The Onyx Seed - A Story of Survival by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 21

Julie was suddenly startled from sleep by the strange sound of silence. Having been hidden in its grasp for at least a week, she had come to fear the isolation that accompanied it. Terrified by a repeat of the previous day’s events, she leaped out of bed and ran down the aisle toward Marty’s room. She stopped at the door and listened intently. Still hearing only silence, Julie cracked the door open and peered in to see Marty quietly sleeping. His chest rising and falling with each breath. Closing the door, she leaned back against a nearby cabinet and let out a sigh of relief. With her anxiety pushed aside, Julie felt the need to distract herself. The air in the cabin had begun to feel heavy and stale, so she opened the hatch and allowed the cabin to air. There wasn’t much in the way of mess, but she chose to occupy her thoughts by doing a bit of cleaning. While washing out the sink, she was startled as Marty stumbled out through the bedroom door. He turned and dropped himself onto the unfolding sleeping mat, leaned back and cupped his hands over his eyes.

“Are we still near Galveston?” he asked. Julie hurried over and sat next to him, placing her hand around his wrist, not only in an attempt to give him a bit of comfort but also to feel for a pulse. As a nurse, it was the first step in any examination, and she performed it on instinct.

“Um, yeah,” she answered. “We’re about two or three miles off the coast.”

She reached up and with a fingertip and delicately pushed back a lock of his hair.

“So, how are you doing?” she asked. Marty looked at her with tired, reddened eyes. “Honestly,” he began. “I just want to get the hell out of here.”

Julie put a hand on his shoulder.

“We’re going to get as far away from here as we can,” she replied. “But you need to eat something first.”

She retreated to the kitchen, leaving Marty to continue his ascent into wakefulness. Returned to the dining table with a mug of steaming coffee, Marty got himself upright. And with the first sip, felt his senses come back to life. Coffee is the universal prescription. Nectar of the gods. Without it, life would be missing its most cherished stimulant. As Marty’s mind continued its rise into consciousness, Julie was in the kitchen area making pancakes. And it wasn’t long before she, again, returned with enough food to feed a small country. As he dove into the feast, Julie had a surprise for him. Bringing a hand up from under the table, she placed in front of him a small bottle of syrup. She brought her hands up under her chin and watched Marty’s reaction as his expression turned to boyish wide-eyed wonder. He picked up the bottle and studied it briefly as though questioning its existence. A smile came to his face as he inquired about it.

“Where did you get this?” he asked. Julie had spotted several small bottles at the hospital’s kitchen and noticed that only one had been filled.

“I tried to get a little of everything,” she said. She smiled broadly as Marty poured it over the stack of golden brown pancakes. It ran out over the stack like liquid bronze, tumbling down its sides. Julie continued to watch as Marty finished the last of them. Given his previous state of mind, she thought that a full stomach and a jump start of his blood sugar might clear his head. Marty looked across the table and noticed that Julie had only a mug of coffee in front of her.

“Aren’t you eating?” he asked with concern. “You can’t not eat.”

She sat with her hands still under her chin. “Coffee’s fine for me,” she replied. “But you can make dinner tonight.”

He nodded, displaying the quick response of an energized mind and body.

“You’ve got a deal,” he said. “How about steak?” Julie was pleased to see him with a sense of humor. The soldier in him would soon resurface, and with it, his strength.

The day began with a general inspection of the Stellar Storm, looking for any damage or mechanical problems that may have developed over the night. Marty deeply involved himself in the workings of the boat, leading Julie to believe he was trying to distract himself from Lucas’ violent death. She surmised that he was not yet ready to talk about the subject, or the guilt it left him with, but as the day moved on, the wind picked up enough for them to get underway. They let the sails out and keeping a watchful eye on the boom, brought the Stellar Storm around into an easterly direction. The wind did the rest. Julie’s goal for the next few days was to maintain course, circle the Florida peninsula, and put into port somewhere for more supplies. At least, that was the plan.

