Darkness(6)

She was looking in that direction again when her attention was caught by a small object sliding across the black rubber deck toward her foot: the radio. Dismayed by how close she had come to losing the thing—the ability to communicate was all-important out here—she dropped the binoculars, snatched up the radio, and spoke urgently into it even as she slammed the throttle forward and steered toward the tail.

“Arvid? Anybody? Can you hear me?”

Nothing. Static was the only reply. Frowning as the heavy swell bounced her up and down, she watched a small black suitcase float past and winced at the thought of the probable fate of its owner.

Scrunching her face up against the bite of the wind, she desperately searched the sea for any sign of life.

Again, nothing.

The boat was small and lightweight enough, and the swells were growing big and powerful enough, that the stability of the craft was becoming a real concern: what she didn’t want to do was let a wave catch her sideways. Nosing into the waves, she tried the radio once more. Still just static. Giving up for the moment, she clipped the radio to her pocket, where it would be safe and she would be able to hear any transmission sent her way.

The force of the wind made her eyes water as she scanned the area. Using the binoculars at least protected her eyes and gave her a better view of what was out there. What she saw was disheartening: debris, debris, and more debris. Blinking to refocus as she lowered the binoculars, she cast an anxious glance at the approaching storm that confirmed her worst fear: it’s coming in fast.

When her small group of scientists had left Juneau, the week’s forecast had been ideal for their purposes, calling for the weather to be moderately cold and clear with occasional light flurries, she recalled, aggrieved. The expedition members had confirmed it before boarding the ship that had carried them to Attu. Looked like things had changed.

The ominous appearance of the tumbling clouds rushing inexorably toward her made her hands clench around the wheel. The temperature was steadily dropping. The wind was cold enough now to bite at her exposed skin. Waves rose up around her in frothy, white-tipped peaks, reminding her momentarily of a bowl of fresh-whipped meringue. The boat was starting to plunge up and down like a roller-coaster car. Attu was famous for blizzards with cyclonic winds that blew up out of nowhere, and she was afraid she was staring one right in the face.

She turned her back on it. A harried search of the waves as far as she could see turned up no signs of life. Probably she was a fool to keep looking. The wheeling birds that had filled the sky earlier were gone now, although whether from the explosion or the oncoming weather she couldn’t be sure. But the absence of birds was generally a bad sign.

Gina knew she needed to get to shore, but she couldn’t just turn tail and run. If there were survivors, she was the only hope they had.

Firmly closing her mind to the memories that threatened to overwhelm her, she narrowed her eyes against the wind, picked up the binoculars, and set herself to searching the waves again.

The snowfall was increasing in intensity. Fat white flakes swirled around her as she guided the boat toward the tail. Scanning the water for anything that resembled a person was nearly useless: there was so much debris that it was difficult to know where to even begin to look. Plus, the water was growing so choppy that it was impossible to see more than a narrow slice of the total picture at a time.

“Can anybody hear me?” she screamed, and pushed her hood back to listen for a reply. Her hair was honey brown, midback length, straight and thick as a horse’s tail. The wind caught long tendrils of it, whipping them free of her bun to send them flying around her face. It was blowing harder now, making the snowflakes feel like tiny bits of grit when they hit her skin. Keeping a wary eye on the advancing storm front, she knew that she didn’t have much longer before she absolutely had to head for shore.

The thought of abandoning anyone who might be in the water made her chest tighten.

“Hell-o-o-o,” she tried again at the top of her lungs. “Is anyone out here?”

The rushing sound of the wind and waves made her shout seem impossibly small. She couldn’t be sure, but she didn’t think it had carried very far. Certainly there was no response.

Some kind of search-and-rescue operation was needed on the scene now. But given the remote location, and the storm, and the time frame before it hit, she knew it wasn’t going to happen. Jittery with alarm at the idea that she was the only help there might be for days, she picked up the radio again.

“There’s been a plane crash,” she said into it. “Arvid, can you hear me? Call the Coast Guard and get help out here. I repeat, there’s been a plane crash. Can anyone hear me?” She gave her location and coordinates in hopes that Arvid or someone could hear her even if they couldn’t respond. If a couple of her fellow scientists could join her with the other boat that was docked at the main camp, that would be way better than having just herself out here alone. But even as she had the thought, she realized that there wasn’t time. She was probably a good half hour away by sea from the former Coast Guard station, and the storm would hit way before any of them could reach her.

Reluctantly accepting that she was on her own, Gina was grimly listening to more static in reply to her latest transmission when she spotted something floating past that was definitely human.

Her stomach dropped as she stared at it.

A man’s leg, severed below the knee. Bare and white as a fish’s belly except for the dark sock that still covered the foot.