"You might want to stay down below!" Micah yelled out to the others as they held onto the railing as the rain and gale-force winds hammered the large boat. They had the unfortunate luck of catching the edge of a simmering hurricane, and Micah's boat was not built to withstand this much force. The waves, pleasantly lapping at the bow only yesterday, now rammed the entire boat, drenching Micah as he held the wheel tightly, hoping that he could get the boat far enough from the hurricane's edge before the boat was ripped to pieces and the passengers with it.
Micah was a freelance tour guide, delighted in recounting tales of pirates and Spanish fleets raided and sunk in these waters hundreds of years ago. He'd been fascinated with pirates as a child, and had spent years researching the lives and times of them. He came across a dusty old map locked in an old, wooden trunk bearing the seal of a major trading company that would have been in business around then. The map showed the coast on one side, frequent shipping routes of the trade ships, and known or suspected locations of pirates that lay in wait for the trade ships. Only five years later, he opened his own touring enterprise using a trust left to him by an uncle on his father's side, and for four years he had taken wealthy vacationers out on the ocean for a day of tales of history. He was only twenty-nine, with dark hair and deeply tanned skin, his Spanish heritage. His body was thickly muscles from years on the water and the harbor, moving crates or helping to sail boats.
Presently, the muscles in his arms bulged as he gripped the wheel tight against an oncoming wave that towered over the boat by about twelve feet. He repeated his warning to the seven passengers, who, amazingly heeded his advice and fled below. These people, whose miniscule knowledge of pirates came from theaters and not the history books, came to him, looking for adventure and excitement. Well, he thought to himself, they have gotten what they have asked for. He heard the crack of tortured wood and winced, knowing what that sound meant. He peered into the dark horizon for anyplace that might give them some safety from the hurricane, and spotted a small island off the port bow. He raised a pair of binoculars to his face and looked again. The island was definitely there, and he might just be able to get him and his passengers there alive. He steered his boat in the direction of the island and fought the waves that now hit from the side, tossing the boat.
One of the passengers poked his head up and shouted, "There's water leaking in from the side! The hull's got a large crack in it!"
Micah rolled his eyes, "Well then plug it up with something!"
The man disappeared back below, and Micah muttered a few curses in his native language. He should've spent the extra money on a better boat, a stronger boat. Instead he bought this wreck and affectionately named it The Infernal. He now regretted having not spent that extra money.
Another crack of wood breaking under the tremendous force of the hurricane, and screams below of the passengers' despair, Micah again cursed. His boat was slowing down. He looked out at the island, which had gotten closer. Another ten minutes of this, and he would reach the island, but he feared that the boat would not hold together that long. He grit his teeth and opened the throttle to full, the engine screaming in protest. Another head popped up, "The water's coming in too fast! We can't keep it plugged up, and it's coming in from two different places now!"
Micah whirled around, "We're coming up on an island! I'm going to get us there, but you've got to try and keep that water out or we won't make it!"
The head nodded, and Micah turned again to battle the ferocious waves. Only about three more minutes separated him from the island, and he was beginning to gain hope when the engine coughed and sputtered. It roared another minute before sputtering again, and then it stalled.
As close as they were to the island, Micah could easily swim it, but he doubted that his passengers would be able to do the same. Well, maybe three of them, all women, but the four men looked pudgy at best. He wouldn't leave his ship if there were passengers left, so he used the waves that crashed on the small beach to bring him closer. Suddenly, the bottom of the boat scraped on something, probably reef or maybe the edge of the island. It dragged on the obstruction briefly before the next wave lifted them over it and crashed them down heavily onto more of the obstruction. As big as the waves were now, they only rocked the boat back and forth on the obstruction; they were stuck. Micah let go of the wheel, flexing his fingers to ease the stiffness in them from holding the wheel so tightly. He went down the stairs below and was dismayed by the amount of water that had collected below. It had to be higher than knee-deep. His seven unhappy passengers were soaked and disheveled.
