We should all be back at camp, not on this damn tender, but here we are on our little four-man journey, not processing what went down. And we’re not there with Haley this morning because we have to do this now. Now—when the WaveRunner has been sitting there for the last three weeks and those poor people have been there for a long time. Yeah, but the waves bounce us up.
“We’ve got enough fuel?” I shout into the wind at Zane. He’s got his hand on the tiller of the outboard motor.
“Yeah, we got a shit ton for this trip and more stored back at camp. That was Dante’s idea. Scary brilliant, that bloke is,” Zane says. His eyes flick to mine and then back at the horizon. Zane’s deep in thought too. His Britishness always goes up by ten factors when he’s thinking too hard.
Calvin and Sam sit in the row in front of me, searching the cove. We took the binoculars. That was the most discussion we had after Sam unilaterally declared we should be searching for it and then Zane added his little side quest. He spent all morning making a crate out of one of the storage containers, carefully replacing the lid with one made from bamboo he’d woven together. It’s tied down next to two spare plastic fuel containers.
I don’t know if Zane’s ever tried to catch a chicken. It’s not as simple as walking up to one and grabbing it. And that’s with ones used to people. But then, Zane will probably just flash his gleaming smile and the chicken will jump into the container and pull the lid shut itself.
I laugh, thinking about a ten-year-old Emily chasing chickens. Every time she caught one, it would flutter from her hands, squawking and jumping. More than once, we spent the night on the neighbor’s farm in Maine. I had to help with the chores. I think it was Susan’s way of trying to teach me responsibility.
I told her I hated it, but I fucking loved it. That’s probably the only reason I was allowed to continue to go. That, and Emily and I were on our own. I’d have taken shoveling shit for weeks on end to not have to listen to the sound of Susan’s voice. I think she finally figured out how much we loved it, so we weren’t allowed to go anymore.
Frustration rises up from my toes. This whole thing is tied to Dad and money, of course. It’s always about money. At least with my family. Damn, my dad has horrible taste in women.
I try to think of my mother, but I can’t even remember what she sounded like, only a faint memory of her smell and that she loved Christmas. The house was alive. We had money back then, fucking wealthy compared to everyone else in the area, but nothing near what Dad has now. That was back before he made a new company with Harding. Back when everything was only Rockwell Tire, no Rockwell-Harding financial.
I blink into the sun. I’m searching the coastline and the horizon of the ocean. But there’s nothing here. Nothing at all but water, surf, and rock. It’s bright and hot.
“Hey!” Zane yells forward to Sam and Calvin. They turn. “I’m going to keep going if you two are okay with it.”
Sam waves back. “Yeah, let’s go. The less fuel we use, the better.”
“On it.” Zane steers carefully past the cave where we’d tied up the WaveRunner. It’s a large cave when it’s low tide. Sam and Calvin have their heads down, watching the vanishing reef below the boat as Zane pulls us out deeper into the ocean.
We run next to the bluff. And my stomach hardens. The last time I was here, we were outrunning the pirates on the WaveRunner, praying they didn’t see us. My hand reflexively goes to my arm and my shoulder. The bullet went through my bicep. But most days I’ve got a deep ache in the back of my shoulder.
I change positions and lean back, stretching my arm out. The damn neuropathy sends tingles through the fingers of my right hand. I shake it out, swallowing down the urge to swear into the tender’s spray. The rock wall towers up next to us. I crane my neck back. It’s fucking impossible to think that I ever thought I could climb up there with a useless arm. But we’re here, alive. And that’s how we’re going to stay.
The boat skips on the waves. I’m gripping with my good hand, and I send the fingers of my other hand through my hair,smoothing it back. Chicken Beach emerges from behind the cliff. The WaveRunner is there, lying on its side. And relief crests over me.
“It’s there,” Zane shouts, but he sounds a little upset.
There’s two schools of thought: Calvin and Zane were hoping it was still there. But Sam and I were both hoping it was gone. If it was gone, it meant the pirates came back, searched for it, didn’t find us, and got the hell out of here with it. I don’t think it’s a good idea if we take it now.
It’s low tide, but there’s no reef to speak of around the long sandy spit. Zane pulls up as close as he can get. Calvin jumps off the front, and Sam slides into the water. The outboard motor tilted up, we pull up onto the sand, high enough that the boat won’t move with the tide. And then we’re standing around the WaveRunner, staring at it like we’re doing a damn autopsy.
“It wasn’t hit. At least, not what’s visible,” Calvin states after brushing the sand off the sides. It’s sunk a few feet into the beach.
I grab the shovel out of the tender and start digging. Each shovel has my shoulder crying out.
“Let me do it,” Zane says.
I ignore his hand. “I’ve got it.” I dig out the front, then stand up, my shoulders still hunched. I’ve made a dent, but the other side still needs to come out.
I take a breath, but Calvin’s hand lands over mine. “Give me the damn shovel,” he says.
I let go and stand back and watch. Zane’s on his knees digging with his hands. Sam grabs the handlebars and Zane the back of the seat. We push it out onto the compact sand.
It’s a mess. The key is rusted into its slot.
“Is it worth it?” I stand back.
Calvin glares like I’ve said to pull the plug on his grandmother’s life support. “If we can get this working, we can use it to get fruit, fish, eggs. It uses a hell of a lot less fuel.”
I shrug. Because I still think we should leave it be. Let the pirates think we died.
“Shut up.” Calvin crouches.
