Stranded (5 page)

Crystal’s eyes darted frantically beneath her eyelids, her scream stuck to her throat. A gigantic sea monster hovered above her. She writhed helplessly as its raspy tongue slicked over her legs and tugged her into its huge, horrid mouth. Finally, a tiny squeal escaped her lips, and she opened her eyes. She was hanging halfway out the stern of the lighter, her legs flailing against something soft—the monster’s tongue! Its saliva sloshed at her waist, soaking her, disintegrating her.

She squealed again and scrabbled onto the boat and grabbed her aunt. “A monster!” she screeched. “A monster’s swallowing us!”

Betty sat up and peered sleepy-eyed at Crystal. “What in the world are you talking about?” She brushed her hand over Crystal’s legs. “Where’d you get this sand, child?” When she glanced over Crystal’s shoulder and her eyes widened, Crystal yelped and spun around.

There was no monster. Instead, the rising sun revealed an expanse of bright turquoise water laced in rows of white froth. The water splashed giddily toward them and landed again and again in a heap of salty bubbles at the stern of the boat.

Crystal and Betty rose, holding each other steady, and gaped at the beach. “Land!” they cried in unison. They turned to tell Eve

Jake dozed in snatches until the change came. Awareness of it crawled into his dreams and elbowed him awake. He opened his eyes. Rain? Raising his head, body trembling, he scanned the heavens. Empty. Only the sun glaring from its own ocean of blue sky.

No, beneath him. Motion, tugging him—a surge forward, then a stop. Surge forward, stop. He shook his head, lifted himself off his stomach. At the next swell he glimpsed the horizon. A green smear creased its edge.

Land.

LAND!

His heart slammed into high gear, and he struggled to his knees. The water dipped and the land disappeared. The boat fragment slid forward. Stopped. Rose on the slow elevator of another swell. He held his breath.

An island slipped onto the horizon. High on one end, sloping to sea level at the other.

He sucked in air and hurled it out in a loud
Ooo-rah
that reverberated across the waves.

As if startled, the boat fragment jumped, and he fell on his stomach. He grabbed the vessel’s edge. It rotated in a half circle and lurched forward on a new path. A path headed back to sea.

An ocean current—it must have caught the longer part of the fragment submerged in the water. He studied the distance to the island. The current might veer back and sidle up to the island, or, just as likely, it might tow his broken sea vessel farther away.

Didn’t matter. He didn’t need the boat. Just the island.

He slipped into the water and set his strokes on autopilot.

At first he swam, but after several minutes, he flipped onto his back. No way could he swim the entire distance to the island. No food for two days, no water for a day and a half. He’d best conserve his energy for the final stretch. The damaged life vest provided minimal buoyancy, but by paddling his arms and legs he kept his nose and mouth far enough above the surface to breathe.

The broken lighter crept away from him, dawdling on the crests of swells, inching forward in the valleys where the current gripped it. He forced himself not to keep checking and rechecking his progress. Was it because he was so tired that the island never seemed closer, or was it the chill seeping through the pores of his skin and crawling toward his heart that made him miscalculate? Maybe he should have stayed on the boat fragment. He could have clung to it, no matter where it took him.

His legs drifted downward as if weighted with lead sinkers. His head sank deeper into the water. He groped for the surface and came up sputtering. Hypothermia. Alarms clanged like cymbals between his ears. He was a dead man if he reached the point of chattering teeth and a shaking body. The water at the equator was warm, but not as warm as his body temperature. Given enough time, the ocean would suck every drop of heat from him, and he’d be lunch meat for sharks.

He grabbed a lungful of air, turned face down into a dead man’s float, and rubbed and squeezed and massaged his right leg and foot. Another breath, and he attacked his left leg and foot. Then his arms, then his legs and feet again, until his skin tingled and he could feel the blood coursing through his veins. Forget floating, he’d swim for it.

He nourished his strokes with prayer, and his prayer with steadfast glances at the island. At the northern end of the landmass, a volcano towered. Its southern rim had crumbled and the lava flow had run south, forming the rest of the island. Patches of white indicated beaches here and there skirting the coast. Most important, everything on the island was green—somewhere there was fresh water.

