Chapter 28: A Jack Classic

“What?”

“I have an idea.”

“What? What do you know about sailing?”

“Nothing really. But problems solving is problem solving. Now, do you have another anchor or not?”

Annamaria turned around. “Uh, yeah, I think so. Down below in the supply closet. On the floor, obviously.”

Sands started off back to the door. “It’s locked!” Annamaria yelled through the rainfall. A roll of thunder deafened them a moment, but she saw him turn and gesture for keys. She reached into her pocket, but paused.

“Comon, you made this sound urgent!” Sands yelled as the lightning painted his face white and made his sunglasses flash.

“Shit.” She pulled the keys from her pocket and tossed them at him before she remembered why he wore sunglasses in a thunderstorm. But he caught them, much to her surprise. He disappeared down the stairs. “I can’t believe I just gave him those…” She watched another wave crash over the bow.

.

Sands crossed the room. The supply closet was on the opposite wall than the stairs. They were now rocking enough that even his newfound sea legs couldn’t keep him on a straight line. The key scratched at the doorknob like a drunk’s before it went in. The door swung out. “That’s right, motherfucker.”

He reached out, found it was a rather large closet, and stepped forward. His foot sank into a pile of net. Careful not to tangle his ankles, he took another step or two, then stubbed his toe on something. Just then a large wave hit and he felt himself losing balance. A drop tipped things too much and his shoulder hit a shelf. He grabbled it, getting a handful of the mesh that kept things on the shelf in such weather. Something slid up against his knuckles.

That metal was familiar.

A shock of realization. He grabbed the mesh with both hands and turned to face the shelf. Reaching over the guard, he slid his hand around his company sidearm. Without a pause he tucked the weapon in the back of his waistband and turned back around to see what he’d stubbed his toe on. He crouched down and felt it. The anchor.

“Voila.” He tried to pick it up and felt the muscles in his damaged legs and shoulder burn, then flare with pain. “Son-of-a-bitch….” He altered his grip, determined to overcome his injuries. The awkward piece of metal weighed about fifty pounds, a weight he could have moved easily if it weren’t for his wounds, a fact which only infuriated him further. He dragged it out of the closet, but anchors are made to embed if dragged and he had to lift it to get to the stairs. His limbs revolted. He’d been extremely lucky that none of the bullets had hit bone, but his muscles felt as if they were tearing themselves apart under his skin. He wanted more than anything to drop it when he reached the stairs, but new he may very well never be able to lift it again. At least he had the railing. Leaning heavily, he mounted the stairs. At the top his hands could take no more and he dropped the anchor, immediately feeling a lightness wash over him before the pain of the damage he’d just done himself caught up.

The sheets of freezing rain poured down, and he was thankful for the numbness it brought with it.

Annamaria was too distracted by the peril of the boat to notice how pale he was when she came from the front cabin with a coil of nylon cord. She attached this to the chain that hung from the top of the anchor.

“Now,” she said “What’s your plan?” she had to practically yell to be heard over the water as it crashed all around them. The horizon was not unlike a sheet in tremendous wind, rolling and flapping, and the sky above lit up like bombs were exploding behind the clouds.

“How much line do you have on the front anchor?” he yelled to her, both of them holding onto the anchor and sliding with the rocking deck.

“It’s at a hundred, there’s about 200 feet left.”

Sands nodded. “Okay. Get the other anchor set up at the back. The next time-“

Annamaria shook her head fiercely. “No, you can’t anchor at the stern! We’ll be swamped! We’ll be held down on both sides-“

“Listen to me, damnit! The next wave we get, we loosen the front end, let the wave carry us back, and anchor the ‘stern’ where the wave drops us before the undertow pulls us back here. We can put out some of the sail to catch the wind and combat the undertow, that way we’ll buy some time for anchoring.”

She stared at him, her mouth open. “Are- are you insane!”

“Quite probably!”

Water bubbled over their shoes as they faced each other. The logistics of this were bat-shit crazy and she didn’t like the idea of doing it with only two people, only one of which could actually see that the hell was going on. But what other choice did they have? And the plan was almost crazy enough to be a Jack Classic. “This will never work….” She mumbled to herself.

He flashed his Cheshire grin, and for an instant she thought she was looking at Jack. “Sure it will. Stay positive, Girly.”

.

It took them long minutes to get everything set up, meanwhile the waves were getting higher and the wind stronger. It would be the first release that would be the most dangerous because it would be the biggest wave. Annamaria modified Sands’ plan, knowing boats better. She said they shouldn’t let the wave carry them back, but instead raise the front anchor, lower the back one and let themselves be turned, then lower the front and raise the back. By always having the anchor nearest the shore down, the wind and waves would keep turning them again and again in the direction of the shore. They would just have to watch the stern and make sure they kept it into the wind for as short a time as possible to avoid flooding. They stood in the center of the boat as Annamaria explained how to lower the back anchor. “You can’t just drop it in. That’s why the original plan wouldn’t have worked, there wouldn’t be enough time to lower the anchor before the next wave’s undertow would start pulling us out again.”

The sail was partially out, filling with the wind, straining the nylon anchor rope.

“We never want both anchors to be up at the same time, so make sure you tell me when the back one is down so I know I can raise the front.”

She handed him a pair of leather gloves to protect his hands against the nylon. He checked to make sure he knew which hand was which before pulling them on this time. He wasn’t the type to make the same mistake twice, except when it came to women. Never trust anyone, especially women. But that’s always how it happened wasn’t it, his downfalls? Women always seemed to get him killed. He had an eerie, strange feeling then, as if he weren’t quite himself.

He made sure his gun was still tucked in the back of his waistband.