The storm’s pushing the wind ahead of it and we’re riding that sticky wet wind. My clothes flap but don’t get any drier as we’re driven inland so fast Licorice Stix is tipping up on one hull, and a good thing too coz the waves driving in behind us is big enough to swamp the net. Me and Jag scramble back and over the tall side of the platform between the two hulls, to ride clinging to the seats with Aunty Dizzy while Ma works the wheel.
The sky gets unnaturally dark as we go skudding past the old hills. I figure we don’t need to take shelter there, we can make it all the way home to where it’s safe from storms and from people who might find our boat or our canned food to their liking and take it from us.
‘Tacking!’ Ma screams and we all duck as the boom swings across to the other side of the boat. Jag leaps on the winch to tighten it off, and we change seats to the high side of the boat as she tips up the other way.
There’s a small boat in the channel, being hit from the side by the waves pushing in ahead of the storm. It slides sideways, rocking wildly, and gets dropped by every wave.
On a fine day we’d stop and investigate, maybe take it back to its moorings if it’s got a name on it we recognise. This one looks real familiar. And I can’t think why, until it spins a bit towards us and a golden sun on the prow reflects a flash of lightning.
‘Ma!’ I yell over the crashing waves. ‘It’s the siblings’ boat from the Valley of the Sun!’
‘Din’t they tie it off proper?’ Jag asks.
‘Something’s happened to them,’ I say. I know it, deep in my heart. I’ve known it since I went to Jacob’s Reach.
‘I ain’t stopping to tie it on, Neoma, no matter what’s happened,’ Ma says. She’s frowning over her shoulder but not at me, at that swirl of green and black chasing us down. ‘Storm’s almost on us.’
‘Sail close,’ I say. ‘I’ll grapple it, and we’ll tow it in.’ This boat could have clues about why it’s bashing around out here empty without a sibling to be seen.
‘You’ll break the grapple rope before you get it up to the same speed we’re going,’ Ma says.
‘I’ll winch it out, so it don’t!’ I say and nod at Jag to get ready to do that for me.
‘Okay, but likely we’ll have to cut the rope anyway if it slows us down.’
Ma sails close and I hand the end of the grappling rope to Jag to let out as needed, and wrap it round the winch. Last thing I wanna be doing right now is handling rope. My hands is raw meat.
Then I lean way over the keel, holding on to a stanchion real tight, swing and drop the grapple hook gently, without too much sliding through my hand, into the boat and drag it forward to hook it onto the board across the top of the prow as we sail on by.
‘Okay!’ I yell to Jag. ‘Let the rope out so it turns and gets up to speed.’
I go to turn away but something pale twitches in the bottom of the siblings’ boat, and I wonder if a fish got slopped in there by a big wave, but the pale thing has a thick ribbed tail, and in a flash of lightning it becomes a hand, palm upwards! Someone’s in there, under the tarp!
I scramble back to the deck. ‘Someone’s in there!’ I yell.
Ma looks at me like I grew an extra head. ‘Don’t lose that rope, Jaggy-boy!’ she yells, dropping the sail a little to slow Licorice so we don’t lose our tow, then turns to Dizzy. ‘What kind of trouble are we hooked into right now?’
