Nightmare Country by Marlys Millhiser Page B

‘help’ or ‘here.’”
    â€œSo does a gull, if that’s what you want it to sound like. Coulda been an echo of my voice.”
    They called, fiddled with the engine. There were no boats on the horizon; the call must be from a survivor. Martha knelt on the bench seat and gripped the gunwales, staring in the direction of the cries, her body unnaturally stiff but shuddering in spasms paced at about one every thirty seconds.
    Thad was surprised there wasn’t more evidence of shock. Perhaps there was, and he was too far gone to recognize it. Those not trying to help with the engine sat drooping, staring inward, leaving an outward impression of blankness. Then one would shift or start at Harry’s repeated calls and remember to blink strained eyes. The movement would startle the next man into doing the same, and then the next.
    Everyone perked up when the engine coughed to life, began to strain with Aulalio’s effort to budge a stuck rudder, literally swayed with relief when it moved. But then no one could agree on the direction from which the cries had come. Aulalio headed them in the direction of Martha’s pointed finger and let the men argue. They could no longer hear the calls of the probable survivor over the engine, which seemed to be missing on about every other cylinder, but soon saw something bobbing in the water to the port side and eventually made out a man clinging to the lid of an ice chest.
    It was the man named Abrams.
    Martha’s body relaxed, and a certain expression in her eyes died.
    The wooden ladders, used by the divers to get back on board, had been lost at sea, and Abrams was too injured to help himself up on the end of a life preserver. So two men jumped in the water and helped him on board with a life preserver ringing his chest and another his legs. He groaned only once. Thad ran his hands gently down Abrams’ torso.
    â€œGot a drink of water, Doc?”
    â€œSorry, we don’t have anything.”
    â€œGreat,” Abrams whispered, and passed out.
    Thad calculated that almost every rib in the man’s body was broken. He bent close to Aulalio’s ear. “We’ve got some serious injuries here.” He saw broken toes and fingers, ribs, at least one broken arm, and some head cuts he didn’t like. “You’ve got to get us back fast.”
    â€œCan’t.” Aulalio burst into a mixture of Spanish and creole, from which Thad thought he extracted the information that the guide didn’t know the way.
    â€œBut how did you know how to get us here?” Now Thad remembered that neither Paz had referred to chart or compass. There was no land in sight from which to sight a course. No stars. These men went out to sea almost every day during the high tourist season and always came back.
    Aulalio shouted something to his brother, and Eliseo scanned the horizon, making a complete circle, shielded his eyes to take direction from the sun. He looked confused, shrugged, and then raised a tentative finger. Aulalio shrugged an answer and headed the boat that way. The Pazes were scraped and bumped and bruised too. And uneasy.
    â€œHow do you know how to get around on the open ocean without something to guide you?”
    â€œI jus’ know. Metnál’s big but very shallow some places. I can see coral or wrecks, and I know—but now I’m switched around.”
    Not that the guide’s confusion mattered greatly, because the engine stalled, sputtered, spit, and quit. Eliseo was unable to restart it.
    Carl Abrams died as they watched. He opened his eyes with a surprised expression and then just stayed that way.
    Someone suggested they try to resuscitate him. Thad vetoed the plan. “He’s all broken up inside. Must be lots of internal bleeding.”
    â€œThe rest of us’ll probably die too,” Martha said indifferently.
    â€œEliseo, just what was that thing that came up out of the water?” Don