A Storm in the Making

Chapter 4--The Vortex

Chapter Four

The Vortex

"Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace...While the stars burn, the moons increase, and the great ages onward roll." --Alfred Tennyson

Everything happened in slow motion and in fast-forward at the same time after that.

Uncle grabbed the throttle and transmission lever with one big hand and put his whole weight into pulling them back. I heard the high-pitched shriek of protest from the agonized gears and I prayed the engine wouldn’t fly apart as the transmission jerked into reverse.

The lurching fear in my stomach told me it didn’t matter. It was already too late. Our boats were just too close. Even in reverse, our inertia kept us on a collision course with The Nauti-Boys. Uncle laid down on the horn.

Luke’s head jolted up and I saw the shock on his face. He dropped the handful of net he’d been tugging on, and lunged forward. He slammed Andrew to the deck to keep him from being slung overboard on impact.

I watched Luke and Andrew, so stunned I couldn’t move to save myself. Uncle’s huge arms slid around my waist. He tackled me, along with the stool I had been sitting on, to the deck.

The sickening clang and snap of metal and wood reached my ears a second before the teeth-jarring crunch of the two boats colliding could be felt. The collision slammed mine and Uncle’s heads together as we fell. Little yellow stars exploded behind my eyes, and I heard Uncle groan.

Despite the pain in my head, I heard the agonizing screeching of splintering gunwales. An explosion-like sound ripped through the air as the two boats careened away from each other.

The floor beneath me lurched drunkenly to starboard. Uncle, the stool, and I, all slid across the deck towards the engine box in a jumbled heap.

A leg of the stool slammed into my side. I felt the splintering crack of something giving way inside my ribcage. Hot, sharp pain made it difficult to breathe.

As quickly as it began, everything stopped. The boats settled down into the water, leaving the deafening sound of silence in its wake so loud I could hear waves slapping against the side of the boat. The rush of water beneath the deck filled the eerie quiet with foreboding. Not good.

Without warning, an umbilicus of tangled cables and booms stretching between The Nauti-Boys and Storm Runner wrenched the boat in the opposite direction. The cables attached to the booms that raised and lowered the shrimp nets into the water had become tangled in the melee. The possibility of sinking reared its ugly head to add to my fear.

I could see the snarl from where I lay on the deck. It danced above the waves, a ball of intertwined steel, stretching tighter with each rock of the two boats.

My heart pounding in my chest, I suddenly wondered if we would live as the boat began to tip up on its side. Unable to control our motion, Uncle, the stool, and I slid back to port, towards the splintered gunwales. One especially sharp-looking javelin-sized splinter stuck up from the deck. We were sliding straight towards it. Uncle grabbed the edge of the engine box with one hand, and me with the other to break our momentum.