Page 1 of Deep Waters
Chapter 1 – Rae
Simon's text simply read,I'm out.
For the first time in ten years, I was free. Was that how Simon felt too? Free of obligation. Finally, finally able to do what I wanted. Date who I wanted. Breathe.Playing the perfect long-distance girlfriend wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. But the worst was still to come.
My radio crackled, drawing me from checking my sails and rig.Sailor Swiftwas both my home and my escape.
“SAR Team, we have a priority alert for a capsized vessel. Three persons in water. Location is approximately two nautical miles southwest of Friday Harbor. Refer to coordinates in text messages. We have an eighteen-foot recreational fishing boat overturned. Three individuals in water. At least two reported wearing life jackets. Response staging area is Friday Harbor Marina, Dock B. SAR Command Base on Marine Channel 16.”
I clambered down into my cabin, pulling on my search and rescue shirt, cargo pants, and boots. I hit the dock at a fast clip. Living aboardSailor Swiftmeant I was close enough to Dock B to respond.
Elena Garcia, our fire chief, had already set up near the San Juan fire boat.
“Chief,” I said. “Where do you want me?”
“Rae,” Elena’s gently weathered face wrinkled in a smile, “glad you could make it. I could use another spotter. Dispatch says I have two more volunteers on the way, then we’ll head out.”
“Hey, Chief,” Zach Fenwick called, skidding to a stop to hop onboard. “How can I help?”
“I need another spotter. You take starboard; I’ll have Rae at port.”
“Got it,” he said, clipped but confident. He nodded to me. “Dawkins. Figured you’d be responding. I stopped at your boat to make sure you got the call.” His boat, theNauti by Nature, berthed next to mine. “Guess you were already here.”
Our last volunteer arrived, a grizzled boat captain named James Cox, and we cast off, the chief piloting us out of the marina harbor toward the capsized boat’s last-known coordinates. Wind blew from the northwest, combining with sea swells of three to four feet, which made for a bumpy ride as Elena opened the throttle.
I spotted the bright orange blobs bobbing in the water a few minutes later. The fishing boat had already partially capsized and was taking on water.
“I’m spotting three in life vests,” I called to Elena over the wind.
She adjusted our heading, drawing nearer to the bobbing people in life vests. Two waved their hands above their heads, doing their part to be seen. The third appeared unresponsive.
Elena slowed to an idle as we drew alongside our first victim. I tossed a throw bag to the older man. He grabbed the line, and I pulled him in. Zach unhooked the ladder, helping hoist the man into the boat. He landed like a fish, splayed across the deck, teeth chattering.
“My wife,” he bit out, lips blue.
“We’ll find her, sir,” Zach said, wrapping him in a thermal blanket and helping him onto one of the bench seats.
“Next spot,” the fire chief barked out.
Zach shuffled to his station, and Elena sped toward the second person bobbing in the water. The older woman had looked unconscious from a distance. I was relieved to see her eyes open as we approached.
Zach repeated the maneuver I’d used for the older man, his throw bag landing perfectly at the woman’s side. She clung weakly as he hauled her in. Even those few extra minutes in the cold had zapped her strength. Zach leaned down, powerful muscles rippling as he dragged her up the ladder and into the safety of the boat. I welcomed her with a rough thermal blanket, urging her into a seat next to her husband before returning to my station.
The couple huddled together, shivering.
The third man still waved, albeit more slowly. He had to be getting tired. Water temps in the Salish Sea hovered around the fifty-degree mark, even in summer. Hypothermia could develop in as little as an hour. I had no idea how long they’d been in the water before it was called in.
Elena brought the boat around, chugging toward the final survivor.
We repeated the throw bag maneuver, the middle-aged man having an easier time climbing the ladder than our first two passengers. I steadied him as he stumbled on the deck. He smiled, tired but grateful. One last thermal blanket, and we bundled him down with the others while Elena headed us back to the marina, calling in our arrival.
Each minute seemed to pass in a single breath. The flow state in a rescue kept me laser-focused on keeping our survivors warm. The second-guessing and adrenaline crash would come later.
The next fifteen minutes was a flurry of activity as we docked and assisted our passengers to the waiting EMS vehicle.
After our charges were whisked away, I rewound our lines and stowed them in the gear locker for next time. There was always a nexttime. Life on our tiny island in the Salish could be merciless. Boats were an everyday necessity and a danger.
Slowly, I blew out a breath, tucking away the messy thoughts of failed rescues, making my fingers tremble. We’d been fast enough. Lucky enough. This time.
