Soon after we launched out to sea and were about to round the point, we heard it.
A motor!
My heart slammed against the inevitable. There was no out-paddling a fishing boat with a large inboard motor. We couldn’t possibly escape. But did we stop paddling?
No! We paddled like there was no tomorrow. We swooped through the swells like psychotic swans rearing to take flight.
Willie bellowed, “Go go go go!” But we didn’t need to be told. Our bodies knew what to do.
This is how survival works. Some kind of ancient memory in our DNA.
The wolves are coming! The wolves are coming!
While I paddled, my ears strained to hear the sound of the motor. Was it getting louder? Was it coming closer?
I couldn’t tell. Waves crashed against the cliffs. My heart crashed in my chest. Our paddles slashed the water in a frenzy of motion.
A controlled frenzy. Dad in front, me in back, steering.
We were paddling for our lives!
Just ahead of us, Lisa was paddling like a pro, her hair flying behind her like a banner.
What would they do if they caught up to us? Would Captain Evil try to shoot us, one by one, like ducks in a barrel? Or would he just come after me?
Or Lisa. Take one of us hostage again.
Or try to sink us all?
My mind churned, like our paddles.
Waves boomed. Gulls cried.
Suddenly—I heard the surge of an engine!
And it was getting closer. And closer.
It sounded like it was right behind us!
I turned around. A fishing boat, maybe two hundred yards away, was barreling right toward us, the prow slicing through the water, gushing like twin fountains.
My heart clutched, and my body froze. I couldn’t breathe.
But I had to. We all heard it, saw it coming. We all dug in with our paddles and tried to do the impossible: out-paddle the Sea Wolf!
What else could we do?
The boat drew closer. There was no time to even look over our shoulders.
This time there was no getting away.