One Stormy Night
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In Search Of ParadiseChapter 8: Stormy Weather free porn video
They'd put almost three hundred and fifty miles between Aruba and the Gon Waki 2, enjoying steady winds from the east of around seventeen knots. For most of the three days since they'd left Oranjestad, the skies had been clear and sunny. But by four o'clock on that third day, the weather threatened to turn stormy.
"Brandon," Tracy's worried voice called from the navigation desk in the cabin, "you might want to come and have a look at this weather report. It looks like one hell of a storm coming in over Barbados. Says here that it'll hit everything from Grenada to Puerto Rico."
Brandon left the helm to Celeste, then hurried down to where his sister studied the computer's screen.
"Umm, not so sure I want to tackle a storm like that one," he let her know. "That's a big son-of-a-bitch, and if it hits Grenada, it'll hit some of the other islands, too. Maybe we should leave the Caribbean until we're on our way back?"
"How do you mean?" her incomprehension came out.
"We're far enough away that we can turn around and head for Panama, maybe stay ahead of that thing, and come up the east coast of South America later, like after we sail around the Cape of Good Hope. The west coast of Africa might not see us if we cross the Atlantic that far enough to the south.
"The Gon Waki 2 can probably weather a bad storm like that one, : he went on, "but I'd hate to be in the middle of it and find out I'm wrong. Besides, if we go down the South American coast from here, we'll be fighting the Horn in their wintertime, and that part of the world can see some pretty nasty storms in June. I think I'd rather tackle the Pacific before the Atlantic."
"Do we get a vote on this?" she asked him.
"Sure, but you have to admit that after the weather we've enjoyed so far, fighting a tropical storm isn't all that appealing, is it? Especially if we don't have to."
The two made their way back on deck, sharing what they'd learned with the current helmsman, then waiting for her input.
"You're the Captain, Lover," she finally deferred. "Wherever you want to take this ship, I'll do my part to help. I know you gave us those swimming lessons in Grand Cayman, but I'm not so sure I'm ready to test out how well I learned just yet. The idea of swimming several hundred miles has absolutely no appeal to a landlubber like me. What I'm wondering is whether we can outrun that storm, even if we turn around and head west. Wouldn't seeking shelter in Venezuela make more sense?"
"If that storm runs along the coast, Venezuela won't be any safer than Grenada," he filled her in." I'm not sure that we'd make it back to Aruba before it catches up to us, either. If we head due west, we might be able to outrun it enough to escape the worst of it, though. Those are my thoughts," he gave his opinion.
"How long would it take us to make it back to Oranjestad?" Tracy wanted to know.
"A couple of days, maybe," he estimated. "I'm hoping that this storm will track north and leave us alone. Once we get closer to Panama, we should miss the worst of it. I guess we could hide somewhere in Columbia if we had to, but I'd like to stay away from that place if we can."
"I guess I vote with Celeste, then," Tracy gave him her proxy. "Wherever you want to take us is fine by me. Whatever happens, we'll survive as long as we all work together."
Brandon leaned into his sister, kissing her lips, then did the same for their helmsman. As much as he appreciated their confidence, he said a silent prayer that he'd be able to deliver on their expectations.
"Bring this thing around, Angel," he finally declared, "and put us on a heading of three-three-five degrees. Tracy, give me a hand raising the spinnaker. Let's make this Old Girl fly, and see if we can get our asses out of this mess."
For the next fifteen minutes, the deck of the Gon Waki 2 was a beehive of activity, with the Genoa jib being lowered and replaced with the colourful spinnaker and the mainsail set for running with the wind, while Brandon raised the centreboard all the way into its well. As soon as they were on that run, Tracy followed her brother below, looking over his shoulder as he plotted a course towards Panama.
""If we hold this course until just after noon tomorrow," he shared his strategy with his sister. "That should keep us away from the centre of this thing, hopefully. It'll take us about four days after that to reach Panama, as long as the winds don't shift too much. I'm hoping that this storm won't move that far west."
