Captain's Chest 5 and 6

James seeks out another key to open the chest he found.

Chapter 5

Skip looked green. I was busy lashing down the last of our gear. We had everything we would need, or so I thought. I had two extra cans of gas; a cooler of food and water, some added by my mother; Skip’s board; and the emergency kit my mother kept fully stocked. I thought we were ready. The sun was just beginning to break in the distance. The first rays were caught in the distant waves, casting the sky in brilliant colors. Tinges of orange were pushing the purple of night into the distance. It was under this show we set off, bouncing across the water in the small skiff. The hum of the motor was the only thing to be heard that early. A few birds took to their wings overhead. I paid them no mind. My mind was set on the ocean ahead. On my left was rocky shores. Atop the shores was a lighthouse which had stood tall for centuries.

“Can you slow down, mate?” Skip groaned.

“Land lubber,” I teased him. His motion sickness always bothered him on the boat. Best I could figure, he just could not take the wind whipping through his hair. I ran my fingers over my short curls. It was at times like this that I wanted my hair long. I wanted to fell the winds as we raced across the water at speeds that Captain James Henson would have been jealous of. Oh, I can imagine what he would think of the ships of today. To speed from one island to the next in hours rather than days. To cross oceans in days in place of months. To see ships which were floating cities. Oh, he would be fascinated.

My musing ended as we Swift’s Cove loomed ahead. The long stretch of beach spread out before us. Behind the sandy shore was steep cliffs. There were only two ways to reach Swift’s Cove: a grueling hike by land, or smooth ride by sea. It was obvious as to why we came by the skiff as we neared the cliff. A steep series of switchbacks descended one section. The rest had been untouched by human hands.

I slowed the skiff to a crawl as headed in. My eyes darted through the water. I was wary here. The tide had a habit of depositing its findings in places like this and I did not want to run across them. Despite my care, I kept finding my attention drawn to two places… The caves. I had studied the maps and had a rough idea where each was. Slowly, I counted each. They were just a dark blemish on the brown cliffs. Not much to see from the shore, and that’s what I was hinging on.

Soft sand parted as I beached the skiff on the shore. Skip had already launched himself into the shallows before the ship was parked. Water dripped from his pantlegs onto the golden sand while he sat awaiting me. I did not mind, instead I took my time to secure the skiff.

“You better not be pranking me?” he badgered me.

“I don’t plan on it.”

“So, where we are heading?”

“There are two caves, I think, it might be in.” Skip just rolled his eyes at me. “The first is here on the shore. It’s tucked into a crag.” I pointed a little bit up the shore. Shouldering our packs, we set off. My feet sank into the soft sand. We had the whole area to ourselves. The only footprints were from birds and ourselves. A few shells and sticks had been washed up on the fringes of the water. I let my head turn back to watch the sea sparkle.

That vision held as we approached a cleft in the cliffside. It was just a crack, barely wider than I was thick. Skip eyed me with curiosity. “I don’t think your pirates would have fit in there,” he commented.

“People were a little smaller back there. Closer to our height,” I informed him. Dropping my bag to my hand, I slipped between the earthen breach. Stones scrapped and poked me as I scuttled into the crack. I sucked in my old breathes with every side step. The area grew tighter still until it felt like I was walking through a vise. I could not turn my head to see behind me. At least not without scraping my nose to the bone. How far had I gone? Twenty feet? No, the light had barely dwindled. I could not have gone ten feet.

“What’s up?” Skip hollered from behind me as I stopped.

“Dead end,” I answered. Amidst the shadows ahead, I could see a wall of stone. Did the cavern turn? No. I could see that clearly when I was within an arm’s reach. Was this why the cave had never been mapped? Had they known and just dismissed the cave after an initial survey? I craned my neck in the narrow position, desperately searching.

“There,” Skip called out.

“What? Where?”

“Up. Looked up.” It was tight, and I struggled to see what Skip wanted me to see.