Water! He rolled onto his back and swam, spitting out brine, picturing himself at a stream. Yes, he’d immerse his whole face and suck in a cheek-busting mouthful. Slosh it around, spit out all the residual salt crystals, cough out the slime on his tongue and throat. Then finally, finally, he’d swallow that first mouthful of water. Sweet, untainted, salt-free water.

He emerged from his reverie, nerves sparking alarm at the roar reverberating across his eardrums. He flipped onto his stomach and caught his breath. Steep rock walls loomed above him. Waves blackened by the cliff’s shadow smashed against the rock base and plummeted back in white, foaming shreds. Beneath him, an undertow whisked swirling patches of froth to the surface, tugging at his arms and legs, grasping cold fingers at his clothing.

Stomach acid surged to his throat. He forced himself to breathe evenly and swim in measured strokes away from the tumult. The roar of the hungry cliffs urged him to slash through the water, to burn up his energy. He quaked with the desire and fought against it.

Swimming first on his back, then on his stomach, he watched the cliffs alongside him gradually stoop lower to the ground, heard their snarls lapse into grumbles. At last, his breath shaking out of his chest in short gasps, he allowed himself to float. At the tip of the island, where sea and land met, he’d swim in. For now, it was all he could handle to paddle on his back and let the bobbing current carry him parallel to the island.

A wave smashed against him and rolled him over. He surfaced, choking and gagging, unable to pull air into his lungs. He thrashed helplessly as another wave clenched him in its salty jaws and dragged him off like a lioness with her prey. He gasped in air and fought the wave. It dropped him, but another pounced on him and lugged him determinedly toward its destination. Wheezing for air, dreading what awaited him, he twisted around.

Instead of rocks, a swatch of sand lay a short distance away. He mouthed a grateful
Ooo-rah
heavenward.

In control now, he sprawled on his stomach and rode the wave in. Then another, and another, until his feet struck bottom. He stumbled toward the beach, relishing the weight of his body on the soles of his feet. Beneath water that shimmered an indigo blue, he stepped over shells half-buried in the sand. Little fish darted away at his clumsy approach.

Toes numb, he fell several times and staggered in the shallow water lapping the shore. When he stepped onto the beach, his feet glared in the sun like the pale bellies of dead fish. Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean he had lost his shoes.

No one came running to meet him. Either the island was deserted, or its inhabitants were hiding. He scanned the sand for signs of disturbance—footprints, depressions from boats shoved to or from the water. Nothing. He squinted at the wall of palm trees and jungle growth behind the beach. Again, nothing. A sea gull, and then a second and a third, coasted overhead, adding their squawks to the slap of ocean waves.

He spotted a coconut under a palm tree and tucked away his unease. The sand burned his hands and knees when he fell twice, but his anesthetized feet were as good as encased in jungle boots. He tromped over to the jungle’s edge, where several nuts lay on the ground. A brown object launched out of the palm tree and swooped past his head. He ducked and pivoted to face it, laughed when it plopped onto the sand and dashed under a bush. A flying lizard.

He scooped up the largest coconut and pounded it on a sharp outcrop of rock until the hairy husk fell away and the inner shell cracked open. The first mouthful of milky fluid he spat out. The salt crystals caking his tongue loosened, and he spat out the next mouthful. The third time, he swallowed the sweet juice and dug into the coconut meat. Only then did he allow himself to collapse and sleep. 

When he awoke, he consumed another coconut. The sun hung directly overhead, baking the beach, steaming the flora into an aroma of pungent leaves and bark. A globe of tiny insects hovered around his head like a helmet. The only sounds were the murmur of waves and the flutter of palm fronds.

He stood, grunting as a hundred needles pierced his feet from ankles to toes. Good, at least his feet were recovering. He hobbled in the palm trees’ shade until the pain subsided, and once again scanned his surroundings. No signs of human life on the beach or the nearby jungle. Most likely he had landed on one of the remote, uninhabited islands of the Philippines. He grimaced at the thought of island-hopping his way to civilization.

