Dead Reckoning Read Online Free

Jeff took advantage of a lull between waves and gunned the engine. The boat struggled forward and then picked up speed as the water poured from the stern drains. Bill stood next to Jeff, and because of the sudden lurch forward, he lost his balance. It appeared as if he might right himself, but just then he lost his hold on the slippery rail and tumbled over the side into the frothing water of the pass. His head hit the gunwale with a dull thud on the way over.
    Before I could even think of what to do, there was a flash of orange in front of me. Sonny had grabbed the life ring and was already in the water. As he swam toward Bill, it occurred to me that Sonny could have been an action hero but for a societal size bias.
    Also without hesitation, Jeff swung the stern away from both the overboard men so as not to endanger them with the propeller. For an instant, we were abeam to the wind and waves, and the boat lurched to starboard again. We all braced for a flip, but none came. Instead, Jeff brought the boat around, and in one continuous motion guided the craft in, just downwind of Bill and Sonny. Clinging to the life ring and each other, the men bobbed in the water like corks. Bill was conscious but dazed, and Sonny wore his optimistic grin.
    Sonny held onto Bill and churned through the remaining few feet to the boat. I grabbed Bill’s arm and pulled, but his massive frame barely moved. Ed took hold of Bill’s other arm and Jeff stepped to the opposite side to provide counter weight. We heaved with everything we had as Sonny pushed from below. The greater part of Bill’s weight finally came over the gunwale and he slipped the rest of the way in and flopped to the deck like a seal.
    Bill stared up at the sky. A drop of blood broke free from a small cut on his forehead and entered a rivulet of water running down his scalp and disappeared.
    “I found one,” said Ed as he placed a toothpick in Bill’s mouth. Bill closed his eyes and exhaled.
    The maelstrom had abated slightly, but only enough to allow us to get the rest of the way through the channel without any more trouble. Once in the shelter of the islands on the other side, we plowed roughly but safely through the chaotic sea toward home, the ominous clouds hot on our tail all the way.

3
     
    5:30 PM – KWAJALEIN
     
                  By the time we got back to the marina, Bill seemed fine. I left Sonny, Jeff and Ed to take Bill to the hospital to be checked out (forcibly, if necessary) and peddled through the driving rain toward the weather station.
    It was always warm on Kwaj, so the fact that personal vehicles were not allowed on the island generally didn’t bother me. But the policy was a real bummer during the downpours. The phone at the marina had been out—probably another casualty of the salty air—but I fully expected to have to pull the swing shift in lieu of a sick employee. I couldn’t imagine what else I would be needed for on a Sunday.
                  I burst through the door and stood, trying to wipe some of the water from my clothes. I overheard one of my forecasters, Chris, on the phone and immediately knew something was wrong.
                  “It’s hard to say right now, sir.”
                  He poked his head through the door of the forecast office. He cocked his head and widened his eyes as if to say: Help!
                  “He just walked in. Let me bring him up to speed, and I’ll have him call you back.” The bells in the old rotary phone tinged as Chris slammed down the receiver.
                  “What’s the matter?” I asked.
                  “T.D. zero one.”
                  “Tropical depression?” I asked. “You’re kidding.”
                  “Nope. Look.”
                  He sent the signal from his computer to the overhead monitor with a key stroke. A zoomed-in visible satellite image of the storm