No Shelter

Marlene grasped the tiller with her bloody hand and pulled hard left, fighting against the waves and the pelting rain. A lightning bolt crashed down in the distance, illuminating the fishing pier just beyond the cliffs, not more than 200 yards ahead. If the little boat could maintain course long enough to reach it, shelter awaited. But that was a big if.

The squall had pushed in after noon, coming hard and fast from the east, and was on top of her before Marlene knew it. She hadn’t planned on that.

Not that it would’ve changed anything. Terry’s time had come.

Screeeeeeoooossshh!!

A howling wind slammed the boat from the starboard side, pushing it inland, toward the rocky face of the cliffs. Marlene maintained hold of the tiller, but the deep gash across her right palm wasn’t helping, and fresh blood continued to pour from the wound. With her left hand she touched the deep red welt on her cheek. One last gift from Terry. It had begun to swell, causing her left eye to close up. But her right eye was fine, and that was all she needed now.

Marlene looked down at the outboard motor with a mixture of gratitude and apprehension. So far it had sputtered along, holding course toward the pier, but there was no guarantee that would continue.

Suddenly, just over the roar of the surf, came a rattling from the front of the boat.

Huh? Marlene whipped her head toward the cabin door, scanning for movement.

Nothing.

Don’t be silly she admonished herself. He’s dead. Gone. Can’t hurt you anymore.

Boom! Buh-buh-boom!

A peal of thunder erupted, shocking Marlene back to the task at hand. Refocusing on the pier, she pulled the tiller toward her with all her strength. Only 150 yards now. The boat could make it. She could make it.

But off to her right she saw the waves building, surging higher. The drumbeat of the raindrops on her skin increased their pace, becoming almost constant. Dark clouds blotted out the sun. 

The storm was growing. 

And then, again, from the cabin door, she heard it:

Rattle rattle rattle.

And this time, it wasn’t just a sound. Her one good eye zeroed in on the little brass doorknob, the one she’d locked from the outside. Sure enough, it vibrated and shook, attempting to free itself from the bolt.

No, Marlene thought. I’m hallucinating. A hammer to the temple is enough to kill anyone. He can’t be alive.

She concentrated, determined to reach the pier. It was 100 yards away now, and the brave little motor continued to hum. But the incoming waves were becoming too much for the 18-foot boat to handle, pushing it ever closer to the craggy side of the cliffs. Torrents of raging seawater crashed over the bow and streamed down the deck, flooding the small cockpit up past Marlene’s shins.

Shit! she thought. Running out of time.

Bang bang bang!

What was that? More thunder?

Bang bang BANG!!

No. Not thunder.

“Maaarleeeeeeene!!”

Oh my God, he is still alive. 

Terry’s fists pounded on the door and into Marlene’s brain, interfering with her attempts to make sense of the situation. How is he alive!?

Another wave, bigger and more powerful than any that had come before, slammed the boat’s hull, nearly causing it to keel over.

“Marlene, let me outta’ here!” Bang bang bang! “Let me outta’ here, Marlene!”

Despite her terror, she didn’t respond. Maybe he wasn’t dead, but he couldn’t get to her right now, and she needed everything she had just to keep the little boat upright and moving forward. Wind screamed through the air, blasting Marlene in the face. It tore at her arms and legs, trying to uproot her from the cockpit seat. 

Suddenly, the banging stopped, and the absence of noise brought Marlene’s attention back to the door. A still loud but calmer voice came from inside the cabin.

“Look Marlene, I know why you did what you did. I know I ain’t been a good husband. And I’m sorry. I really am,” exhorted Terry. “But this cabin is startin’ to flood. And if we don’t bail it out this boat is gonna’ sink.”

She looked down at the swirling water pooling ever higher in the cockpit basin. It was nearly up to her knees now, and rising fast.

He’s right she thought. If this boat doesn’t shed some water fast, it’ll never make the pier.

“Please, Marlene, please! I got the bucket in here. We can do this, you and I. We can get this boat home. And then we can talk. But right now, you gotta let me outta this hole!”

Marlene looked around. The pier was a mere 60 yards ahead, jutting out from the cliffs. The little motor still chugged, propelling them forward, but its pace had dropped to a crawl. The weight of the water was beginning to drag them down.

Maybe he’s right. 

Maybe they could talk it out.

“Goddammit, woman!” Terry roared. “Now you listen to me, you let me outta’ here this instant you stupid bitch!”

No.

He wasn’t right.

They couldn’t work it out.

Using all her might, Marlene pushed the tiller full out to starboard side, swerving the boat’s bow away from the pier...and directly toward the towering cliffs off to the boat’s port side.

“What you doin’, Marlene!” yelled Terry. “So help me God, what you doin’?”

Vicious waves and the whir of the motor thrust the little boat forward. The sheer rock face of the cliffs rapidly approached.

Marlene stared ahead, her fear of the storm, and of Terry, both gone. In their place was a firm resolve. She would be okay. Terry would be okay. Everything would be okay.

“May God help us both, Terry,” she whispered.

With that, shot forth by the storm surge, the boat plowed ahead, directly into the waiting wall of stone.