Holding his life vest over his head as a shield against the sun, he returned to the shallow water of the beach. South, toward the lower elevation of the island, was his best bet for finding a stream.

The beach stretched farther than he’d figured. The vista was like walking onto a movie set—palm trees waving in the breeze, sun and gulls overhead, ocean waves lapping at his feet—except the film crew had gone home. Only he and God on the island. He clenched his teeth against the tightness rising from his stomach to his throat.

Ginny. She should be here with him.

His footsteps slowed. No one knew he was alive. No one knew where he was. Who would tell Brett and Dana about their parents’ deaths? Dana would crumple to the floor; Brett would stand stalwart but shred inside. Jake quickened his pace. He needed to get to civilization, get a phone call through to his kids, get the authorities after Captain Emilio.

He stopped, his breath rushing out of him at the sight of a man-made object down the beach. A boat. It sat on the sand, barely out of reach of the waves. In spite of sore muscles, he jogged over to it, breathing raggedly, his heart pounding. It couldn’t be, but it was—the other lighter from the cruise ship.

He stood at the bow and peered down the length of the boat. Sure enough, it had sustained severe damage from the explosion, but only at the stern, where the motor had been. Why two explosions on his lighter but only one on this boat? Had the explosives on the bow not detonated? He climbed over the side and squatted to examine the bow’s interior. No evidence of C-4 or other explosives. He huffed in frustration. What distinguished his lighter from the other, that Captain Emilio had placed two explosives on it?

Close by on the deck lay the detached sail, neatly folded next to the mast, and a set of oars. Unlike the equipment on his lighter, no damage marred them. The wind would have swept the boat far ahead of his to the island, easily skimming the lighter over the current onto the beach. But who had sailed it? Could someone have survived the blast and overpressure? Impossible.

He inspected the rest of the boat. A crack zigzagged down the length of the deck, promising a dunk in the ocean. No matter, he’d risk it. One thing was for sure—this vessel was his ticket home. A supply of coconuts was all he needed, and he’d be on his way.

At the lighter’s stern, he stepped back onto the beach. The sand at his feet was heavily disturbed, as if there had been a struggle. From there, footprints headed toward the jungle.

As badly as he wanted to confiscate the boat, he couldn’t leave without checking out the owners of those footprints.

If there was trouble, Jake wanted both hands free. He picked up his life vest and slipped into it, wincing as the hot rubberized fabric sizzled like a steam iron on his sunburned shoulders. The trail leading away from the beach was pocked with disturbed sand, and the jumbled footprints made it hard to tell how many people he was following. Two, maybe three? He trotted alongside the tracks, gasping with each step as his bare feet smoldered like coals on the hot sand. At the jungle’s edge, the trail curved toward a tall palm flapping green fronds in the wind.

A scream pierced the air. A child’s scream! Jake took off in an all-out sprint. Why hadn’t he thought to bring an oar for a weapon?

Approaching the palm tree, he spie
d―
of all peopl
e―
the young girl who had joined them for dinner with her aunt. Crystal, was it? She was crouched halfway on her feet, breath rasping in and out of her throat in squeaks of terror. Near her lay Betty, eyes closed, mouth slack. His mouth dropped open. How had they escaped the explosions?

Crystal lunged and jabbed a stick at something near Betty’s legs.

Snake!

Adrenaline landed a grenade in every muscle and nerve. A coconut lay a step away. He snatched it up and hurled it at the snake. The reptile turned on him, its slender body puffing to twice its size along its vertebrae, revealing blue spots between olive-green scales. Jake grabbed another coconut and stepped closer, aiming for the head. His nerves prickled dagger points from his spine to his fingertips. He hated snakes.
Hated them!

He slammed the coconut down. The blow struck its mark, but the snake bounced under the impact, and apparently none the worse, darted into the underbrush. Jake bashed the vegetation with two more coconuts, until Crystal’s wail penetrated the red haze in his mind.

“It bit her, the snake bit her!”

Jake dropped a fourth coconut and took a deep breath to clear his head. “Where?” He stooped at Betty’s side.