The two went back up on deck to share the information with Celeste, who was splitting her attention between what her Captain was telling her and the sight of building thunder-heads behind them. Her worried expression had the other two feeling similar trepidations. In sharp contrast, those same skies had been cloudless only hours earlier, and their chances of outrunning the massive storm were by no means guaranteed.
"Are we going to make it?" Tracy enquired as she joined her brother on the aft deck.
"Gawd, Pip-squeak, I sure hope so," he expressed his own concerns. "That storm's a big mother. Keep your eye on the weather reports, would you? I have a feeling this one's big enough to hit Aruba, and if it can reach that far, it could make it all the way to Central America. Shit, I thought those things took the winter off. So much for outwaiting hurricane season, huh?"
"Now I'm beginning to understand why you wanted a steel hull," she let him know. "Would fibreglass be strong enough to withstand this kind of a beating?"
"Maybe," he wondered about his own decision, then added, "Probably. It's wood that I'd be worried about. A wooden hull will take a lot of twisting and stress, but when it finally does let go, you're fucked. It'll break up like matchsticks."
"I think I'm scared," Celeste confessed as she gripped the wheel tight enough to turn her knuckles white. "I'm too young to die, especially in the middle of nowhere, and I won't make it if you two aren't there, too."
"We'll be fine, Angel," Brandon lied. "Let's just concentrate on getting our little asses out of the path of that storm."
"Double watches until we're out of this," he added, "and no one is to be on this deck unless they're attached to a safety line. Tracy and I will do the first watch tonight at eight o'clock. Angel, head below and see if you can get some sleep. You'll be relieving me at midnight."
"You really think I can sleep when we're all about to die?" Celeste angrily responded.
"We won't die if we keep our heads about us," he reminded her, "but I want two people on deck at all times so that one can keep the other awake. We can catch up on missed sleep later. Now go," and he gave her a reassuring kiss, followed by a light pat on the backside.
"Are we really going to be alright?" Tracy enquired once her sister-in-law was below.
"I sure hope so, Sis," he murmured. "I sure as hell hope so. We haven't gone far enough to call this voyage off yet, and there's a lot of beaches in the South Pacific that I want to lounge on."
"How are we doing?" Celeste asked sleepily as she returned on deck just before midnight to trade watches with Brandon.
"It's catching up to us," Brandon told her the truth. "The centre's about fifty miles this side of Grenada, according to what Tracy found from the weather reports. That puts the leading edge about two hundred miles behind us. I'm hoping that it won't get here until after sunrise. We're making almost nine knots, and that's all the Old Girl has in her. But that storm's moving faster than we are, and it seems to have changed direction, too. Oranjestad figures they're going to see it sometime tomorrow."
"By the sound of it," Tracy added, "Grenada's getting hit pretty hard. They're estimating almost five hundred people missing already, and the destruction in Saint George's is pretty bad. I think Brandon had the right idea to run from that thing. Even Jamaica has alerts out, although it looks like it'll go south of them. There's not much else that I can find that's up-to-date."
"Guess I'd better make some coffee while I can," Celeste sounded resigned. "I don't think I want to be playing with the stove when things get rough. Do I have fifteen minutes?"
By the time she'd finished in the galley and had rejoined her sister-in-law at the helm, Brandon was ready for whatever sleep he could get, insisting that someone wake him no later than three forty-five. Tracy bid her brother a good night as he headed towards the cabin hatch and bed. The chances of it being a good night, he thought to himself, were pretty remote.
It felt like mere minutes later that his sister shook him awake, and he struggled to get his eyes to focus, but when they did, the sight of her worried face pulled the last of that sleepiness out of his system.
"How's it going?" he asked as his legs swung off the bunk.
"Not bad, but it's getting pretty windy out there. Celeste's having a hell of a time keeping us on course. The waves keep trying to turn us sideways," she reported.
"Shit," he cursed in a low tone. "Whatever happens, we've got to keep this thing from breeching. If we don't, we'll be lying on our side so fast, it'll make your hair curl. Guess I'd better get my ass moving, and you, little sister, had better get some sleep. We may have to reduce canvas, and I'll need your help if we do."
