The yacht had assumed a life of its own. It seemed like a legendary sea beast as it moved and turned in the dark sea. It became a participant in the struggle between the two men.

As though resenting their entrapment, the waters in the lower deck of the Hosannah shifted. That caused the prow of the vessel to drop suddenly, hurling Hawke back and Kannaday forward. The men collided amidships, then tumbled hard against the mainmast. Hawke lost his wommera, and both men lost their bearings. They continued to slide forward as the yacht’s aft section rose. The arms of both men pinwheeled at their sides. They tried to grab at anything that might break their fall. At the same time, the vessel began sliding deeper into the water. The forward portholes cracked, and large air bubbles popped from the openings. Each one caused the yacht to hop slightly, as though muscles were contracting. They forced the yacht up slightly, but only for a moment. The final, downward slide had begun.

Kannaday lost sight of Hawke. His hands found a flopping halyard, and he held tight. But his body was weak from loss of blood. He hung there while the yacht slid further into the sea. His ear was pressed to the slanting deck. He heard the roar of water as it pounded against the hull.

It was strange, Kannaday thought. He probably had only a minute or two more to live. Yet he felt oddly euphoric. He had returned from the dead to confront Hawke. A life of wandering had ended in a flourish of purpose. It felt good.

Suddenly, through the spray of water, Kannaday saw a light. He wondered if this was the light of the afterlife people spoke of. He watched as the white beacon, sharply haloed with a rainbow, appeared to be growing larger. A moment later, Kannaday heard a drone. The sound rose above the rush of water that was coming from below. As the white light approached, Kannaday realized it was above him. This was not the glow of passing from one world to the next.

It was a helicopter. Perhaps its pilot had seen the flares and had come to investigate. Not that it mattered. There were too many people to rescue, and they were far from shore. He did not think many of these men could stay afloat for the two or more hours it would take for ships to reach this remote point.

Kannaday’s fingers were cramped and trembling. He was holding tightly, but the rope was slippery and the angle of the yacht increasingly severe. The captain began to lose his hold. He moved his feet around. The steeper the angle, the more dead weight his own body became. He was looking for a place to brace himself. He found nothing.