Man Island

 (The Quest is a yacht, at night, in the Bahamas.)

The Quest had deep water under her keel as far as he knew, they were well offshore from any land in the area which eased his mind a great deal, but if the storm lasted long enough the Quest could be set down on a stormy shore since Jason had no way to check his position with the electrical equipment all off and no sun, or stars to navigate by, plus a compass spinning around uselessly.

The misty blue radiance was much brighter now and more defined. It resembled an oblong flattened circle, the bottom part just above the surface of the sea, the cresting waves foaming into the flattened circle as if the circle was a gaping ugly mouth. The light blue color was very beautiful, illuminating the stormy sea with a dim blue glow, but it was obscured by spray and spumes flung about by the screaming wind.

Jason had an almost overwhelming desire to turn and run from the brightening blue. He struggled with his fear of the unknown and his seaman's instincts, unwilling to turn the Quest's stern to the storm. Bow on the Quest could hold her own against the storm even though she didn't make any progress against the wind, waves, and current, if any. Stern to the storm she would be driven before the seas at a steady rate increasing the chances of crashing on a stormy shore.

The Quest plunged and rolled, spray flying over her for another slow thirty minutes as Jason fought his indecision.

The smoky blue radiance glowed high above them now, perhaps two hundred feet, the mouth-like flattened circle skimming the foaming seas. Unless Jason turned soon the Quest would drive straight into the lovely, forbidding, blueness. A certainty that chilled Jason as nothing had ever done before.

Unable to turn right or left to go around the mouth-like horror bearing down on them because the Quest could never live with her beam to the cresting seas, Jason decided at last that the Quest's stern to the storm was the lesser of two evils. He told the Macians to hold on, he was coming around.

Jason eased the Quest to starboard in a wide slow turn. She rolled rail under in the troughs as she came around, solid seas boarding her at will. Twice she was rolled over until she was almost on her beam ends. Jason could only chop the throttles and hang on grimly, then give her a blast on the screws when she righted to keep her turning.

Only the Quest's wonderful seakeeping abilities saved Jason and the Macians as rail full, staggering, the valiant trawler came on around and put her stern to the raging seas.

Glancing hurriedly over his shoulder to see if the Macians were all right, they were, Jason concentrated on keeping the Quest square before the wild seas. He began to sweat as he worked at the wheel to check the Quest's alarming yaws as she raced downÜfÜthe steep seas, close to broaching to if great care was not used. The 6-71's roared as the Quest was flung surfing down the sea slopes gathering speed, removing the resistance of sea from the twin screws, then the diesels lugged in protest as they dropped the Quest behind, slowing her down to a rolling wallow, only to repeat over and over.

Jason looked over his shoulder at the smoky blue radiance, hoping to see it receding behind them, but the flattened blue ring was still close off the stern.    The Macians were sitting on the edge of the wheelhouse bunk, Doc in the center, holding Tad on his lap, Daisy and Lena on his right, Sandy on his left with her arm around her father.

None of them saw the gigantic spume topped freak wave racing down on them from the darkness. Jason had an instants warning as the Quest's stern was suddenly flung upward, his seaman's feel on the wheel telling him of the danger. He never finished his ringing shout. The Quest was picked up and driven bow down into the sea for half her length. Her hull groaned in a shriek of protest as the compression of the sea clamped her in its massive force. The top of the freak wave surged over the Quest's stern burying her completely under the sea. The Macians were flung sprawling on the deck. Jason held onto the wheel desperately. His chest crashed into the wheel. Someone hit his legs almost knocking him down. The women screamed.

Standing on her nose, almost straight up and down in thesea, the wonderful Quest might still have survived, but her twin screws had an instant to race unconfined by the sea. The port 6-71, hanging almost straight down, roared, torque sent it sideways, the prop shaft flexed slightly, but it was enough. The port 6-71 shook itself loose from its engine bed, pulling the engine mounting bolts out of the stout wood. Still roaring, the port 6-71 fell away from its bed and crashed into the engine room bulkhead, tearing a big hole in the wood. The end of the port prop shaft whipped around loosening the shaft log. Sea water squirted through the stuffing box as if from a high pressure hose.

The starboard diesel held, but the prop shaft was misaligned. The stuffing box began to spray seawater.

The heavy, full, fuel tanks on each side of the hull were flung up through the cabin deck. They burst spewing raw oil all over in a huge gush which quickly flooded the cabin compartment. The water tanks burst at about the same instant as the fuel tanks. Water and oil surged forward toward the bow as the Quest tried to right herself. Stores, furnishings, suitcases, anything lose, tumbled toward the bow, adding to the destruction below.

Jason could feel the agony of the Quest as she broke apart below. He felt the 6-71 as it crashed through the bulkhead. He tried to shut off the engines but the hydraulic controls refused to operate. The port diesel ran out of fuel and stopped, but the starboard 6-71 suddenly roared with an evil crescendo of sound and ran wild, shaking the entire boat.