Grimacing, Jones tucked his blaster away. The pirate couldn’t have died in a better way, or his own crew in worse. The sea was a hot slit that loved you and chilled at the same time. Aye, the biggest bitch in the world, but she was still the only female he’d ever call wife.
“Cap’n, there she goes!” a sailor cried out.
Pausing in their rowing, the companions took a moment to look at the distant ship. A wave broke over the gunwale of the Constellation, going fully across her deck. There was a great belch of trapped air escaping from the hold, then the groaning vessel sank beneath the swirling waters. Only the crow’s nest atop the mast stayed on the surface for an inordinate length of time, as if the vessel had somehow hit bottom, then it slid out of sight and was gone.
A brief whirlpool formed around the area, hauling wreckage, bodies and sharks below, only to return them again in a few minutes in a rush of water. The churning waves crashed against each other, the force radiating outward, and soon the surface was smooth and calm, as if nothing had ever occurred at that location.
The sharks still circled the lifeboats, but Jones stood and saluted, while most of the sailors slumped over in heart-stricken grief. At the tiller, Abagail stayed safely seated, as did the girls, but even the wounded sailors wiped away tears.
“Why sad?” Jak asked, confused. “They dull-brains? Jus’ a wag.”
“Merely a vehicle? Oh no. The Constellation fought in the Revolutionary War,” Doc said softly, “and ran the Rebel blockades in the Civil War.”
“Carried troops in World War I,” Mildred added, feeling strangely moved by the loss. “And was a radar ship that spotted Nazi bombers in World War II. Moved medical supplies to Korea, too. That ship fought in every major American war.”
Doc nodded. “A piece of our history died this day.”
“But not us,” Ryan said bluntly. He agreed with Jak. It was just a thing, like a boot, or a knife, not blood kin. Sailors were as crazy as the damn scholars.
“They lived and died on that ship. How would you feel if your childhood home of Front Royal was destroyed?” Doc asked simply.
Without answering, Ryan shouldered his blaster and cupped hands to his face. “Hey, Jones! How far to Cold Harbor?”
The other lifeboats smoothly moved closer, only occasionally nudged by a passing shark testing the strength of a craft. The crew backslipped their oars, halting the craft just out of grabbing distance.
“Three days by oars,” Jones said, shifting his weight to the rocking of the skiff. “Got any food on board?”
“Enough for a day or two,” Ryan said, nudging his backpack with a boot. He knew there were a dozen MREs, some smoked condor and a single self-heat can of soup. But shared with all of the others it wouldn’t make one meal. This trip could get nasty real fast.
“Same here,” Jones lied. He had made damn sure there was a full sack of dried fish in the skiff before they left, but wasn’t about to share any with the outlanders unless absolutely necessary. His crew came first.
“We only have water,” Abagail said, resting a hand protectively on a small keg. “Anybody got a net, or a hook and line?”
Dean started to reach for his bowie knife, then stopped. The handle was hollow, and the pommel could be screwed off to hide things inside. But the fishing hooks and predark nylon line had been lost in a whirlpool in the Carolinas. Now it only held a piece of jerky and two live rounds for emergencies.
“Nothing here,” Krysty answered, checking under the seats.
“Damn.”
“Any place closer where we can hunt for food?” Doc asked hopefully. “Or barter for it. A ville or an island, perhaps?”
“Not that I know of,” the captain answered thoughtfully, rubbing the back of his neck. “Cold Harbor is the closest ville. Lots of atolls, most of them only sand and grass.”
Then he hesitantly added, “But we can get there a lot faster if we can reach the Jaluit River.”