“Right there.” Crystal pointed at her aunt’s right thigh.

Jake pushed up the cuff of Betty’s shorts, exposing pale skin above sunburned knees. Two tiny, red dots identified where the snakebite had punctured her skin.

Crystal resumed her ear-shattering wails.

“Here now, be brave,” he growled.

“My aunty’s going to die!” The corners of Crystal’s mouth plunged downward until her bottom lip protruded in a lump of rosebud flesh. She snuffed hiccupping sobs through her nose.

Jake mentally smacked himself.
She’s just a kid, Marine.
“It’s only a tree snake.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “It’s not poisonous.” In Nam, they were all over the place.

Or did she mean Betty was dying before the snakebite? He checked the older woman’s pulse. It was racing. “She didn’t open her eyes when you screamed. Did she seem all right before she got bit?”

“I don’t think so.” Crystal sucked in the rosebud. “She kept falling when we walked up here.”

That explained the pockmarks in the sand. “How long has she been asleep?”

“Since we got here. It’s been a long time, and she won’t wake up.” Crystal’s chin quivered, but she didn’t cry.

Dehydration? Jake pinched the skin on the back of Betty’s hand. The wrinkles didn’t smooth out. He took Crystal’s hand and did the same thing with the same results. No tear tracks on her face, either, for all the bawling she’d done.

“I’m going to get you something to drink. Keep an eye on your aunt, okay?” He looked around for coconuts and gathered several. Under Crystal’s close observation, he beat one against an outcrop of rock until the husk broke away.

“I tried, but I couldn’t open any.”

“Good for you for trying.” The corners of Crystal’s mouth tweaked up, and a spasm of warmth touched the ache in Jake’s chest. He pierced the inner shell of the coconut and handed it to her. “Drink this while I open one for your aunt, then you can help me with mine.”

This time Crystal’s smile stretched across her sunburned face. Hairline cracks split her lips. They had to be painful, but her blue eyes shone at him like he was Santa Claus.

He opened a second nut and inspected Betty’s wound before he tried to rouse her. Crystal stopped drinking. Her face scrunched into the precursor of another wail.

“Wound looks good, doesn’t it?” Jake spread his cracked lips into a stinging twitch of a smile. “No swelling and no change of color. Probably no worse than that puppy-dog bite you told us about on the ship.”

Crystal pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes. “It didn’t break my skin, and dog bites aren’t poisonous.” She hoisted the coconut back to her mouth.

So much for sharing the pedestal with Santa.

He turned his attention to Betty, patting her hand, calling her name. Her eyelids fluttered but didn’t open. He lifted her head and put a splash of coconut milk on her tongue and closed her mouth.

“Betty, I’ve got a drink for you. Do you taste it? Sweet, isn’t it?” He massaged her throat and was rewarded with a convulsive gulp. Her eyelids fluttered each time he fed her, but her eyes stayed closed.

“That’s enough for now.” Jake took off his life vest and slipped it under Betty’s head. Crystal’s gaze reminded him of his promise. “You ready to open my coconut?”

Crystal selected one and pounded it against the rock. She stopped twice and swept mournful eyes at Jake, but he simply nodded at her. “You’re getting there.” When her shoulders sagged, he stooped and put his hands over hers. “Good job. Just a few more jabs and you’ve got it.”

She stuck with him. Her body jerked with each brutal stab at the rock, but when the husk fell away, she beamed in triumph. Yes, sir, he was back up there with Santa.

He fed Betty a second round of sips, and her eyes fluttered open. By the third round, she sat up and held the coconut.

“Jake Chalmers,” she murmured. At his nod, she asked, “Are there others?”

“No.” He swallowed back a tsunami of pain.

Betty blinked. “Your wife?”

He looked down, shook his head.

“I’m sorry. So sorry.”

The tsunami filled his eyes. He wiped the moisture onto his cheeks. “How did you survive the blast?”

