Trial by Fire (9 page)

F
or an hour or more, Carter, Vanessa, a
nd Jane took turns diving down to the boat. It was a slow, methodical process. By the time any of them got inside the cabin, it didn't leave much air in their lungs for rooting around and pulling out supplies.

Still, the salvage pile grew, bit by bit. Vanessa brought up two more blankets from the sleeping cabins. Jane grabbed a pillow on each of her two trips down. Carter found a second can of food and another sharp knife.

A new cooking pot came up. Two pairs of socks. A screwdriver. Three more rain slickers.

But it couldn't go on forever. As the time passed, the day grew windier. The current picked up as well, and each dive was a little more difficult than the one before. Every time the
Lucky Star
shifted, it pulled a little harder on the rope, and there was another low-pitched groan, or a sharp crack from the breaking hull. It was as if the whole boat was threatening to collapse on itself at any moment. They were going to have to stop soon.

Then, on his fifth dive down, Carter found something he'd almost given up thinking about.

After raiding the galley and sleeping cabins, he'd turned his attention to the storage compartments under the navigation desk. One of the cockeyed panel doors was stuck closed, but he wedged his heels against the wall and pulled, breaking the door right off its hinges.

As his eyes adjusted to the dark inside the compartment, a flash of orange caught Carter's eye. And then he realized what he was looking at: a signal flare, floating in the far back corner, just out of reach.

This was huge. Flares were nearly as valuable as food, if not more. He knew he had to get it somehow.

But he also knew he was going to need a second wind before he could finish. Reluctantly, he turned away, swam up through the galley's hatchway, and hurried back toward the surface.

As he pulled himself along the rope, Carter heard another groan from the
Lucky Star
behind him. It shifted harder than ever, with a strong tug on the line. At the same time, a splash came from up top, and he saw Vanessa fall into the water. It looked as if the pull on the rope had dragged her right off the rocks where she'd been holding the line.

“That's it,” she said as soon as Carter was there. “This is getting too dangerous. We have to stop.”

“Not yet,” Carter said. “There's a flare down there. We have to get it.”

He quickly spotted a forked branch among the rocks and picked it up. Hopefully, it would be enough to hook the flare.

“Carter, you're spent,” Vanessa said. “I can tell just by looking at you.”

It was true. The excitement of pulling the new supplies out of the boat had carried him this far, but he could feel the toll it had taken on his body. His muscles were like rubber—but his mind was still willing. That would have to be enough for now.

“One more trip,” he said. “It'll be worth it. I promise.”

Vanessa didn't argue. The fact was, they needed that flare. It was the one sure way to light their signal fire on Lookout Point.

Before there could be any more conversation, Carter got back in the water and headed down. He knew he had to hurry.

As soon as he was back inside the boat's cabin, he went straight for the open compartment under the nav station. The flare was still floating there—and still just out of reach. He had to press his arm inside, all the way up to the shoulder, and cast around with the stick he'd brought down. His back scraped hard against the compartment's broken hinge, but he ignored the pain. There was no time to worry about that.

As he worked, the
Lucky Star
shifted again. A loud grinding sound came up from underneath. The woodwork around him cracked and popped. It felt as if the whole boat was being dragged by the current, across the rock and coral ledge outside.

Carter knew he had to go.
Right now,
his mind screamed. But another part of him answered back just as clearly:
Not without that flare!
He pushed hard against the compartment opening, willing his arm to stretch another inch or two.

And then he felt it—a slight drag on the stick as it caught something. He dropped the branch now, and snatched blindly for the flare. A second later, his fingers closed around it. Even with his air running out, the adrenaline of the catch was a sweet feeling.

But before he could turn to leave, the boat took one more turn for the worse. Another heavy scraping sound came up from below. The
Lucky Star
tilted, and a rush of seawater flowed through the cabin. The whole craft seemed to have reached the very edge of the coral shelf where it sat.

And now it was going over.

Carter yanked his arm free of the compartment. His hand scraped hard across the broken hinge. He felt a sharp flash of pain and saw a cloud of his own blood in the water, but that was the least of his worries. He kept a tight grip on the flare, even as the boat continued its unstoppable slide.

Everything was moving now. The cabin itself turned a full ninety degrees around him. The bow rose up, and the
Lucky Star
went vertical in the water.

Carter struggled against the current running through the boat. He stroked as hard as he could—swimming
up,
through the cabin—toward the hatchway over his head. At the same time, the boat slid in the opposite direction. The hatch rushed at him, faster than he expected, and the edge of it caught him hard on the shoulder.

