that had broken loose at the stern. The winds caught the boat, swinging it out first into the lake then back and—CRASH!—against the jetty. By the time we’d reached the thing the jetty’s planks had started to pop off the timber frame wiThevery knock of the boat.
“Hurry up, you guys!” the Gerletz girl yelled through the storm. “We’re going to lose this one if we don’t work fast.”
“Someone’s all ready up there,” Ben shouted.
“See who it is.”
I looked at the figure that wrestled with a rope, trying to tie it to the iron ring set in the jetty.
“It’s Charlie Finch,” one of the men said, using his hand to shield his eyes from the stinging rain. “He’s got the front line tied.”
Gerletz moved up the plank. “We need to get the aft line secure, otherwise she’s going to smash the jetty to pieces.” The boat underlined what she’d just said by swinging back into the jetty again wiThenough force to make the whole thing shudder. Ahead another plank popped off the frame. “It’s coming apart at the seams.”
We were halfway along the jetty, all set to help the old cop tie down the boat, when he saw us. Then he did a weird thing.
He waved us back. “It’s OK,” he shouted. “I can handle it.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Finch,” Ben called. “We’ll give you a hand.”
“I’m fine!”
But he didn’t look fine. “I can handle it,” he repeated. “Go see to the other boats.”
“They’re all tied down,” Gerletz said. “This is the last one.”
The last one. But it was the big daddy of them all. This was a multimillionaire’s yacht with what must have been half a dozen cabins and a couple of bathrooms. In the near darkness the thing looked like a big, angry bear that swung from side to side to butt the jetty with those crashing blows.
“Go back,” Finch bellowed. “I’ll have it tied in a minute.”
“You’ll never manage it by yourself.” Gerletz shook her head in disbelief. “I’ll climb onto the boat and throw another line.”
“This is good enough.” The ex-cop looked furious that we were trying to help him. His eyes blazed at us through the spray.
“The line’s not strong enough,” she said. “You need thicker rope.”
“It’s not safe out here,” Finch insisted. “The surf will wash someone into the lake.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll make it.” With that, Gerletz bounded from the jetty onto the boat. The girl must have been scrambling across boats in all weathers since she could walk. Even though the boat bucked under her, she ran from one end of the deck to the other without touching the guardrail once. In seconds she’d pulled a hefty orange rope from a locker, uncoiled it, tied it to the deck cleat, then hurled it at us. The thing nearly got away from us into the surging water, but Ben got a grip, and soon we were all hauling the rope. It was like trying to pull a house from its foundations. For a while I didn’t think we’d bring the pitching boat under control, but at last it moved. Soon it lay hard against the jetty. It still rose and fell with the waves, but at least it no longer battered the wooden structure like a gigantic hammer.
“It should hold,” Gerletz shouted from the deck. “But I wouldn’t put my shirt on it.”
She returned partway down the deck, but instead of returning to the jetty she opened a cabin door.
Finch shouted at her. “Where are you going?” The alarm in the man’s voice startled her.
She looked back at him. “The boat’s too low in the water. She might have a leak.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Finch cried. “Leave it until the storm’s dropped.”
“But it might—”
“It’s not safe on there. The damn boat might sink with you on it.”
“Don’t worry,” she said, puzzled by his manner. “It won’t sink yet.”
“Get off the boat; you can’t be certain.” Lightning lit up his face. There was something terrible about his expression. Like he’d seen a room full of corpses.
“Hurry up, you guys!” the Gerletz girl yelled through the storm. “We’re going to lose this one if we don’t work fast.”
“Someone’s all ready up there,” Ben shouted.
“See who it is.”
I looked at the figure that wrestled with a rope, trying to tie it to the iron ring set in the jetty.
“It’s Charlie Finch,” one of the men said, using his hand to shield his eyes from the stinging rain. “He’s got the front line tied.”
Gerletz moved up the plank. “We need to get the aft line secure, otherwise she’s going to smash the jetty to pieces.” The boat underlined what she’d just said by swinging back into the jetty again wiThenough force to make the whole thing shudder. Ahead another plank popped off the frame. “It’s coming apart at the seams.”
We were halfway along the jetty, all set to help the old cop tie down the boat, when he saw us. Then he did a weird thing.
He waved us back. “It’s OK,” he shouted. “I can handle it.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Finch,” Ben called. “We’ll give you a hand.”
“I’m fine!”
But he didn’t look fine. “I can handle it,” he repeated. “Go see to the other boats.”
“They’re all tied down,” Gerletz said. “This is the last one.”
The last one. But it was the big daddy of them all. This was a multimillionaire’s yacht with what must have been half a dozen cabins and a couple of bathrooms. In the near darkness the thing looked like a big, angry bear that swung from side to side to butt the jetty with those crashing blows.
“Go back,” Finch bellowed. “I’ll have it tied in a minute.”
“You’ll never manage it by yourself.” Gerletz shook her head in disbelief. “I’ll climb onto the boat and throw another line.”
“This is good enough.” The ex-cop looked furious that we were trying to help him. His eyes blazed at us through the spray.
“The line’s not strong enough,” she said. “You need thicker rope.”
“It’s not safe out here,” Finch insisted. “The surf will wash someone into the lake.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll make it.” With that, Gerletz bounded from the jetty onto the boat. The girl must have been scrambling across boats in all weathers since she could walk. Even though the boat bucked under her, she ran from one end of the deck to the other without touching the guardrail once. In seconds she’d pulled a hefty orange rope from a locker, uncoiled it, tied it to the deck cleat, then hurled it at us. The thing nearly got away from us into the surging water, but Ben got a grip, and soon we were all hauling the rope. It was like trying to pull a house from its foundations. For a while I didn’t think we’d bring the pitching boat under control, but at last it moved. Soon it lay hard against the jetty. It still rose and fell with the waves, but at least it no longer battered the wooden structure like a gigantic hammer.
“It should hold,” Gerletz shouted from the deck. “But I wouldn’t put my shirt on it.”
She returned partway down the deck, but instead of returning to the jetty she opened a cabin door.
Finch shouted at her. “Where are you going?” The alarm in the man’s voice startled her.
She looked back at him. “The boat’s too low in the water. She might have a leak.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Finch cried. “Leave it until the storm’s dropped.”
“But it might—”
“It’s not safe on there. The damn boat might sink with you on it.”
“Don’t worry,” she said, puzzled by his manner. “It won’t sink yet.”
“Get off the boat; you can’t be certain.” Lightning lit up his face. There was something terrible about his expression. Like he’d seen a room full of corpses.
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