“I’m not seeing it.”

“Follow me,” he ordered. I heard the scape of stone and small pebbles striking larger stones. A moment later, dust fell onto me as Skip climbed above me. He was walking up the wall by pressing his back against one wall, and his feet and hands on the other. Slowly, he was walking straight up the wall. Edges bit into my hands and back as I followed his new path. My muscles groaned as I rose from the earth. Up I went. Always I was straining to keep from falling. Up and up I followed Skip. From my position, I could not see where he was heading. Blindly, I followed him. My heavy breaths knocked dust from the nearby stone. The dust would fill my eyes. Oh, I wanted to rub them, but I could not dare risk borrowing my own hand.

The light dwindled the further we pressed into the crevice. I wanted to rest, but I was fifteen feet up. Suddenly, Skip vanished from sight. I stopped in disbelief. Where did he go? Did he fall? I pushed my arm out of the way to peer into the depths below. No, he was not there.

“Skip?” my questioned echoed in the narrow area.

“Move it, you lazy bum.”

“Skip?” I repeated to his words.

“There’s an opening, idiot.” I pressed on. Soon, a small opening open to my back. Skip was standing comfortably inside. Well, a little cramped, but he was standing with room enough to turn. With a little writhing, I got a foot on the stable ground. I have fell into the opening. “Very graceful.” I smiled back at my friend. It was good to be on the ground.

I fished around my belt for my flashlight. Once it flooded the area with light, I could see the detail of our surroundings. The ground was littered in bits of twigs and small bones from birds’ and rodents’ past. Our alcove ran about ten feet further into the earth before turning to a solid wall.

“Well, here’s your treasure trove,” Skip harassed me as I moved around.

“Well, it might be in the other cave.”

“And where is that?”

“Further up.”

“Up?” Skip stuck his head back into the chasms and stared up. A sly smile split over his lips.

“Yes, I know we can’t go further up here. We need to go back out and then we can go.”

“Fun,” was all he replied before heading back down the crevice. It was harder going back. I was tired after the climb, and it was much harder to descend. Twice, I slipped down, cutting my palms. It was difficult, but easier. It felt good to be in the open air. Each breathe tasted sweet. Salty, but sweet.

“It’s this way,” I told Skip as I set off across the beach once more.

“Well, that was fun,” Skip pestered me. “What’s this next cave like? Is it a little dip in the ground? Maybe it’s the size of a room. We could put some chairs in there.” He continued with his mindless rambling while we walked. I spotted the cave set into the cliffside. It was about halfway up the cliffside. I could not see a way up. I did not fancy trying to climb up to it. That thought plagued my mind as I looked straight up the cliffside.

“That’s where you want to go?” Skip pointed up the cliff. It was some thirty feet up the stone wall.

“That’s the idea.”

“Well, it’s a bad one. You want to climb up first? I’ll follow.”

“Sure,” I relented. I placed my hand on the rock. I tested the strength of the rock, hoping my handhold would last. I took a deep breath and prepared to climb. But then I hesitated.

“What’s taking so long?” Skip pressured me.

“The mad earth,” I mouthed those words.

“What?”

“Listen.”

“What’s that?” Skip asked. “What’s that noise?” It was faint, and it kept me on the ground. But, I knew what the sound reminded me of. It was a scream, muffled under the earth, but a scream none the less.

“Follow the sound,” I told him. I strained my ears for the screams and followed it. It carried me along the cliffside. Water lapped at my feet as I was pulled forward. It was like the sinister song of a mermaid of old. The melody held me in a trance. It slowly lured me deeper into the water. A cavern opened to my side. It was the source of the wailing. With every surge of water, air was forced through narrow crevices making the sound.

“This is it. This is the cave. It’s the one making the sound.”

“I don’t see a cave,” Skip pointed out needlessly. Looking ahead, all there was another wall of stone. But the answer was obvious when I shifted my foot. I could feel the ground slope down through my waterlogged shoe.

