Burnt Sea: A Seabound Prequel (Seabound Chronicles Book 0) (14 page)

Simon walked through the plaza before going up to the bridge. People
stopped him as he passed, asking him if it was true, if they really had to keep
sailing. He hated the way their faces fell when he told them what had happened.

Frank sat straight down on the ground, white and shaking. Constance
Gordon, the young mother who was only recently back on her feet, held her
newborn and stared at nothing. Little
Cally
caught
her mood and began to cry. People were too stunned to complain. Even Rosa
Cordova was at a loss for words. She simply gathered up her children and hugged
them close.

Simon didn’t know what to tell them. He dug through his inner reserves
and found nothing. He’d tried not to lay all his hopes on Guam and the navy,
but he too felt betrayed. They had nowhere to go. He trudged up the plush steps
of the grand staircase as their little community struggled with the truth. The
chandelier above him tinkled softly.

But on the third balcony at the top of the plaza, he found a different
scene. A small group gathered around a little gallery full of painted seascapes
and photography. They seemed to be leaning in so they could see through the
doors of the shop. At its center, someone stood near a large painting of a
stormy sea with a single ray of light cutting through the clouds.

A few people in the doorway stepped back so Simon could see who
everyone was looking at in the gallery.

It was Penelope Newton. Her eyes were the size of dessert plates, and
she clutched her cross necklace so tight that it must be cutting into her palm.
She closed her eyes, and the people in the shop crowded closer. Then she spoke.

“I know ya’ll are hurting right now, but I think it’s time we turned to
Jesus. I believe we’re living in the Last Days. He is the only one who will get
us out of this here mess. Would you join me on your knees as I implore the
Almighty to see us through?”

Then she got down on her knees by herself in the middle of the little
gallery and began to pray. She looked plump and motherly, but she had a magnetic
presence, somehow both zealous and reassuring. And she had a voice like an
old-time revival preacher’s. It was her confidence, Simon thought, which gave
it that quality. She truly and fervently believed that when she prayed the
Almighty listened.

Something happened to the tight knot of people in the gallery as
Penelope spoke. Movement rippled as some dropped to their knees. Others seemed
to draw energy from the woman kneeling in front of the painting, from her voice
and demeanor more than her words. As Penelope’s voice rang out, soft and
strong, the people in her little following seemed to swell with renewal.

Simon reached within himself too, hoping to find some sort of
connection to God or a higher power or energy or whatever Penelope was accessing,
but still he felt empty. He knew people often turned to religion in times of
trouble. He was a little surprised that he couldn’t find that connection himself.
Why in this darkest hour could he not find some sort of faith to keep him
going? The people around him were taking hope; Simon felt only sadness.

“Come quickly, Lord Jesus. Amen.” Penelope finished her prayer and
turned around to sit on the floor, as if she’d expended all of her energy and
given it to the crowd. She looked directly at Simon, and he stepped back,
allowing those massing outside the gallery to make their way further in. He
didn’t fully understand what he’d witnessed. But if it comforted people, he was
glad of it.

Unexpectedly, he felt a sense of release at the knowledge that people
were looking to Penelope and to God instead of to him. He didn’t always have to
be the one with the answers, the one staying strong in the midst of everything.
He could share the load a little.

He continued on toward the bridge, his steps a bit lighter. He would
work out a way to retrieve the fuel from this shipwreck with the young sailor.
It was a measureable goal, something Simon could work with. He may not be able
to find hope in a seemingly hopeless situation, but he would do what needed to
be done. He sensed a thread of calm making its way through his body. It was
time to make a plan.

Chapter 13—The Beach

Judith

The atoll was invisible
until they were almost on
top of it. It was a tiny island, no more than a flat stretch of sand, with a
few wind-ravaged trees hanging on for dear life at the center. Debris was
strewn across the beach: parts of ships,
dead sea
creatures, even a four-door sedan. The largest piece of debris was a huge cargo
ship, broken into two pieces, sitting halfway in the shallows and halfway on
the beach.

“There she is,” Michael said. He stood beside Judith as they approached
the little island. He had stayed close to her while they made plans to retrieve
the fuel tanks from the wrecked cargo ship. He was capable and straightforward,
with an easy sense of self-assurance. “I’m glad to finally be doing something,”
he said.

“Me too,” Judith said. She met his eyes and couldn’t help blushing and
looking down.
Get a grip, Judith. He’s
not
that
hot.
It had clearly been
too long since she’d met any attractive men. He wasn’t the type of guy she
usually liked anyway. He was too much of a jock. This was no time to be
thinking about his piercing eyes and square-jawed good looks.

“Some of that stuff on the beach could come in handy,” Judith said
briskly. “We should gather whatever we can when we go in for the fuel.”

“There should be plenty of room in the lifeboats.”

“How close can we get to the atoll?” Judith asked.

