Page 1 of Untamed Coast

Chapter 1

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Pelican, AK

2017—Marconi Franco

There it was again.

A haunting murmur fighting its way through the roaring sea of static, a fragile appeal adrift in the din. Marconi Franco, his practiced grip firm on the tuning knob, spun it delicately, peeling back the layers of interference, slowing his scan for the elusive voice.

Radio Flyer, tethered by mooring lines, danced with the whim of the winds that roared through the boat’s rigging, rain beating a relentless cadence on the pilothouse windows. The vessel seemed a living thing, a creature entangled in the tempest’s fierce embrace, a warm refuge from the storm outside.

A strong low-pressure system had moved in from the Gulf of Alaska, bringing gale-force winds, torrential rains, and foreboding seas, along with a rare thunderstorm. This was the worst weather Marco had seen in the two years he’d been cruising Southeast Alaska. He’d barely reached Pelican in time to get the boat secured in the harbor, cutting it much closer than he liked.

There it was.

A whispered plea, “Swam to.” Hiss. Crackle. A tremulous voice, unmistakably female, undeniably urgent. “Come get me. I’m—” She succumbed once more to the interference.

Come get me.

His heart caught in his throat.

“Come get me, Marco. I don’t want to die in this hospital.” Michelle’s plea reverberated in the dark chambers of his mind.

“Come get me” echoing from the worst day of his life.

If only. If only they’d caught it sooner. If only he’d…

Marco delicately inched the tuner backward, zeroing in on the elusive signal.

There.

“—with a red metal roof?” She became clearer. “—island.” A crescendo of whistling wind swallowed the remainder of her words.

A second, fainter voice, male, drifted above the din, fading in and out. “—you in sight. Seas are rough.”

Storm and static blended together in a murky melee of noise. Marco grabbed his headphones and plugged them in, squelching the sounds of the storm on the pilothouse roof and immersing himself in the swirling stream of radio signals.

He inched the knob forward again a hair at a time, a dance of precision as he clung to the thread of her voice, assembling sounds from the chaos into syllables, syllables into words. Wind and waves crashed, an eerie backdrop to her fading transmission.

“Boat out of sight. Turn on my strobe?”

“Not yet—risky,” the male voice again. “I’ll find you.”

Marco grabbed the mic and pressed the talk button, muting the insistent hiss of radio static. “This is AK7MF MV Radio Flyer responding to distress call. Where are you?” His voice wavered, the microphone a lifeline trembling in his grip. “I need your location.”

The dim amber glow of the SSB radio signal meter cast a velvety candlelight over the pilothouse, gently flickering as the needle tracked the strength of invisible electromagnetic waves gracing the boat’s antenna.

“The shore—” Her voice was hardly audible, the needle barely moving as she spoke. “—big rock.”

Marco pressed the cold vinyl ear pads of his headphones hard against his head, as if the pressure could draw her closer. “I need your location,” he urged.

“Can you come get—?” Her voice weakened, the connection slipping away. “—off the boat. Cold.”

“I will find you,” Marco vowed.

The male voice interrupted. “Stay off this frequency.”