“We swim.” Without a thought, I dove under the waves. I could fell the silt on the ground before I opened my eyes. A small hole opened in the wall ahead and I plunged in. I pushed the cumulated sand out of the narrow area as I worked through it. The stones overhead was worn by the pounding waves. My flashlight flipped on as I drew it. It illuminated the water ahead of me. Dust obscured much of the water. I could only see five feet ahead, but still I crawled forward. My lungs screamed for air as I kept on swimming. Further and further, I dove. The earth rose slightly, and I pressed my hand up. I expected to touch the ceiling, but my hand broke the surface. Instinctively, I brought my head up to suck in air. It smelled sour and musty, but it was air. I sucked in breath after breath.

My light bounced off the ceiling. The splash of water next to me told of Skip’s arrival. He gulped in air. A small island had formed in the back of the cavern.

“Damn. Are you crazy?” He blurted out between breathes.

“What? Free divers can hold their breath forever. I’m betting a pirate could too.” I moved forward through the murky fluid. The earthy smell grew stronger as we slushed forward. My feet stirred up dust which had not been touched in generations. My flashlight bounced off something on the island. The light shown back in my eye. I squinted in the deep darkness. It took me a moment longer and several steps before I realized what I was seeing.

It was a rusty cutlass. The metal had corroded through. The remains of the leather and wood in the wrappings had all but dissolved. It was the shadows at the base that caught my eye. It gleamed in a dull white. It was a skeleton. Fragments of decayed cloth hung in a few pieces.

“What the?” Skip muttered.

“A pirate,” I surmised.

“How’d you know?”

“A guess.” I looked at the skeleton. Its legs had been broken. The hands were gripped around the metal protruding from between its ribs. “His legs broke. He was trapped in here. I think he took his own life.”

“What makes you think that?” I knelt and pulled a single metallic loop from among the refuse.

“A pirate’s earring. If he died with others, they might have taken it… or taken him out. He died alone and took his own life.” Sorrowfully, I pulled the blade from its resting place and laid it beside it’s master. “Come on,” I ordered.

The small sandbar stretched the edge of the cavern. A small opening split across the far wall. It was about three feet from the ground and sloped slightly uphill inside. I crawled in on my hands and knees. Dirt and moisture pressing into my palms. Soon the ceiling closed in and I was forced to crawl. Rocks jabbed at my stomach as the slope turn down. Blood rushed into my head as I scrambled downhill. I had to secure each foot onto a nook in the tunnel to keep from sliding forward. The muscles in my calf cramped as I scuttled forward.

 At last, the tunnel opened into a small room. The ground was a solid rock with a thin coating of dust. I could see it being deposited from the clothes of past explores. I took a few minutes to look around the area. The cavern split into two additional paths. I went up to one and shown my light down it. It just spread forth into the earth. I then did the same with the second.

“Which one?” Skip pestered me. His fingers jabbing at my side as I thought. “Come on, which way?”

“This one,” I decided.

“Oh? Why?”

“Footprints. Old ones,” I gestured to the ground. Amidst the traces of dust was partial foot prints. No shoeprints, just bare feet. I kicked my own shoe and sock off and placed my foot beside the original. It was only a little smaller than my own. Stuff my foot back into place, I pressed deeper with Skip in my shadow. The area was large enough that I could move around easily. This new passage opened into a cliff.

With trepidation in my heart, I stepped up to the edge. I filled my lungs with stagnant air before gazing into the darkness below. My light fell upon a small box setting in the back of the room before me. “That’s it,” I told Skip.

“Looks steep.”

“Don’t chicken out,” I scoffed at him. I looked down the cliff, it was no more than fifteen feet. It was an easy climb. I threw myself over, my feet digging into any perch that they could find. My fingers dug into the earth at the lip of the cliff. I stared at Skip’s dirty shoes for one second before I fell below the edge. My fingers cramped as I slowly worked down the wall. Each breath I took blew back into my face. I dropped to the ground when I was five feet from the earth. My knees and ankles groaned from the impact.

