deadly-sounding zzzt!
It smashed out again through the aft porthole, ripping away a chunk of the teak trim as it exited. Seconds later Richard scrambled aboard, nearly weeping.
“Jesus, oh, Jesus. Sam, are you okay? Are you—”
Sam straightened. He could feel Courtesan sliding down off the trailer she’d been half perched on, back into the water. But not floating; with all those holes bashed into her, she couldn’t. Instead, she was settling fast, in a swift, decisively straight-down fashion that would put her keel on the bottom in—
Less than a minute. He grabbed Richard’s slick, wet-suit-covered arm, dragged him along behind him as he scrambled out the hatchway opening. “Come on, we’ve got to—”
Because she wasn’t going to sit keel-down, he could feel it in theway she wallowed beneath him. She was sly, this vessel, so she would try to trick them into thinking she was stable, but at the last moment she would …
“Come on! ” Already the deck slanted a good thirty degrees to port. “Go, go, go …”
The mast dipped to forty-five degrees. Sam shoved Richard up over the rail, forcing him to clamber onto the dock. Right behind him, Sam put a foot on the rail, too, meaning to follow. But at that moment, Courtesan gave a mighty shudder, unbalancing him.
Oh, hell , he thought very clearly as his foot slipped from the wet rail. Then both his feet were in the air; past them, he could see a seagull, just one, afloat in the cold, blue sky.
Then the back of his head hit the deck very hard, and he saw no more.
It took a couple of hours to get the lumber sorted out, it being a rule that lumber-delivery guys always stack boards in the opposite order from the one in which they will be needed.
“I should go soon,” Ellie said when we’d finished piling the boards for the railings, the ones for the steps, and at last the narrower planks that the floor would be made of, already cut to the lengths I’d specified. “But …”
I took a wild guess. “But let’s drain the culvert first?”
She nodded. “Otherwise, if we get more rain …”
“Ellie, the storm’s gone by.” Even as I said it, though, I could feel the air cooling, wisps of clouds over the sun hinting at more rain to come. And the water in the pond was very high.…
“But what if something happened,” Ellie persisted, “and you tried calling someone on your cellphone for help, only no one could get here to rescue you? Or—”
By “something,” I knew she must mean an accident with the chain saw. Out here with no electricity—the solar panels didn’t provide enough juice to run power tools—it was a necessity, and she was nervousabout my arm maybe getting cut off, and then no one being able to get out here over the flooded-out road to help me apply a tourniquet.
“Look,” Ellie wheedled, “let’s just drive out to the culvert with a couple of crowbars. Maybe a little encouragement is all it needs.”
In my experience, a beaver-dammed culvert generally needs more than sweet talk, even if it’s teamed with crowbars. An atom bomb might do the trick. Or maybe a missile strike. But Ellie was going to be disappointed if we didn’t at least try, and she had put that lovely bath bag together for me.
So after a little more grumbling, I gave in. Minutes later, following another brief, bumpy ride, the two of us were hopping out of the truck onto the dirt road bisecting the pond, still way too full—nearly overflowing, in fact—on one side, and muck-empty on the other.
“Oh,” Ellie breathed, looking around happily, and I had to agree. It was a really glorious autumn afternoon, the kind Mother Nature doles out every once in a while between her more usual offerings of blizzards and typhoons.
Flame-red leaves fluttered like danger flags on the azure sky. Russet-hued cattails thrust up from grassy thickets, platelike green lily pads overlapped on the water’s surface, and hawks sailed with wings outspread, spying out the
It smashed out again through the aft porthole, ripping away a chunk of the teak trim as it exited. Seconds later Richard scrambled aboard, nearly weeping.
“Jesus, oh, Jesus. Sam, are you okay? Are you—”
Sam straightened. He could feel Courtesan sliding down off the trailer she’d been half perched on, back into the water. But not floating; with all those holes bashed into her, she couldn’t. Instead, she was settling fast, in a swift, decisively straight-down fashion that would put her keel on the bottom in—
Less than a minute. He grabbed Richard’s slick, wet-suit-covered arm, dragged him along behind him as he scrambled out the hatchway opening. “Come on, we’ve got to—”
Because she wasn’t going to sit keel-down, he could feel it in theway she wallowed beneath him. She was sly, this vessel, so she would try to trick them into thinking she was stable, but at the last moment she would …
“Come on! ” Already the deck slanted a good thirty degrees to port. “Go, go, go …”
The mast dipped to forty-five degrees. Sam shoved Richard up over the rail, forcing him to clamber onto the dock. Right behind him, Sam put a foot on the rail, too, meaning to follow. But at that moment, Courtesan gave a mighty shudder, unbalancing him.
Oh, hell , he thought very clearly as his foot slipped from the wet rail. Then both his feet were in the air; past them, he could see a seagull, just one, afloat in the cold, blue sky.
Then the back of his head hit the deck very hard, and he saw no more.
It took a couple of hours to get the lumber sorted out, it being a rule that lumber-delivery guys always stack boards in the opposite order from the one in which they will be needed.
“I should go soon,” Ellie said when we’d finished piling the boards for the railings, the ones for the steps, and at last the narrower planks that the floor would be made of, already cut to the lengths I’d specified. “But …”
I took a wild guess. “But let’s drain the culvert first?”
She nodded. “Otherwise, if we get more rain …”
“Ellie, the storm’s gone by.” Even as I said it, though, I could feel the air cooling, wisps of clouds over the sun hinting at more rain to come. And the water in the pond was very high.…
“But what if something happened,” Ellie persisted, “and you tried calling someone on your cellphone for help, only no one could get here to rescue you? Or—”
By “something,” I knew she must mean an accident with the chain saw. Out here with no electricity—the solar panels didn’t provide enough juice to run power tools—it was a necessity, and she was nervousabout my arm maybe getting cut off, and then no one being able to get out here over the flooded-out road to help me apply a tourniquet.
“Look,” Ellie wheedled, “let’s just drive out to the culvert with a couple of crowbars. Maybe a little encouragement is all it needs.”
In my experience, a beaver-dammed culvert generally needs more than sweet talk, even if it’s teamed with crowbars. An atom bomb might do the trick. Or maybe a missile strike. But Ellie was going to be disappointed if we didn’t at least try, and she had put that lovely bath bag together for me.
So after a little more grumbling, I gave in. Minutes later, following another brief, bumpy ride, the two of us were hopping out of the truck onto the dirt road bisecting the pond, still way too full—nearly overflowing, in fact—on one side, and muck-empty on the other.
“Oh,” Ellie breathed, looking around happily, and I had to agree. It was a really glorious autumn afternoon, the kind Mother Nature doles out every once in a while between her more usual offerings of blizzards and typhoons.
Flame-red leaves fluttered like danger flags on the azure sky. Russet-hued cattails thrust up from grassy thickets, platelike green lily pads overlapped on the water’s surface, and hawks sailed with wings outspread, spying out the
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