Read Online Stranded by Bracken MacLeod - Free Book Online Page B

under his feet. There was none. He knelt and brushed away the thin layer of snow in a spot, wondering if he could tell how thick the ice pack underfoot actually was. What he uncovered was an opaque surface that gave no hint at its width. He could be kneeling atop ice an inch, a foot, or a yard thick. He fumbled at the pocket on the side of his harness for a tool to pick at it—dig a little and see. The pocket was empty.
    The radio crackled and he heard Boucher say, “Got it!” just before the cable tightened, jerking him off balance. Noah stumbled backward in his crouch across the slick surface, trying to stay on his feet as the winch dragged him toward the hull. His heels skipped and slipped out from under him in a mockery of a Russian dance. Dropping the radio, he grabbed the cable with both hands to try to keep from landing flat on his back again. The cable dragged him to the ship and he held on as it lifted off the surface. He banged painfully into the hull before he was able to orient himself around again with his legs ready to act as shock absorbers against the next impact. His pulse throbbed in his throat and his temples. Blood rushed in his ears, deafening him. As he rose, Noah held his breath waiting for the next drop, this time from a higher point—the height that would cripple or kill him. The machine pulled him up to the deck, however, and Boucher’s sizable paw grasped the harness and pulled him in.
    â€œThe hell?” Boucher said.
    â€œYou dropped me!”
    Boucher let out a single barking laugh. “I swear, the release on the winch just gave. It was the damndest thing.” The big man looked Noah up and down with an expression of astonishment and confusion. “Why aren’t you wet?”
    Noah shook his head, unfastening the hook from the harness as quickly as he was able. “I landed on ice.”
    â€œIce?”
    â€œYeah. When water gets cold enough it becomes solid. They call that ‘ice.’” He stabbed his fingers in the air around the word.
    Boucher reared up, looking like he was about to knock Noah back over the side. Noah unslung the harness, swinging it back over his shoulder with the seat plank. The straps and rings whipped his back, but he stood his ground, ignoring the pain. “Give me your best shot, Serge. I’ll knock your skull all the way to fuckin’ Lansdowne Street!” Boucher took a half step forward. “Don’t believe me? Finish that step.”
    The bosun’s face grew dark with rage, but he stopped.
    â€œGet out of my god damned way or I’ll tell the Old Man the gate just popped open and you fell over the side. ‘It was the damndest thing, Brewster, he just lost his balance. Musta been drunk.’” Noah flinched forward with the seat plank. “Move!”
    Boucher backed off, hands raised and head lowered. He wasn’t cowed; he looked like a boxer with his guard up. Noah was pretty sure if he swung at the man, Boucher would catch the damned chair and fling it over the rail with him following right behind.
    â€œWe’re not through, Cabot,” Boucher said. “This ship ain’t big enough for you to disappear in, and you can’t hang on to that chair the rest of the trip.”
    Noah threw the bosun’s chair at Boucher’s feet. “You want to tussle, I’ll be in the wheelhouse.”
    â€œAnd you can’t hide behind your father-in-law, you pussy. He’ll hold you while I tear your head off.”
    â€œI’m not hiding. I’m going to tell Brewster we’re beset.”
    â€œBeset?”
    â€œYeah, it’s solid ice down there as far as I could see. We’re stranded.”
    Noah turned for the bulkhead door, waiting to feel the blow from one of Boucher’s heavy hands or even the bosun’s chair plank flat against his already aching back. Instead, what he felt was the man’s footsteps falling in step behind