Page 26 of One Last Chance

Static.

She tried again.

Nothing.C’mon, Peyton.

Just static.

She closed her eyes.Breathe. Then she picked up the mic. “You still there?”

CHAPTER4

This was not how he wanted to die, thank you. Buried alive at the bottom of the ocean, the air slowly turning to poison in the tomb-slash-cabin of the fishing boat Lady Luck.

Maybe not so much on the luck, although if Axel was honest, the fact that he’d gotten inside the lower compartment and latched the waterproof seal in time to create an air pocket did seem on the lucky—or even the divine providence—side of the equation.

He now sat on the ceiling, the contents of the entire cabin scattered around him—pots and pans, dishware, books, pillows, life jackets, blankets—anything that wasn’t latched down, and even then, cushions had broken loose, along with the contents of the freezer. Frozen fish, some coffee beans, and a bag of raspberries—that seemed like an interesting combination.

A few canned goods rolled across the ceiling with the below-surface current.

He couldn’t tell if he might be sinking—or maybe the air pocket of the cabin was keeping the boat afloat. And it might not be the only air pocket. It was possible that the captain’s cabin and even the flybridge contained air.

He didn’t want to chance it.

The windows peered out to murky water, but the barest of light suggested he might not be too far below the surface. Hopefully the keel still stuck out of the sea, something to catch the sunlight, tell the world he wasn’t on the bottom.

Yet.

The static of the mic buzzed through him, and he tried again. “Hello?” Axel held the mic to his forehead, breathed out.

Nothing. Okay. Think.

It had been a long shot anyway, hoping the ham radio he’d found tucked in the cabinet might work. Radio frequencies struggled underwater, but the ham operated at a 136 kHz band, so?—

“Axel?”

Her voice crackled through the line, igniting inside of him.

“Hello! I’m here! I’m here!”

A pretty voice, although he might be biased. He’d takeanyvoice on the other end. Still, he wanted to imagine her as pretty, maybe a brunette, someone who wouldn’t give up on him.

Mostly that last part.

“I thought I lost you,” she said. “I’m trying to get ahold of someone over the radio, but she’s not answering. I’ll keep trying.”

“I’m still here.”

He wanted to suggest she turn the dial, find another channel—in fact, Moose possessed a ham radio, but the chances that his brother had parked the chopper and returned home to his warm bed came in at negative zero.

If his brother could get a bird in the air, he would search the ocean blue for him; Axel knew it in his bones. But the chopper’s fuel had been almost spent right before the boat went over, so chances were Moose had headed to Homer to drop off his crew.

And by the time he returned, Axel might be at the bottom of the sea.

Not to get too dark and gloomy, but the hope of his brother finding him in the swells . . .

The woman on the ham might be the last person on earth he spoke to.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” she said now.

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