Read Online Wild Jack by John Christopher - Free Book Online

nothing, but the mast itself seemed in fair shape. I helped Kelly fit it into its socket and rig the sails after a fashion.
    â€œThere’s not much wind,” I said.
    Kelly was wrestling with the boom. “Not much. But enough.”
    â€œAnd what there is is onshore.”
    â€œYes, but the tide’s making northwest. We’ll get clear, all right.”
    I shrugged. Argument was plainly useless.
    Kelly said, “If we can float her and you can lend a hand with Sunyo . . .”
    We wrestled the boat over the sand and into the water. There was still a chance the hull would prove not to be watertight, and even Kelly could scarcely propose setting off in a vessel that was leaking. He clambered in while I held on.
    â€œHow is it?”
    â€œSound as a bell.” A wave splashed in, halfway up my thighs. “I’ll hang on now while you get Sunyo.”
    Sunyo did not reply when I first spoke to him, and I thought he was asleep or had fainted. But he roused himself and sat up slowly and painfully. In the moonlight he looked terrible.
    I said, “Lean on me.”
    He shook his head. “I can walk.”
    He did it, with an immense effort but unaided. I remembered he had had nothing to eat for three days except a couple of crusts of bread and tonight not even that. He waded into the sea and staggered as a small wave hit him, but recovered.
    He needed help, though, to get into the boat. Somehow Kelly and I hauled him over the side, with the dinghy rocking violently and threatening to turn over. Kelly got in after him. He said, “Thanks for everything, Clive.”
    â€œI still think . . .”
    â€œI know you do.” His teeth gleamed in moonlight as he grinned. “And you could be right. But it looks different from where we’re standing. Best of luck. I hope your release comes through soon.”
    â€œBest of luck to you. You need it more than I do.”
    â€œSure. If you can contribute just one little push to get us moving . . .”
    I waded forward, pushing the dinghy out. The beach shelved under my feet. A receding wave tugged at the boat, pulling it from me. That was when instead of pushing I gripped the gunnel and heaved myself on board. The dinghy rocked and shipped water but righted itself.
    Kelly asked, in genuine surprise, “What do you think you’re up to?”
    â€œIt looks as though I’m coming with you.” I looked at the shore behind us. “Don’t ask me why, because I don’t know.”

5
    I ASKED MYSELF THE QUESTION again as the dinghy drifted out on the tide and the distance from shore steadily increased, and the only answer was that I was an idiot. I did not flatter myself that I was doing Kelly and Sunyo any good by going with them; if anything, the reverse was true. The biggest danger to the boat was the risk of swamping, and the addition of a third person would only increase that.
    I had climbed aboard on impulse, and the impulse was short-lived. It was replaced by another: to dive in and swim ashore while I still could. I think Imight have done so, except that Sunyo groaned faintly and Kelly said, “Clive, see if you can help him get comfortable while I deal with this sail.”
    I did what I could with the help of Kelly’s blankets. My own two were on the beach where I had left them. I should have had the sense to bring them, but, more to the point, I should have had the sense to swim back and pick them up and head for the tent. Inside ten minutes I could have been wrapped up and asleep on solid ground, instead of rocking in this cockleshell on a very large and very wet sea.
    When I looked toward shore again, it was more than a hundred yards away, not an easy swim against what was plainly a strong tide. The island was taking on shape in the moonlight, the long line of beach curving out and the higher ground to the south coming in view. I looked the other way and there was nothing but