One to Love (One to Hold 4)

bsp; Chapter 33: “A pair of ragged claws, scuttling across the floors of silent seas.”

Slayde

The night the storm hit, I was lying in my cot dreaming of her. It was the same as every night. I’d finish dinner, walk the deck, then head down to my cot to read more of that damn book about the French kid, or close my eyes and dream of her beautiful body. God those dreams were the most exquisite torment. I typically fell asleep pretty fast, since the crew enjoyed working my tail off.

As an Ordinary Seaman, I was at the bottom of the deck department ladder, which meant I got the all shit jobs. Didn’t matter. I was used to it, and part of the reason I’d wanted this job was to work my mind and my body numb.

I’d spent the previous week scaling and chipping paint. Today, I’d sat on a board suspended by ropes over the starboard side painting. Never once did I fear falling into the ocean. If I drowned, it would be a welcome relief.

The few times I’d glanced up at the sky, I’d noticed the lowering clouds, but I hadn’t paid much attention. At dinner I listened quietly as Anders swapped stories with the Boatswain about storms at sea.

“Wall of clouds rolling in portside.” Anders had a knife, carving a thumb-sized piece of wood.

My eyes moved across my plate, and I remembered the small storm we’d encountered on our way over and the night I’d spent vomiting. I decided I was finished with supper.

“We’re not in the Graveyard of the Pacific,” he continued. “Winter storms there can have waves... seventy feet high.”

The Bo’s’n studied his boot, thinking. “On a China voyage, we hit seas so bad, four hundred containers were lost. Boat was in ruins when we pulled into Alameda. The judge called it an Act of God.”

“God or no, we’ll roll tonight.”

Those ominous warnings were in my head as I lay watching the angle of my floor grow steeper with each passing wave. A banging on my door signaled the beginning of the worst.

“Water in the engine room,” AB Nguyen yelled when I opened my door. “Get down and help bail.”

Grabbing my windbreaker, I headed out, climbing the deck at an angle that seemed ninety degrees. The small, heart-shaped ring was still on my pinky finger, and I shoved it deep into the pocket of my jeans along with the little sailboat. By the time I reached the engine room, five guys were ahead of me with buckets and two with wet-vacs.

“Head up to the bridge,” Nguyen shouted. “McKinney will tell you what to do.”

My boots were wet, and I slipped on the ladder, but a month of lifting, scaling, and carpentry work had me strong enough to pull myself up the rungs. When I reached the bridge, papers were scattered all over the floor. McKinney was on the phone alternately yelling in German and barking commands to the first mate.

“Heave to!” McKinney shouted. “Turn the bow into the waves! Break the roll!”

Rain lashed the windows, and white flashes of lightening punctuated the black night. The bow of the ship went straight up, unbelievably high above the ocean surface before plunging straight down again throwing us all forward. White foam raced across the deck, covering everything with seawater.

“We’ve got to cut the big ones loose if we’re going to come out of it,” McKinney yelled to the Bo’s’n above the noise of the storm. “Tie ropes around two of our guys, secure them to the line and have them take out the edges, one port one starboard.”

“That’s a suicide order,” he shouted back. “They’ll never come back from that job.”

Another, taller wave threw us into the sky before dropping the bottom out again. A massive roller went clear across the bow, filling the bridge with shin-deep brine. All of us nearly lost our footing.

“It’s that or risk losing the whole ship and everybody on it!”

Anders appeared from below. “We’re barely keeping up in the engine room. We need more hands.”

“We have to cut lashings on the heaviest boxes,” McKinney answered him. “I need two men.”

Anders’ face grew slack, and I could tell he was thinking what had already been said—it was suicide. Jerking his arm back, I pulled myself to McKinney. “I’ll do it. Tell me which to cut.”

McKinney’s brow lined just as the ship dipped diagonally, throwing us all against each other.

“One more like that, captain, and she’ll break,” the first mate said. “We’ve got to get her lighter.”

McKinney studied the glowing green radar. “Aim for there,” he pointed. “It’s out of the worst of it. Show him what to do.”

He pointed at me, and Anders grabbed my arm, pulling me to the metal ladder leading down to the deck. “Wear this,” he pulled a life vest over my clothes. “If you go over, I’m cutting the line. Swim away from the boat so you’re not swept under it. We’ll send the dinghy to find you tomorrow.”

I didn’t bother telling him I couldn’t swim—there wasn’t time, and it wouldn’t have changed my decision. Instead I faced the tempest. “Which do I cut free?”