Read Online Dark Moon Walking by R. J. McMillen - Free Book Online
Authors: R. J. McMillen
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distinguish detail or judge how fast the current was pushing her, but by the time the sun rose she was in a tangle of tiny islets.
She had to get off the water before it got fully light. The first opportunity was a narrow gap between some rocks. It was barely wide enough to allow the kayak through, but at least it gave her some protection. Ahead was a bare hump of surf-washed rock where a single contorted tree clung to life. Exhausted, she clambered up to the flattest point and lay down. Surely they would never find her here.
They didnât. But she heard them, the sound of the outboard motor swelling and fading as they searched, and the sick fear stayed with her. She ate the last of her food and rationed her water knowing there was no more to be found here. The rain the storm had dumped had long since drained off and there was only a thin layer of drying seaweed and a few barnacles beneath her. She would have to move again, but with the dinghy still searching, that was impossible until dark. She had never felt more alone and vulnerable. Nothing in her lifeânot her education or her workâhad prepared her for anything like this. She knew she had to get the fear under control and start thinking rationally but had no idea where to start.
She heard the motor again about an hour after sunset. And then again two hours after that. Surely they would not search all night. She pressed herself against the damp rock and willed herself into stillness.
Unbelievably, she slept, but it was a brief sleep filled with nightmarish images, and she woke sweating and cold. In the darkest hours of early morning, her head throbbing, her body sore, and her belly empty, she slid back down to the kayak, squeezed it back through the narrow gap, and felt the tiny boat turn into the current. There was a darker smudge against the darkness ahead. If she could reach it, and if there were trees and soil, perhaps there would also be a creek. Not that she had a choice. This was the way the current ran, and she did not have the energy to fight it. Besides, she needed the speed it would give her. If she was caught out in open water when the men came again, there would be no need for water. Or for anything else.
Four hours later the tiny boat slid up onto a narrow ledge. Summoning her last dregs of energy, she dragged it up into a cluster of trees and stumbled toward a shallow cleft where she hoped and prayed rainwater might have collected. When she saw the tiny pool fringed by a green ring of moss and fern, she collapsed beside it and wept.
By noon, she had managed to claw her way up a small rise that gave her a view to the east. Instead of the channel she had hoped for, where she might be able to attract help, there were only more islands. And in among them, in a small bay almost hidden from view, was a black ship.
The day had barely started when Dan left Shoal Bay. Once again he debated calling Mike but decided against it. There were still too many unanswered questions. Too many loose ends.
He checked his charts and picked a tiny indentation on the coast of an island a few miles south of Spider Island and Shoal Bay. It would be close enough for Walker to reach and too small for something the size of the black ship to anchor. Walker did not carry charts, but Dan was confident he could give him clear enough directions when they were needed.
He thought about Walker as he steered Dreamspeaker through the labyrinth of islands and passes. He realized that he admired the man. Admired what he had done with his life. Not the early stuff. Not the B&E s. There was nothing to admire there, but it wasnât important: he was just a kid lost in the city. There were hundreds of them, maybe thousands, but few managed to turn their lives around the way Walker had done. He was different. Dan had sensed it then. Saw it now. There was an inner core. A steel thread that ran through him. A knowledge and awareness of himself and an acceptance of who and what he
She had to get off the water before it got fully light. The first opportunity was a narrow gap between some rocks. It was barely wide enough to allow the kayak through, but at least it gave her some protection. Ahead was a bare hump of surf-washed rock where a single contorted tree clung to life. Exhausted, she clambered up to the flattest point and lay down. Surely they would never find her here.
They didnât. But she heard them, the sound of the outboard motor swelling and fading as they searched, and the sick fear stayed with her. She ate the last of her food and rationed her water knowing there was no more to be found here. The rain the storm had dumped had long since drained off and there was only a thin layer of drying seaweed and a few barnacles beneath her. She would have to move again, but with the dinghy still searching, that was impossible until dark. She had never felt more alone and vulnerable. Nothing in her lifeânot her education or her workâhad prepared her for anything like this. She knew she had to get the fear under control and start thinking rationally but had no idea where to start.
She heard the motor again about an hour after sunset. And then again two hours after that. Surely they would not search all night. She pressed herself against the damp rock and willed herself into stillness.
Unbelievably, she slept, but it was a brief sleep filled with nightmarish images, and she woke sweating and cold. In the darkest hours of early morning, her head throbbing, her body sore, and her belly empty, she slid back down to the kayak, squeezed it back through the narrow gap, and felt the tiny boat turn into the current. There was a darker smudge against the darkness ahead. If she could reach it, and if there were trees and soil, perhaps there would also be a creek. Not that she had a choice. This was the way the current ran, and she did not have the energy to fight it. Besides, she needed the speed it would give her. If she was caught out in open water when the men came again, there would be no need for water. Or for anything else.
Four hours later the tiny boat slid up onto a narrow ledge. Summoning her last dregs of energy, she dragged it up into a cluster of trees and stumbled toward a shallow cleft where she hoped and prayed rainwater might have collected. When she saw the tiny pool fringed by a green ring of moss and fern, she collapsed beside it and wept.
By noon, she had managed to claw her way up a small rise that gave her a view to the east. Instead of the channel she had hoped for, where she might be able to attract help, there were only more islands. And in among them, in a small bay almost hidden from view, was a black ship.
The day had barely started when Dan left Shoal Bay. Once again he debated calling Mike but decided against it. There were still too many unanswered questions. Too many loose ends.
He checked his charts and picked a tiny indentation on the coast of an island a few miles south of Spider Island and Shoal Bay. It would be close enough for Walker to reach and too small for something the size of the black ship to anchor. Walker did not carry charts, but Dan was confident he could give him clear enough directions when they were needed.
He thought about Walker as he steered Dreamspeaker through the labyrinth of islands and passes. He realized that he admired the man. Admired what he had done with his life. Not the early stuff. Not the B&E s. There was nothing to admire there, but it wasnât important: he was just a kid lost in the city. There were hundreds of them, maybe thousands, but few managed to turn their lives around the way Walker had done. He was different. Dan had sensed it then. Saw it now. There was an inner core. A steel thread that ran through him. A knowledge and awareness of himself and an acceptance of who and what he
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