He broke out an oar and stuck it in the rushing water off the starboard side as Boats had taught them. He held the oar fast, and the raft stopped its progress and turned atop the swell. He called Jimbo’s name. He dove for the tiller and fought to keep the bow pointed perpendicular down the back of the swell as it steepened rapidly.
No Jimbo. No more calls from the dark.
Dwayne leaned back over the stern with his full weight to prevent it flipping as the declining slope of the sea went near vertical. He gripped the tiller in both hands as the raft slid down the roiling mountain of water and turned side on in a new trench growing deeper by the second. He looked up to see a sliver of angry clouds visible between the closing walls of the dark valley. He righted his attitude to point to the oncoming cliff of green that seemed to drop away before him even as it lifted him into the sky. White water streamed back from the bow as invisible currents dragged him along to the next growing swell. There was no horizon to be seen. He fought to determine up from down as he was dragged across the marching seas.
The raft tilted and warped. The bow slewed, and Dwayne sensed the progress of the raft slowing as if he were snagged on something.
A hand came over the rounded body of the Zodiac, followed by an arm and another hand. Jimbo rolled aboard, sputtering and coughing. His sneakers were gone.
“Grab an oar!” Dwayne called over the howl of the wind.
Jimbo paddled and Dwayne steered, and the raft climbed another rising swell. From the top of the immense hill of water, they could see the countless ranks of an endless range of angry waves under a roiling sky.
The sky grew lighter. The rain ended. The sun was somewhere above a low ceiling of clouds making the sea gleam like cold iron. They spelled one another at the oar, but both men were spent after hours of rowing. The Rangers hurt everywhere from being battered against the deck and hull by the rough seas.
A rhythmic pounding reached them from over the crest of the peak before them.
“Breakers,” Dwayne said. He risked standing on the uncertain surface, steadying himself with a fist on the tiller handle. There was a stationary point ahead before the bow of the Zodiac. A brow of white rippled below it.
“It’s an island,” Dwayne said and fell back into the stern and turned the tiller.
Jimbo found a burst of new strength and pulled the oar through the water. The swells lifted and dropped them with greater rapidity as the strip of land filled more and more of the horizon before them. Waves were carrying them toward the island even as an undertow fought to drag them further away. Dwayne abandoned the tiller now and grabbed the second oar. Both men paddled furiously and saw a tree line growing closer at a maddeningly slow pace. The riptide’s pull increased as the water grew more shallow. Dwayne looked behind to see a big roller coming up on their stern.
“Lean into it!” he called.
Both men paddled hard for shore. The roller lifted them high. They struggled to stay atop the peak as the edge of white foam curled before them. The wave crashed to shore, and both men leaped out to plant their feet in the sand and hold the raft against the powerful pull of the returning sea. They held the lines in their gloved fists and hauled for the shore with their legs pumping and feet fighting for purchase in sucking sand.
They reached the dry beach and collapsed on either side of the Zodiac, stable for the first time in hours.
A moment’s break and they were up and moving, hauling the raft across a long sand beach and over dunes toward a line of evergreen trees. They pulled the raft into the shadows of low hanging branches and secured it in place with lines and pegs. They were concealed from sight with a view of the sand and water.
“Give me just a minute here, okay?” Dwayne said and laid his head on his arms where they rested on the gunwale of the raft.
Jimbo said nothing.
The Rangers fell into a deep sleep beneath the sheltering branches.
It was night when they awoke. The sky was cloudless. A sliver of moon hung over the still water. The stars seemed to swirl above them.
Dwayne stepped out atop a dune and lined the digital astrolabe on the horizon and took readings for the moon and on Polaris. He transmitted the readings without a responding signal. He set the Tauber Transmitter to repeat. It would continually send out the readings and a short text signal that they had arrived safely in the past. Morris or Caroline would ping them from The Now upon receipt.
“See anything?” Jimbo joined him. He was munching on a Hooah! bar.
“Like what? You think Spartacus is going to walk up to us tell us what day it is?”
“The comet, dumbass.”
The men stood atop the dune and scanned the sky above. No comet.
“So, we don’t know when the hell we are,” Jimbo said.
“Or where the hell we are.” Dwayne shook his head.
They decided to wait until morning to scout their current area of operations. They ate and rehydrated and took Advil for muscles sore from the exertion and the punishment of their violent sea cruise. Then they lay back on the sand and napped until the black of night gave way to gray along the horizon.
The Rangers awoke stiff with pain from their journey the day before. They stood facing the sun and stretching out the kinks in their muscles and joints. It was going to take a lot of PT to get back to optimal.
“Yo,” Jimbo said and pointed to the sky. Dwayne’s gaze followed Jimbo’s finger.
In the pink
