“Shit,” he curses, loud enough that the word seems to echo around the workshop. “I’ve got them here. We’ll go. Mm.”
This time, when I look back at Nils, he’s watching Shiloh with a frown on his face. We both heard the wordswe’ll go, which means only one thing.
“The EPIRB was activated on theMaiden,” Shiloh says immediately upon hanging up the phone.
Nils makes a low noise and stands up, dusting off his hands.I rise as well, leaving the trap where it is and watching Shiloh. He looks grim. An activation of the emergency beacon is a bad situation, no matter who it is, but theMaiden Seasis Dryden Roy’s boat, and he and Shiloh are close. Or they used to be, back when they were in a relationship. Either way, Shiloh looks worried, and it’s an expression I’ve never once seen on his face, no matter how many rough days at sea we’ve had together.
“I didn’t realize he’d gone out today,” I comment, feeling like an idiot but also wondering how it could be Dryden’s beacon that was activated out of all the fishing boats in Siren’s Point. Dryden is a self-confessed lover of the low season and has told me many times how much he enjoys months of relaxation and getting the smell of pogie out of his nose.
“I didn’t know either,” Shiloh agrees, frowning. “That was the rescue center coordinating the search while we wait for the coast guard. We’re going out.”
TheDrifter, which was hauled out of the water for dry storage at the end of the season, is the only boat being prepared for launch at the harbor. Nobody speaks as we prep her, and even I’m having an easier time than normal being silent. Last night, we’d had a rough southerly wind, but today, it’s northerly. The result being an incredibly harsh ocean as the southerly chop of yesterday runs into the northerly chop of today. When we get out on the water, it’s going to feel as though we’re in a washing machine.
Pre-launch checks complete, I stand with Nils off to the side as theDrifteris retrieved and launched, the marina staff securing the boat to the dock and speaking with Shiloh. Finally,we’re allowed on board to finalize preparations for getting underway. The whole thing was completed as streamlined as it possibly could have been, but I’m itchy with nerves as I tug my hoodie up over my beanie and zip my waterproof jacket up to my chin. Dryden and I might not have the kind of history that he and Shiloh do, but he’s my friend. I’d be worried about anyone at sea who activated their EPIRB, but the fact that it’s Dryden is dialing up the concern.
Dryden isstubborn. He has trust issues a mile long and works with only a single sternman because of it. I can’t imagine what sort of situation would spur him to activate that beacon. I’m fairly certain that, in most cases, Dryden Roy would sooner die than ask for help.
Worried, but trying to match the calm both Shiloh and Nils are projecting, I hang on to the gunwale as we leave the harbor. As I suspected, the chop is rough. Rough enough near shore that I’m dreading what we’ll find further out. Closing my eyes, I turn my face away as water sprays over the starboard side. Next to me, Nils moves a little closer but doesn’t speak. I try to avoid looking at him, not quite comfortable with the amount of concern in his eyes. Nobody could hail theMaiden Season the radio, so we’ve got nothing but coordinates to go off and no idea what we’re going to find once we get there. Dryden and Cody, his sternman, might not even be on board.
The boat pitches, engine whining over the scream of the wind as we plough through a trough. I adjust my footing, hand aching through my glove where I’m holding on, Nils steadying me from the right side. My waterproof jacket feels only semi-waterproof right now, skin already cold despite the layers I’m wearing.
Turning my face away from another spray of water cresting over the side, I look at the radar pulled up on the screens under the standing shelter. The wind, which had been holding steady at forty miles per hour northeast, has picked up to a screaming fifty-two. Whatever storm is blowing in, it’s coming in fast. Shaking my head, I try to breathe through a bout of nausea, feet adjusting automatically below me as theDrifterrolls to the side. We’ve all experienced seasickness on the boat, but today is not the day, and now isnotthe time. The last thing anyone needs is a rescue operation hindered by a pair of hands that aren’t helping.
Shiloh adjusts our course multiple times as we fight the choppy water, the EPIRB sending out signals in bursts. TheMaidenseems to be holding position relatively well, which makes me hope they dropped their sea anchor. Engine failure is the most likely cause of sending out the distress beacon. If that’s the case, deploying the anchor would help keep the bow pointed into the wind, reducing the chances of them drifting or taking on water. Swamping or capsizing is the biggest worry when the ocean is like this and the boat without an engine.
