Jake Morrison's Arc

Chapter 16 of 54

The black wall of cloud swallowed the horizon. Rain smell filled the air. Jake stared at the storm, then at the fuel gauge. They couldn't go around. They couldn't outrun it. He wiped his mouth and made himself think like it was a problem with an answer. Jake licked his finger and held it up. The wind pushed cold against his skin. He turned slowly, testing it. "Okay," he said. "The island's that way." He pointed past the storm's edge. "And the wind from this thing is blowing straight for it. By my count, dead on." Marisol stepped close, her black hair whipping across her face. She looked at the storm, then at him. "What do we do?" "We let it take us in." Jake dropped his hand. "Think of a bullet in a crosswind. You don't fight the wind. You line up with it. Aim right and it carries you to the target dead center." Marisol's eyes widened. A slow smile crossed her face. "You want to ride the storm in." "I want the storm to do the work," Jake said. "Save the fuel. Let the wind push us the last miles." Marcus climbed down from the wheelhouse, a wrench still hooked in his belt. He'd been the one to bluff Jake with an empty gun once. Now he trusted Jake's math without a blink. "That's insane," he said. Then he grinned. "Insane enough to work. If we point the bow right and hold her, the swells won't roll us. We take them at an angle." Sofia gripped the wheel, knuckles white. "My dad never took this boat through weather like that." "Your dad had a full tank and time," Jake said. "We've got neither. This is the way in." Sofia stared at him. Then she nodded and set her jaw. "Tell me the heading." They moved fast. Marcus lashed loose gear to the rails. Marisol strapped the radio inside a dry locker. Jake tied a rope from the wheelhouse to the stern so no one crossed the deck without a hold. The wind rose to a howl. The first wave lifted the bow high. "Angle her!" Jake shouted. "Ten degrees off the wind. Ride it!" Sofia turned the wheel. The yacht swung and met the swell nose-first. The deck pitched. Water crashed over the rail and soaked them all. Jake held the rope and called each wave as it came. Marcus threw the throttle back to save gas. The wind alone shoved them forward. For an hour the storm hammered them. The boat climbed and dropped. No one spoke except Jake, calling waves. Then the rain thinned. The swells shrank. The black wall passed behind them. Ahead, low and green in the gray water, sat a shape. Cabins. Docks. Land. "The island," Sofia breathed. Jake wiped salt from his eyes. The plan worked. They'd made it. Then Marcus checked the gauge, and his grin died. "Jake," he said quietly. "The tank's near dry. And we've got no dock we can reach without it."