The Ocean Dark

42

Angie sat beside Suarez, up in the wheelhouse, looking out over the hundreds of metal containers stacked on the deck in front of them, and at the ocean beyond. Every few seconds she caught herself glancing to the right, where the windows offered a view of the island and the ruined, sunken ships that clustered around it. But Suarez never wavered. His focus remained on the radar screen, where the image continued to refresh, scanning for any approaching ships. She had thought that he would ask her why she had remained when Dwyer had gone below, but Suarez seemed content to ignore her. Eventually, Angie couldn’t stand the silence.

“Aren’t you scared at all?” she asked.

The old Cuban cocked his head to one side and looked at her. “Pardon me?”

“I mean, you just sit there looking at the radar, calm as anything. We could go to prison. The FBI is probably moving in on us right now. And what happened to the guys with the guns, anyway? ’Cause it sounds like a clusterfuck. That doesn’t make you nervous?”

Angie hadn’t meant to ramble on like that. She only wanted to make conversation, to set Suarez at ease with her presence, hoping he’d step away from the command console and the wheel long enough for her to grab the PLB and set off the beacon. But her fear came tumbling out in the form of words.

Suarez raised his eyebrows. “You gotta be serene, Angela.”

“So you’re a wise old man, now?”

“Not so old,” he said. And maybe he wasn’t at that. The white hair and his innate gravity gave him the appearance of being sixty or more, but his eyes were bright and alive and his skin not so deeply lined. He might actually have been no more than fifty.

“I think serene’s out of reach for me right now,” she admitted.

“Then pray,” Suarez told her.

Angie arched an eyebrow, surprised, but then it occurred to her that she really knew nothing at all about the man.

“You’ve never heard of the Serenity Prayer?”

She shook her head.

“‘God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.’”

A smile stole across her face. “See? You are a wise old man.”

Suarez chuckled. “Don’t push your luck with that ‘old’ business.”

But while they joked about it, the words of the Serenity Prayer were working their way into Angie’s heart and mind. Suarez wanted her to surrender herself to some higher power, to accept that their situation was not only completely fucked, but totally out of their control. Maybe that was true for him, but not for her. She had already taken steps to change her circumstances, and serenity be damned.

“Thanks,” she said. “I’m not so afraid anymore.”

“My pleasure.”

He nodded, but his attention had returned to the radar screen. Angie glanced past him at the PLB, and knew the time had come. Single-minded and loyal, Suarez would not be easily distracted, which called for a more direct approach. With real regret, she looked around the wheelhouse for something to hit him with. If she knocked him out, she could set off the beacon and then go find somewhere to hide until the FBI showed up. There were a hundred little corners she could hole up in belowdecks, around the ballast tanks and boilers and engines. She could hide in a lifeboat, maybe even find a place among the containers out on the deck, or slip into an unlocked one.

A metal fire extinguisher hung by the door. The moment she laid her eyes on it, Angie felt a pang of regret. Her hands already began to cringe away from the action. But thoughts of prison could overcome a great deal of reluctance, and she forced herself out of the seat.

“I’ll see you later,” she said. “Thanks.”

Suarez only grunted, barely glancing up to acknowledge her departure.

Angie walked toward the door. Halfway there she froze, as Miguel Rio appeared on the landing outside the wheelhouse. He spotted her and frowned as he yanked the door open and stepped inside.

“What are you doing up here?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be off banging Dwyer somewhere?”

A rush of anger flooded through her and Angie gratefully let it carry her away. This was familiar territory.

“Fuck you. Who woke you up on the asshole side of bed this morning?” she snapped, cocking her head and crossing her arms, daring him to fight back.

Miguel took a deep breath, shaking his head, then stopped himself from saying whatever he wanted.

“Sorry. Just freaking out a little.”

“We all are,” Angie said, forcing herself to put on a face that would pass as forgiveness, when what she wanted to do was lash out at the chief mate. How would she get hold of the PLB now? It wasn’t as though she could knock them both out, and when would she have another chance to get to the beacon?

The awkward moment stretched out between them. Eventually, Angie relented.

“I guess I’d better—”

Someone began shouting outside the wheelhouse. Miguel frowned and turned away from her, hauling the door open. Angie glanced back at Suarez, who’d looked up from the radar screen at last. Then the shouting came again, and this time she knew who that voice belonged to.

“Dwyer?”

Miguel stepped out onto the landing and Angie followed, practically colliding with him as she rushed out. They hung over the railing and looked down to see Dwyer hustling up the last flight of stairs to reach the wheelhouse.

“What’s the matter with you?” Miguel asked as Dwyer arrived on the landing.

Dwyer bent over, one hand up to gesture for patience as he caught his breath. “Down in the boiler room … something’s banging … on the hull.”

Angie didn’t think she had ever seen Dwyer frightened, but he looked scared now.

“What do you mean?” she asked. “Someone’s—”

“Not from the inside,” Dwyer said, his frantic eyes silencing her. He turned to Miguel. “There’s something in the water, Miguel. It’s ramming against the ship.”

“Something what? Like a shark?” Miguel asked. “Or you think we got FBI divers down there?”

Dwyer steadied his breathing and leaned back against the railing. He’d settled down a bit now, but he still looked spooked. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead.

“It’s not the FBI. But there’s something down there, that’s for sure.”

Miguel ran a hand through his hair. Angie had always thought him good-looking — though never as good-looking as Miguel obviously considered himself — but he looked like crap now. Too much stubble, not enough sleep. He must have been a competent first mate, but in that moment it was clear that Gabe Rio had been made captain over Miguel by virtue of more than being the older brother.

“All right, listen—” Miguel started.

Only to be interrupted by distant shouts.

“What the hell is that?” Angie said.

All three of them turned toward the island. Standing just outside the wheelhouse, they were high enough to see over the derelict ships half-sunken in the water around the island. One of the lifeboats had made it partway through the maze of wrecks, but it had overturned.

As they watched, a sailor tried to grab hold of the overturned lifeboat. He screamed, attempting to haul himself up, then somehow the lifeboat broke apart in his hands.

“Jesus Christ,” Dwyer muttered, his brogue emerging.

The sailor vanished beneath the water.

“Did something just …” Miguel began, but trailed off, as though unwilling to finish the thought.

“Pull him down?” Angie said. “That’s what it looked like.”

Dwyer seemed to shrink, leaning on the railing for support. “Told you, man. Something’s in the water. And not just out there. It’s right here, too. Around us.”

They watched Hank Boggs pull himself out of the water onto a sunken cabin cruiser, and saw Gabe and Tori and a few others scramble back onto shore from the other lifeboat. For perhaps a minute, the three of them said nothing.

Then Suarez opened the door behind them. “Miguel. Radio.”

Angie could hear the static crackling inside. Miguel took one last look toward the island, then hurried into the wheelhouse. Suarez stayed out there with Angie and Dwyer, and as the door swung shut behind Miguel, they watched the water around the broken-up lifeboat turn dark with blood.

“Lord help them,” Suarez muttered.

Angie agreed. If there was ever a time for prayers, it had arrived.

She ran for the stairs. Dwyer called after her, wanting to know where she was going, but she didn’t slow down. They needed help, and she could only think of one way to get it. There were things she couldn’t do anything about, but she could damn well bring about change.