The next few days saw calm seas as Marty continued to learn how to sail the forty-foot yacht. Julie taught him navigation, steering, and how to read a nautical chart. There would always be something to learn and Marty threw himself into learning as much as possible. It was also during this process that Julie began teaching him how to assess the weather. He was familiar with weather patterns common to the desert, but the ocean was completely different. The ocean could create its own weather and learning to read the skies was a critical skill. And it was important to always expect the unexpected. One had to take into account cloud formation, wind direction and speed, the height of the waves. Even the rocking of the boat. If the boat rocked hard enough to ring the bell near the cockpit, it could easily be assumed that trouble was on its way. Julie was familiar with a few emergency measures, such as steering the boat into oncoming waves and how to avoid being swept out to the open sea. But, she also knew that the best means of dealing with this impending catastrophe was to avoid it altogether. Sometimes, the best plan of action is a swift retreat.

After three or four days, Marty was beginning to relax a bit, and no longer seemed driven to bury himself in the daily workings of the boat. But Julie did notice that he appeared rather distant and thought it best not to press him into conversation. He would talk about it when he was ready. In the meantime, they were still well supplied, in spite of the water tank having dropped to half its capacity. It wasn’t critically low, but it was a concern that would have to be addressed sooner rather than later. Marty spent a considerable amount of time at the wheel. He found the experience of piloting the Stellar Storm to be almost meditative and could occasionally feel the current pushing and pulling against the rudder.

One evening, after dropping anchor off the coast of Florida near Apalachicola, Julie stepped out of the shower in a fresh change of clothes to find Marty sitting on the floor, sorting through the contents of Lucas’ pack.

“Can I help?” she asked.

“Uh, no,” Marty answered. “I got this.” Julie placed a hand on his shoulder as he hesitated. “You know, you don’t have to do that,” she said. Marty looked up at her with a slight expression of seriousness.

“There are things in here we can use,” he said. “And I don’t think Lucas would mind.”

He continued sorting through the pack’s contents after having dumped everything out onto the floor. Anything that could be used was stored, while other items were set aside to be repacked. As he sifted through Lucas’ belongings, Marty’s mind became flooded with the events of their journeys beginning. He remembered how Lucas reacted when he shattered the glass door of the camping store in L.A. How he marveled at the glittering nighttime sky as they camped on the banks of the reservoir in Angeles National Forest. There would be no headstone, no cemetery plot, no memorial. There would be no obituary outlining his short, youthful life. How he had endured the loss of his entire family and still managed to keep going. Marty realized that Lucas had not only been a survivor of the infection but a survivor of his own life. A lesser person would have simply called it quits and fallen into an existence of self-medication or worse. Lucas, it seems, never knew how strong he really was. Julie sat on the floor next to him.

“Feel like talking?” she asked.

Marty paused to find his words.

“I don’t know,” he said.

He looked at Julie with an expression of confusion. “What was he thinking?”

“Well,” Julie began. “I found his clothes in a pile on the cockpit floor. We were anchored, so it wasn’t like the boat was moving. I think he just decided to take a swim. Marty leaned down, bringing his hands up to his forehead. Letting them fall, he released a deep sigh, closing his eyes as he sat up again. “I wish he’d said something first.”

Julie tried to be understanding and putting a hand on his shoulder said,

“Marty, I sat right at the dining table. I was so busy studying the charts that I never even heard the splash.”

Marty’s expression quickly changed to one of sympathy.

“Julie,” he began. “This wasn’t your fault.”

“Okay,” she replied. “But, it wasn’t your fault either.” Marty knew she was right. We all make our own choices and are forced to deal with the consequences; if we’re lucky if the consequences are fatal, we learn nothing. After all, no one ever learned anything by being dead.

Having retired to their separate rooms for the night, sleep came relatively easy, compared to several nights ago. And the gentle sway of the Stellar Storm cradled them both. Lulling them to sleep with the steady rhythmic beat of calm waves kissing the boat’s hull. For Marty, sleep had become a welcomed amnesia, where he was only occasionally forced to reflect into the mirror of memory. Julie, however, was now feeling the full weight of responsibility as she struggled with the balance of knowing the risks of piloting a type of boat she was only slightly familiar with and the benefit of being as far from other survivors as possible, while still being within reach of supplies. As long as they were at sea, it would be a burden she would always carry but never speak of.

