Shipwreck Island

  Nacho went to the back. He wrapped his hand in the bottom of his T-shirt and lifted the creaky lid of the wooden locker. A strong, musty odor wafted out and Nacho made a face. He pulled out a misshapen, drab orange life jacket that was lumpier in some spots than others. He held the strap by two fingers, protected by the bottom of his shirt.

  Sarah said, “That looks a thousand years old.”

  Nacho leaned forward and looked into the locker, and his lips moved silently as he counted. “There’s enough for all of us.”

  “Disgusting.” Sarah shook her head. “I’m not wearing one.”

  Her dad said, “You wouldn’t be so picky in an emergency.”

  Sarah shivered. “Can we not talk about it?” She took another sip of ginger tea.

  Nacho set the life jacket on the deck in the bright sun and started pulling out the others. “Maybe airing them out will help.” After he had lined up the six life jackets, he pulled a bottle of hand sanitizer out of his fanny pack and drenched his hands. Then he opened up his manual and paged through. He called to Captain Norm, “Did you file a float plan?”

  Captain Norm nodded.

  Sarah asked, “What’s that?”

  Nacho said, “It tells where you’re going, when you’ll be back. In case something happens, someone will know where to look for you.”

  Sarah looked around and saw nothing but ocean and a few distant islands. “How could anyone find anyone in this?”

  “GPS,” replied Nacho. “It’s not as hard as you think as long as you have some coordinates to start with.”

  John asked Captain Norm, “Where exactly are we headed?”

  Captain Norm pointed straight ahead. “There’s a nice private island about a day’s sail from here. I haven’t been there for a while, but I think it’ll be perfect for you all. We’ll anchor and spend three days, then head back.” He glanced up at the cloudless sky. “If this breeze holds through the night, we should make it there about dawn tomorrow.”

  As Sarah looked out onto the endless stretch of water, a large white bird with turquoise feet circled the boat. Sarah stared, noticing the bird’s yellow eyes. “What is that?”

  Captain Norm called out, “Blue-footed booby.”

  Marco laughed.

  Sarah rolled her eyes. “Real mature.”

  “It’s a funny name.” Marco narrowed his eyes at her. “I just meant that there’s no way there’s a bird called that.”

  As they watched, the bird sped like a missile toward the water and dove, surfacing a moment later with a fish in its mouth.

  “Whoa!” Nacho whooped. “That was cool.”

  Captain Norm said, “The blue-footed booby’s nostrils are permanently closed because they dive so much. But there’s also the masked booby, the brown booby, and the red-footed booby.” Captain Norm looked at Marco and tilted his head. “See for yourself. There’s a bird book down in the hold.”

  Sarah said, “That would require knowing how to read.” And then she felt a surge of nausea and leaned out over the rail, too busy puking to notice the scathing look that Marco shot her way.

  8

  Marco pushed open the hatch and stomped down the few stairs into the cabin, more to get away from everyone than to look for the stupid book about the stupid birds who lived on the stupid ocean. He sighed, and wished he were back in Texas with his friends. The light coming through the portholes was enough to see by as he got his first look at the space belowdecks.

  His eyes widened.

  The cabin was in much less disrepair than the rest of the boat, and actually looked habitable. Even rather nice, despite the slight musty odor. The front of the boat made a V, where there was a berth, the bed neatly made with a blue spread and a white pillow. He hoped that he could sleep there, although he suspected he would end up sharing with Nacho.

  The galley was small, but seemed to have all the amenities of a regular kitchen. A large wooden basket of fresh pineapples, papayas, and tiny bananas sat on the counter, tethered by the handle with a red-and-black bungee cord. Just past the kitchen a red-and-white-checked tablecloth covered a rectangular table, which was bolted to the wall at one end, a green-cushioned banquette curving around three sides of it. A few steps beyond the table lay a sitting room, with two wide cushioned built-in benches that met in one corner and lay opposite a shelving unit that held a television.

  Marco smiled. “Nice.” He stepped closer and pushed the power button, but nothing happened. He hoped there was nothing wrong with the television, that it just happened to be unplugged or something.

