Àre you looking for a boat?' he asked.
`Yes,' she replied eagerly. 'I want to get across the bay to Crisfield.'
Ì might be able to help you.'
`Thank God. I've got two children too. Where's your boat?'
`Two children?' the man said, frowning. 'We've only got room for one more person.'
`They're only children ...' Jeanne pleaded. 'They won't take up much . . Ì'm sorry, ma'am, we're just too full.'
When he brushed nervously past her and hurried away, she stared after him in shock. '
You BASTARD!' she shouted at his retreating back.
As she headed back down the docks towards where she'd left the children she realized how vulnerable she was, especially with two children. No one would want that additional burden.
Lisa and Skippy were where she'd left them, hot and hungry. Lisa had fished a half-eaten banana out of a trash can and Skippy, after first accusing it of being dirty, had finally eaten it. She grabbed Skippy's hand and they traipsed like the war refugees they were down the fifty feet of road to the entrance to Kelly's, but seeing that Porter's Boatyard seemed much less crowded she went on first to it.
At the gate two men with shotguns greeted her.
`Can we help you, ma'am?' one of them asked.
`Yes, I hope so,' Jeanne replied, thankful for the first politeness she'd experienced all day. 'I . I need to get a boatride across the bay.'
`Do you know anyone in here?' the man asked. `No.'
Òur orders are that no one is permitted to enter the yard unless they're the friends or guests of owners of one of the boats here. I'm sorry.'
Òh.'
She hurried back to Kelly's Marina, which was slightly less crowded than the town docks, but the situation was the same: boatowners nervously preparing their boats, refugees looking for rides. She halted in the yard before going out. She had nothing to offer that the others didn't have but she had to try.
`Lisa,' she said to her daughter at her side. 'I want you to keep yourself and Skippy thirty or forty feet behind me and out of sight. Follow me, watch me, don't lose me, but stay. away until I call you. Do you understand?'
`Yes, Mother,' Lisa replied. 'What are you going to do?' Ì'm trying to get us a ride across the bay where I hope to find Frank.'
Jeanne had noticed a sailing boat tied slightly off a small dock between the municipal marina and Kelly's, and now that a family of four was leaving, there was only one man on the nearby dock.
`Do you have a hairbrush?' she asked her daughter. 'Mine was in my handbag.'
Ì think so.'
Lisa dug out her hairbrush from the dufflebag and Jeanne let down her hair which she had tied back earlier and brushed it out. She had no fresh makeup on but hoped that she didn't need it.
`How do I look?' she asked Lisa.
Lisa looked at her uncertainly. 'You ... you look fine,' she answered. Ì mean no makeup running . .
`No . . . Mother, what are you going to do? Let me come with you.'
`No, honey, stay here,' she replied and walked away.
She moved without haste and without the desperation that she realized now had been with her all that morning. It was still with her, of course, but since she was acting, it was paradoxically under control. She was trying to walk like a beautiful woman out for a stroll on a lovely summer morning. A wave of horror at the image surged through her. She felt ridiculous. She kept walking.
She saw that the man on the dock was adjusting a line out to the sailing boat where two other men were working
rapidly. They looked as if they were about to leave. `Hi,' she said as the man watched her approach down-the gentle embankment which led to the dock. ,
`Hello,' he said, glancing at her nervously. He was a muscular-looking man in his midtwenties dressed in khakis and a polo shirt. Ì could use a boatride,' she said.
`You and half the rest of the world,' the man answered, his eyes flicking quickly over her, his expression neutral. She tried to smile. 'There are a lot of us,' she agreed. `What's she want?' an older man called from the boat tied twenty feet off the dock.
`Says she wants a boatride,' the first man answered.
When she turned to the sailing boat she saw that the two men had stopped whatever they were doing and were staring at her. There was no friendliness in their faces, only appraisal.
Ì'd like to get a ride over to Crisfield,' she said, still smiling. The older man, in his forties she guessed, greyhaired with glasses, looked her up and down. 'Can you cook?' he asked.
