MacKenzie,” the tiny Mexican told her. “Anything.”
“Well, Raul, I’m going to put your theory to the test.”
It took her a while but she finally found a piece of crumbling wall. She pulled and yanked and tore the skin on her good hand. She had to rest a couple of times, nearly out of breath and her heart pounding so hard it scared her, but finally a hunk of wood came free with a wooden nail attached.
“Some prisoners spend weeks sharpening their weapons,” Raul said.
She didn’t have weeks. She may not even have hours, but she would sharpen it. Because no way was she going down without a fight.
The metal band around the barrel was loose. She managed to find the end of it and bend it out. Working furtively, stopping occasionally to listen and catch her breath, she sharpened her improvised shank. With enough force, it could penetrate skin. No, it would penetrate skin. She would make sure of it.
Now, where to hide it? Using her new weapon, she hacked off a long piece of her shirt and loosely tied the sharpened nail to her good wrist. Barun injured her right hand so she would have to use her left, but she could do it. Right now she felt like she could do anything and for the first time had hope. She pulled the cuff of her shirt down over the weapon, sat back on the barrel and waited. She was out of breath, her pulse was in overdrive but she was pleased with her efforts and empowered by her resolve to fight back. Or go down fighting. Either way, she was ready.
“Thank you, Raul,” she whispered into the darkness, sure he’d heard her.
Because Raul died three weeks after their interview, killed by a shank he made and sold to another inmate for thirty-five dollars.
Morgan watched helplessly as a thick fog descended. He couldn’t see his hand in front of his face let alone a ship miles away. The anger he’d been living with for the last four days grew with each moment he was away from Juliana.
He couldn’t eat. Everything he put in his stomach came back up. He couldn’t sleep because when he closed his eyes he saw Juliana’s face, filled with the expectation that he would rescue her. Pictures of her broken body intruded on his thoughts, making him break into cold sweats. Would he find her alive when he reached the Bhaya ? Was she, at this moment, being tortured? Raped?
Patrick appeared at his side, his footsteps muffled by the ever-increasing fog.
“Sorry, sir. There be nothin’ to see from the yardarm. We lost ’em, sir.”
Morgan nodded, having already figured that out. “Trim the sails, Patrick.”
As he walked away, defeat ate at his every step. Barun would continue to sail in this mess. Morgan would never find him and Juliana would be gone from him forever. If this were his own ship and his own men, he would keep sailing, full sail, through the soup, taking the chance they wouldn’t hit another ship or run up on the shore of an uncharted island.
But the Adam wasn’t his ship and this wasn’t his men’s fight.
He ran a weary, shaking hand through his hair and strained to see through the dense fog. The lap of the water on the hull and the clang of the rigging against the masts were muted. The animals in the hold below moved restlessly, as if sensing the mood of the crew.
He stopped searching for an ocean he knew was under his feet but couldn’t see and turned his back to walk away from the ship hiding on that ocean, lost to him.
Chapter Ten
The lock on her prison door jangled and light burst into the room. Juliana blinked into the brightness. Barun’s heavy cologne clogged her senses. She slid off the barrel onto shaking legs, mentally measuring the distance between herself and the door, the door and Barun, Barun and herself.
This was it. The moment she’d been waiting for. All the despair, the disbelief and the terror faded in the face of her resolve. She was either going to live or die in the next few moments. Her only fear now was that she had the physical strength in her
“Well, Raul, I’m going to put your theory to the test.”
It took her a while but she finally found a piece of crumbling wall. She pulled and yanked and tore the skin on her good hand. She had to rest a couple of times, nearly out of breath and her heart pounding so hard it scared her, but finally a hunk of wood came free with a wooden nail attached.
“Some prisoners spend weeks sharpening their weapons,” Raul said.
She didn’t have weeks. She may not even have hours, but she would sharpen it. Because no way was she going down without a fight.
The metal band around the barrel was loose. She managed to find the end of it and bend it out. Working furtively, stopping occasionally to listen and catch her breath, she sharpened her improvised shank. With enough force, it could penetrate skin. No, it would penetrate skin. She would make sure of it.
Now, where to hide it? Using her new weapon, she hacked off a long piece of her shirt and loosely tied the sharpened nail to her good wrist. Barun injured her right hand so she would have to use her left, but she could do it. Right now she felt like she could do anything and for the first time had hope. She pulled the cuff of her shirt down over the weapon, sat back on the barrel and waited. She was out of breath, her pulse was in overdrive but she was pleased with her efforts and empowered by her resolve to fight back. Or go down fighting. Either way, she was ready.
“Thank you, Raul,” she whispered into the darkness, sure he’d heard her.
Because Raul died three weeks after their interview, killed by a shank he made and sold to another inmate for thirty-five dollars.
Morgan watched helplessly as a thick fog descended. He couldn’t see his hand in front of his face let alone a ship miles away. The anger he’d been living with for the last four days grew with each moment he was away from Juliana.
He couldn’t eat. Everything he put in his stomach came back up. He couldn’t sleep because when he closed his eyes he saw Juliana’s face, filled with the expectation that he would rescue her. Pictures of her broken body intruded on his thoughts, making him break into cold sweats. Would he find her alive when he reached the Bhaya ? Was she, at this moment, being tortured? Raped?
Patrick appeared at his side, his footsteps muffled by the ever-increasing fog.
“Sorry, sir. There be nothin’ to see from the yardarm. We lost ’em, sir.”
Morgan nodded, having already figured that out. “Trim the sails, Patrick.”
As he walked away, defeat ate at his every step. Barun would continue to sail in this mess. Morgan would never find him and Juliana would be gone from him forever. If this were his own ship and his own men, he would keep sailing, full sail, through the soup, taking the chance they wouldn’t hit another ship or run up on the shore of an uncharted island.
But the Adam wasn’t his ship and this wasn’t his men’s fight.
He ran a weary, shaking hand through his hair and strained to see through the dense fog. The lap of the water on the hull and the clang of the rigging against the masts were muted. The animals in the hold below moved restlessly, as if sensing the mood of the crew.
He stopped searching for an ocean he knew was under his feet but couldn’t see and turned his back to walk away from the ship hiding on that ocean, lost to him.
Chapter Ten
The lock on her prison door jangled and light burst into the room. Juliana blinked into the brightness. Barun’s heavy cologne clogged her senses. She slid off the barrel onto shaking legs, mentally measuring the distance between herself and the door, the door and Barun, Barun and herself.
This was it. The moment she’d been waiting for. All the despair, the disbelief and the terror faded in the face of her resolve. She was either going to live or die in the next few moments. Her only fear now was that she had the physical strength in her
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