I could hardly care as I sprinted forward. My fingers flew onto the box amidst a flurry of heartbeats. The wood was cracked by years in the moist cavern. I could feel every crack in the surface as I pulled the lid. It resisted. It had swollen shut but it relented with a scrapping screech. I pointed my flashlight inside to see a small wooden dowel rolling around inside.

I lifted it from its forgotten coffin. The wooden dowel was cracked and degraded by the years. It was just like the other key, but a single toothy loop spread out in the middle of the dowel. I twirled it in my hand, taking in every single detail. “Skip!” I hollered.

“What?” he cried to me. He was still busy descending the wall and was nearly half way down.

“It’s here!”

“Whaa?” he screamed so loudly that his voice echoed throughout the area until his single cry became a thousand. I turned for find him clutching his ankle. “I twisted it,” he moaned. “Lost my bleeding footing.”

All my euphoria drained from me as I watched Skip lay on the ground. My thoughts raced back through the tunnels to the skeleton at the entrance. I feared we had landed ourselves in the same plight as the pirate from ages past. I raced to my friend. The key clattered to the ground as I took a post beside my friend.

“Can you walk?” Skip leaned on me as he took his feet. Instantly, his leg collapsed. His weight fell over my shoulder. I muttered to myself. Now what? Looking up the wall, I wondered how to get him up. It was not a far climb, but that did us no good. I could not carry Skip up.

“I think I’ll need to head back into town to get help?” I thought aloud. The look in Skip’s eyes told me his thoughts. He dreaded the very thought of being left alone in this cavern for what could be hours as I ran to get help. But there was no other way.

We both knew it.

Skip nodded his head with remorse. I bit my lip as I left my friend there. The shadows danced at the fringes of my dim light. They felt like the eyes of some sinister spirit judging my actions. What sort of person left their friend alone. Taking a deep breath, I started. Up the wall I went, keeping my eyes on the stone an inch from my face. I dare not turn my look back to my friend. Not when I crossed over the rim of the cliff. Not as I scurried back through the tunnels. Nor did I look as I crawled back up the tiny channel. I could not help but look back when I came face to face with the skeletal remains in the antechamber. It’s white face and open mouth seemed to be screaming with Skips’ pain. My heart sank at the sight. I fear I lost my will there before the remains. After several long minutes, I pulled myself together and I plunged back into the water. Salt coated my lips and eyes as I pulled myself from the cavern.

Sunlight touched my skin, but no my mind. There was no pleasure in the warm air, not while my friend lay behind me. Solemnly, I walked across the sandy shore to my little boat. Water had surrounded it in my absence. I did not mind as water flooded my shoes as I worked to the side.

As my hand rested on the gunwales, I had a thought. I pulled the mooring line from its mounting. I looped the yellow plastic line around my arm and turned back to the cave. Water dripped from my cloths as I entered the cave for a second time. The air teemed with curiosity with my return. The silence was stifling as I worked my way back to my friend. It was different when Skip was at my back. Now, it was cutting on the fringes of my mind.

Fanciful hallucination played out in my mind while I moved. I saw Skip attempting to climb the cliff alone only to fall on his head. Or madness would seize his mind and turn my friend to savagery. I know they were both fake, but that did little to quell my imagination. I came upon the cliff.

“Hello?” Skip called out. “Is someone there? James?”

“It’s me. I’ve got a rope. I’ll pull you out,” I explained as I set out my plan. I found a heavy column of stone a short distance from the rim. I looped the rope around rock formation, before tossing the ends over the ledge. Dropping down to my friend, I fastened a bowline knot around his waist.

“Where’d you learn this stuff?”