`Cook?' Jeanne echoed, then nodded. On a twenty-mile voyage?
`Come aboard then,' he said.
Jeanne hesitated. 'Are you going to Crisfield?'
`We haven't decided,' the man answered, still staring at her without smiling. 'If you want to come, come. We're leaving.'
She slowly let her eyes drift to her left and then attentively off to her right: Lisa was seated in the grass fifty feet away feeding Skippy something while watching Jeanne. Ì hope to find a friend on a big trimaran in Crisfield,' she went on to the man on the boat. The two men in the cockpit whispered together urgently. The other was a round, heavyset man in his twenties with a full black beard.
`We've got work to do. Come aboard and let's talk about it,' the older man repeated. 'Pull us up to the dock, Gary.'
The man next to her pulled on a line and the stern of the sailing boat eased towards the dock. The round, bearded man came to the back of the boat to assist her down. She hesitated, half of her wanting to run, the other half knowing that this was probably her last chance to get a boat across the bay to find Frank. Then she felt the hands of the man on the dock take hold of her waist from behind.
`Ready?' he said.
`What?' she replied.
But he lifted her and held her out towards the big man in the stern who grabbed her under the armpits and slowly lowered her on to the deck, grinning in her face.
`Welcome aboard,' he said. 'I'm Carl.'
`Thank you,' she said, smiling at him uncertainly. She turned to the older man. Ì ... I need a ride to Crisfield,' she said again, feeling stupid.
`Come down below and have a drink,' he said. 'Carl, warm the engine up.'
Again she wanted to run, but the children were safe and ... she had to get them to Frank. After a five-second hesitation, she smiled again.
`Thank you,' she said. She moved past him to the cabin entrance and then down the steps. The two men followed her.
Inside was a pleasant galley and dinette area on one side and a long settee on the other. She sat down on the settee. The older man stopped to pour three drinks of bourbon while Carl got a key and returned on deck to start the engine. The older man handed her a glass with the whisky.
`Here's to survival,' he said.
`To survival,' she replied and they clinked glasses. `You can come,' he said to her. 'We can use a female aboard the boat.'
Ì just want to go across the bay,' she said.
`What if you don't find your friend?' the man countered. `Then what are your plans?'
`Then I guess I'm open to .. . suggestions,' she replied slowly. 'My husband's dead and my chil . .
Ìf you sail with us,' the man said, 'you'd be expected to cook for us, clean up, and perform . . . all the duties a woman usually . . . performs.'
Ìf . . . if I don't find Frank ... then that . . . will be fine.'
`She'll cook for all of us,' Carl said to the older man as he descended back into the cabin.
'And perform all her duties for all of us. Agreed?'
The man looked at Carl coldly but nodded.
`You understand?' he asked Jeanne.
`Yes,' she said after a pause. 'But if . . . if my friend is in Crisfield . . . ?'
`We'll leave you with your friend.'
Òh,' she said, relief flooding through her. 'It sounds fair enough.'
`Good,' the man said. 'Let's see how good a cook you're going to be.'
Ì beg pardon?'
The man put his glass of whisky down on the dinette table and came up close to her, still not smiling. He reached down with large hands and cupped her two breasts, squeezed them, then ran each thumb and first finger along until he was first squeezing and then rolling her nipples through the tee-shirt and bra.
`You should be an incredible cook,' he said, flushed and grinning awkwardly.. Jeanne suppressed the desire to leap away, but leaned back against the cushion of the settee and folded her arms in front of her.
Wes, I can be,' she said steadily as the man let his hands fall away but stood in front of her still grinning. Tut there's one other element in the agreement,' she went on.
`What's that?'
`You have to bring my two children also.'
The older man was frowning.
`Children?' he said. 'Who said anything about children?' Ì just did,' Jeanne answered. 'If they don't go, I don't go.' `We can't take kids,' Carl said sharply.
`Survival, my dear woman,' the older man said, stepping back and finishing his drink. '
We're low on food as it is.'
