Dawn Patrol

117

Dave can't believe what he's looking at.

He crests the top of a wave and sees the boat sitting in the trench, sideways to the oncoming wave, dangerously low in the water, sitting like a log to be rolled. The lifeboat dangles to the starboard side on its davits, as if the “Abandon ship” order had been given but not executed.

Where the hell is the captain? Dave wonders. What's he thinking?

Dave surfs the Zodiac down the wave, racing the break to the boat. He gets there seconds before, enough time to jump on, tie on, and hold on as the wave smashes into the side and knocks the boat on its side.

Miraculously, it bobs back up again, and Dave makes his way to the wheelhouse.

The pilot's unconscious, lying on the deck, next to the wheel, blood running from a cut on his head. Dave recognizes young Esteban from several of these pickups, but what the fuck is the boy doing tied to the wheel? And where is Juan Carlos?

Dave turns the boat back into the surf, locks the wheel on that setting, and kneels down beside Esteban. The kid's eyes open, and he smiles.

“San Andrйs…”

Saint Andrew, my ass, Dave thinks.

Then he hears voices.

It's a night for weird voices. It could be the wind playing tricks, but these voices seem to be coming from below.

He walks around and opens the hatch.

Can't fucking believe what he sees:

Six, maybe seven young girls huddled together.