started. Willy, how far’d you get when you were here?”

“Not far, Skip. It was dark below and I couldn’t find no lamps or nothin’. We called and banged a few doors, but nobody answered.”

“Awright, then, we’re gonna hafta get farther. Charles … hey, you don’t think he went overboard, do ya?”

Jurgen shook his head with certainty. “No. No way. We woulda heard ‘im splashin’ around or somethin’, whoopin’ and hollerin’. No way. He’s here somewhere.”

Flanagan nodded. “Okay, let’s get going. You two go aft and find a hatch. We’ll go fore. Meet back here in say …” he checked his watch, grimaced. “Damn. Watch ain’t workin’, either. Goddamn storm. Oops, sorry ladies.”

Kira laughed. “Please. Let’s just meet up here when we finish our searches. If there’s no way to keep track of time, just … make sure you make a lot of noise or something.”

Flanagan nodded, smiled at her. “Sounds like a good idea. Make sure you stay with your team – don’t separate. In the dark it’d be easy to run into somethin’ down there, get hurt. Awright? Let’s go.”

They parted then, and Kira gave a last look over her shoulder as the two men vanished into the swirling wisps of fog.