“My dad taught me knots when he taught me to sail. He drilled them into me. They come in handy.” I gave the rope a good yank to ensure the knot would hold. “Okay, climb up. I’ll keep tension on the rope,” I promised Skip as I helped him to get a hold on the wall. When he had secured a perch with his hands, I secured the free end of the rope to myself. I took steps backwards until the line went taunt.

“Go,” I commanded. Digging my heels into the ground, Skip was lifted upwards. I held my breath as I worked to hold my place as he found his next hand hold. Skip grunted with each step. With each step he took up, I took one more back. In this manner, I pulled my friend from the floor until he rolled over the lip and out of view. With him safe, I made my way back to the cliff. Just before reached the stonewall, my foot landed on something that rolled under my weight. I glanced down to see the key under my foot. I barely thought as I took it from the stone and stowed it in my pocket.

“Ready?” Skip questioned me as I joined him. He was wrapping the rope up and slung it over his shoulder.

“Yes,” I said as I took my friends weight. Together we hobbled back through the cavern. It was arborous work. I sucked in stagnant air with each step we took. I was finally granted a reprieve as we reached the narrow crawl space. Skip took the lead. Resting his weight on his belly, he dragged himself up the incline with me on his heels. The narrow area was quickly warmed by our body heat. Each breath stirred the dust and stung my eyes.

“What did you say?” I cried to my friend as a sound picked at my ear.

“I didn’t say anything,” he swore.

“I thought I heard a voice.”

“Going mad?”

“Yeah. Must be,” I laughed. I strained my ears for the sound. It was a faint noise, but it reminded me of cackling. It was a maddening sound that prodded at my mind. Skip rolled out of the tunnel and rested on the stone beside the fallen sailor. I took a few deep breathes as took my post at his side.

After several minutes, Skip looked at me and said, “I’m almost ready to take a swim.”

“It’ll be a nice way to cool off.”

“Why didn’t he leave?” Skip pointed to the skeletal sentry. “He was almost out.”

“Didn’t know,” I guessed. “Probably, thought this was a dead end. Maybe he crawled in here to escape and die. Maybe he was being hunted and crawled in here. Enemies camped on the shore. Couldn’t escape. Hard to know what someone was thinking hundreds of years ago.”

“Let’s go.” I helped my friend into the water. Once immersed in it he kicked free. I fell into place behind me. For a third time, I blindly crawled through the submerged tract. Always, I was groping, reaching out for the open ocean. My lung argued from air, to breathe; and still I held. I held my breath until I felt a warmth piercing from above the water. The moment the sun’s rays touched me, I burst from the sea. Sweet salty air filled me. I swallowed breath after breath.

Once my strength returned, I looked at Skip. He was soaking up the open world with pure pleasure. I let him tread the shallows for several minutes before I called for him. Rather than trudge along the sandy shore, we swam to where I left the skiff. Skip tumbled into the bow unceremoniously. While he rested and rubbed his ankle, I made way to return home. With my friend and our belongings stashed, we speed home.

By the time we arrived home, Skip could bare a little weight through his leg. While he awaited a ride home, I cleaned the skiff and set it on the docks. By the time his father arrived and loaded Skip’s surfboard into his truck, the sun was setting. I waved him good bye before entering the house. I slipped through the empty house unobstructed.

For the first time in years, the second key felt the warm of light as I removed it from my pocket. The wood was heavily warped with long fissures spanning the handle. The damaged wood bit at my fingertips as I examined every detail. Setting it aside, I fetched the box and the first key. I squared myself up to the chest and eyed the three remaining holes. Which one did this key fit? I pondered the question. My thumb ran over grooves in the top of the new key. Tilting it, I found not cracks, by worn markings. A large “E” was inscribed on the pommel of the key. I snapped my eyes to the first key and found a “N” on it’s top. It was a compass. At the revelation I spun the box. I knew where the key went and inserted it into its place. The warped wood resisted its place but gave with a little pressure.

That was it. I know had two of the four keys.

