deck like rainwater.
“He does have it,” Rain hissed.
“What?!”
She started to head for the boat. “I’ll show you.”
But Charlie grabbed her arm. “No! This has gone too far!”
Rain tried to remain calm, but it wasn’t easy. The Eight had materialized around them forty seconds earlier. The ghosts stood in a circle, each consumed with pointing out to sea. Rain stepped back and put her hand against Pete Grier’s. His plaintive voice sounded in her mind. Complete the mission … Send us home! Please! Please!
She said, “Charlie, they’re here, and they need my help. And I can’t help them if you don’t help me.”
Charlie watched Rain’s eyes dart back and forth, saw her maintain her resolve (and maybe her sanity) through sheer force of will. He shook his head. “I said it’s gone too far.” He paused for effect. “Fortunately, too far is where I like to go.”
She hugged him with enough force to expel air from his lungs. Before he had recovered (physically or emotionally), she yanked him through the ghosts and toward the boat.
Below deck on the Bootstrap, Callahan sat at a table, reviewing a chart of the Keys. The duffel sat on the floor at his feet. He circled a rendezvous point at sea then abruptly pushed back from the table and stood.
Simultaneously, Rain and Charlie were sneaking aboard the cruiser. They heard Callahan opening the hatch and quickly ducked down to hide behind the raised cabin. Callahan exited and let the hatch slam shut. He moved to the foredeck. The kids rounded the other way as Rain led Charlie toward the closed hatch. Charlie was borderline hyperventilating. Rain was barely breathing at all. She moved to the hatch and opened it with just the tiniest creak of a hinge. The sound seemed deafening, and they froze, waiting for Callahan’s attack. Nothing happened. Rain’s eyes met Charlie’s. He mentally begged her to turn back. She instinctively knew this and responded—by descending below deck. Charlie quickly grabbed ahold of the hatch, followed his friend and gently closed it behind them.
Charlie stepped down into the main cabin. Rain stood there, surveying the scene, and Charlie scanned the room as well. One overhead light illuminated the small space, which was jam-packed with charts, shovels, scuba gear, even a harpoon gun. An open closet, stuffed with ropes, pitons and a metal detector, completed the picture. Charlie whispered, “What’s this guy planning? The search for Atlantis?”
“The duffel? Where’s the duffel?”
Above deck, Callahan was releasing the lines.
Below, Rain spotted his bag and rushed toward it. Charlie remained rooted to his spot. “What do you think’s in there?” he asked, nervously looking over his shoulder at the closed hatch.
“’Bastian’s armband.” With one arm she was reaching into the bag, searching, searching.
Charlie turned back to her and stared at the gold armband on her other arm. “Uh, Rain, aren’t you wearing—”
“Got it!”
Victorious, she pulled her right arm free of the duffel and held aloft a gold band identical to the one on her left. Her glory was short-lived. The boat’s engine roared to life. Victory quickly turned to panic. “I think we better get out of here.”
And Charlie: “Now there’s an idea.” As one, they rushed to look out a porthole. The dock was already sliding away. Within seconds, the Bootstrap had cleared its berth and was pulling out to sea. “A little late, maybe.”
From the shore, Maq and I watched as the cruiser was shortly swallowed up by the rain and fog. Thunder rumbled in the distance. We shared a single thought: Finally .
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
’BASTIAN
The Bootstrap motored out beyond the harbor and the bay and proceeded northeast through the rain and choppy seas. At the helm, Callahan wore his customary contemptuous scowl, but he had no idea that two panicked teenagers were below deck, staring out a porthole at the fog-laden night. They turned toward each other.
“He does have it,” Rain hissed.
“What?!”
She started to head for the boat. “I’ll show you.”
But Charlie grabbed her arm. “No! This has gone too far!”
Rain tried to remain calm, but it wasn’t easy. The Eight had materialized around them forty seconds earlier. The ghosts stood in a circle, each consumed with pointing out to sea. Rain stepped back and put her hand against Pete Grier’s. His plaintive voice sounded in her mind. Complete the mission … Send us home! Please! Please!
She said, “Charlie, they’re here, and they need my help. And I can’t help them if you don’t help me.”
Charlie watched Rain’s eyes dart back and forth, saw her maintain her resolve (and maybe her sanity) through sheer force of will. He shook his head. “I said it’s gone too far.” He paused for effect. “Fortunately, too far is where I like to go.”
She hugged him with enough force to expel air from his lungs. Before he had recovered (physically or emotionally), she yanked him through the ghosts and toward the boat.
Below deck on the Bootstrap, Callahan sat at a table, reviewing a chart of the Keys. The duffel sat on the floor at his feet. He circled a rendezvous point at sea then abruptly pushed back from the table and stood.
Simultaneously, Rain and Charlie were sneaking aboard the cruiser. They heard Callahan opening the hatch and quickly ducked down to hide behind the raised cabin. Callahan exited and let the hatch slam shut. He moved to the foredeck. The kids rounded the other way as Rain led Charlie toward the closed hatch. Charlie was borderline hyperventilating. Rain was barely breathing at all. She moved to the hatch and opened it with just the tiniest creak of a hinge. The sound seemed deafening, and they froze, waiting for Callahan’s attack. Nothing happened. Rain’s eyes met Charlie’s. He mentally begged her to turn back. She instinctively knew this and responded—by descending below deck. Charlie quickly grabbed ahold of the hatch, followed his friend and gently closed it behind them.
Charlie stepped down into the main cabin. Rain stood there, surveying the scene, and Charlie scanned the room as well. One overhead light illuminated the small space, which was jam-packed with charts, shovels, scuba gear, even a harpoon gun. An open closet, stuffed with ropes, pitons and a metal detector, completed the picture. Charlie whispered, “What’s this guy planning? The search for Atlantis?”
“The duffel? Where’s the duffel?”
Above deck, Callahan was releasing the lines.
Below, Rain spotted his bag and rushed toward it. Charlie remained rooted to his spot. “What do you think’s in there?” he asked, nervously looking over his shoulder at the closed hatch.
“’Bastian’s armband.” With one arm she was reaching into the bag, searching, searching.
Charlie turned back to her and stared at the gold armband on her other arm. “Uh, Rain, aren’t you wearing—”
“Got it!”
Victorious, she pulled her right arm free of the duffel and held aloft a gold band identical to the one on her left. Her glory was short-lived. The boat’s engine roared to life. Victory quickly turned to panic. “I think we better get out of here.”
And Charlie: “Now there’s an idea.” As one, they rushed to look out a porthole. The dock was already sliding away. Within seconds, the Bootstrap had cleared its berth and was pulling out to sea. “A little late, maybe.”
From the shore, Maq and I watched as the cruiser was shortly swallowed up by the rain and fog. Thunder rumbled in the distance. We shared a single thought: Finally .
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
’BASTIAN
The Bootstrap motored out beyond the harbor and the bay and proceeded northeast through the rain and choppy seas. At the helm, Callahan wore his customary contemptuous scowl, but he had no idea that two panicked teenagers were below deck, staring out a porthole at the fog-laden night. They turned toward each other.
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