  Several bookshelves sat above the television, and Marco stepped over to read the spines of the books. He half hoped to find another in the Harry Potter series, since he’d devoured the first during the flight from Shanghai to Sydney while everyone else slept. When they’d landed, he handed it to Sarah, with a flip, “I won’t need this after all,” implying that he hadn’t even cracked it open.

  He wasn’t exactly sure why, but he just didn’t want her to know he’d read it. Maybe he didn’t want to be a source of satisfaction for her; she’d made him feel like he was some kind of project.

  He was getting the feeling that the trip was like a test of some sort for the Robinsons, to see if this new family was going to work. So far, really, it couldn’t have been going any worse. Between the long flights, the lousy hotel, the suckfest of a boat … He grinned. The trip couldn’t have been going any better, because the worse it went, the better chance there was that his new stepfather—and maybe even his mom—would give up on the marriage. And they’d end up back in Texas.

  He perused the bookshelf, which held a dozen or so old, mildewed books, by authors with odd names like Jules Verne and Homer and H. G. Wells and Robert Louis Stevenson, but no Harry Potter. He found the bird book and pulled it out.

  Marco peered into the small head, surprised to see sparkling silver metal fixtures on the sink and toilet, and clean white tile. “Mom will be happy about that.” On his way back to the galley, he noticed a small table and chair he hadn’t seen before, with a bank of electronics above them. A headset lay on the table, and he picked it up and put it on. “Mayday, Mayday.” He grinned. Then he took off the headset and set it back on the table.

  On his way back out, he passed a door with a sign that read CREW ONLY.

  Marco went over to the foot of the stairs, peered up, and then backed his way to the door. He took ahold of the knob, expecting it to be locked, but it twisted easily in his hand and he pushed the door open.

  The berth wasn’t very large, and held only a desk, a chair, and a bed, neatly made with a white bedspread decorated with a stitched dark blue anchor. At the foot of the bed sat a square object, concealed completely by a plain white sheet.

  Marco leaned back out the door for a second, checking to see that no one had come down the stairs, then quickly stepped to the end of the bed. He lifted one end of the white sheet, revealing a large trunk made of a dark wood, intricately carved scenes all over it. He saw mermaids and islands and even what looked like a sea monster. Each of the carvings was inlaid with colorful abalone, and Marco couldn’t resist touching one. The shiny surface was smooth and cool under his fingertips.

  The latch for the trunk was closed, and Marco pressed his fingers against the mechanism, trying to spring it open.

  Nothing happened.

  “Marco?” His mother’s voice came from above.

  He dropped the corner of the sheet, backed out of the room, and shut the door. “Coming!” Then, clutching the bird book in his hand, he headed up to the deck.

  9

  By the time the sun was almost ready to kiss the horizon, Sarah had gotten over the worst of her nausea. While she certainly wasn’t about to give credit for the improvement to the ginger tea, and especially not her stepmother, she was grateful to be feeling better.

  Sarah and Ahab perched near the front of the boat as it sailed east, away from the sunset. Captain Norm was at the helm, eating his dinner, while the others w
ere down in the cabin eating theirs.

  Apparently, their captain fit the brochure description of fully qualified chef, because he had slipped away from steering the boat about an hour before, then reappeared, proclaiming, “Soup’s on!”

  Although she was feeling better, the thought of eating—even simply smelling food—was enough to make her gag, and she stayed above while the others descended to eat whatever gourmet meal awaited them. The ocean breeze felt good on her face, gradually cooling as the sun slipped below the waves. The first star appeared in the twilight, joined by others, rapidly multiplying as the sky darkened. The moon, half full, began creeping up the sky.

  Sarah lay back on a towel and stared up at the constellations. Her dad had shown her a few on last summer’s trip to the Caribbean, but she only remembered one. She held her hand up toward the sky, tracing the lines of the Southern Cross.

  Ahab barked.

  She looked at him. “What’s a matter—” Then Sarah looked back up at the sky and froze.