Chapter 6

 

                The sky had turned a deep gray. A storm was coming. It was big. That was the only thing on the news for the past week. My mother had been ordering me all day to get everything ready. We had boarded up the windows and seal up the boat house. Everything was ready.

                “Is your bag packed yet?” my mother howled down the hall to me.

                “Just about,” I cried back. I was hanging in my room, debating a decision. The captain’s chest sat on my floor. The two keys protruded from their slots. My heart was torn in indecision: Should I take the box with me or leave it here. We would be heading to the school. I could stash the box in my locker there and it would be safe there from the storm, but others would be there. Bored and scared people. A dangerous combination.

                Or I could leave it here. Our home was on the shore. I could already hear waves breaking in he distance. Would the storm breach our home? Would our halls turn to rivers as the water rose? Could the chest survive the ocean for a second time?

                “Hurry up, baby,” my mother roared again. “We need to head out.” Clenching my teeth, I decided and stored the box amongst my duffle bag. Slinging it over my shoulder, I headed to the car. Rain was already pounding on the windows as I settled into the back seat of Paul’s truck. My mother was wedged in beside him. Most of the truck was crammed with food and bottles of water. I could barely make out the streets as we sped along the familiar route to the school.

                Cars and buses were crammed into the parking lot. A steady stream of people made their way into the building. The rain drenched us as we joined the throng. The smooth floors of the halls were slick with water tracked in by every person ahead of us. A ruckus grew as we approached the gym. Cots and blanks had been pressed into every open spot of the floor. A small desk sat by the door with a squat man taking a census of all those who entered. While my folks spoke with him, I slipped off.

                My wet shoes squawked tiles. A few people milled about. Children would squirm, run, and play while their parents spoke in hushed whispers. Tension stirred in the air. The added gloom that seeped through the windows did little to improve the depressing atmosphere. It was not the place I was accustomed to. I was used to seeing my peers hurrying to catch up with friends and teachers dashing about in their momentary reprieves; not these forsaken gazes.

                I put those thoughts from my mind as I spin the dial on my locker. Dropping my sac to the ground, I rummaged around inside for the wooden box. Feeling the aged wood, I pulled it free. I barely gave it a second look as I quickly positioned it atop of my textbooks. The slam of metal on metal echoed down the hall. A few adults glanced at me, but nothing else. They were too enraptured in their own plight.

                With nothing more to do, I meandered through the familiar halls. Many of the classrooms had been pressed into services as sleeping quarters. I soon found a darkened room, untouched by the displaced locals. Even before I flipped on the light switch, I knew it was the art room by the desks and the smell of paint. The concrete floor was speckled in the droppings of every class before. I resigned myself onto one of the steel stools. I spun about ideally. That only held my attention for a sparse minute. As boredom overtook me, I stirred.

                I collected a few supplies and my canvas. The first wisps of my project had begun to take shape over the past week. I had outlined a face: my own, I supposed. Choosing my palate, I blended browns and whites with a brush until it approached my complexion. The thin brush scratched on the canvas with each gesture. The phantom of a person gained definition with each action. I had only worked at most ten minutes before the heavy breathing told me of others. Several men were lugging desks from other classrooms in here to make room for evacuees.

                “Hey, can you give us a hand, Jim?” Paul requested as he put his cargo in the corner. Putting my tools down, I followed the group back down the hall. I dig my fingers under the rim of the desk.

“Yuck,” I cursed as my finger stuck into someone’s discarded gum. I shifted my hands before lifting the desk away and joined the troop of others. Sweat dripped my face and joined the puddles on the floor as we worked. We had stacked and crammed desks from floor to ceiling across the room. The desks screeched and moaned as we moved the art room’s own desks into a far-flung corner. Even the furniture was move in the face of the storm, I humored. By the time, we were done, my project was lost in the mess we created.

