“Pull the wrong one and we hit the breakers!”
“Know that!”
Mildred went to the gunwale and held the railing while she tried to see where they were headed with the spray blurring her vision. “Son of a bitch!” she shouted. “That coral will rip the guts out of this ship.”
“We’ll sink like a rock.”
“Drop the sail!” Dean shouted, going to the port gunwale. He released the ropes around a belaying pin. The twisted hemp shot away free, disappearing into the complex rigging.
Jak drew a knife. “Come on.”
“Don’t!” Dean ordered, pulling another pin. It took both hands, but the boy managed the task. A small sail at the distant front of the ship sagged, but didn’t drop. “We’ll need them to get off the island! Just set them loose, and drop the big sail!”
Jak joined Dean, J.B. and Mildred going to the other side of the huge vessel. As fast as possible, they pulled out the belaying pins and untied knots. At first nothing happened; the ship stayed true on its course for the breakers. Another sail loosened in its stays, then sagged and finally fell to the deck in a loud rush of salt-stiff canvas. Mildred dived for the deck as the jib boom disengaged and swept across the deck. She heard it swoosh overhead and then slam into the quarterdeck, knocking away the companionway, the smashed wood shotgunning overboard.
The waves fought every turn, and Ryan found he could only alter their direction in tiny increments. Ryan and Krysty didn’t seem to notice their near extermination, all of their concentration on the stubborn wheel and the approaching coral.
Knuckles white from the strain, the man and woman fought side by side to overcome the wind and the tide. Then in a deafening rustle, the main sail collapsed, nearly smashing Jak under its awesome weight.
“Thank Gaia!” Krysty shouted, as the strain noticeably lessened.
Ryan didn’t waste any breath on words. He stayed at his position, fighting to steer the lumbering giant back toward the lagoon and calm waters. Slowly, ever so slowly, the Constellation moved past the coral outcropping. However, once they cleared the array of breakers, the pull of the evening tide eased, the whitecaps stopped cresting and the ship now slowly obeyed them like a well-trained plow horse.
“Got no anchor!” Krysty reminded.
“Sandbar!” Ryan shot back. “Hold on!”
Everybody grabbed something solid, and the ship shuddered as its bow plowed into the underwater ridge of sand. There was a moment or two of rocking back and forth, the stays and jib creaking loudly, then the ship went still in its earthen berth.
Releasing the wheel, Ryan flexed his hands, trying to get some feeling back into his fingers. He had once killed a cougar by grabbing its front legs and pulling them apart to break its chest wide open, and that had been easier than this.
“Anybody hurt?” Krysty shouted over the quarterdeck railing.
“Alive and undamaged,” Mildred shouted back, rubbing a sore shoulder.
“Speak for yourself,” Dean said sullenly, inspecting his chafed hands. The skin was gone from his palms in spots, the flesh raw and oozing.
Jak took a glance. “Not chill ya,” he decided.
“Yeah, I know,” the boy snapped irritably. “But it stings.”
J.B. glanced at the towering pile of canvas forming a gray mountain on the deck. Had to be a ton, maybe two of the material. Anybody caught underneath it would have been squashed flat.
“Could have been worse,” he said, pulling out his glasses and checking them for damage.
Tying off the wheel so the rudder wouldn’t get damaged from the random slapping waves, Ryan went to the railing. Krysty stood there like a queen of the sea, her wild red hair blowing in the breeze.
“Company coming,” she said bluntly.
Hawking to clear his throat, Ryan spit over the side and studied the beach. There was no sign of any live slavers. The sailors were scavenging among dead, taking boots and blasters, occasionally kicking a corpse. However, at the creek, Doc and some of the better-dressed sailors were climbing into an outrigger and setting into the surf. All of them were heavily armed.