  The stars had vanished. As had the moon.

  Ahab barked again.

  Sarah sat up. Seconds before she had seen no clouds at all, but the stars were now … gone. How was that possible?

  Captain Norm’s face was visible in the green glow of the control panel. He stood there, not moving, staring up at the sky.

  Ahab barked and barked, not stopping.

  Over the din, Sarah asked, “What happened?”

  Captain Norm shook his head. “I think we’ve run into some weather.”

  The breeze picked up. Sarah set her hand on Ahab’s head, but he wouldn’t stop barking.

  Captain Norm said, “I don’t like the looks of this.”

  Sarah stood up, almost losing her balance after sitting for so long. “Is it a storm?”

  “Probably just a squall. You should go down in the cabin.” He took a long look at Ahab. “Take my dog with you. I’m going to furl the sail and turn on the autopilot. Can you send your dad up? I’ll need a hand with the sail.”

  Although she barely knew him, the tone in his voice was not to be argued with, so Sarah didn’t even consider disobeying. She pulled on Ahab’s collar, dragging him. Not an easy task, as he kept barking and looking back at the captain.

  When they reached the hatch, Sarah said, “Come on. We have to get below.”

  But Ahab grew quiet and sat back on his haunches. He looked over at his master and began whining.

  Captain Norm called over, “Go on, Ahab. Go on.”

  Sarah forced herself to sound calm. “Come on, boy. It’s just a storm. We’ll be fine.” Even as the reassuring words came out of her mouth, her heart raced and her hands trembled as they grasped the dog’s thick collar. She didn’t know how bad the storm would be. She didn’t know if they would be fine. But she did know she needed to get that dog downstairs.

  She set a hand on his massive head and his brown eyes gazed up at her.

  “I promise. I’ll take good care of you.”

  Ahab took one last look at Captain Norm, then got to his feet and headed down the stairs into the cabin. Before she followed, she glanced over at the captain. He was hunched over his controls, speaking into his handheld radio.

  We’ll be fine, thought Sarah. He was already calling for help and nothing bad had even happened.

  Just as she began to step down, a draft lifted her hair off her shoulders. And then, as the breeze stiffened into a wind, rain began pelting her face. She quickly took the stairs down into the cabin, and burst into the galley.

  Ahab paced back and forth in the small space, his tail low, not wagging in the slightest.

  Everyone else was seated in the booth, eating spaghetti from the looks of Nacho, whose chin was utterly orange.

  John smiled. “Hungry?”

  Sarah shook her head as she wiped rain off her face. “A storm’s coming.”

  Yvonna frowned. “But the sky was so clear.”

  “Not anymore,” said Sarah, surprised at herself that there was not a trace of snark in her words. She was too puzzled by how fast the storm had come up. “The stars disappeared and Captain Norm sent us down here.”

  Her dad stood up. “I wonder if he needs help.”

  Sarah said, “He wants us to stay down here.”

  The captain hadn’t used those words exactly, but something inside Sarah told her she needed to keep her family downstairs. Well, her dad was her only family, really, but she didn’t want anything to happen to anyone on that boat. So a little white lie wasn’t going to hurt if it did, in fact, keep them all safe inside the cabin.

  The boat began to rock, and then, suddenly, the dishes on the table slid to one side.

  “Grab them!” yelled Yvonna.

  Luckily, the edge of the table had a lip that stopped the dishes before the boys had a chance to react. Sarah picked up the pot of noodles and sauce. Together they quickly piled dirty dishes in the small sink and everything else in the cupboard above the sink, firmly securing the latch on the cabinet.

  Sarah realized she’d better tell her dad the captain needed help. “Dad, I forgot. The captain wanted you to help him with the sail.”

  John quickly headed up on deck.

  By the time they were done cleaning up the dinner table, the thunder and wind and rain were so loud that they had to yell to be heard. The boat was all over the place, climbing up and then plunging so far that Sarah’s stomach lurched like she was on a roller coaster.

  Her dad came back down.

  Yvonna asked, “What’s going on?”