                “Thanks, Jim,” Paul slapped me on the shoulder. “Now, we have more room for cots and sleeping bags. Was that your project?” he continued in a plain attempt at small talk as we walked down the halls. I never took my eyes off of the back of the heavy-set man in front of me.

                “Yes,” I stated.

                “What are you making?”

                “We’re doing portraits,” I explained.

                “Ah. I was never good canvas. I can’t feel like. Not like wood. I can touch each piece and know it will do the job, but paints… I haven’t the foggiest. Now what?” he exasperated.

                Our group stopped as we came across water dripping from the ceiling. It was nothing knew to see water stains on the cheap cork tiles that passed as a ceiling in schools, but they did nothing to halt water. And here, a steady stream was running down and a puddle now ran across the hall.

                “Jim, can you get a trashcan. A big one to catch the water.”

                Nodding, I doubled my pace to the gym. The noise inside was deafening as the number of people had doubled since my last visit. Their collective body heat had turned the humid air into an oven. I snatched up one of the large trash bins by the door and dragged it down the hall with a scraping complaint. Water splashed into the bin and over the discarded paper within once the container was in place.

                “Not much else to do. We’ll have to wait for the rain to stop to seal the leak. There’ll be a dozen more before the storms through,” he swore. The men parted to their families. My mother was speaking with a few others when we joined her. She had hers and Paul’s bags slung over her shoulders.

                “Hey, honey. Did you get some room cleared out?” she asked as she passed Paul his bag.

                “Yeah, Jim and I got the desks out of the way. We could camp out in the shop,” he offered. I followed them to the wood shop. The smell of saw dust was overwhelming. The sound of rain was loader as the pounded on the shop’s garage door. A thin puddle of water was forming at the gap by the base. I dropped my bag in a corner without even bothering to unroll my sleeping bag. I was out and back in the halls in a moment. Ideally, I wondered through the halls. I caught sight of a few classmates before I ran across Skip.

                “Hey, buddy,” he greeted me. “Camping out in here too, huh?”

                “Yeah.”

                “I know Rick and his family went further inland with relatives.”

                “My family is all on the west coast. Even Paul’s are out in Oregon.”

                “Bummer. Got plans for the storm? Shame, they got the gym filled with people. We could play some ball. There’s some board games in the Mrs. Roman’s room. It’s all in French and Spanish, but we could manage. I think I saw Cody here. We could get something going. More fun that running the halls.”

                “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about the next key.”

                “Listen, man. That was cool back in the cave, but I am not going again. I sprained my ankle and I don’t want to do it again. We got lucky there. I don’t want to play the odds again.”

                “Hear me out. I know where the key is in Hemingway’s Cove.”

                “Oh, this will be good.”

                “Captain Henson, would need the keys in a place that would last, right?”

                “Right,” he humored me.

                “One key was sealed in a candlestick on a sunken ship. It was kept safe inside. The second, he put in the back end of a cave. Well, Hemingway’s cove has a cave.”

                “Another one?”

                “Yes. It’s right on the water and no one goes in because its at the base of the cliffs. Literally, right on the water. It was known he had a hideout in this area. That cave would be the perfect spot.”

                “And how do you know, that this cave hasn’t been explored and pillaged?”

                “It hasn’t,” I swore. “My dad and I found it. It’s hard to see because it blends in with all the rocks, but we could take the skiff into it.”

                “How do you know the key is in there?” Skip pressed the topic.

                “It has to. There are no other caves there. Nothing. Hemingway’s Cove is solid. I even checked the university records. There are no caves there, so the cave my dad and I saw is a secret. That’s where the key has to be.”

                “I’m still not going,” he repeated his earlier stance.

                Our conversation was interrupted as a group of firemen walked into the room. Water had soaked them through. They were talking loudly and waving people towards them. Skip and I were pulled into the crowd.

                “The water’s raising faster than expected. We are looking for additional help. Any volunteers?”