I almost hope that engine failure is the issue. Is it ideal? No. But a hell of a lot better than losing a man overboard or having a medical emergency at sea. All of us are only too aware of how quickly things can go bad out here and just how far away help is, were you to need it.
Shiloh shouts something that gets lost in the wind, hands never leaving the controls. I squint into the distance, catchingsight of theMaidenbobbing in the water. She’s upright, rolling with the motion of the waves. Immediately, the tight coil of fear in my gut loosens a tad. A part of me had been bracing myself for finding her capsized, Dryden and Cody dead on board or lost below the surface of the water.
Without waiting to be told to do so, I step under the standing shelter, knees soft and legs wide to accommodate the motion of theDrifter, and reach for the VHF radio. Now that we’ve got a clear line of sight, we’re finally able to get through. The radio crackles to life.
“Maiden Seas, Maiden Seas, Maiden Seas, this is theDrifter, over.”
I wait, fingers squeezing the radio so hard it hurts. Wiping the back of one hand across my wet face, I listen to the low hum of static from the radio. I’m just getting ready to try hailing them again when Dryden’s voice replies.
“Copy, Oli, we see you.” I close my eyes for a second, relieved to hear his voice. “Maidenis dead in the water. No swamping. Crew safe. Over.”
Shiloh meets my eye through the open door of the standing shelter, expression serious as he maintains a firm grip on the controls. Up on the screen, the radar shows the storm cell sweeping out across the coast, winds swirling outward at fifty-six miles per hour. It’s time to go home.
Switching the radio to hail the rescue center, I let them know we’ve found theMaidenand pass along Dryden’s message. They’ll keep anyone else from launching and call back any other boats that managed to make it in the water in the time ittook us to get here. There’s no sense in putting more people in danger. That done, I switch the channel back to Dryden. Shiloh, watching me out of the corner of his eye while bringing theDrifteras close to the other boat as we can without colliding, shouts over the wind.
“We can’t get any closer, and it’s time to go back before the nor’easter hits.”
Nodding, I push my sodden hair back and try to tug my hood up once more. Frigid water trickles down the back of my neck, body chilled despite the countless layers and waterproof coat.
“Dryden,” I shout into the radio, keeping it far enough away from my mouth that there won’t be any distortion. “Can you make it over on the life raft?”
There’s enough of a pause that I’m about to hail him again when he comes through once more. Even across the static, I can hear the resignation in his voice.
“Copy.”
Dropping the radio back in its cradle, I step out from under the shelter and back into the storm. When I meet Nils’ eye, he looks about as resigned as Dryden sounded. As bad as the chop is now, it’s going to be so much worse when we’re heading back to the Point.
We maintain our position, watching and listening for the radio as Dryden and Cody prepare to abandon theMaiden. Both of them are dressed head to toe in vivid orange survival suits, the visibility too poor to tell them apart at this distance, but a relief nonetheless to see both obviously fine and moving. Shilohis able to bring theDriftera little closer, making it easier for Nils to toss the heaving line to the life raft. Bracing my feet, I help Nils tow them in, the lightweight raft nonetheless a struggle to pull as it dips with the waves. The cold air burns my lungs, spray icy on my face as we get them near enough that I can lean over the side of the boat and hold out a hand for Cody.
It’s then that theDrifterhits a wall of water, wave cresting over the gunwale. Losing my footing—one hand caught in Cody’s and the other holding on to the boat—I fall hard, sharp pain shooting across my stomach where the rail catches me, taking all of my weight. Gritting my teeth, I replant my feet and heave Cody up. He’s cursing as he comes aboard, falling against me as he tries to get his feet underneath him while the deck pitches. Once he’s safe on board, Nils helps Dryden. Holding a hand to the blunt pain throbbing in my side, I hold an arm out for Dryden, just in case he needs extra help. Beneath the hood of his survival suit, his mouth is set in a grim, unhappy line. The moment he’s on board, his eyes look out across the water toward theMaiden.
When Shiloh points us toward home, it becomes immediately apparent that I was wrong. The ride home won’t just be bad; it’s going to be downright awful. The chop slams into the hull as we drop into the troughs, water rising up over the bow and sluicing over our feet. Every inch of me feels frozen, like my layers are no longer keeping in heat but instead holding in the cold. Face burning from the force of the spray, I lean with the boat, holding on to the rail, as we roll with another wave. I glance over at Cody, standing close enough to me that I can hearevery shouted curse.
