Dead in the Water (4 page)

“Not a good idea,” Patrick said, shaking his head. “If those guys are poachers, the last thing you want to do is go poking around.”

“You think they'd be dangerous?” Joey sounded disbelieving.

“If they were poaching abalone and they were caught, yeah. They'd have a lot to lose.” Patrick was answering Joey, but his eyes were fixed on Olivia.

“But—,” she started to protest.

He shook his head. “I mean it, Olivia. You'd be best to just mind your own business and stay out of their way.”

“I can't do that,” Olivia burst out. “If they're doing something that actually threatens the survival of a species—”

“Mollusc,” Blair said, and he and Joey started laughing.

“Drop it, Olivia,” Patrick ordered. “I'd hate to see anything happen to you.”

I could tell by the set of Olivia's jaw that she wasn't going to drop it. It wasn't in that girl's nature to drop anything. There was a long silence, or at least as much of a silence as there could be with the wind howling. Finally Patrick sighed. “Get everything well stowed,” he said. “I think we'd better head out this morning after all.”

To borrow my dad's expression, the wind was strong enough to blow dogs off chains.

Up at the mast, I unzipped the sail cover and unfastened the ties that held it in place; then I pulled it off to uncover the mainsail, still securely tied around the boom. The wind tried to rip the cover from my hands as I bundled it up and stowed it in a cockpit locker. The sky was just getting light, a streak of white staining the dark gray horizon.

Olivia, Joey and Blair huddled under the dodger as we motored out of the anchorage. Patrick was at the helm, his face grim. I stood beside him, waiting to take the helm. He'd told us that I would take the first watch and that Olivia could navigate. Of course, he was watching and supervising, but he'd only step in if we needed him to.

After what I'd read last night, I couldn't believe we were leaving Bull Harbour in this weather. I listened to Patrick telling Joey and Blair to raise the sails, and I wondered what he was thinking. Obviously, he knew these waters a lot better than any of us did. He wouldn't take us out there if he didn't think it was going to be safe. Or would he?

Twenty minutes later, I was hanging onto that wheel as if it were a life ring and concentrating on keeping the pancakes down. Beside me, Olivia's face had taken on a greenish tinge. Patrick and Blair were up at the mast, shortening the mainsail with a second reef and Joey was down below.
His response to seasickness seemed to be to go to sleep.

“This is pretty intense.” Olivia spoke like she was trying to sound casual, but her voice sounded tight and about an octave higher than usual.

The wind was a shrieking monster behind us, and
Jeopardy
was barely in control, surfing down steep waves with an eerie roar as the water rushed under its hull. Every so often, a wave came at us beam on—sideways— rolling us dangerously to one side. I'd been out in all kinds of weather, but I'd never seen waves as steep as these. “It's nuts,” I said flatly. I raised my voice so that she'd be able to hear me over the screaming wind and the crashing water. “And it's only going to get worse. I don't think we're even on the bar yet. We shouldn't be out here.”

“I guess Patrick knows what he's doing,” she shouted back.

“Uh-huh.” I watched our instructor up at the mast, wrestling with the sail. He was shouting orders to Blair, but the wind snatched his words and carried them away.

“I don't know.”

“What?”

“Well, I just wondered about what he said this morning. I got the impression we weren't going anywhere until you brought up the aba-lone thing.” I glanced sideways at her. “He seemed worried.”

She scowled and spat out her words. “That's stupid.”

“Yeah, I know...but what if he suspected you were right about the guys on that cabin cruiser? You know, he was over there. Maybe he saw something odd.” I hesitated, not wanting to sound like I was criticizing him, and then I went on. “I don't think we should have left Bull Harbour today.”

“I guess he's got a bit more experience than you,” Olivia snapped. “He's sailed around Vancouver Island dozens of times.”

I stared at her, taken aback by her tone. “You have a thing for older men or something?” I guessed Patrick would be considered good looking, but Olivia did nothing but argue with him.

“Don't be an idiot, Simon.” Olivia stared down at the chart, avoiding my eyes. “I just think he probably knows what he's doing.” Her cheeks were pink.

