“St. Peter’s Island,” he warned. “It’s less than a mile off the starboard prow. If we don’t steer clear of the rocks right now, they’re gonna rip the shit out of the boat.”
Harley took off his soaking gear and resumed his chair. In the pale moonlight, the island loomed like a gigantic black skull rising up out of the sea. A belt of fog clung to its shores like a shroud.
“Take us ten degrees west,” Harley said, and Lucas spun the wheel as fast as he could.
“What was that thing in the nets?” he asked, as the ship was buffeted by another crest of freezing water.
“You worry about the course,” Harley said, staring out at the dark sea. “Leave the rest to me.”
“I was just thinking, if it’s salvage of some kind, then it has to be reported to—”
The ship suddenly shuddered from bow to stern, shaking like a dog throwing off water, and from deep below there was the sound of metal groaning. Lucas nearly slipped off his feet, as Harley clung to the control panel in front of him.
“Ice?” Harley said, though he already knew better. Lucas, wide-eyed and white with fear, said, “Rocks.”
A second jolt hit the ship, knocking it to one side, as waves swept the deck and the crab pots swung wildly in the air. One of them hit the Samoan, who, windmilling his arms in an attempt to regain his balance, was carried by the next surge over the side. Farrell and Kubelik were clinging desperately to the mast, the crane, and the icy ropes.
“Jesus Christ,” Harley said, groping for the hand mike. Lucas was draped across the wheel as if it were a life preserver.
“Mayday!” Harley shouted. “This is the Neptune II, northwest of St. Peter’s Island. Man overboard! Do you read me? Mayday!”
From belowdecks there was another grinding sound, like sheet metal being crumpled in an auto yard, and the engineer Richter was bleating over the intercom. “The bulkhead’s breached! You hear me up there? The pumps won’t handle it!”
“We read you, Neptune,” a Coast Guard voice crackled over the mike. “You have a man overboard?”
“Yes,” Harley said, “and we’re taking on water!” He rattled off their position, then tossed the mike to Lucas, as he slipped off his stool.
“Don’t leave me here!” Lucas said, his voice strained and trembling.
“Handle it!” Harley shouted.
“Where the hell are you going?”
“Down below!” Harley answered, as he lurched toward the gangway. “To check the damage!” And something else.
As Lucas clung to the wheel, Harley scrambled down the steps. But he could tell already, just from the tilt of the deck and the terrible racket in the hold, that the ship was lost. He’d be lucky to escape this night alive. They all would.
Maybe the old man had been right about that damned box, after all.