And both of them vanished in the water from Mildred’s sight
.
ON THE DECK OF THE CRAFT, Ryan had turned the controls over to J.B. seconds before the blast. The one-eyed man was hurled into a console and he grabbed for purchase, trying to keep erect.
“What the fuck was that?” Ryan bellowed. “You hit a rock?”
“Out here? No way!” J.B. replied, his voice shrill and load against the backdrop of the storm. “That was an explosion of some kind!”
“Who would try and attack us in the middle of this?” Ryan yelled, pulling himself up from the slippery deck to his feet.
The Armorer’s keen mind raced for an answer. “No one. We must’ve hit a mine.”
“Then we’re going down,” Ryan said flatly. “Find the life rafts. I’m going below to check on the others. Don’t worry about the controls. We’re triple screwed now anyway. I don’t think we’re going to crash into another boat out here alone in this mess.”
“On it,” J.B. said, heading out behind Ryan onto the unprotected deck and into the full brunt of the storm. Already the yacht was starting to list badly, and the stern was beginning to rise on a incline as the lower hull took on water. Whipping whitecaps were everywhere across the surface of the churning ocean. The increased activity caused heavy seas to spring up and crash down over the Patch’s bow, sending shudders down the length of the boat’s hull.
As Ryan entered the stairwell that led to the galley and berths, he was met by a weeping Mildred, who was trying to help a pained Doc up the steps. Below Doc, Dean was pushing the old man by the buttocks. A look of sheer panic was pasted on the boy’s face. Ryan reached down past the struggling Mildred and snatched Doc by the collar of his frock coat, boldly pulling the older man up with one hand. Coasting on adrenaline, Ryan stared past his son and realized no one else was coming.
“Where’s Krysty?” Ryan shouted in Mildred’s ear, trying to make himself heard above the din of a loud crack of thunder. “Where’s Krysty and Jak?”
“She went under—through the hole,” Mildred screamed back over the creaking and groaning of the hull. “She was limp! Had to be unconscious. Jak fell in after her, but at least he was alert and awake. I think he was trying to grab her.”
Mildred had known Ryan for some time now, and she’d seen him caught up in the throes of any and all emotions. Usually his face was a mask. The only way to judge any emotional turmoil was to look at the color of the long scar that stretched from his eye to his chin. The more upset Ryan got, the redder the scar would pulse.
This time, even the scar was ghostly white.
Ryan spun back up and away from Mildred. He spotted a dirty coil of rope hanging beside the companionway and snatched it off the hook, unraveling the coil as he stepped as quickly as he could toward the edge of the boat. Once, he fell down in a sprawl as the bow of the vessel rose, then suddenly dropped away. Removing his blaster, he tossed the pistol to Dean with one hand.
“Hold this!” he bellowed, then began to quickly tie the rope around his waist. By now, the boat had a near thirty-degree angle with the nose beginning to rise high in the night air.
J.B. ran over, carrying a tight bundle of plastic. “Only one raft, but it’s big,” he yelled. “Should hold us all.”
The Armorer paused, noting the absence of Krysty and Jak. “Where’s—?”
“Overboard,” Ryan said. “Get that raft up and everybody in it. I’m going over, but I’ll need an anchor so I can find my way back.”
J.B. pulled a cord, and the raft began to fill with compressed air. Once Ryan could see the old predark inflating mechanism wasn’t going to malfunction, he handed his oldest living friend the end of the rope.
“Tie this to the raft.”
“We’ve lost them, Ryan,” the Armorer bellowed, making an effort to be heard over the din of the storm. “You’ll never find her in this muck!”