                “I’ll come,” Paul lead. “And my son will help too,” he volunteered me by clapping me on my shoulder. I rolled my eyes as more people offered their hands. The idea of sloshing about in the rain was not a pleasant one. Ponchos were passed out to us as we were ushered into vans and trucks. I was squeezed into the middle seat of a van between Paul and an overweight man. Skip was crammed into the row in front of me. Rain crashed down on the windows so hard that I could only distinguish lights on the over side of the glass. We rode along the waterlogged streets for several minutes in complete silence.

                When we stopped, the roar of water silenced everything. The rain fell so fast that I felt like I was in a shower. If not for the thin layer of my plastic cloak, I would be soaked. A man held a lantern high and waved his arm frantically. I could only guess at his words over the wind and rain. He was pointing to empty bags and a pile of wet sand in the back of a truck. I was passed a shovel and guided into the truck bed. A man held open one of the bags and I scooped the sand into the bag. Once the first bag was filled with a silt, I filled the next. While I filled more, the others deposited the bags in a line.

In the distance, I could see an encroaching line was water. It rose with each rain drop that fell. Water had crept into the buildings beyond our line. The content of a few houses and dumpsters bobbed up and down in the advancing sea.

Our wall of sand and fabric grew as we worked. Each bag was pressed tightly together to seal the barrier. The wall spread out into a long line on the lip of a hill. It grew taller with every bag I filled. Sweat dripped from me in the humid air. The truck bed screeched as I scraped my shovel over it as the last remnants of the sand were scooped away. Our wall was standing a good four feet tall.

My attention turned to the dark distance. Most of the city was blacked out. A few holdouts shone in the gloom. One of those lights caught my eye. Someone was trudging through the filth and fluid to us. I called out, but my words were drowned in the maelstrom of wind and rain. I flailed my arms wildly and jabbed at the light. Quickly, the others saw what I did. Our ponchos were whipped about while we stood vigilant at their approached.

Within a few minutes, I could make out a man drenched through with the water. A small electric lantern burned in his hand. The white light shown a blood cut across his brow. His face was weathered by his long years. Every step was a struggle to bring his neglected body up the hill to us. He was ushered into the truck. I pressed my ear towards the cabin to hear what he was saying. His words were labored and hard to pick out from the howling of the wind.

“We crashed on our way to the school. My wife… I think her leg is broken. Couldn’t make a call. I couldn’t carry her.”

“Where?” Paul asked.

“Embers and Klondike,” he panted. “Please, she needs help. The water was rising.”

“We will,” another man promised. “We’ll get her,” but I could see the look in his eyes. He was lying. There would be no rescues until after the rain let up. As the others climbed into the vans and trucks to escape back to the school. I grabbed Paul’s arm.

“We have to go after her.”

“We will.”

“No, now,” I urged him. “Embers and Klondike is only a few blocks from here.”

“A few blocks through waist high water, yes. You set foot in that current and it’ll sweep you away as fast as a river. You can’t go.”

“Not if we take Mr. Harrison’s boat?”

“Mr. Harrison?” he stammered.

“From church. My dad and I used to go fishing with him. He lives just down the road. It’s just a little trolling boat, we could take it and safe this woman,” I explained.

He stood still for several minutes. I could see the wheels turnings in his head as he weighed my words. He shifted about uneasily.

“What’s the hold up?” a man called out through the storm.

“Leave us one of the trucks. We’re going for the woman,” Paul decided. My heart jumped at his declaration.

“Just you and the kid?” The man’s words were a jab in the gut.

“The kid had more time on a boat than both of us. I’d wager he has a better grasp of what to do than I.” I could make out the men in the van gossiping over our plan. The rain ran down my poncho in currents while they debated for several minutes. If not for the pleading of the old man, I doubt they would go along with it.

“Alright,” they accepted as they passed the keys to a truck to Paul.

“Thank you,” I nodded before setting off down the hillside.

Author's Note

Opinion of character and plot development, etc.