Morning came early as Marty and Julie were awakened by the cockpit bell as it rang out with each push of the ocean. Up until this point, the bell, like the ocean, had remained silent. Now, the bell rang out its warning of events soon to come. Things that even sea hardened captains of old told to small children, as they sat huddled around the glow of a wood stove in the middle of a windy night. However, there was no gallant crew to fend off the beast that stalked the Stellar Storm. No harpoon to fire into the heart of the oncoming monster. The bell sounded the alarm, but Julie not yet assessed its urgency. They both appeared to wake at the same time. Having taken only moments to dress, they met somewhere near the middle of the aisle. Marty was panicked, as he clung to whatever fixed object was closest. He had become too accustomed to the calm seas of the gulf. And the magnitude of the boat’s motion brought out of him a primal fear of impending death, as his mind projected a vision of crushing catastrophe.

“What the hell is going on?” he asked. “We just need to steer the boat into the waves,” Julie answered.

She made it sound so simple. Yet, inside, she suspected there was far more afoot than simply spinning the wheel. Her suspicions were only made stronger as she opened the hatch and stepped up into the cockpit. The conditions of the previous day had gone from a state of serene stillness to one of impending disaster, as Julie first noticed how much the wind had picked up. If the wind was pushing the waves, then what was it that was pushing the wind? Steering the boat into the waves was only a temporary solution. Julie’s concern was why the weather had so suddenly changed, and she already suspected the worse. The sky was strangely clear in all directions and the horizon was free of even the faintest hint of trouble. Julie decided that the sails would not be raised until a more complete assessment could be made.

Looking at the navigational display revealed nothing in the way of local activity. It wasn’t until she viewed the satellite image of the entire Florida coast that their situation became frighteningly clear. “Where the fuck did that come from?!” she asked. Marty stepped over next to her and looking at the display saw the round, puffy vortex spinning off the southwestern coast. His face paled as he was immediately overtaken by an expression of grave concern.

“Please tell me that’s not one of those hurricanes you were talking about,” he said.

They gazed at the monster that seemed to materialize out of nowhere.

“We need a plan,” Julie said.

“Well,” Marty began. “If you’ve got one, I’m all ears.”

She ran down below deck and returned with a black marker she’d found earlier in the chart cabinet. “I need to write down our location,” she said. She went back to the navigational display and finding the latitude and longitude of their location, wrote it on her arm. She was preparing for the worst. If they were blown off course, she could find their current location on the display. But Marty had one more idea. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

Disappearing into the cabin, he dove a hand into his pack and brought out his GPS locator. He put a fresh set of batteries in it and returned to the cockpit. “Is that a GPS?” Julie asked.

“Yeah,” Marty answered. “I used to do a lot of hiking by map and compass, but I picked this up in L.A. as a backup. I guess it’s time to start using it.” Pushing the power button, its palm-sized display came to life. After pushing two or three more buttons, he saved their current location to the device’s memory.

“Okay, now what?” he asked.

“We need to chart a course that will get us out of this thing’s way,” Julie answered. “Come on, we need to look at the charts!”

They quickly made their way below deck. By now, the boat was no longer rolling from side to side, but pitching up and down against the bow. Julie rolled out a chart of the eastern gulf and pointed out an ocean shelf called ‘the Florida Middle Ground’ that lay along Florida’s western coast. Its edge tumbled off into the deep ocean floor.

“So, where is this going to end up?” Marty asked. “I have no idea,” Julie answered. “The display only shows where it is, not where it’s going and hurricanes can change direction pretty quickly. I don’t know how bad this is going to be, but we should be ready for a direct hit.”

As they stood leaning over the chart, an odd thought crept into Marty’s mind. He knew next to nothing about the ocean, beyond the view. But his sudden epiphany turned out to be something critical. “What about the tide?” he asked.

Julie looked at him as though she hadn’t quite understood his question.

“The tide...,” she said with an almost flat tone. The question sank into her conscious mind within the space of a heartbeat.

“Holy shit!”

She ran back up to the cockpit, with Marty close behind. Touching a button on the screen, she brought up the chart for the Florida panhandle. “What does it say?” Marty asked. Julie stared at the screen as though it was the last thing she’d ever see.

“We do not need this,” she replied. She explained that the rising tide would be approaching its crest just ahead of the storm. “This is bad,” she said.

