CHAPTER 30

It was the morning of the last day on the Skippy Lou, and Sam couldn’t wait for it to end. Nine days of backbreaking work had yielded fewer than half the fish they’d anticipated on this run, and morale onboard was low. Everyone was irritable, everyone was tired or injured, and everyone was making mistakes. Adding to their misery, a squall had come up overnight, bringing with it sheets of rain as dense as fog. Most of the fleet had turned for home to wait out the storm, but Hollander had only dug in his heels. Their sonar had found a school of fish half a mile out, and he was determined to take as much of it as he could. Like a gambler on a losing streak, he was betting on one big strike to wipe out his losses.

And then the engine died.

They’d been out only a few days when the problems started, but Hollander had refused to consider putting in for repairs. Since then, their engineer had worked day and night to keep it running, but the man was new, and as the situation deteriorated, it became clear that he was in over his head. It was lucky they had Kallik aboard, Sam thought. No one could coax a diesel engine back to life like he could. When the engine had faltered again that morning, his offer of help had been gratefully accepted.

While the engineers struggled to get the seiner moving again, Hollander paced the deck, cursing and fuming, oblivious to the downpour. Sam lay on his bunk, listening to the urgent voices coming from the engine room, and willed the ship’s engine to turn over. It sputtered, almost catching, then died as more curses emanated from above. He held his breath as they cranked it again.

“Come on, come on . . .” Sam muttered.

The engine started—falteringly at first, then steadily, emphatically. As it roared to life, the men onboard cheered and Sam let out the breath he’d been holding. Once again, the Skippy Lou was underway.

Kallik came down the ladder and collapsed on the bottom step just as Sam slipped out of his bunk.

“Way to build the suspense there, pal. You almost had me worried.”

The engineer lifted his hand and made a rude gesture.

Sam pulled on a sweater and grabbed his knit cap.

“How far do you think we’ve drifted?”

“No idea. Why?”

“Just wondering how close we are to the shipping lanes.”

Kallik shrugged. “PACTRACS would have warned us if we were too close.”

“Right,” Sam said. “If we’ve got it.”

The Marine Exchange vessel tracking system was the only sure way to know if they were headed into the path of shipping traffic, but it required enrollment and a monthly fee.

Sam started up the ladder. “I’ll see you topside.”

He steadied himself against the main winch, squinting up through the rain to check the power block. He’d been keeping an eye on it with every haul, but so far there’d been no indication that it was unequal to the task at hand. Nevertheless, if the area up ahead was as rich as Hollander said it was, they’d be putting the entire winch under enormous strain. If any part of it was going to fail, that would be the time. Sam wondered if he should mention his concerns to Hollander, but to do that, he’d have to reveal the source of his information, and questioning a captain’s authority onboard was always risky.

Hollander was anxiously checking the sonar screen while the others drank coffee in the galley. Even if Sam succeeded in getting the man to reconsider, the rest of the crew might not back him up. More fish meant more money in their pockets, and if the captain was right about the bounty ahead, they’d be as anxious to start hauling as he was. In spite of his record, Hollander had a lot of influence on shore, too, and word of Sam’s insubordination would spread like wildfire. With a new ship to man and operate, he couldn’t afford to be making enemies.

* * *

The engine slowed as they reached their destination. As the wind had died so had the rain, replaced by fog so thick it made Sam feel claustrophobic. The crew scrambled out on deck and made ready to set the seine.

Sam would be driving the skiff this time, pulling the weighted net, or seine, in a wide arc to encircle the fish and form a purse in which to lift them from the water. While the weighted edge of the seine was being secured with metal rings, Kallik and Logan Marsh would plunge poles into the water to keep the fish from slipping away under the keel. Plunging the water was mindless, tiresome work, but it was essential to a good haul and safer than bringing in the net. Once the skiff returned and the purse was closed, Sam could get back on deck to give Kallik a hand when the winch started its first pull.

The skiff was lowered into the water. Sam stood at the rail, watching the rise and fall of the two boats, waiting for the point at which the distance between the decks was shortest before going over the side. Kallik stood behind him, checking to see that the seine unspooled smoothly, its corks staying afloat as they paid out; Hollander was at the winch, ready to set the rings and start raising the purse; and Logan Marsh was braced, pole in hand, ready to beat the water once the skiff was away. Every man knew his job; every man was ready.

The seiner settled and the skiff began to rise. As the decks grew closer, Sam swung his leg over the rail, ready to jump. Then a moderate swell pitched the boat astern, its dark surface white with froth, and a ripple of terror passed through him. The Skippy Lou was idling; the wind had died. Where was the white water coming from?

Sam yelled a warning, but it was too late. A wall of churning froth rose up and the seiner listed hard to port, pushed aside by some unseen force. Water poured over the gunwales, and the net began to unspool while Sam clung desperately to the railing. The deck was in chaos. Hollander ran for the bridge as Logan Marsh dropped his pole and dove for the lifeboat. Kallik stumbled toward Sam, lost his footing, and careened across the deck. Then a dark hull loomed out of the fog, struck the Skippy Lou amidships, and Sam tumbled over the side.