“It gets shallow pretty far out,” Michael said. “We’ll have to go a few
hundred feet at least to get to the beach. We
gotta
move quickly before the sailors back on Guam figure out what we’re doing.”

“What will they do if they find out?”

Michael hesitated. “Let’s just not let them catch us.”

Fifteen minutes later the crew lowered three lifeboats full of storage
containers and people into the sea. Each one was partially enclosed and designed
to hold up to 150 people. Now twenty or thirty
crew members
and former passengers climbed into each boat to help with the salvage operation.

Michael followed Judith and Nora into the third lifeboat. She felt
keenly aware of him as he reached behind her to hold on to the bulkhead, the muscles
in his arms bulging when they hit the water. She almost wished he’d gotten into
a different lifeboat. He threw her off balance, and she hated being out of
control. He was what she would have called a distraction a lifetime ago.

The lifeboat motored toward the shore. The water was murky, churned up
by the recent storm. The clouds, as gloomy as the water, swirled unnaturally
with purples and grays. Even the equatorial sun didn’t quite shine through.
Cold sea spray coated Judith’s face, but she couldn’t wait to walk on solid
ground for a little while.

When their boat reached the sand, Michael and a few others leapt out
and pulled it further up the beach amidst the junk. About eighty people had
volunteered for the salvage team. They scattered like pigeons to collect usable
debris and edible seaweed. Nora headed for what looked like a pile of sandy
circuit boards.

Judith walked a little slower, savoring the feeling of her feet sinking
into the sand. The ground felt like it was moving beneath her. She made tracks
with her running shoes in the shifting sand. Michael waited for her where the
wet sand met dry.

“Want to come with me to the cargo ship, Judith? I could use a hand.”

“Sure.”

“Nothing like a long walk on the beach with a cute girl,” he said,
stretching his arms high over his head as if he planned to put one around her.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Judith said wryly. She pulled at the
salt-stained sweatshirt she wore over the mismatched yoga pants. Michael winked
at her.

She followed him across the sand, picking her way around broken
propellers, waterlogged suitcases, and a tangled clump of iridescent jellyfish.
The beach smelled of oil and rotting fish. The detritus was a mix of things
that belonged on land and things that belonged at the bottom of the sea. There
was even the carcass of a small airplane half-buried in the sand.

Judith climbed over part of the plane’s wing and stifled a scream.
Michael ran back toward her.

She fought nausea as she tried to scrub her shoes clean. She’d stepped
directly onto a bloated body in the shade of the aluminum wing. It was a man of
indeterminate age. His flesh had gone soft and porous, and his face looked
chewed and pocked. His lids were open, but his eyes were gone. Judith refused
to look at the place in his side where her foot had landed.

“Come on, Judith.” Michael put his arm around her shoulder and turned
her firmly away from the corpse. “Don’t look at it. We have work to do.”

She stared at him, trying to find her voice.

“Don’t say ‘it.’ Say h— ”

She couldn’t finish. She ducked beneath Michael’s arm and threw up on
the sand. Tears filled her eyes. Why was everything so horrible? She wanted to
wake up, to know for certain that this nightmare was over. She couldn’t take
it.

“You’re okay,” Michael said, almost humming the words. He patted her on
the back. “Let’s focus on the fuel. We can do this.”

Slowly she straightened and wiped her mouth on her sleeve, mortified at
her reaction. But Michael simply offered her his hand, and they picked their
way toward the cargo ship lying further along the beach. He talked to her in
that same low hum, almost like he was speaking to himself.

“You’re okay. We can do this. You’re okay.”

The hull of the broken cargo ship loomed above them, barnacles covering
it like a layer of crumbs. Judith ran her hand along the hull as they walked
toward the opening, feeling the rough creatures under her fingertips. It was
cold in the shadow beneath the hulking vessel, but it felt stable, real.

There was a gap
midship
, as if a giant child
had broken the ship apart like a toy and dropped it in two separate pieces,
slightly out of alignment. The second piece lay mostly in the water, and the
waves slapped against its sides.

The smell of oil was heavy here. The barnacles beneath Judith’s fingers
became slick and dark the closer they got to the break.

“Will there
be
any fuel left?” Judith asked.

“Cargo ships have built-in tanks,” Michael explained. “Those are
busted, and we wouldn’t be able to get them out anyway. But this baby was
transporting additional fuel in tanks lashed to the deck.” Michael bent to roll
up the legs of his trousers before splashing toward the partially submerged
half of the ship. “A few of them were still okay when we spotted the wreck yesterday.”

“How will you get the tanks down?” Judith asked. “They must be really
heavy.”

“The ship has a crane. If we can get it working, we can lift the tanks
directly into the water and tow them behind the boats. If that doesn’t work,
we’ll have to siphon the fuel and carry it in trips.”

“That could take days.”

“We don’t have days.”