“So, what do we do?” Marty asked. He could devise a plan to infiltrate enemy territory or eliminate a sniper. However, where a crisis at sea was concerned, Marty found himself drawing a blank. “I don’t know!” Julie answered.

They were both terrified as Julie ran down the steps and back into the cabin. Marty went back to the chart while Julie began pacing up and down the aisle. Panic had set in and cemented her mind into a frozen state of disarray, leaving her unable to think clearly. Marty examined the chart, looking closely at the area southeast of the panhandle.

“Julie,” he said. “Look at this!”

Julie continued pacing as tears came to her eyes. “Marty,” she began. “I don’t know what to do!” Marty walked over to her and taking her by the arm, led her back to the chart. Pointing to a spot on the chart, he said, “We’re right off the coast of Apalachicola, right?”

Julie nodded while wiping away her panicked tears. “Julie,” he said impatiently. “I don’t know anything about this stuff. Now, is this where we are?”

“Yeah,” Julie whimpered.

“Okay,” he replied. “Where’s the next port?” Julie calmed down enough to be able to speak clearly. “The coast is covered with ports,” she answered. “Where’s the next port that can handle a boat this size?” Marty interrupted.

“The closest is Apalachicola,” she answered, pointing to the chart. “The next one is probably St. Petersburg, but that’s on the other side of the middle ground.”

“Alright,” Marty replied. “So, we go to Apalachicola.”

“Wait,” Julie replied.

She reached back into the chart cabinet believing that anyone who owned a forty-foot yacht had probably made a few trips to Florida. And searching through the charts, found one detailing the panhandle. Immediately, she noticed that Apalachicola was blocked by St. George Island and navigating it would be impossible under the conditions they would soon find themselves.

“Marty,” Julie began. “I’ve never navigated through an area like that and if we run aground, we’re screwed.”

“Okay, so we go to St. Petersburg, right?” Marty asked. “It’s either that, or we turn around. And I don’t know if we have enough supplies to get us back to Corpus Christi.”

“Well, I’m not going back there,” Julie began. “But we can go to St. Petersburg. I just don’t know if we can get there in time.”

“Well, we can’t just sit here!” Marty replied. Marty momentarily studied the chart. “Look at this,” he began. “We can either hug the coast all the way down to St. Petersburg or sail straight across. What do you think?” Julie stared at the chart, realizing that both courses presented their own risks.

“Well, if we follow the coast,” she began. “We’ll have to slow down, so we can stay clear of the shallows. That means it’s going to take longer. If we sail straight across, we can pick up some speed, but we’d be out far enough that we might run into the hurricane.”

Marty took a moment to collect his thoughts. “Can we look at the display again?” he asked. “Yeah,” Julie answered. “What is it?” He started up the steps toward the cockpit as Julie followed. Getting a second look at the display, Marty and Julie saw something that was not only unexpected but terrifying. Hurricanes are ordinarily slow-moving beasts. Their direction can be predicted to within a certain degree of accuracy. Still, how fast they travel is not always subject to such scrutiny. This hurricane seemed to be the exception. “Shit!” Marty said. “It’s almost halfway up the coast already.”

Julie stepped away from the display and stared out toward the horizon. It was difficult to see at first. But out on the edge of the ocean, against the blue of the sky lay a thin ribbon of white. The beast was in pursuit. Its outermost fringes invading the horizon as it reached out across the sea, pushing the water into waves. She went back over to the display. “Let me take a look at something,” she said. Julie compared the storm’s current position with the image they’d previously seen. The hurricane was headed straight up the coast.

“We need to go, now,” she said. “If we don’t get to St. Petersburg in time, we won’t get there at all.” With the display left on, Marty and Julie raised the sails of the Stellar Storm, weighed anchor and brought the bow around into a southeasterly direction.

As the sails filled with the anticipating wind of the coming storm, Marty took the wheel while Julie went below deck. There was one more thing that had to be done. Without this last step, they could easily become lost among the madness charging in upon them. She needed to chart an accurate heading. If they were blown off course, they could end up anywhere and St. Petersburg seemed to be the only port they could safely navigate. Returning to the cockpit, she gave Marty the heading in degrees. He took his hands off the wheel long enough to enter it into his GPS receiver. He would use it as a digital compass. All they needed to do now was stay afloat.