One of the men, a wealthy looking individual who appeared to be almost fifty pounds overweight, shouted, "I'll have your little business bankrupt in less than a day for this! You incompetent swine, we're going to die because of you!"
The outraged man rushed forward to push Micah, and Micah easily caught the man's arm, twisting him around roughly and shoving him away.
"Shut the fuck up!" Micah roared. To the others, he explained, "We're within swimming distance to the island. All of you, get on some lifejackets, and we'll be off."
One of the three women, a classy-looking specimen with red, shoulder-length hair and a fine physique, asked, "What about your boat?"
Micah shook his head, "We're grounded on something, and the boat isn't going anywhere. Once we get to the island, we'll wait out the hurricane, and then I'll swim back out here and try to contact help. Let's go."
The man who'd tried to rush him scowled fiercely, "I'm not going anywhere with you!"
Micah frowned back, fiercer, considering his fitness compared to the other man, "And you won't be staying alone on my boat either. If we survive this, you'll get your refund, but until then, you'll do as you're told or you won't survive at all."
After making sure that they all wore lifejackets, he waited until all the passengers were off the boat and swimming to the island before he left the boat. Splashing into the water, he dove down a couple of feet to see what his ship was stuck on. It appeared to be a reef, but it had a weird shape to it. It almost looked like a...a ship. He would have to come back after the hurricane and take a closer look. For now, he needed to make sure his passengers reached land alive...even the pompous, arrogant bastard who had tried to rush him.
Wind and rain lashed at the beach and the bedraggled passengers standing on it. Micah pulled himself, breathing hard, but otherwise just fine, up the beach to a small line of trees that whipped back and forth in the wind. He looked around for a minute, peering into the darkness of the trees, and shook his head.
"What is it?" the red-haired woman asked, alarmed.
"The wood here will be too wet to burn," Micah said grimly, "We'll have no heat tonight."
Micah sat down and watched his ship rock in the turbulent water, stuck on the strange reef that resembled a ship. The others sat down next to him, except for the irate man, who stalked off twenty feet to sit by himself. "That bastard is the reason I'm stuck here on this god damned island to die," the man muttered to himself, shooting a murderous glare at the so-called captain, that Micah did not see.
The bulk of the hurricane moved on during the night, headed in the general direction of the coast, the small harbor town of Portsmouth, where Micah's berth and business was located. The morning was still kept dark by heavy clouds that appeared to be the tail-end of the hurricane, but the winds, much lighter, did not create the huge waves that they'd experienced the night before. Likewise, the rain, though still heavy, did not whip at them as it had during the night. Micah had used his knife, which was sheathed on his hip, to cut down branches of the trees to create a makeshift shelter for them, though the irate man chose to sit in the rain rather than under the shelter. The other six and Micah sat close together, sharing the body heat that they generated. The red-haired woman sat next to him, and her heat was more than welcome to Micah. He'd always been partial to redheads.
Once the sky began to clear up, Micah made the swim back out to the boat and attempted to contact Portsmouth, only to receive no answer. The harbor town was probably battened down to weather the hurricane. Next, he decided to check out the strange reef under the water. As he reached the top of the reef, it looked even more like a ship. He unsheathed his knife and stabbed into a section of the reef. Then a second and third time...the fourth stab punched a hole in the reef. Micah widened the hole to admit him, returned to the surface for air, and then went down into the hole and marveled. It was a ship, quite an old one. In fact, judging from the collection of the old furniture, and several chests of everything from jewelry to china, it appeared that this could be one of the trade ships, perhaps chased here and sunk by pirates, or, since the shipment was still present, maybe a storm or hurricane had sunk it.
Micah left everything where it was and returned again to the surface. He tried one more time to contact Portsmouth without success, and swam back to shore. One of the men, the one married to the brunette woman, asked if he'd had any luck.
