Dead in the Water (5 page)

“Here, take the helm. It'll help.” Patrick stepped to one side, and I moved into his place, taking the wheel. “Trying to focus on anything
close will make it worse, so don't stare at the compass or the sails. Just glance at them if you need to and then look at the horizon.”

I nodded and squinted through wet salt-speckled lenses. “Thanks.”

“You don't give up easy,” Patrick said. “I like that.”

As we headed northwest, the waves got steeper. Blair threw up, which made me feel slightly better, and Patrick started to look worried.

“I want to go back,” Olivia said. “This is awful.”

Patrick frowned. “It's not good,” he admitted.

“So, can we turn around?” Blair asked hopefully.

I held my breath. I wanted to go back, but I didn't want to admit it. I was still feeling good about Patrick saying that I didn't give up easily. I wasn't going to give him reason to change his mind.

He hesitated. “Let's give it a few more minutes. If the wind doesn't let up, we'll turn around.”

Joey, Blair and Olivia all cheered. I looked behind us, in the direction of Bull Harbour, and thought I understood Patrick's hesitation. Turning around would mean sailing into the wind, instead of running from it. Turning around was not going to be pleasant.

Then a huge wave appeared beneath us. A solid gray wall of water. A monster of a wave, twice the size of the rest, lifting us up. That roller-coaster moment of hanging at the top. Then the rushing down, the roar of water, and the stern of the boat suddenly slewing to starboard so that
Jeopardy
was beam on to the monster wave.

Patrick cursed and grabbed the wheel from me, trying to bring
Jeopardy
back under control and straighten it up. I dove forward to release the main sheet, unsure if it was the right thing to do but knowing I had to do something.

But it was too late. It happened so fast, there was barely time to blink.
Jeopardy
was slammed onto its side, and we were thrown down and plunged into the icy water.

“This is it,” I thought as the water roared into the cockpit. “We're going to die.”

It seemed so strange that death could happen just like that. I felt oddly calm. My heart was beating slowly: thump, thump, thump. Around me was a sudden quiet filled with cold water and confusion. Then my head began to clear, and the world around me began to make sense again.

Jeopardy
was lying on its side, its mast in the water and the deck half buried. Not
moving. Dead in the water. I was standing on what used to be a vertical surface—the side of the cockpit bench. The others were all still there, looking shell-shocked, clinging to stanchions and to the rigging.
Jeopardy
was struggling, trying to right itself. It couldn't, because the sails were submerged, and the weight of water was holding it pinned to the waves.

I crawled forward along the deck to the base of the mast, released the main halyard to free the sail and began pulling the sodden canvas out of the water and onto the part of the deck that was still visible. Patrick appeared beside me, and then Joey. Working together, we managed to get the mainsail out of the water and lashed to the boom.

Jeopardy
started to rise, battling its way out of the water and turning into the wind. I couldn't help cheering. What a boat. To take a blow like that and come up fighting... For some reason, I suddenly thought of my dad. I wanted to tell him about this, to make him understand that sailing was about more than lounging in fancy marinas. I wanted to
tell him that this was more exciting, more challenging—more real—than any football game.

I hoped I was going to have the chance.

Olivia was at the helm, holding the wheel with a huge grin. Happy to be alive, I figured, grinning back at her a little crazily. I was sopping wet, water cascading down my arms and back inside my rain gear. High above the deck,
Jeopardy
's port-side spreader was broken, dangling forlornly from the mast. Blair was cradling one arm against his side and wincing. But
Jeopardy
, still flying a small triangle of jib sail, was bravely upright and sailing close to the wind, back in the general direction of Bull Harbour.

Patrick took the wheel from Olivia and began barking orders at us. We all leapt to obey, relieved and grateful to have him assume control.

“Who's got first-aid training?” he yelled above the wind.

Olivia raised her hand like we were in a classroom.

“Okay. Take Blair down below, give him some ibuprofen and make a sling for his arm.”

“Fell against the bulkhead when the boat went over,” Blair explained. “Sorry guys.” Looking embarrassed, he followed Olivia through the companionway and down into the cabin.

