Mariner's Ark by Peter Tonkin

Author:Peter Tonkin
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781780106328
Publisher: Severn House Publishers
Published: 2014-12-10T16:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-ONE

Liberty had never before had to consider the weight of water. She had considered its fluidity – its habit of forming currents, tides, waves and races. She had considered its depths and shallows, especially as these affected wave-sets and, consequently, sailing speeds. She had also considered its solidity – even before that very characteristic smashed her pitchpoling multihull to pieces. But she had never considered its simple weight. Even when stocking holiday sail boats with supplies as a girl, she had never really thought about the mass of the one-gallon plastic jugs of fresh drinking water she used to haul aboard her grandfather’s yacht in Hyannis Port. She never really considered the heaviness of a kettle or a teapot filled to overflowing. Of a cup or mug of tea or coffee full to the brim.

But now the weight of water was something of immediate concern to Liberty and to the others as well. Because she felt that – even through her sailing gear – she was being bruised by the weight and clout of the rain cascading relentlessly down on to her. Had she not lashed the cut end of her lifeline to Florence’s harness, which was in turn clipped to the safety toggle attached to the inertia reel system in the groove beside the footholds on the sail, she would have been even more worried, for the water not only had weight that was beating down on her with stunning power, it also had force that was trying to wash her off the slick surface.

Liberty was lying face down, as securely spread as the closeness of the other three would allow. The inflated Gill Marine lifejacket kept her face above the water level, for there was a good solid inch of water on the surface of the sail. The back of it mercifully protected the back of her neck. The hood of her Helly Hansen sailing jacket helped to protect the back of her head. But nothing, it seemed, could protect her shoulders, back or ribs, which felt as though she had just survived a lively boxing bout. And for some reason she could not get out of her head the strange idea that her buttocks, thighs and calves were being tenderized for a cannibalistic feast. Or as toothsome morsels for the sharks she was sure were circling in the depths immediately below.

And yet, she did not give up hope. Bad as things were – and every now and then she considered the possibility that they might get even worse – she never really doubted that she and her crew would survive this. Her father was an hour or so behind, she assured herself – maybe two hours given Katapult8’s phenomenal run earlier. But he was coming, alerted as he had to be by the fact that his daughter’s command must have simply vanished off his radar and his satellite monitoring system in the blink of an eye. He had to realize that something cataclysmic had overcome her. So he would come looking – at full speed, even through this fearsome downpour.

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