here!”
The dolphin gathered strength. With an energetic beat of her tail, she swam on. He watched her leave and turned to look for the skiff. The boat wasn’t there. He spun toward the ship. His eyes went wide with dread. The skiff floated beside the ship and the net was being drawn aboard.
He screamed at the clipper, “No!”
On the aft deck, Rocha heard Billy’s frantic cry. He turned to see the captain on the bridge wing watching Billy. Santos moved quickly to intercept Rocha and grabbed the boatman. “Stay out of it, niño ….”
In the water Billy sprinted after the trailing edge of the net that retreated from his grasp. He swam harder and faster, faster than when he had won the lifeguard one-mile rough water swim two years ago. But he wasn’t fast enough to seize the corkline.
He gave up and screamed at the departing ship, “Don’t leave me!”
The crew turned their backs on him and returned to work. Only Rocha remained at the railing, staring at him with a haunted expression of resignation.
Billy’s chest burned from exertion and he was forced to tread water. As the ship sailed off he saw Gandara and Santos move toward the midship railing. A splash of bright color caught his attention. The mate was carrying his surfboard, and he saw Santos throw it far over the side. A moment later he hurled Billy’s pack and getaway bag into the sea, removing the last evidence of his existence. Billy realized that by disposing of him and his things, Gandara was cleansing the ship of the guilt he had brought aboard.
Exhausted, and badly frightened, Billy watched the clipper sail away. There was nothing he could do except swim for the surfboard and climb on. As Lucky Dragon receded from view, the last of the dolphins caught in the net were tossed overboard leaving a bloody trail of their dead and broken bodies in the clipper’s wake.
With tears of fear, rage, and frustration streaming down his face, Billy sat up straight and bellowed his outrage, “I’ll sink you, Gandara, I swear to God I will!”
Emotionally drained and physically exhausted, Billy turned away from the ship and looked about. There was nothing to break the empty line of horizon.
CHAPTER NINE
T ears and anger gave way to thoughts of his impending death. After that, the desire to survive overcame his sense of hopelessness.
Billy thought, How far am I from land? We were a day and a half out of Samoa, maybe two hundred miles from the coast. Which way? Yeah, it has to be southwest. With water and food I could paddle twenty-five miles a day. That’s eight days of paddling. I can catch fish, maybe. But without water, I’m dead.
He took two strokes and sent the surfboard gliding ahead to retrieve his pack and getaway bag. He cursed Gandara and Santos for giving him the means to prolong his agony. And it’s going be agony, he thought. Am I kidding myself? I might as well end it now. How? Dive down a hundred feet and suck in a gallon of seawater? Hang myself with the surf leash?
Billy set his two packs on the deck of his surfboard and opened the larger one. He began tossing aside things he wouldn’t need. Into the water went Levi’s, T-shirts, shorts, jogging shoes, his leather shaving kit. He’d keep the nylon wind shirt surfers wore to help prevent paddling rash. Good-bye to all the rest. His earthly possessions drifted away and sank. He opened the getaway bag and began an inventory.
Here were treasures that would mean life or death, and he laid them on the surfboard’s deck. He picked up the compass and took a sight. The needle quivered and settled on its northerly magnetic point. He turned the bezel and hoped he had the right direction to Samoa. The fishhooks, line, and lures were critical, as were the sunscreen and nylon wind shirt. The twenty-foot length of stout nylon line would come in handy. He wiped a drop of water off his stainless-steel signal mirror and polished it. The mirror’s glint reflecting in the eyes of a sleepy lookout
The dolphin gathered strength. With an energetic beat of her tail, she swam on. He watched her leave and turned to look for the skiff. The boat wasn’t there. He spun toward the ship. His eyes went wide with dread. The skiff floated beside the ship and the net was being drawn aboard.
He screamed at the clipper, “No!”
On the aft deck, Rocha heard Billy’s frantic cry. He turned to see the captain on the bridge wing watching Billy. Santos moved quickly to intercept Rocha and grabbed the boatman. “Stay out of it, niño ….”
In the water Billy sprinted after the trailing edge of the net that retreated from his grasp. He swam harder and faster, faster than when he had won the lifeguard one-mile rough water swim two years ago. But he wasn’t fast enough to seize the corkline.
He gave up and screamed at the departing ship, “Don’t leave me!”
The crew turned their backs on him and returned to work. Only Rocha remained at the railing, staring at him with a haunted expression of resignation.
Billy’s chest burned from exertion and he was forced to tread water. As the ship sailed off he saw Gandara and Santos move toward the midship railing. A splash of bright color caught his attention. The mate was carrying his surfboard, and he saw Santos throw it far over the side. A moment later he hurled Billy’s pack and getaway bag into the sea, removing the last evidence of his existence. Billy realized that by disposing of him and his things, Gandara was cleansing the ship of the guilt he had brought aboard.
Exhausted, and badly frightened, Billy watched the clipper sail away. There was nothing he could do except swim for the surfboard and climb on. As Lucky Dragon receded from view, the last of the dolphins caught in the net were tossed overboard leaving a bloody trail of their dead and broken bodies in the clipper’s wake.
With tears of fear, rage, and frustration streaming down his face, Billy sat up straight and bellowed his outrage, “I’ll sink you, Gandara, I swear to God I will!”
Emotionally drained and physically exhausted, Billy turned away from the ship and looked about. There was nothing to break the empty line of horizon.
CHAPTER NINE
T ears and anger gave way to thoughts of his impending death. After that, the desire to survive overcame his sense of hopelessness.
Billy thought, How far am I from land? We were a day and a half out of Samoa, maybe two hundred miles from the coast. Which way? Yeah, it has to be southwest. With water and food I could paddle twenty-five miles a day. That’s eight days of paddling. I can catch fish, maybe. But without water, I’m dead.
He took two strokes and sent the surfboard gliding ahead to retrieve his pack and getaway bag. He cursed Gandara and Santos for giving him the means to prolong his agony. And it’s going be agony, he thought. Am I kidding myself? I might as well end it now. How? Dive down a hundred feet and suck in a gallon of seawater? Hang myself with the surf leash?
Billy set his two packs on the deck of his surfboard and opened the larger one. He began tossing aside things he wouldn’t need. Into the water went Levi’s, T-shirts, shorts, jogging shoes, his leather shaving kit. He’d keep the nylon wind shirt surfers wore to help prevent paddling rash. Good-bye to all the rest. His earthly possessions drifted away and sank. He opened the getaway bag and began an inventory.
Here were treasures that would mean life or death, and he laid them on the surfboard’s deck. He picked up the compass and took a sight. The needle quivered and settled on its northerly magnetic point. He turned the bezel and hoped he had the right direction to Samoa. The fishhooks, line, and lures were critical, as were the sunscreen and nylon wind shirt. The twenty-foot length of stout nylon line would come in handy. He wiped a drop of water off his stainless-steel signal mirror and polished it. The mirror’s glint reflecting in the eyes of a sleepy lookout
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