Judith and Michael were the first to reach the cargo ship, but soon
about twenty other
crew members
from the
Catalina
gathered in its shadow, including
Reggie. Nora joined them too but immediately climbed into the cargo ship and
disappeared into the deckhouse, muttering about computer equipment. Reggie
quickly took charge and designated roles for the crew. Judith kept a lookout on
the horizon for any signs of the navy, while Michael and the others climbed
into the dark interior of the ship. Water rushed in and out of the lowest level
where the break was. It was a dark cavern that must have been one of the ship’s
main fuel compartments. It was empty now except for the rushing, oil-slicked
surf.

Judith could no longer see the cargo ship team from her post on the
beach. From this angle she couldn’t see the crane or the fuel tanks at all. She
surveyed the atoll. The other people from the
Catalina
picked up scraps and called out to each other.

“Can we use this?”

“Is this seaweed edible?”

“Help me carry these tires, will you?”

They looked to be in better spirits than she’d seen them in days, even
though their hopes of landing in Guam had been dashed. Having solid ground to
walk on certainly improved morale. They had already nearly filled one of the
lifeboats with salvage.

The
Catalina
herself floated
beyond the breaking surf. Judith remembered when she’d first seen the ship by
the dock in San Diego. She was still bright white, but the boarded-up windows
of the dining hall scarred her surface. She showed the wear from their journey,
just like her people.

Clanging came from within the cargo ship, then a screeching mechanical
sound. They must have found the controls for the crane. Someone out of sight
swore theatrically.

The dark sky swirled. Wind swept the beach, driving sand into Judith’s
face. She pulled the arms of her sweatshirt over her hands and held them up on
both sides of her face. She shivered, not for the first time wishing for the
safety of her little apartment back in San Diego, with its grimy counters and
flimsy walls. She missed the simple problems: whether or not she’d get the
right job; whether or not her professors would like her papers; whether or not
her roommate would wake her up when she came home.

After about fifteen minutes Michael and a few of the others climbed
back out of the beached ship. Two of them carried a pile of thick chain between
them. They set to work disentangling it on the beach.

“We got the crane to work,” Michael told Judith. “But the tanks are
tied down good. The crew just got the first one loose.”

The team brought the first stretch of chain nearer to the ship. There
was a shout from the upper reaches of the wreck.
A
screeching, creaking sound.
Then a massive shape loomed above them,
swinging out over the side of the cargo vessel. The fuel tank teetered in the
space between ship and sky. Whoever was controlling the crane eased it into
position slowly.

“Watch your head.”

“It’s huge!” Judith said.

“Each one holds over nine thousand gallons, and there are half a dozen
of them up there,” Michael said. “We should be able to sail for a few more days
on that.” He called out instructions to guide the tank further out over the
water.

Judith held her breath as the massive shape swung above them, swaying
in the strengthening breeze. It was about the size of the fuel tanks pulled
across the highways of California by big tanker trucks, easily the length of
several normal cars.

With a frightening creak the crane eased the tank even further out over
the water.

“That’s good,” Michael shouted. “Bring her down!”

The tank lowered, getting closer and closer to shallow surf beside the
broken ship. Judith tensed, afraid to move an inch.

“Release!”

The tank splashed into the shallows beside the cargo vessel. Michael
and the others hurried forward to keep it from drifting away. They wrapped some
of the chain around it, linking it like a harness. Michael patted the tank
affectionately.

“So far so good.”

“These things are heavy,” Reggie shouted, leaning over the edge of the
cargo ship above them. “We better bring the lifeboats over to pull. I don’t
think we’ll be able to push it far even with the whole team.”

“I’ll work on that,” Judith said. “You guys get those things off the
ship.”

“Roger that,” Reggie said, wiping sweat from his forehead with his
sleeve. “Let’s get the next tank moving.”

“Right behind you,” Michael said. “This is going to take a while.”

“Um, guys?” Judith said. “We don’t have a while.”

She had just looked up to see a massive storm cloud trundling toward
them.

Simon

Simon
watched the storm grow from the bridge with
Ren
and
Vinny
. It hovered above them, a roiling, turbulent mass.
Funnel clouds spiked down, and the sea rose up to meet them. Simon flashed back
to the terrifying moments in San Diego when the ash roared above the city. The
sea between them rolled, gelatinous beneath the darkening sky.

“Is it going to hit us?” Simon asked.

“Sure looks like it,”
Ren
said.

“Any chance you can outrun it?”

“This atoll is going to make it tricky. If we get stuck, we’ll be in
real trouble. To be honest, Simon, I’m not experienced enough to pilot under
these conditions.”

“You’ll have to try,
Ren
. First we need to
get everyone off the beach.”

“We should pull up the anchor,”
Vinny
said.
Sweat formed rivulets on his brow. “We don’t have time to wait for the
lifeboats.”

Simon hesitated for a fraction of a second.

“No,”
Ren
said, standing up and pushing back
her chair. “We can’t leave them.”