them into the swirling currents that plucked at their clothes, pulled at their limbs in opposing directions and tried to force the freezing salt water into their mouths and nostrils.
Krysty and Ryan clung to the ropes securing them to the body of the raft, muscles aching and on fire from the effort of holding on grimly, the nylon ropes burning into their flesh, the salt water stinging the torn skin.
And then the raft raced to the surface as buoyancy carried it upward, the giant eel continuing downward as the slippery raft slid from beneath its body, the flesh of the creature sweeping across Mildred and crushing her into the plastic as she passed. The raft broke the surface on a white water crest, the force of the tide adding to its momentum, throwing it up and out of the water.
The fragile plastic shell flew up, the canvas bags stored on the floor long since gone, the three companions secured only by the ropes they had used to tie themselves to the tubular body. The ropes holding Krysty and Ryan held firm, scoring their flesh but keeping them secured to the plastic shell as they hungrily gasped in air, unable to take in their situation but thankful for the ability to breathe once more.
Mildred wasn’t as lucky. The ropes on one side of the raft had been scored through at some point in the distant past and, although nylon didn’t fray or rot, she knew that the fibers twisted for the rope had been weakened. The weight of her body being flung back and forth had weakened those fibers that still connected. The upward thrust of the raft as it was thrown out of the water, combined with the momentum of her own body, was too much of a strain for the fibers. As she gulped air into her lungs, she was dimly aware of the rope suddenly giving way. Before she truly had a chance to register what was happening, she was flung from the craft and sent spinning through the air. Ryan and Krysty, barely conscious, were unable to see or to comprehend what was occurring. They were only aware of the jarring impact as the raft hit the water once more.
The occupants of the other raft had been bewildered spectators.
The whole process had taken only a matter of seconds and there was nothing that J.B., Jak, Dean or Doc were able to do about the events unfolding in front of them. They watched in helpless horror as the creature drove the raft beneath the waves, and in dismay as the tide tossed it back into the air, flinging Mildred out and away from them.
“Shit, we’ve got to do something,” J.B. whispered.
Jak was more than equal to the challenge. “Ryan, Krysty, okay. You tired, let me and Dean row,” he snapped, shifting easily in the raft, his balance sure despite the current tossing the raft around like a toy. Dean, not wasting his breath on speech, also moved around so that he and Jak were side by side.
The albino youth took the oars from the Armorer and handed one to Dean. “Take this. On count three, start pull. Count three each time,” he ordered.
“Okay,” Dean replied.
J.B. snapped out of his awe at seeing Mildred thrown up in the air like a rag doll and moved across the floor of the raft to counterbalance Doc, making it easier for the two rowers to pull through the water.
Jak counted, and the two young men began to pull at the oars, feeling the water struggle against them before yielding. Not only were they fresher than J.B., who had brought them this far, but they were two pulling where only one had pulled before. Their progress was swifter and more sure. The raft moved through the water across the current, heading for the drifting raft and the unseen figure of Mildred Wyeth, who lay somewhere beyond.
J.B. continuously scanned the water in front of them. There was no movement from within the raft, although he could see the arms of Ryan and Krysty entangled in the ropes. They were either unconscious or too stunned to move, but they were as safe as anyone could be on this sea while they were in the raft. He cursed as he tried to look beyond, his vision obscured by the spray that splattered on his spectacles, making the whole vista seem blurred.
He couldn’t see Mildred anywhere.
At that moment the woman lay on her back in the ocean, tossed lifelessly by the current. She had barely been able to take in what was happening as she had flown through the air, knowing only that she was able to breathe again after her immersion. Idly, somewhere at the back of her mind, it had occurred to her that she was weightless and could no longer feel the ropes around her arms and wrists. But before she had a chance, in her dazed condition, to assimilate what that could mean, she found herself hitting the surface of the ocean with an impact that knocked all consciousness from her mind and body. Now limp and seemingly lifeless, she was at the mercy of the currents.
It was Doc who spotted her. Mildred’s light-colored jacket contrasting with the black of her braids spread out around her on the water.
“John Barrymore, I see her! Over to the nor’west,” the old man yelled above the sound of the crashing waves.
J.B. scanned the area Doc had indicated. They knew the island lay northwest of the coast, and there was land in view to the left. Desperately, hope lifting in him, J.B. ran his eyes over the surface of the ocean.
He saw her. Her jacket had spread beneath her and the air that had been trapped beneath the folds of the fabric was keeping her buoyant. It was imperative that they reach her quickly.
“Steer to the right,” the Armorer yelled at Jak and Dean, knowing that would take them to the left as the two rowers were in a reversed position. Jak and Dean didn’t waste breath on a reply, instead putting a stronger effort into their attempts to reach Mildred.
In the other raft, Ryan and Krysty were recovering sufficiently to realize what had happened.
“Fireblast and dammit,” Ryan said huskily, his throat blocked still by the unwanted onrush of salt water. He struggled into a more upright position, trying to unscramble his brain and to get a better view of what was happening. All he knew for sure was that Mildred wasn’t where she should be, two hanks of frayed and broken rope evidence of what had occurred.
Krysty struggled around. It was impossible to tell how her mutie sense felt about the situation and the imminent danger to Mildred, as her hair was plastered to her head thanks to the buffeting it had taken from the sea. But she didn’t need a doomie to see that unless Mildred was recovered from the water soon, it would be too late.
Particularly as an ominous black shape was bucking and rising from the water. The giant mutie eel, still not satisfied with the damage it had wrought, and perhaps in some way able to sense the danger and vulnerability of its enemy, was ready to return for the kill.
Ryan tried to disentangle himself from the ropes; but those that had served so well to keep him secure were now working against him, tangling and knotting as his still-weakened muscles couldn’t summon enough strength to pull his arms free. He wanted to wrestle the Steyr rifle and to fire at the creature. Perhaps its scaly hide would be too thick for the creature to be chilled, or even severely injured, but at least it would distract the creature from its intended target.
And that target was obviously Mildred.
The eel was moving purposefully across the water, its slithering motion taking it beneath then over the surface of the water. It was moving with a greater speed than Jak and Dean could muster between them, certainly a speed too great for the frustrated Ryan to take aim and fire at such a range, even if he had been able to reach the rifle. With no oars to row, no strength to row with and unable to even reach his blaster, he watched in frustration as the creature moved out of his range and toward Mildred’s prone figure.
“Someone blast the fucker,” he croaked.
Jak
