Pirate - Duncan Falconer [72]
‘All together? The journey and everything. How long?’ she asked, holding on as a swell rocked the boat. ‘I don’t really care. We’re going to do it. I just want to know that’s all. I want something to aim for.’
‘My advice is to aim to wait for days.’ He walked over to a five-gallon plastic container and unscrewed the top. He sniffed it quickly before picking it up and raising it to his lips. He took a short sip and then a long drink before putting it back down. ‘We can live three weeks without food, three days without water and we have enough here for a couple of days if we ration it. So there’s five days to aim for.’
She didn’t look enthralled with the target.
He set about checking the engines. Whoever had rigged them had done it in a weird way. They were both pull-start with their control arms linked by a wooden pole so that they could be turned in unison by one person. The twist throttle control on each arm had a crude clamp device attached to it made of wood and fishing line. He could find no engine or steerage control of any sort from the small bridge house, the various cables intended for such use having long since gone.
‘We need to get as far away from here as we can before we try and start these up,’ he said, studying the beach and the waters around the cargo ships for any activity.
She picked up her oar again and waited for him to take hold of his. When he was satisfied, he grabbed up his oar. She released the line and they pushed away from the other boat.
Stratton moved to the front, where he could better control the steerage, and paddled hard. She took her position in the rear again. He aimed the small vessel towards the northern edge of the cove, which initially meant getting closer to the nearest cargo ship but it was the most direct route to the open sea.
The waves weren’t very powerful within the cove itself and the pair of them managed to move the boat ahead at an easy pace. Stratton kept an eye on the golden spur of sand visible in the darkness on the starboard side that formed the northern edge of the cove’s mouth. It was difficult to make out where it actually ended and every now and then he pushed his oar down as deep as he could in order to check the depth.
They put their backs into it, as much enthused by the fact they were quickly gaining on the mouth, towards the open sea, as they were by the reality that they were beginning the last major phase of the escape bar finding a rescue ship.
Stratton’s oar suddenly found the bottom. ‘Left,’ he called out.
She did her best to compensate while he edged more to the front to bring the nose around.
The end of the spur was fast coming up.
‘Almost there!’ he shouted, aware she must be tiring.
As they reached the end of the toe of sand, Stratton saw the larger waves beyond it. They were rolling inland from the ocean unchecked and looking heavy.
‘Keep it up!’ he called out. ‘We need to break through that.’
As they came around the end of the toe, the first big wave struck them remorselessly, spray breaking over the bows. The boat seemed to come to a standstill. Stratton increased his effort. The girl was tiring but she fought on, encouraged by the consequences of failure.
The next wave sets came at them relentlessly, raising up the bows each time as Stratton heaved against them, the nose then dropping down into the trough with a thump. His eyes darted to the finger of sand to gauge their progress. To his horror they were not only failing to make any headway, they were going backwards.
He couldn’t put any more effort into it than he was already doing. And if that was the case for him, for her it had to be worse. They would only get weaker while the ocean’s energy remained boundless. They had paddled into the main flow of the swell and at the rate they were going they would end up on the beach. Which was quickly coming up behind them. If that happened, they would get hammered in the surf. They would probably capsize. The brief dream was fast turning back into the nightmare.
There was nothing more for it.