Betty took in a shuddering breath and clutched the coconut to her chest. “Crystal and I fell off the lighter, and Eve swam over to help us. We were far enough away, we escaped the explosion
.
” Betty took a sip from the coconut before continuing. “Eve helped us back to the lighter and we set sail. Landed here this morning.” She looked at Jake. “Eve was with us until last night. She must have fallen off.”

Eve.
Ginny had pointed her out to him, and he had recognized her as the last-minute arrival on the cruise ship. He glanced at the two life vests lying under the palm tree. “Was she wearing a life vest like you and Crystal?”

Betty nodded, and Jake scrambled to his feet. “If she’s close enough to the island, we might be able to save her.”

If the current hadn’t already swept her past.

He grabbed all three life jackets and strode toward the lighter, but stopped part way. How was he going to wield the boat? Manning the oars required two people, and neither Betty nor Crystal was in shape. Certainly not to row against the current. And what if the boat split? He swallowed at the thought of the ocean current bearing away another victim.

To the south, a rock the size of a house jutted onto the beach. Several young palms topped it. Their fronds waved in the wind as if beckoning him. Perfect. He changed course.

Nervous energy prickled up and down his spine like a spastic neon sign. Cuffing his hand over his eyes, he peered at the sun’s position overhead. How many hours—two?—since he’d swum to the island? Could she be that far behind him?

He ran along the jungle’s edge where towering palm trees shielded the sand from the sun’s rays. The tingling in his feet was as good as gone. When he got to the rock, he slowed to climb it, wary of cutting the bottoms of his feet.

At the top, the ocean greeted him with a panorama that was more than he could hope to scan. His heart sank. Eve would be a dot as tiny as the puncture wound on Betty’s leg. But he needed to save the only other survivor. He needed it—
please, God
—because . . . he sucked in the tsunami of his pain . . .

Because he had failed to save Ginny.

He slumped against a palm tree and focused on the water to the north. Gradually the ocean became a matrix of lolling waves and blues and indigoes that untangled what did and didn’t belong. Eve didn’t belong.
Please, God, let me spot her.

He studied the water, organizing it into a grid. His tongue became cottony. His muscles ached for another nap. He blinked to keep from getting hypnotized.

A pinpoint of yellow twinkled on the waves. A reflection of the sun or Eve’s hair? A splotch of brighter yellow bobbed beneath the dot for a fraction of a second. He held his breath, his heart thudding. He didn’t dare look away until he was completely convinced.

Yes! It was Eve!

He tore back to Betty and Crystal. “I found her. Out on the ocean.”

Their mouths rounded into perfect O’s, but before they could say anything, he swooped Betty to her feet. “Help me,” he commanded Crystal. “We need to run.”

He put Betty between them, her arms clasping their shoulders, and lifted her off her feet. “Keep in step with me,” he directed Crystal. “Right, left, right, left. Faster.” He matched his stride to hers. “Faster. Atta girl.” In a rush of adrenaline, he bore the brunt of Betty’s weight and pushed Crystal to run as fast as she could.

When they arrived at the foot of the rock, Betty’s sunburned face was pasty. She sank next to her wheezing niece.

“I’m sorry, but to save Eve, you need to climb the rock.” Jake lifted Betty to her feet and Crystal stumbled to hers. “I’ll go first and hold your hand. Crystal, you reach up and steady her.”

He climbed part way and was pleased to see Betty watching where he placed his feet. When he reached down for her hand, she clasped his without hesitation. Plucky old dame. They just might pull this off.

Blood seeped from several scrapes on Betty’s legs by the time they reached the top. He plunked her under a palm tree and searched for Eve. His breath left him when he saw how much closer she was. Any minute the current would catch her and drag her past the island.

“She’s not moving.” Betty’s hand jerked to her mouth. “What if—”

—she was dead?
Jake grimaced. “I’m going after her.” He lowered himself over the edge of the rock. “I won’t be able to see her when I start out, so you need to keep adjusting my direction with hand signals until we intersect.”

While making his way back down the rock, he slipped in his haste and crashed to the base. He shook out his arms and legs. No bones broken. He got to his feet and put on his life vest. Plucking up the other two, he limped across the beach and splashed into the ocean.