“Behind you!”
She reached out and snagged it, then she placed the girl’s hands on it and used her own body to trap the girl to the ring. The youngster had stopped struggling and just laid her head on the life ring and cried hysterically. The woman spoke to her quietly.
“You okay?” Hank yelled.
The blonde looked up and nodded.
“I’ll be back!” He gripped the base of the floating can and shoved it out in front of him, then kicked as hard as he could, pushing it along. The little boy on his back had a death grip around his neck. But the life vest and the buoyant can kept them above water. The baby was howling, which was okay with him. As long as it howled, it was alive.
But the boy was too quiet.
Hank kept kicking. “Say, you hanging on, kid?” “Yes, sir,” he said, his words little more than a half sob next to Hank’s ear.
“Good.”
A few more strokes and Hank asked, “What’s your name?”
“Theodore.”
Before he could respond, the can clanked against the lifeboat and the baby screamed again. He put the can inside, then tossed in the little kid. “Hang onto the can!” he ordered, then grabbed another inflated vest and swam back.
The woman and the young girl were clinging to the life ring. The girl was still crying.
“Oh, shut up or I’ll drown you myself!” He jerked the girl’s hands from the life ring and shoved her arms into the vest. She blubbered the whole time. As he struggled with the vest clips, he glanced up at the blonde. “You still okay?”
“Yes.”
He could see that the woman was good and scared, but she had control. He wrapped his arm around the girl, who, with the life vest on and three more threats, had finally stopped struggling. He glanced back at the blonde again. “See the lifeboat?”
She shook her head and searched the water. “Swim that way.” He nodded toward the lifeboat. “I see it!”
“Let’s go!” He flipped the sobbing girl onto her back and pulled her with him as he swam back.
With almost every stroke, he checked on the woman. She was swimming right with him. She had strength, probably generated from pure fear. He knew all too well that I’ll-be-damned-if-I’ll-die kind of will. He’d lived with it for too many years. And both he and the blonde were living it now, he thought, then his hand struck the side of the lifeboat. The baby and the kid were still in it.
He got the sobbing girl inside, then the woman. He took a breath and turned back around. He scanned the water, but he couldn’t see anyone else. There were barrels and scattered pieces of the ship. But no crew. No people.
He treaded water for a moment, trying to get his wind. Debris and cargo floated all around them, but no other survivors.
Hank looked at the ship. He could see the other lifeboat and human figures struggling to get inside while the steamer burned. Every so often, he could make out a member of the crew working to try to save the ship.
Fools to the end, he thought. Gripping the rim of the lifeboat, he watched them a second longer, then turned to the blonde. “I’m going back!”
The ship moaned a steely, grating sound.
“Wait!” she screamed and grabbed his hand.
He looked at her, then followed her horrified stare. The funnel stacks buckled, then crashed through the flaming deck. They took the other lifeboat with them. Men screamed. There was a loud moan of iron breaking apart. The ship split open like a cracked egg, spilling every burning thing into the sea.
It took barely a moment, an empty moment, to realize they were the only survivors. They sat there, unable to do anything but watch as blue orange flames shot into the night sky and the ship gave one last aching creak.
A few seconds later the bow pitched upward, then slowly slid down. There was a sizzle as the flames hit water. The hull of the steamer sank slowly as if being swallowed by the sea.
And the last thing to disappear was the ship’s name written plainly across the bow, only two words:The Deuce.
* * *
The lifeboat floatedon the dark and quiet sea. Hank worked the small fuel pump on the lantern. It was one of those pressure lamps that, when they were in good working order, could stay lit in a full gale. He’d seen men gut fish in a storm by the dependable light of a tilley lantern. He lit it with a safety match.