Patrick turned to Joey. “The port-side spreader's broken,” he shouted, pointing up at the dangling metal arm halfway up the mast. “So what kind of problem do you think that leaves us with?”

Joey shook his head. “Look, man, you don't have to be the instructor right now. Just tell us what to do.” His face was white and he looked terrified.

“The mast is unstable,” I said. “Without the spreader to hold the tension on the rigging, the mast isn't balanced properly.”

“That's the right answer,” Patrick said. “But I wasn't asking you. I was asking Joey.”

“I was just trying to help. I thought you wanted me to be a team player.”

“Well, you and Joey can work together to secure the mast,” he said. “We'll have to head back to Bull Harbour under power.” He started up the engine and
Jeopardy
began motoring directly into the steep waves. No more surfing downwind—now we were pounding along, banging into the breaking waves. It felt like speeding down a rutted, potholed road in a car with no shocks. We hit each wave with a shuddering crash, and I had to bend my knees to absorb the impact.

“Wouldn't it be better just to keep going?” I asked. “I mean, we must be pretty close to being over the bar, right?”

Patrick shook his head. “Cape Scott wouldn't be a picnic either. Even I'm not crazy enough to attempt that with broken rigging.” He brushed his wet hair away from his eyes. “Much as I hate to admit it, we have to go back.”

I nodded and studied the rigging. There was only one obvious way to secure the mast and that was to use a halyard. I looked at Joey. “If we fasten the extra jib halyard to the toe rail, it'll help support the mast.”

He just stared at me blankly.

“Joey...you okay, man?” I wondered if he'd hit his head when we got knocked down.

“I just went flying out of that berth. I opened my eyes, and everything was the wrong way up, and water was pouring in.” He gazed out at the waves around us. “I thought we were gonna die. You know?”

I did know, but I didn't really want to think about it. “Yeah, well, we're okay now,” I said. “So, come on, let's do it. I'll get the halyard.”

“Halyard,” he echoed.

“Yeah. You know. The rope that runs up the inside of the mast and out the top? We use it to raise and lower the sail?” I was starting to feel a bit worried. It was shock, I thought, but wrapping him in warm blankets or whatever it is you're supposed to do wasn't really an option right now. I kept talking to him instead. “Okay, Joey? Come on. We can do it together. Here...” I crept forward and unclipped the stainless-steel shackle from the starboard-side toe rail, so that the halyard hung free from the top of the mast. “Take it, Joey.”

Joey took it.

“Now fasten it to the toe rail on your side,” I told him, watching carefully. He was moving slowly and wasn't talking much, but he seemed okay.

I wrapped the other end of the halyard around the winch on the mast; then I grabbed a winch handle and started to crank the halyard tight. It was hard to know how much pressure to put on it. I wanted the tension on the port side to be as close as possible to the tension held by the rigging on the starboard side. I looked up at the mast but from my position at the base, it was difficult to judge.

I glanced at Patrick again, wondering whether to ask him if the mast looked straight from his perspective at the helm, but I was still stinging from his earlier rebuke. “What do you think, Joey?” I yelled. “Does the mast look straight?”

Joey stood in the cockpit, holding onto the dodger for balance. The color was returning to his face. “It looks good,” he shouted back.

I nodded. Kneeling on the cabin roof, I tied the halyard to a cleat on the mast. I was
just starting to get up when
Jeopardy
crashed into a wave with a bone-jarring, tooth-rattling jolt. I actually felt myself lift up, getting a couple of seconds of airtime before smashing back down. Cursing and rubbing my bruised knees, I made my way back to the cockpit.

Olivia and Blair emerged from down below. Olivia looked slightly green, and Blair's arm was in a neatly tied sling.

“Hey there, Nurse Olivia,” I teased.

Olivia narrowed her eyes at me and turned away to throw up over the railing.

