“A red flare,” she said. “Doesn’t that mean an emergency radio transmission?”
“Yes,” Neil said, hurrying past her. “I’ll go take it.”
In his cabin he groped for the flashlight and shone it on the VHF radio that he used for short-range ship-to-ship communication. It was already tuned to the correct frequency, and in less than half a minute he had established contact with Scorpio. The voice that came back at him was Tony’s.
“Scorpio reads you, Vagabond. This is Tony. Lisa’s got the plague. Those of us on Scorpio can’t stay with her. Either she’s got to go or we do. Over.”
Neil at first wondered if he had heard correctly, but then he knew he had.
“What the hell do you mean?” he shot back nevertheless. “Over.”
“I mean Lisa should be… buried at sea. Now. Before she fucking kills us all. Or… or… those that are willing to risk their lives for her come stay on Scorpio and we’ll shift to Vagabond… Over.”
So that’s what it’s all about. “Let me speak to my captain over there,” said Neil. “Over.”
“You’re speaking to him.”
“I want Captain Olly.”
When Neil shifted to Receive, he got nothing. He waited.
“Captain Olly can’t make it,” Tony finally said. “Over.”
“I’ll speak to Jim,” Neil fired back.
“Jim’s locked in with Lisa,” Tony replied. “He can’t talk to you either. Look—”
Neil snapped off the radio and stood up. What selfish cowards. Who were they? Tony, Oscar certainly, the two young women… Would they be so heartless or frightened? Probably. Gregg and Arnie? They were passive. He went back up on deck.
“I’m afraid Jeanne’s gone to her cabin to get ready to go over to Scorpio,” Sheila reported.
Neil looked at her and then nodded.
“There’s been a mutiny on Scorpio,” he announced. “Tony has deposed Olly and wants to abandon ship or toss Lisa overboard.”
“Good Lord,” said Sheila. “Poor stupid Tony…”
“Your poor stupid Tony is a…” Neil was about to vent his rage with a string of unimaginative obscenities but stopped himself.
“We should head for land, Neil,” said Sheila suddenly. “There we can quarantine the sick and get the best treatment for them… and for Philip.”
So this is how it ends, thought Neil a third time. The dying rushing to the dying for help. The well murdering the sick. What horrors stood next in line?
“We’ve no right to take our sickness to land,” he said. “We fight our battle here, at sea. Some of us will live, some die, but we don’t bring death to others.”
“But you’re forcing those people on Scorpio to take the biggest risk,” Sheila pointed out.
“No,” he answered wearily. “I’m ordering Lisa and Jim and Olly to return to Vagabond.”
Neil informed Scorpio of his intention to take off Jim, Lisa, and Olly but said that they should wait until dawn, six hours hence, to make the transfer. In the interim Jim and Lisa should be kept isolated in their cabin. Oscar, who took the message, made no comment.
When Macklin came on duty at midnight, he was informed of the situation. Macklin grunted, asked Neil if there were anything special he wanted said to Scorpio at the regular two a.m. radio check, and took the helm. Jeanne was down in her cabin with Skippy, satisfied that Lisa would be returned to her. Sheila, off watch, was down with Philip. Neil took over the helm while Macklin had a cup of tea, compliments of Mollycoddle.
“So what’s the use of staying at sea?” Frank asked from a seat behind Neil. “The worst has happened out here. There’s nothing left to run from.”
Neil was struck by how resigned Frank seemed to be. He still had expressed neither rage nor grief that his son might soon be in the grip of a fatal disease.
“We’re still not welcome anywhere,” Neil replied. “And now, carrying what we carry, people are justified in asking us to stay away.”
“The whole world’s dying, Neil,” Frank said. “You’ll never find a place that isn’t.”
“No, I won’t,” Neil agreed.
“Then why stay out here?” Frank said with sudden vehemence. “You’re sick. You’re becoming some sort of crazy Flying Dutchman, cursing yourself and anyone stupid enough to follow you to spend eternity sailing around endlessly at sea.”
“I don’t see it that way, Frank,” Neil replied. “I still see my best defense as being out here, the enemies still bunched up mostly on land.”
Frank got up and came over to stand beside Neil. “So now you’re ordering death brought directly on board,” he said.
“He’s your son,” Neil countered.
“If it were Tony or Conrad who were sick, you’d throw him overboard,” Frank insisted quietly.
Neil hesitated, then replied evenly, “If it had been them at Salt Point, I never would have let them back on board. You’re right there.”
“You’d throw them overboard,” Frank repeated.
Neil didn’t answer. He knew he wouldn’t literally throw them overboard, but he recognized that his response would be quite different.
“And how would you handle things, Frank?”
“Put the sick ashore. Split up. Stop this fucking running.”
Neil smiled bitterly. “I’ll stop running when he stops chasing,” he said sadly.
“You’re mad.”
“Let’s just say we’d handle it differently,” Neil commented, turning the wheel over to Macklin, who had just come up on deck. “Zero seventy-five degrees. Keep an eye on the number-two jib. It may be too much for her. Wake me up at three forty-five. Good night.”
But Neil was not awakened at three forty-five. He was awakened at dawn by the sound of something rubbing against Vagabond’s port side. He sat up, instantly awake, listening for the sound again, and angry that daylight was there and he hadn’t been called. The sound came again: a crunch and a squeal, something rubbing against her side. It even sounded like fenders rubbing against a dock, but Vagabond was hissing through the sea at a good speed. She was also sliding down a wave, sailing downwind. She had altered course and was running west.
He stood up, pulled on his cutoff jeans, and reached over to slide his hatch open. It didn’t open. He banged on it several times, almost instantly regretting that he had when he realized that his orders had been disobeyed and he was probably locked in his cabin. He went to get his gun from beside his berth and saw it was gone. So.
He could hear voices now, Frank’s and Tony’s among them. The peculiar sounds he was hearing must be the two boats’ hulls and fenders scraping against each other as Scorpio and Vagabond sailed downwind together. Neil banged on the hatch again and shouted loudly, calling Frank. He kept it up for a solid minute until finally he heard someone fiddling with a padlock.
The hatch slid open and Oscar, gun in hand, looked down at him warily. Neil climbed quickly up the steps and, even as Oscar began ordering him to stay put, brushed past him and made for the cockpit. On the port side Scorpio was rafted to Vagabond. Tony, Mirabai, and Janice were transferring food from Scorpio to the trimaran, the two women taking it down into Vagabond’s galley. Macklin, with his .45, stood guard. Sheila was at the wheel, Olly at Scorpio’s. The two boats, under reduced sail, were sailing downwind in a moderate tradewind. The sun was only a few degrees above the horizon in a clear sky. As Neil moved slowly toward the others Frank, who was standing next to Sheila, turned to face him.