Pirate's Wraith, The by Penelope Marzec

Author:Penelope Marzec [Marzec, Penelope]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: New Concepts Publishing
Published: 2013-07-12T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

“Keep your head up.” Lesley screamed as she struggled to drag Harlan through the foaming surf. She soon realized it did no good to yell at him for he was out cold.

“Dammit to hell,” she swore. “You weigh a ton.” In the wreckage of the raft, she found a broken board suitable for a crude crutch. She stumbled through the submerged rocks until at last soft sand cushioned her feet. The tide helped push her and Harlan onto the beach. Sinking down beside his inert body, she checked for his pulse and listened to him breathe. He was unconscious but alive. She could only hope he came round—soon. She would not allow herself to consider any other scenario. He would wake up. He must wake up.

She rubbed her arms to bring some warmth back into them. She figured she could be suffering from shock since every nerve in her body seemed numb, except the ones in her sprained ankle, of course. Nevertheless, the breeze had a mild warmth to it. She loved having solid ground beneath her, too.

The sun rose and she wondered where they had landed and if anyone lived nearby. She hoped Moody and his traitors landed someplace else—someplace far, far away—like Antarctica. Although she knew Moody would live, give no quarter, and create his dramatic flag—she never wanted to see him again. She hoped she had seen the last of Hooper and Aloysius, too.

With the light of dawn, she saw pieces of the raft float in with the tide. She gathered what she could since she could not count on a handy supermarket or even a convenience store nearby. She hobbled back and forth, from the water to the sand. One of the footlockers had been dashed to pieces on the rocks, but the other floated to the edge of the water in one piece. Inside, she found all the hardtack ruined but the wine miraculously survived. Tempted to drink it, she resisted the urge though her mouth was as dry as dust. If—or rather when—Harlan woke up, he might need the wine for pain.

Her little horse sat at the bottom of that footlocker. The special warmth emanating from him soothed her and she smiled as she held him in her hands.

“You must be my special talisman—a charm to get me through this nightmare. You have no idea how happy I am you’re still here.” She put the horse back inside the footlocker and dragged it up to where Harlan lay.

Her leg hurt, but the doctor had wrapped it up well and as long as she kept her weight off it, she could bear the discomfort. The doctor had been so kind to her. In fact, he had an exemplary bedside manner, even though he lopped off body parts. She had never met a physician as benevolent and compassionate. He had listened to her—to every word she said, and acknowledged her, and ...

She wiped away a tear. Dr. Gilroy could have taught the doctors in 2011 a thing or two about caring for patients.

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