I started to laugh. “You're blushing, Olivia. Admit it, you like him.”

“Shut up,” she said coldly. “Just shut up. Go back to whatever little dream world you live in.” She moved away from me and sat down under the dodger, bracing one foot on the wooden edge of the companionway.

“Hey...Olivia...”

She ignored me and stared off at the horizon, her black hair blowing everywhere. Her cheeks were wet, but I couldn't tell whether from spray or tears. Probably spray. She didn't seem the type to cry.

Up at the mast, Blair and Patrick finally managed to tie a second reef in the mainsail. It slowed us down a little, but we were still hurtling along with the wind behind us. The sky was a heavy gray, with banks of darker clouds hanging ominously over the horizon. The wind was blowing the tops off the waves,
and there was so much spray it was hard to see where we were going.

I thought about what I'd read last night. The cruising guide strongly suggested waiting for calm conditions before crossing the Nawetti Bar. If the conditions weren't perfect—which to me sounded like slack tide and no wind at all—it could be one of the most dangerous places around. Boats a hundred feet long have been sunk in these waters, the guide book had said. I wondered if we were there yet, or if things were going to get even worse. “Where are we?” I shouted to Olivia. “How far have we gone?”

She shrugged sullenly. “I don't have a freaking clue. Every time I try to look at the chart, I start feeling sick. It's worse than reading in a car, and I can't do that either.”

We were supposed to be using dead reckoning to navigate—keeping track of our speed and compass course, and using a pencil to mark our position on the chart. I was a bit shaky on all of that. Besides, if you actually took the chart out of its plastic case, it'd get
soaked. “Forget the chart then,” I yelled. “Are you using the
GPS
?”

Olivia held up the little electronic device. “I can't get a fix with the
GPS
. It's not working.”

“What do you mean?” I couldn't help feeling a bit panicky, although I knew Patrick was probably keeping track of everything anyway. I looked over to see him and Blair heading back to the cockpit, bodies crouching low for balance and hands clutching railings and rigging as they made their way along the slippery deck.

“The little screen just keeps saying that it can't get a clear satellite signal.” She looked up at the sky. “Maybe it's too cloudy.”

I snorted. “That's not much use then, is it?” I stared into the spray and wished glasses came with little windshield wipers. “I can't see a thing.”

“Believe me, you don't want to.” Olivia wrapped her arms around herself and shuddered. “Simon, I don't like this.”

“Look, I'm sure...” I was about to say something reassuring about boats floating
like ducks and Patrick knowing what he was doing, but a huge wave rose up beside us, lifting the starboard side of the boat so steeply I actually thought we might get knocked down. I gasped as Patrick grabbed the wheel from me and turned the boat away from the wave.
Jeopardy
's stern lifted, and we leveled out slightly; then the bow dropped as we surfed crazily with the breaking wave. I took the wheel back, my hands shaking and my heart pounding. That had been way too close.

“Woo-hoo!” Blair shouted. He sat down beside Olivia. “This is awesome.”

I guess being totally clueless has its advantages. Blair didn't seem to have any idea that these weren't ideal sailing conditions. Nor, I noted jealously, did he seem to be getting sick. “Here you go, cowboy,” I told him. “You take the helm.” Then I leaned over the port-side rail, which was almost buried in the waves anyway, and threw up.

Patrick leaned close and spoke softly in my ear as I stood back up. “Well, Spacey, at least you remembered to heave your guts
downwind. Nothing worse than having it fly back at you.” He laughed and wiped his dripping nose with the back of his hand.

I didn't say anything. I was starting to think our instructor was as crazy as the crew.

He stepped back. “Look,” he said loudly, looking around to make sure we were all listening. “That wave back there...you can't take those on the beam. You see a really big wave coming, you gotta steer. A wave like that can knock a boat right down on its side and do some real damage.”

“Maybe we should turn back,” Olivia said.