  John said, “We got the sail put away and the skipper put the boat on autopilot.” He tried to smile. “Let’s go in and sit down.”

  Grabbing at the knobs on the cupboard and then the table in order to keep her balance, Sarah followed him into the other small room and they all crowded together on the cushioned benches, no one saying anything. Sarah’s heart was pounding and she felt like she had to throw up again. Her dad put his arm around her. “You okay?”

  She wanted to scream. She wanted so badly to stand up and shout, “No, I’m not okay! I want to be home! With you and me, the way it was!” If it weren’t for the Murillo three that is exactly where they would be. Safe and sound in Southern California.

  But instead of saying any of what she was really feeling, she chose to share only a small part of it. She said, “I don’t like this.”

  But no one answered her, because a second after the words came out, the lights in the cabin went out. They were in the belly of the sailboat, in the dark, in the middle of a maelstrom.

  And then, finally, Sarah did let out the scream she had been holding in.

  10

  Marco was unsure whether he hit the floor before or after the lights went off, but either way, he found himself in complete blackness, face to floor, his nose buried in the musty rug. He scrambled up onto all fours, reaching out with one hand for something to steady himself with as the boat pitched violently to the side. He called out, “Mom!”

  “Marco!”

  His mom sounded very close, so he reached out. His fingers brushed an arm, so he grasped and held on, pulling.

  “Dad?” The voice attached to the arm was tearful. And girly.

  Marco quickly let go of Sarah. “I’m not your dad.”

  “Marco!”

  A hand gripped his shoulder and he quickly grabbed it. “Mom?”

  “Yes, it’s me, sweetie.” Her voice was shaky. “I have Nacho’s hand. John?”

  John answered, “I have Sarah! Yvonna, where’s your hand?”

  Marco heard a crash as something fell. His mom sounded frantic as she asked, “Do we have everyone?”

  John said, “I think so. I saw a flashlight in the kitchen, you all stay right here.”

  The storm had increased in intensity and Marco could hear only the howling wind and rain driving against the boat, which all the while rocked violently from side to side as the front rose up, up, up—then dropped, forcing Marco to let go of his mom.


  “Hold on!” John yelled. “Just grab something!”

  Someone grabbed Marco’s arm and he had no idea who it was. Did it even matter?

  Suddenly a beam of light blinded him.

  “You all okay?”

  Marco held a hand over his eyes as they adjusted to the light. John held on to the built-in shelf with one hand, the flashlight in his other one. Marco looked around. Yvonna, her eyes wide and face pale, had one arm around Nacho and the other around Sarah, both of whom were crying. Nacho had Marco’s arm, and Ahab was seated right next to Sarah, licking tears off her face.

  Marco looked back at John. “What do we do?”

  “Only thing we can do,” said John. “Ride this storm out.” As his eyes darted around the interior of the boat, the smile on his face appeared utterly false.

  Marco swallowed. His heartbeat sped up. He could tell by the look on John’s face exactly what he was thinking: His stepfather was worried about the boat itself surviving the storm.

  Taking a few uneven steps at a time, John slowly made his way to Sarah and set his hand on her head before placing a hand on his wife’s shoulder. He knelt by Nacho and leaned down by his ear. He said something, but Marco couldn’t tell what it was. Nacho wiped his nose and nodded, then told John something. John smiled and set a hand on Nacho’s head, then stood back up.

  He went into the closest bedroom. The glow of the flashlight flitted around, and then John returned holding a lantern. He switched it on, instantly brightening the room while throwing shadows about. Then he said, “You all stay here, I’ll be back.”

  Sarah called out, “Dad!”

  Yvonna started to say something, but John held up a hand. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  Marco watched him head through the kitchen. He quickly got to his feet and began to follow.

  “Marco!” yelled his mom. “You stay here!”

  Marco nodded. “I’m just going into the galley.” But when he got into the galley, it was empty. Had John gone up the stairs into the storm? Was he crazy? Marco pulled out a kitchen drawer, hoping for another flashlight. Nothing. He checked another one.