More than anything, he needed
out.
He could feel himself sinking, right along with the boat. The pressure in his head was building, stronger than ever, and there was no time to clear it.

He was so close—he could see outside the cabin, but his muscles were past the point of exhaustion.

Still, failure was no option. He twisted his body halfway around, trying to align himself with the hatch. A second later, he managed to move up and through it with several hard fluttering kicks—out into the open water at last.

A quick glance over his shoulder gave Carter the last view of the
Lucky Star
he'd ever have. It fell away behind him, off the coral ledge and down toward the ocean floor beyond. There was still a powerful downward pull in the water, but no more groaning, no more cracking. Everything went weirdly silent, as his lungs sent up a frantic plea for air. His head was pounding like a drum, and his body was spent.

But most of all, that bright orange flare was still in his hand. He'd promised himself he wouldn't come back without it—and he hadn't. Do-overs didn't come easily in a place like this, Carter thought as he kicked toward the surface. And he'd just scored a big one.

Mission accomplished!

B
uzz didn't even know anything was wrong
until he saw the blood dripping off Carter's hand.

“It's okay,” Carter kept saying as they climbed down from Dead Man's Shelf. “I'm fine, I'm fine.”

Jane seemed the most upset. She made Carter sit still long enough to let them look at the cut, while Buzz heard about what had happened with the
Lucky Star
.

That was it, then. The boat was gone. Whatever they'd salvaged was all they were going to get. But at least they had the new flare, along with the two cans of food and everything else.

Carter had sliced the side of his hand, from the base of his pinkie finger down to his wrist. The cut was long, but shallow. At home, it wouldn't have been a big deal at all. Here, it was more of a concern.

“You need to keep that clean,” Buzz told Carter. “It could get infected.”

“It'll be okay,” he said, pulling his hand away.

“Yeah, well, we just need to make sure it stays that way,” Vanessa said.

The closest thing they had to bandages were the new socks from the boat. As soon as they were dry, Buzz thought, they could cut the toes off one and make a kind of fingerless glove for Carter to slide on. Anything to keep the cut covered up. But then again, Carter would probably never go for that.

In the meantime, everyone else's attention had turned to the two silver cans they'd brought up from the boat. Vanessa insisted that they eat only one now and save the other. Still, Buzz could feel the mood in camp shooting sky high. Anything to eat besides coconut and snails was worth celebrating.

Carter held the two cans up, one in each hand. “Pick one, Jane,” he said. Jane's eyes lit up, and she tapped the one on the right.

“I'll get the big knife,” Vanessa said.

It was ravioli, as it turned out. They didn't bother heating it over the fire. They just passed the can and a spoon around the circle, taking turns. Even so, it was the most amazingly delicious thing Buzz had ever eaten in his life. He'd never known food could taste this good.

Each of them got three and a half ravioli, plus several scrapes with the spoon to gather up every last bit of sauce that clung to the side of the can. It didn't fill their bellies, or even come close, but it was more than they'd had in three days.

Once the can was empty, everyone got busy again. Carter insisted on taking the new flare up to Lookout Point himself, to store it inside the signal fire where the last one had been.

“I want to do a test run,” he said. “See how fast I can get up there, just in case.”

It wasn't a bad idea, actually—and none of them was faster than Carter. That was just a fact.

Jane said she'd go, too. And take notes, of course.

Buzz and Vanessa stayed back at camp, taking care of the new supplies—spreading out the blankets, pillows, jackets, and socks in the late-afternoon sun. With any luck, everything would be dry in time for sleeping that night. Just the idea of having his own blanket was exciting, Buzz thought.

It wasn't exactly Christmas, but it
had
been a pretty good day. For Nowhere Island, anyway.

July 4 (part 2). Day 10 since we left Hawaii. Day 6 on Nowhere Island.

You know what's better than snails? RAVIOLI! We just ate a whole can of it, split four ways. I think it was the best thing I ever tasted in my life!

After that, we took a practice run up to Lookout Point. That's what Carter called it. We don't have a stopwatch, but we're guessing it took six minutes. Carter says if he keeps trying, he can get his time down. Maybe to five minutes. Or even four and a half. Because if a boat or a plane comes looking for us, we need to get up there and light that signal fire ASAP!!!

We'll try again tomorrow. It's been a super-long day and everyone's really tired. In fact, I'm going to sleep right now. GOOD NIGHT!

V
anessa took the first shift that night,
watching the campfire. While the others slept, she pulled out the sea charts they'd saved from the boat and tried to read them by firelight. It wasn't easy. Most of the charts looked alike. So far, the closest they'd come to figuring out their location was a triangle of ocean, fifteen hundred miles on each side.