`Take it or leave it,' Jeanne answered firmly, now hoping just to get off the boat. 'Three of us or none. And a dog.'
`Your kids will be safer on shore,' the man said. 'If they come with us we might end up having to throw them overboard.'
Òr we might have to eat them,' Carl said. 'We only want to eat you.' Carl laughed, and the older man again smiled awkwardly.
`Just take us to Crisfield then,' insisted Jeanne.
`No, honey,' the older man said. 'A cook like you . . `Then I'm leaving,' said Jeanne and she stood up and
began walking to the entrance ladder, but Carl grabbed her
by the arm.
`How about it, Ned?' he said to his friend. 'Shall we cast off?'
The older man looked at Jeanne, swallowed, then looked away.
`Yes,' he said. 'Tell Gary to untie the mooring lines, come aboard, and haul in the anchor.'
`Let me go,' said Jeanne, struggling.
`Take it easy, honey,' Carl said. 'We're not going to hurt you.'
She hit him in the face with her right hand and pulled away, but he simply grabbed her with both arms in a bear hug and held her close. He grinned down at her. With all her strength Jeanne screamed for help.
13
It was ten-twenty when Neil and Jim sailed Vagabond in close to the municipal dock at Point Lookout. Earlier they'd noticed many boats on the water, especially coming down the Potomac. Two vessels had been close to foundering because of masses of people aboard, but those sights hadn't prepared them for the hysteria and chaos they now found at the docks.
`Bring her around into the wind, Jim,' Neil ordered from the cockpit. He'd already lowered the mizzen and genoa and was sailing now with just the main. 'We're going to anchor off. Swing her! Swing her!'
As Jim finally brought the boat around into the wind thirty yards from the dock Neil rushed forward and threw the thirty-five-pound CQR anchor into the water.
`Drop the mainsail!' he shouted back, and Jim rushed out of the wheelhouse to come forward and do it.
When they had the sail secured and the anchor well-hooked, Vagabond's stern lay only about twenty-five feet from one end of the 'T' of the main dock.
`What do we do now?' Jim asked, looking with amazement at the scene before them. Already a dozen people had rushed down to their end of the dock and were shouting at them.
`Go get your .22,' Neil replied coldly. While Jim went below to get his rifle Neil considered the situation. He'd already decided during the sail over. that if the Foresters didn't appear immediately - Vagabond was an easy object to see, even in this chaos - he would make one quick search around the docks and, after thirty minutes, get the hell back
to Crisfield. Seeing the, chaos ashore made him question whether he should risk even a brief trip off the boat. Certainly he would wait half an hour, but was there any sense in going ashore?
Jim emerged beside him with the .22.
Ìs it loaded?' Neil asked.
`No.'
`Load it.'
While Jim loaded the .22, in full view of the crowd on the dock Neil noted with satisfaction, Neil decided he could risk sending Jim ashore.
`You know what the Foresters all look like?' he asked. `Sure.'
Then Neil reconsidered. It was important to him to get more food aboard, and that he couldn't expect Jim to handle. Whether there would be any chance to buy, barter, or steal any food he didn't know, but it was worth a trip into the town to find out. Frank had shown him several photos of Jeanne and Lisa.
Ì'm going ashore,' he said to Jim. 'I want you to shorten the anchor line twenty feet so we're further away from the dock. Don't let anyone aboard.'
Àren't we going to help some of these people?' Jim asked. `Yes,' Neil answered, still staring at the growing crowd.
`But not until I get back. Not until we know how many of
our own people we'll be sailing with.'
Òkay,' said Jim. Tut what do I do if someone tries to board? I can't shoot them.'
`No, I guess not,' he said after a pause. 'Try to keep them off with bluff. If you fail, I'll be back and we'll take it from there.'
Neil climbed down into the inflatable dinghy and had Jim pay out its line so he would be blown slowly down on to the dock by the wind. When he was less than ten feet away he stood up in the dinghy and shouted for silence from the crowd. Ì'm coming ashore,' he announced loudly. 'In half an hour we're sailing across the bay to Crisfield. At that time we'll take passengers who want to get to Crisfield. Until then you all wait on the dock. Do you understand?'