I sat down and the rest of the gang gradually joined me, all hunched as close to the dodger as possible. Every wave we hit sent a sheet of icy water cascading into the cockpit. I stuck my head through the companionway and peeked down into the cabin. Everything was sopping wet—bedding, carpet, charts. Water must have been pouring into the cabin when we were knocked down. I could hear the steady hum of the electric bilge pump over the noise of the engine. We were going to have a huge mess to clean up when we got back to Bull Harbour.

Now that the adrenalin was wearing off, I was feeling queasy again. I shuffled my butt along the bench and leaned back to look at the line of the horizon. The wind was still howling furiously, and beside me, Olivia was shivering so hard I could hear her teeth chattering.

“At least it'd be warm in the Caribbean,” I told her.

“If we ever actually make it back to land,” Olivia said darkly, “I am never getting on another boat again.” She stared at me, her wet hair plastered to her scalp. “Why would any sane person choose to do this?”

I had to admit she had a point.

It took forever to get back to Bull Harbour. Now that we were motoring into the wind, instead of sailing with it behind us, the motion was different. Gone was the roar and whoosh of surfing down the waves, just on the edge of control. Now we pounded along, each wave almost bringing
Jeopardy
to a jarring halt. The engine was loud, and we were cold, wet, sick and miserable. Patrick made a few feeble attempts to turn the experience into a lesson on heavy-weather
sailing, but no one was in the mood. After a while he just gave up and sat by himself, smoking with his hand cupped around his cigarette and looking out to sea.

It was still morning when we finally got back into Bull Harbour, but it felt like a lifetime ago that we'd left. The wind had dropped to fifteen knots, just a decent sailing breeze, and the water in the bay was calm. Joey and I lowered the anchor, more or less in the same spot we'd been the previous night.
Salty Mist
was still there, and I wondered whether that boat was really the reason we had left. It was hard to imagine that those men posed any danger that even came close to what we'd just experienced.

Patrick put the engine in reverse to set the anchor; then he hit the off switch, and the anchorage was quiet and peaceful again.

“I'm starving,” Olivia said explosively. “Absolutely starving.”

My stomach growled and I realized we hadn't eaten anything since that morning's pancakes. “Me too. What's for lunch?”

Patrick laughed. “Okay. Dry clothes if you can find any, then we'll get some food and deal with everything else afterward. Sound like a plan?”

It did. We all descended into the cabin in search of clothing that wasn't completely saturated and found that of the four of us, only Blair and Joey still had dry bags. A few minutes later, all four of us were dressed like junior yacht clubbers. My dad would have laughed his head off. Of course, their clothes were enormous on Olivia and me—the pants I was wearing were about a foot longer than my legs, and Olivia had pretty much disappeared inside a huge navy blue sweater. I didn't care. It just felt good to be warm and dry.

Patrick puttered around on the deck, checking for damage and tidying up. Blair and Joey found a shepherd's pie in the freezer and set it on the table while they tried to get the oven working. An unusual meal for mid-morning, but it sounded great to me. My mouth watered. I spread a garbage bag over the damp berth and sat down on it.

Olivia looked at the long list of ingredients on the cardboard package and made a face. She sighed and rummaged in the lockers until she found a bag of peanuts. Then she sat down beside me and tipped some nuts straight into her mouth. Turning, she offered me the bag.

I crammed a handful of peanuts into my own mouth and sighed with pleasure. “Mmmm...thanks.”

She chewed, swallowed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “You know what the best thing is?”

“Yeah. Food.”

“No, stupid. That we're still alive. Seriously. When the boat went over like that, I thought we were history.”

“I know.” I licked the salt off my fingers and tipped some more nuts into my palm. “I was pretty happy to see Bull Harbour again.”

Olivia nodded. “Me too.” Her eyes suddenly widened. “You know what?”

“What?”

“We're going to get another chance to find out what's going on with that boat.”
She lowered her voice to a whisper. “The poachers.”

I stared at her incredulously. “You have got to be kidding. Patrick isn't going to let us near them.”

“We don't have to tell him. I've got it all figured out. We wait until the others are in bed. Then we take the dinghy over. If I could just get a closer look at those shells, I'd know for sure.”