But maybe there was still some kind of answer here—any clue at all about what they should do next.

For the last three days, it had been impossible to think about anything beyond food, fire, and staying alive. The Coast Guard was out looking for them, that much they knew. But it was no guarantee. If they didn't do everything they could to try to save themselves, they might very well regret it in the end.

Eventually, she put down the charts and picked up Jane's journal. Before Jane took over the book, Uncle Dexter had filled its pages with entries about his different sailing trips. There were notes about weather and navigation, cloud formations and wildlife—but there didn't seem to be anything they could really use.

She wasn't giving up, though. She couldn't. So she turned to page one and started reading all over again.

As the night wore on, Vanessa's head drooped, and she jerked awake more than once. Each time, she threw extra wood on the fire and pulled up closer where the light was better. Still, her eyelids seem to get heavier no matter what she did.

The next time she snapped awake, Vanessa sensed right away that something was wrong. Looking down, she realized her lap was empty. Not only that, but something was blazing up extra brightly in the fire.

Jane's journal! The open pages were in flames, blackened and curling at the edges. A good part of the book had already been destroyed.

Vanessa jumped up, looking around for a stick or anything to pull it out of the fire. The first thing she spotted was Buzz's fishing spear. She snatched it up, hooked the tip under the journal, and gave the whole thing a fast, hard flick. By the time she'd realized her own mistake, it was too late. The flaming book arced up and out of the fire, then landed on the dry fronds that covered the shelter just a few feet away.

“NO!” Vanessa screamed.

It all went up faster than she would have thought possible. The fronds had been drying in the sun all day and couldn't have been more flammable. With amazing speed, the fire jumped from one section of roof to the next, until the whole top of the shelter was in flames.

“Jane! Buzz! Carter!” she screamed. “Get out of there!”

She heard Buzz yell as he emerged from the lean-to, dragging a blanket and pillow behind him.

“Jane, wake up!” Carter shouted. Vanessa looked in to see him scooping her into his arms, and they rolled out onto the sand, where Buzz was there to help them get away. The flames themselves were falling like huge drops of fire onto the newly laid floor of the shelter. Vanessa managed to pull out two more blankets before it was too late. Already, the palm mats where they'd been sleeping had begun to burn.

“Stay back!” she screamed. She picked up the two cooking pots on the fly and raced down to the ocean. Buzz was right behind with the two plastic bottles. Carter and Jane were there now, too, tearing off the rain jackets they had been sleeping in and scooping them into the waves for any amount of water the material might allow them to carry back.

Vanessa's breath seared her lungs as she tore back toward the shelter. The fire illuminated the whole beach now—it was an incredible sight. Large embers from the paper-thin palms floated on the updraft, like red-orange wings.

Even as she threw her pitiful amount of water at the fire, she looked up to see the tree above her starting to burn. Several dead brown fronds lit up just as easily as the ones on the shelter, until the tree itself was like a giant torch. There was nothing they could do about that. She turned and ran back to the shore to refill the pot.

They made trip after trip to the ocean, barely even speaking as they threw whatever water they could onto the blaze. The sand and rock around the shelter seemed to do as much as anything to keep it contained. Mostly, they had no choice but to let the whole thing run its course.

Slowly, the flames died out, and the whole shelter started to smoke and sizzle. The green bamboo had been slower to ignite, and still showed them the basic structure they'd built, like a charred black shadow of its former self. After working so hard to get the lean-to built, the fire had stolen it away from them with stunning swiftness.

For a long time, nobody said a word. Jane and Carter huddled together in a blanket, while Jane sobbed. Clearly, she was heartbroken about the journal. Everything in it was lost. That included all of Dexter's old notes, Vanessa realized. Whether or not the book had held any secrets for them, they'd never know now.

Already, Buzz was using one of the pots to scoop orange embers into a pile. He poured them together in the fire pit, trying to get a campfire going again. Even now, that was something they had to worry about. Always, always, always.

On top of that, Vanessa noticed, none of the others were even looking at her. It was as if they couldn't bring themselves to meet her gaze or say a word. And she couldn't blame them, either. This was all her fault.

After a while, she stumbled away from camp and sank down on the beach, her mind reeling. How could this happen, on top of everything else? What were they doing wrong? What was
she
doing wrong?

How could she have made such a stupid mistake with the fire, and the shelter they'd worked so hard to build?

There were no answers, of course. It was as if her brain had gone numb. All she could do now was sit on the cold sand in the dark, staring at their burned-out lean-to—and wonder how she was ever going to face the others again.