P. Alderman - A Killing Tide

There was no response.

"Michael?" She felt for his pulse. It was too rapid, and his breathing was too shallow.

#

"Kasmira B, come in. Kasmira B, can you read?" Bjorn's voice crackled through the radio.

Kaz took the stairs two at a time, grabbing the radio mike off the deck. She twisted the ripped wires together, praying that the radio would work, then flipped the switch. "This is the Kasmira B. Bjorn, Michael Chapman is on board, badly injured." She gave him their position. "Do you copy?"

"Kasmira B, do you read? We have you in sight. State your condition."

Kaz stared at the mike, flipped the switch again, retransmitting.

"Kasmira B, do you copy?"

She threw down the mike in frustration. Searching the churning waters, she couldn't see anything. Climbing to the flying bridge, she searched again.

Nothing.

Jumping back down to deck level, she threw open the stern seat cover and searched for a flare. Breaking it apart, she held it up as high as she could for a few moments, then tossed it into the waters off the stern. Hopefully, Bjorn would see it.

She returned to the wheelhouse and waited. After an agonizingly long minute, the radio crackled to life.

"Kasmira B, we have the flare in sight and have transmitted your position to the Coast Guard. They are currently just east of Sand Island. Kaz, you have to cross the river bar—they can't get to you where you are. If you have navigational capabilities, set off a second flare to confirm."

After complying, she waited for the next response. "Confirmed, Kasmira B. We will follow you through the bar. Over and out."

Quickly, she assessed the conditions. The storm surge was still building, the winds now howling through the rigging. She pushed the throttle bar forward and heard the trawler's engines roar to life.

For a split second, she thought about that night fifteen years ago. Then she shoved the memories down deep and forgot about them. Failure wasn't an option. Losing Michael wasn't an option.

Taking a deep breath, she climbed up to the flying bridge where her visibility—what was left of it—would be best. Her feet planted wide, her body braced against the wild pitching of the trawler, she turned the trawler into the oncoming breakers.

The boat labored up the steep crest of a wave and then slid sickeningly down, bottoming out with a bone-jarring thud in the next trough. The trawler's timbers creaked, and for just one second, Kaz lost her nerve.

She couldn't do it, she didn't have the skills. Maybe she was better off turning around, heading back out to sea. Bjorn could notify the Coast Guard; maybe they could get a helicopter up in this…

Gary's voice was suddenly there with her. You've got to know what you're doing to get lucky on the river bar, Sis. First thing, get your bearings. Then steer based on your instinct, on the feel of the water beneath you.

She took several deep, calming breaths. Trembling hard, she took a reading off the whistle buoy at the mouth of the river, then adjusted her course.

Cold rain fell in sheets, obscuring the channel markers, the faint outlines of land and blurry halos of lights on shore disappearing altogether.

Hold her steady, Kaz. Don't panic. Wait for the next lull in the storm to get your bearings again, then correct your position.

Number 4 Buoy bobbed past, off to starboard, its beacon so pale that she almost missed it. The Kasmira B shuddered as the next wave hit, her rigging clanking against the boom. As the trawler pitched hard to starboard, she gave a second's thought to Michael down below, praying that her makeshift setup was keeping him strapped in.

"Kasmira B. You're looking good." Bjorn's voice came to her faintly. "Adjust one degree to starboard. Kaz, you're gonna make it. Hang in there." Tears streamed down her face, mixing with the rain.

As she neared Clatsop Spit, huge breakers slammed into the trawler, their giant, white-foamed crests obscuring the buoys. She wrenched the wheel to the right with all her strength, forcing the trawler to sluggishly change course again. A spate of icy sleet hit her numbed face like hot needles.

The roar of the surf was so loud now that she could barely hear her own thoughts. The radio crackled again, and Bjorn said something, but it was lost on the wind.

She eased her way toward the Lower Desdemona Shoal, where shifting sands made safe passage a game of Russian roulette. The trawler's diesel engine coughed, and Kaz froze, terror sliding sickeningly along her nerve endings. If she lost power...

The engine coughed again, then resumed its ponderous chugging. She steered for the next buoy.

Another wave crashed over the trawler, slapping her down, washing her halfway over the railing of the bridge. She clung to the wheel as it spun wildly under her weight, dragging herself back to her feet. Struggling against her waning strength, she willed the trawler back on course.

She caught a glimpse of another buoy, enough to adjust her course again, just before fog enveloped the boat. Concentrating on keeping her course and speed even, she released another trembling breath when the next buoy loomed out of the murky darkness in front of her, right where it was supposed to be.

You're almost there, Sis. Home free.

Instinct caused her to glance to stern. A sneaker wave slid with deadly intent under the trawler, tilting the stern up high, pointing the trawler straight down.

Kaz swallowed the scream at the back of her throat, waited three seconds for the bow to start back up, counting them off inside her head, then yanked the throttle full open. The Kasmira B's engine growled under the strain, fighting the river current. She felt the full power of the wave catch the boat and heard the roar of the water under the hull as the boat surged forward, surfing the flood. Moments later, the waters smoothed out.

She was across the bar. Braced against the console, she stood with shoulders slumped and head down, gulping air.

Out of the darkness the running lights of a large ship suddenly blinded her, washing bright light across the trawler's decking. "Kasmira B, this is the United States Coast Guard. Prepare to be boarded."

~~~~

Chapter 29

Kaz and Lucy backed up the stairs from the engine room, ahead of the two medics carrying the stretcher with Michael on it. Lucy cursed, her feet slipping on the treads made treacherous by the rocking of the trawler and the spilled gasoline.

Kaz hadn't wanted to let go of Michael's hand, but there wasn't enough room in the galley for two EMTs, the stretcher, and her. She'd had to stand off to the side and watch, terrified, while they pushed plasma into Michael's veins in an attempt to stabilize him.

They'd finally managed to raise his blood pressure and were now preparing him to be airlifted to the hospital. The Coast Guard helicopter hovered overhead, its deafening rotors flattening the waves.

"Creative use of duct tape," Lucy shouted as they moved into the wheelhouse to let the men by. "I'll bet you didn't learn that in that fancy MBA program down in California, did you?"

Kaz tried to smile, but tears leaked out, and suddenly, she was crying again. She'd been crying off and on for the last half hour.

Lucy put both arms around her and held her tight. "He's going to be all right, you know," she said. "You saved his sorry hide by elevating his leg." Then she straightened abruptly, sniffing Kaz and then her own clothes. "Ewww. Do you have gasoline all over you?"

Kaz nodded, wiping the tears off her cheeks with the palms of her hands. "Sykes poured it everywhere, and I had to roll through it to get to the cleaver that I used to cut myself free."