A few nodded eagerly as if trying to please; others shouted. Neil ignored them all, signalled to Jim to pay out ten more feet of line and soon pulled himself up on to the dock. Still ignoring the people pressing in around him he watched Jim pull the empty dinghy back to Vagabond. Then he began pushing his way through them to get to land. He looked closely at the clusters of refugees along the docks for the Foresters, hoping that they had seen Vagabond sail in and would be here on the docks. But they weren't. If they were alive in Point Lookout they would have to be either at another marina or else away from the dock area for some reason. He couldn't conceive what such a reason might be.
When he reached the marina office on land he went in and questioned a harried and frightened teenager who was the only one there, but he knew nothing about anyone looking for a trimaran. Outside, Neil looked towards the two marinas to the north but decided he'd go into town first to check there and see if he could buy some food supplies. He began walking to the street, automatically looking at everyone within sight, when he saw a figure running along the street shouting for help, a girl, a young girl. Trying to catch what she was screaming, Neil abruptly realized that she looked something like the picture he'd seen of Lisa. Passing him, she turned into the entrance of the municipal marina, still running and now moving away.
`Lisa!' he shouted.
The girl stopped and looked around. It must be her. `Lisa Forester!' he shouted and ran over to her. `Who ... who are you?' she asked.
`Neil Loken, Frank Stoor's captain,' he answered quickly. Ì've come ...'
`Come quick,' Lisa cried. 'I think they're stealing my mother!'
`What?'
`Some men took my mother on their boat and I heard her scream and they're leaving!'
`Show me,' said Neil.
Lisa began running back along the street with Neil running beside her. 'There!' she shouted while still running, and she pointed at a long low yawl that was easing away from a nearby dock. 'She's on that boat.'
`You're sure?' Neil asked, looking into the young stranger's eyes.
`Yes! Yes! Please save her!'
Neil ran down the embankment out on to the dock and in one motion dived into the water. A part of him felt uncertain and ridiculous, but it was no time for second thoughts. Where was Lisa's father?
As he surfaced from his first six strokes he real
ized that the yawl was easing up over its anchor and he was gaining quickly on it. There was one man in the cockpit and another handling the anchor line. They didn't seem to notice him. In another twenty strokes he was at the vessel's raked stern and, grabbing a cleat, he hauled himself up over the transom and on to the aft deck. When he stood up, the man in the cockpit, a man in his forties, saw him.
`Who the hell are you?' he asked.
Neil walked forward, stepped down into the cockpit, smiled at the man and walked down into the cabin. A huge man stood in the galley-way with his back to Neil and beyond him was a woman barely visible past the man's bulk. Carl swung around when he heard Neil and the two men confronted each other.
Èxcuse me,' Neil said and walked up and past Carl. The woman, crouching at the far end of the cabin, had a butcher knife in her hand. It was Jeanne Forester. He was startled by the sudden impact of her tensed animal beauty, accentuated
by her gleaming wide dark eyes and long black hair falling wildly across one side of her face.
`Hey, Ned!' Carl shouted up to the cockpit. 'Who is this
guy?'
`Hand me up the gun!' Ned shouted back.
Neil had stopped three feet from Jeanne. What a beautiful woman, he was still thinking irrelevantly.
`Can you swim?' he asked her softly.
`What?' she said back. 'Who are you?'
As Neil walked again forward she raised the knife but he picked her up in his arms. She brought the knife down and held its point against his chest and stared at him. With her eyes only inches from his and the knife.point pricking his skin Neil gazed at her.
`Can you swim?' he asked her softly.
`Yes,' she answered, still holding the knife tight against his chest, her eyes searching his. He swung around and began to leave just as Carl handed a gun up to the man in the cockpit. Neil again brushed past Carl, climbed the stairs, went out into the cockpit, walked up to and past the man with the gun and in one unbroken motion threw Jeanne out into the water. She landed with an undignified splash, but began immediately swimming for shore.