Page 13 of Shipwrecked

“Mathieu, come here.” Darren is holding the door open for him. The group are huddled behind him in the cabin.

The winch makes a shearing sound, and the rate at which it’s pulling in the sail slows to a crawl.

Jules is close enough for me to see that he’s dangling precariously by the back of his harness. Tangled, not tied. I hope the rope behaves like any other, where neat lines become impossible knots against the laws of physics.

“Can I help?” Mathieu asks once more.

“No.”

Mathieu casts a final look at Jules and turns from him with a grim expression. He times it for when the nose of the yacht dips, and half falls, half slips into Darren’s waiting arms. The cabin door slams shut.

Smoke rises from the winch.

Jules hovers above the back railing, close enough I can see the terror on his face. The snapping of the sail cuts through the wind. “Come on, come on,” I mutter. Metal screeches against metal in the winch. Something’s giving way. “One more second.”

We climb a wave that sends the yacht up at a steep angle. The wind drops. We’re in the wind shadow of the swell. I only have seconds before the crest.

I ignore the warning sounds the winch is making and turn the dial up to full power. I glare at the buckle I need to pull on his harness to get him out.

The winch pops and stops.

The yacht levels out at the crest. Jules drops. I lunge across the slick deck, catching him as he crashes into the railing. It’s like wrapping my arms around a blanket left outside overnight, stiff with morning frost. We fall together onto the deck.

The yacht dips.

We slide across the deck, coming to a stop as we strike the cabin wall. If I’m hurt, I don’t feel it. I grab Jules around his stomach and yank him to his feet with me.

The sail flies, ripping the winch out of the deck.

I shove open the door and get us inside, panting as I slam it shut.

The floor is a mess of shattered glass. Furniture is overturned and broken; bags are scattered, clothes spilling from them. Red wine spills out from the breakfast bar as if it’s bleeding. The room reeks of alcohol. The doors leading to the bathroom and bedrooms are open and swinging, banging with each rock of the boat.

The group huddle at the far end of the bench, watching the storm through the windows. Darren is holding Mathieu by the wrist.

Mathieu sets eyes on Jules and his shoulders drop, a breath shuddering out of him.

“Are you okay?” Mathieu asks. “Jules?”

Jules is plastered against my chest. I have my arm locked around his back, and my grip is hard. I struggle to loosen my hold, my muscles rigid. Jules is shaking. Cold, or shock, or both?

I grab the handheld radio hanging next to the door. “Seán?”

“Please tell me you got them in.”

“We’re all inside, door’s shut.” Other details can wait. “You?” A swell sends glass tinkling across the floor. My foot slips. My arms clamp tighter around Jules.

“We lost the canopy over the top deck, but the cockpit is good. Keeping her straight, but, fuck, that’s two waterspouts that have formed.” Seán’s voice is tight. “Hunker down, make sure nobody goes out on deck. Including you.”

“Copy.” I jam the radio into my pocket.

I don’t envy Seán the job of driving in this storm, but I don’t relish my own position either as half a dozen fearful gazes turn on me. Seán is better at the people aspect of this job than me.

“We’re okay,” I say. The waves are bigger than I’ve ever seen. “As long as the bow stays pointed into the waves, we’ll just ride it out.” Is the maintenance hatch shut? “No going out, no opening the doors, no opening the windows.”

We crash down another huge wave. Willow bangs her head and starts crying. Past her, the rain is too thick to tell if the hatch is open or shut.

“Try tucking yourself in somewhere that you won’t get knocked down. Is anyone hurt?” They all shake their heads. I tug Jules with me as I move to the side. There’s a narrow slip between the cabin wall and the breakfast bar that’s empty. The stool that’s usually there is in pieces across the room. I drop to the floor, out of view of everyone, and pull Jules against my chest. His head lolls slack against my shoulder, as if he’s unconscious. But he’s not. He was just standing, and his eyes are open.