Sickening fear swelled in his chest. The boat would never gain the speed to outrun it. The line was now nearly straight down off the stern, under the stern.
Under, under.
Bill careened in to the wheel, leaping toward Mikey.
Mikey hammered the throttle, but it was already as far forward as it would go. He glanced back and saw beyond the blur of Bill’s hurtling body, Cal flailing back in the fighting chair.
The rod twanged up. Line flapped loose.
Bill lunged for the wheel, shoving Mikey aside. Mikey’s cheek hit the window as Bill spun the boat to port.
“He’s gone!” Ernie shouted over the roaring engines.
Bill turned back and saw Cal staggering out of the chair, the rod straight up in his hands.
Bill slammed his palm on the wheel and quickly brought the throttle down. Mikey could smell his sweat, feel his heat.
Bill put the boat in neutral and raced aft.
Mikey fell back into the pilot’s seat, the boat rocking and rolling in the wake.
Gone.
The blue marlin was gone.
The line tangled and severed by one of the propellers.
Mikey gasped, his lungs bellowing. He put his hand to his cheek. His heart pounded so hard he could feel it banging in his throat. He felt lost, as if caught in a riptide, helpless. Hopeless.
The marlin was gone. The huge blue marlin.
Ernie glanced in at Mikey.
Mikey looked past him at Bill’s back.
Bill stood for a long while at the transom, looking into the ocean behind the boat, hands on his hips, sun boiling down.
The silence was as deep as the sea.
Cal, Ernie, even Alison, still clinging to the ladder, stood frozen, as if each was waiting for Bill to say something, do something, bring the marlin back.
Alison stepped slowly away from the ladder. She glanced into the cabin at Mikey and half smiled. Did she know it was his fault? He could not meet her eyes.
Bill leaned way out over the transom, looking into the water. He reached down and came up with a piece of line. He tugged on it, but it wouldn’t give. He tossed it back.
“Mikey,” he called without turning.
Mikey blew air from puffed cheeks and went aft, out onto the sunlit deck, passing Cal, passing Ernie, without looking at them.
Bill pointed into the water.
“The line’s caught in the port prop. Get a knife. Go down and cut it loose.”
Mikey’s scalp crawled like eel skin before Bill had even gotten all the words out. Instantly, he pictured the deep-water sharks, their bloody mouths gaping, jagged, triangular razor-sharp teeth mindlessly ripping away the dead whale’s flesh.
And now, his own flesh.
Mikey looked into the water off the back of the boat. Deeper than deep. Unimaginably deep. Fathoms of dark and infinite shark-infested ocean. Another world, a place of blood and guts and ripped flesh, a bad dream where you never knew when or where they’d get you.
Or how slow you’d have to die.
Mikey nodded, then went to get the knife.
CHAPTER 8
BILL SHUT THE ENGINES DOWN.
Mikey felt it in his ears, the swelling of silence after hours of thrumming diesels. His fear ran wild in the sudden stillness.
He tested the blade with his thumb. Good and sharp.
Cal and Ernie stood back when he came out, nervously switching the knife from one hand to the other. He stopped and wiped his palms on his shorts.
The Crystal-C sat peacefully on the water, rocking in the long, easy blue swells that moved soundlessly toward the island.
The ocean whispered.
Mikey could hear it.
Come.
He stepped back, looked up. Turned to see if anyone else had heard or sensed it.
Cal and Ernie had gone back to the table and Ernie was flipping the cards with his thumbs, then rolling them back within his beefy palms. Cal flexed his right hand over and over. “Damn near worked my arm off.”
Neither of them said a word about having lost the blue marlin. But their faces told anyone who cared to look that they were flat-out disgusted.
Mikey had never felt so alone in his life.
Did no one care that he was about to die?
Alison stood at
Under, under.
Bill careened in to the wheel, leaping toward Mikey.
Mikey hammered the throttle, but it was already as far forward as it would go. He glanced back and saw beyond the blur of Bill’s hurtling body, Cal flailing back in the fighting chair.
The rod twanged up. Line flapped loose.
Bill lunged for the wheel, shoving Mikey aside. Mikey’s cheek hit the window as Bill spun the boat to port.
“He’s gone!” Ernie shouted over the roaring engines.
Bill turned back and saw Cal staggering out of the chair, the rod straight up in his hands.
Bill slammed his palm on the wheel and quickly brought the throttle down. Mikey could smell his sweat, feel his heat.
Bill put the boat in neutral and raced aft.
Mikey fell back into the pilot’s seat, the boat rocking and rolling in the wake.
Gone.
The blue marlin was gone.
The line tangled and severed by one of the propellers.
Mikey gasped, his lungs bellowing. He put his hand to his cheek. His heart pounded so hard he could feel it banging in his throat. He felt lost, as if caught in a riptide, helpless. Hopeless.
The marlin was gone. The huge blue marlin.
Ernie glanced in at Mikey.
Mikey looked past him at Bill’s back.
Bill stood for a long while at the transom, looking into the ocean behind the boat, hands on his hips, sun boiling down.
The silence was as deep as the sea.
Cal, Ernie, even Alison, still clinging to the ladder, stood frozen, as if each was waiting for Bill to say something, do something, bring the marlin back.
Alison stepped slowly away from the ladder. She glanced into the cabin at Mikey and half smiled. Did she know it was his fault? He could not meet her eyes.
Bill leaned way out over the transom, looking into the water. He reached down and came up with a piece of line. He tugged on it, but it wouldn’t give. He tossed it back.
“Mikey,” he called without turning.
Mikey blew air from puffed cheeks and went aft, out onto the sunlit deck, passing Cal, passing Ernie, without looking at them.
Bill pointed into the water.
“The line’s caught in the port prop. Get a knife. Go down and cut it loose.”
Mikey’s scalp crawled like eel skin before Bill had even gotten all the words out. Instantly, he pictured the deep-water sharks, their bloody mouths gaping, jagged, triangular razor-sharp teeth mindlessly ripping away the dead whale’s flesh.
And now, his own flesh.
Mikey looked into the water off the back of the boat. Deeper than deep. Unimaginably deep. Fathoms of dark and infinite shark-infested ocean. Another world, a place of blood and guts and ripped flesh, a bad dream where you never knew when or where they’d get you.
Or how slow you’d have to die.
Mikey nodded, then went to get the knife.
CHAPTER 8
BILL SHUT THE ENGINES DOWN.
Mikey felt it in his ears, the swelling of silence after hours of thrumming diesels. His fear ran wild in the sudden stillness.
He tested the blade with his thumb. Good and sharp.
Cal and Ernie stood back when he came out, nervously switching the knife from one hand to the other. He stopped and wiped his palms on his shorts.
The Crystal-C sat peacefully on the water, rocking in the long, easy blue swells that moved soundlessly toward the island.
The ocean whispered.
Mikey could hear it.
Come.
He stepped back, looked up. Turned to see if anyone else had heard or sensed it.
Cal and Ernie had gone back to the table and Ernie was flipping the cards with his thumbs, then rolling them back within his beefy palms. Cal flexed his right hand over and over. “Damn near worked my arm off.”
Neither of them said a word about having lost the blue marlin. But their faces told anyone who cared to look that they were flat-out disgusted.
Mikey had never felt so alone in his life.
Did no one care that he was about to die?
Alison stood at
Similar Books