I agreed with her, but I didn't say anything. I wanted to do well in this course, and I didn't want Patrick to think I was scared of heavy-weather sailing. If I was going to be a long-distance sailor, I'd be out at sea for weeks at a time. I wouldn't get to choose my weather.

Patrick hesitated. He looked at the jagged line of the horizon and blew out a long breath. Then he shook his head. “We'll keep going.”

I didn't know time could move so slowly. Every wave was a lifetime, every pause between waves just long enough to catch your breath and brace yourself for the next one.

There was no thinking, no talking, nothing but noise and water and wind.

It was a roller-coaster ride and just like on a roller coaster, the worst part was that moment when you hung suspended at the peak, waiting for the inevitable plummeting rush down the other side. The only difference
was that this ride went on and on, and it had stopped being fun a long time ago. I tried to imagine that I was alone at sea, sailing my boat through a tropical storm, days from land. It didn't help.

When I glanced at my watch, only five minutes had passed since we came close to being knocked down. After that happened, Patrick insisted that we all strap ourselves into safety harnesses. They reminded me of those chest harnesses people sometimes put on dogs or toddlers. They fit snugly over our life jackets and rain gear and had six-foot leashes attached to them. The leashes clipped on to thick stainless-steel bolts in the cockpit, the idea being that whatever happened, no one could be swept off the boat. I remembered the man-overboard drill with a shudder. In these conditions, if someone went over, getting them back on the boat would be impossible. If someone went over, they were as good as dead. I tried not to think about it and tightened my safety harness.

Patrick was at the helm. Olivia and I were taking turns holding each other's ankles while
the other one heaved over the side of the boat. Blair was still hollering like a cowboy, and Joey hadn't appeared from down below. It occurred to me that someone should probably check on him.

“Blair!” I yelled. “Is Joey all right?”

“I'll go see.” He clambered awkwardly down the companionway, swearing as his leash caught him short and pausing to unclip it before descending into the cabin.

Olivia looked at me miserably. “This is all my fault,” she said.

“What are you talking about?” The boat lurched down another watery cliff, and we both braced our feet against the opposite side of the cockpit and hung on.

“What you said before—you were right.”

I could feel my eyebrows shooting up my forehead. I leaned closer to her so I wouldn't have to shout over the wind. Standing behind the big wheel, Patrick was only a few feet away. “About you having a crush on Patrick?”

“No, dope. About his judgement being off.” She looked at me anxiously. “He didn't want us to hang around Bull Harbour,
because he didn't trust me not to snoop around that boat.”

“Well...” I couldn't help thinking that hanging around with possible poachers sounded like a picnic compared with being out here.

“He decided it was safer to leave. And now...” She looked out at the endless stretch of heaving gray water, and her voice got so quiet I could hardly hear it over the wind. “Now we're out here, and it's my fault.”

“That's stupid,” I said. “Patrick is the captain. It's his job to decide what weather conditions are safe. If it's anyone's fault, it's his.”

She shook her head. “I hate sailing.”

Blair's head poked up from down below. He hung onto both sides of the companionway and, with a jerk of his chin, motioned for us to come closer. “Joey won't get up,” he said. “He keeps saying he needs to sleep.”

“You think he's okay?” I asked.

“I think he took too much Gravol.”

“Too much? Like, an overdose?” That was all we needed.

“Nah. Like two or three. The stuff just knocks him out.”

Olivia looked worried. “I think we should tell Patrick.”

“He's just a lazy bugger,” Blair said.

I swallowed and tasted vomit. Seasickness sucked. “Got any more of that Gravol?” I asked.

Blair nodded and disappeared. A minute later, he handed up two tablets. I swallowed them dry and almost immediately threw them back up again.

I looked up to see Patrick watching. With one hand on the wheel, a grin on his suntanned face and his shoulders broad in his foul-weather jacket, he looked just how I wanted to look. Instead, I was hunched over miserably, wiping my mouth and wishing I was anywhere else.

He cocked his head to one side and winked at me. “Hang in there, Simon. It'll get better. You know, some of the best sailors get seasick.”

I nodded. “Okay.”