Rachelle McCalla - Survival Instinct

They were herded into the Helene ’s small cabin and left alone. Abby could hear shouting on the outside. She figured Captain Sal was still trying to find Tracie.

Abby realized Marilyn had never told them what had happened with her while they’d been separated. She wondered what other helpful tidbits the woman might have picked up. “How many men are there? Do you have any idea?”

“There must be close to a dozen, that I’ve seen,” Marilyn explained. “And they appear to be busy, too. I don’t know what it’s all about, but I’d guess it’s some sort of smuggling ring.”

The shouting outside grew louder.

“She’s not?” Captain Sal sounded furious.

Another voice broke in. “Take them out! And hurry! If we’re compromised-” The man continued speaking, but Abby could no longer make out what he was saying. The engine started up.

“We’re headed out to sea,” Marilyn observed.

Abby had figured as much. “What do we do?”

“I can’t tell for sure how many men are on the boat-” Scott sat facing the cabin door, with the best vantage point from which to see the deck “-but I think it’s just us and Sal.”

“We can take him!” Marilyn declared optimistically.

“Mother, he’s got a gun. It’s too dangerous.”

“But if he plans on using it on us anyway-”

“We need to get moving,” Abby insisted, feeling a growing sense of fear and urgency. “We’ve got to act while we still can.”

“Hold on.” Scott strained his head to one side. “I can’t see Captain Sal anymore.”

“Can you see anyone else?” Marilyn asked.

“I don’t see any movement out there.”

“Let’s get going!” Abby pleaded, starting to rise. She caught a whiff of a smell she didn’t like. “Do you smell gasoline? And smoke?”

“I smell a gas fire,” Marilyn fairly screamed. “If that hits the gas tank, we’ll blow.” She ripped her arms free of her bounds.

Abby and Scott followed suit, tugging off their slipknots, rushing to the door of the cabin, and throwing their weight against it. It didn’t budge. Scott pressed his face to the window and nudged aside the small curtain. “He’s got a chair in front of it.”

“Windows?” Marilyn asked.

Abby looked at the slender glass slits that served as windows for the small cabin. There was no way any of them would fit through.

But Scott had already leaped into action. He wrenched at the tabletop, which proved to be bolted to the floor. Abby scrambled underneath and tried to wiggle the bolts with her fingers.

“Rusted.” She shook her head. “It won’t budge.” She crawled out from under the table in time to see Marilyn pulling open cupboards.

“Stand back!” Marilyn screamed, swinging an aluminum water pitcher at the windowpane in the door. It shattered, and she used the pitcher to scrape at the sides, hastily removing most of the glass shards.

Scott was right behind her. He reached through the opening, shoved the chair out of the way, and rammed the door open. The three of them spilled out onto the deck.

Smoke filled the air, and quickly filled their lungs. The boat was barreling into the open sea with no one at the wheel.

“We’ve got to jump overboard!” Scott shouted. He wrenched off the top of his wetsuit and shoved it over his mother’s head.

Abby quickly realized what he was doing. The two of them would last longer wearing their wet suits-his mother had no such protection against the cold water. Abby grabbed the lone round life preserver that hung by the cabin door. She thrust it into Marilyn’s hands just as Scott screamed, “Hurry! Jump!”

He pulled his mother over the edge of the boat in his arms. Abby scrambled up after them, looking to see where they’d landed so she wouldn’t jump on top of them. She took a deep breath of the smoke-filled air.

As she leaped free of the boat, she heard the mighty explosion, and felt the searing heat of the flames. Then everything went dark.

Scott began swimming away from the Helene the moment he hit the water. Though he knew how frigid the waters of Lake Superior would feel, the shock of the cold water hitting his body still stunned him, even with the added insulation of his hydroskin pants. The way his mother shrieked and clung to him, he knew the icy waters had shocked her as well.

He felt the wave of heat as the Helene blew, and immediately looked back for some sign of Abby. She’d been right behind him, but he’d never heard her hit the water. He paddled with his right arm as he held his mother tight to him with his left and angled his body back until he could see the flaming wreckage of the Helene. For a moment, there was only white smoke and dark water and bright orange flames. Then he spotted Abby’s still form, floating facedown far too close to the flaming wreckage.

His mother must have seen her as well. “Help Abby,” she insisted through chattering teeth. She shoved the life preserver toward him.

Scott shoved it back. “Keep it. Try to get as much of your body as possible up out of the water. I can swim faster without.” Before his mother could protest, he let go of her and kicked away toward Abby. The chill of the water against the bare skin of his arms was almost more than he could stand, but he forced himself to move forward as quickly as he could. Abby’s life depended on it, and he could not, would not let Abby die.

The sound of the chopper’s pounding blades beat against the inside of Abby’s skull. She felt heavy and so very cold. There were arms around her, strong arms holding her tight, pulling her away from the cold, away from the tug of gravity that strained to drag her into the abyss.

“Abby, sweetheart, stay with me.” The voice sounded familiar, like Scott’s voice. She had to be dreaming. Had they only just wrecked their canoe off the shore of Rocky Island? Had everything else been a dream?

Then there were more hands on her, tugging her, moving her; and voices talking, asking questions, seeking a response. She didn’t know the answers, didn’t know how to answer, didn’t know anything but the deep, bone-numbing cold, and the darkness that pulled her back.

The lights were too bright. When Abby tried to open her eyes, the beams of light hit her like spears, and she pinched her eyes shut again. The darkness called to her, wrapping its arms around her. She remembered the darkness, flew to it like an old friend, but it was different now. It wasn’t a cold darkness. It was warm.

She became aware of her surroundings slowly. She was in the hospital in Duluth. They’d brought her there by helicopter-by Coast Guard helicopter. The nurses had to explain the story to her several times before it finally registered. Abby tried to ask them about Scott, but no one knew anything about him.

The news sank in slowly. It was over. Marilyn had been rescued. Scott didn’t need her anymore. She wondered if she’d ever see him again. But why would she? She’d only ever be the girl whose ex-fiancé had shot his stepdad. At best, she was a girl he’d known years ago at school. They had nothing to bind them together now-nothing but Devil’s Island. And she was never going to go back there.

Her family arrived a few hours later, her mother and father and younger sister, all of them appalled to hear what had happened, and confused when Abby tried to explain the details. She wondered if she was having trouble keeping the story straight, or if there were too many details she hadn’t sorted through yet.

Tracie visited that evening. “You gave us all quite a scare,” she said by way of greeting as she handed over the purse Abby had left on the Coast Guard boat.

Abby smiled broadly at the sight of Tracie’s familiar face, and was glad she’d finally shooed her family off to get her some food. At least she and Tracie could talk alone.