"Should we do that now before I go to bed, or should we wait?" she suggested.
"Let me have a look at things topside, then I'll let you know," he hedged, scrambling into some dry clothes as he talked. This was definitely not the kind of weather for their usual uniforms.
Heading up on deck, Brandon assessed their situation, then decided that it made more sense to reef the sails while Tracy was still awake instead of waking her up later. Reducing the mainsail proved easy, but the spinnaker had to be dropped down the forestay enough that he could roll the bottom edge up and tie it off. In the process, his safety line restricted his movement, to the point where he disconnected it – and got reamed out by his First Mate.
"That's the only way I could do it, Pip-squeak," he gave as an excuse, "but next time, I'll have to make sure there's a long enough line."
Now with sails reduced, the Gon Waki 2 moved slower through the water, but became a little more stable against the effects of the following seas. Once Tracy was off to bed, Brandon took over the helm, giving Celeste a much-needed reprieve and the chance to catch her breath again. As he'd been informed, each wave that rolled under the ship tried to swing them at right-angles, and like his helmsman had before, Brandon found himself fighting to keep the ship from breeching.
"It'll slow us down, but I'm tempted to drop that centreboard," he mentioned to Celeste. "Maybe it'll help stabilize this old barge and make her easier to control."
"This 'old barge', as you call her, happens to be our home," Celeste snapped at him, "and I'll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head when you're talking about the Gon Waki 2!"
"Point taken," he conceded, then dropped the centreboard, just to see if it made a difference to steerage.
"It's a little better," he reported to his watch-mate, "but not enough to make it worth our while. What we gain in stability, we lose in speed. Let me pull it back up."
For the rest of the watch, they talked about anything and everything, just to keep each other awake. By the time the sky lightened the following morning, poor Celeste looked like she hadn't slept in days, and Brandon found himself appreciating her efforts more than he'd thought he would. If it hadn't been for her, he'd have never made it through the watch without falling asleep at least once.
"Go get some sleep, Angel," he suggested strongly as the end of her watch neared, but while she relished the idea, she was more worried about his welfare than getting the rest she needed.
"Not until Tracy's had enough sleep," she let him know. "I'll be alright for a while. You're the one I'm worried about. You were up here all day yesterday, and weren't in that berth anywhere near long enough. Someone has to keep you awake, and I doubt that Tracy's in any shape to do that."
"You're probably right," he acceded, "but if you don't get some shut-eye, who's going to spell me at the end of my watch?"
Reluctantly, she headed for their berth, looking over her shoulder to make sure that Brandon would be able to stay on his feet. Only when she knew her sister-in-law was on the job did she allow herself to drop off in a dreamless slumber.
Noon came all too soon, yet Tracy's insistence was enough to rouse the sleepy woman. Suddenly concerned for Brandon's welfare, she jumped out of bed, quickly dressed, and hurried up on deck to make sure he was still with them. As he spotted her coming out of the cabin, an involuntary smile of happiness moved his lips into an inverted frown.
"Get any sleep?" he enquired.
"Yeah, some," Celeste admitted before turning to her sister-in-law. "You ready to be relieved of your watch yet?" she addressed Brandon.
"Only if you're ready to tackle this storm. It's right on our ass," Brandon warned her. "Priority one is keeping us running with the waves. We'll worry about our course later."
'You must have managed to keep us from floundering for the last four hours," she reminded him, "so why would I have a problem? You're not that far away if we get into trouble."
It took Brandon less than a second to understand that Celeste was hiding her fear, or at the least trying desperately to keep it under control. For that, there was a real warm spot inside him for this woman that had been dragged off a comfortable beach in Florida and onto the deck of a ship that she still didn't fully understand.
"Sacred still, Angel?" he softly enquired, letting her know that he could feel her anxiety.
"Almost bad enough to pee myself," she quietly confessed. "We are going to survive this, aren't we?" her false hope attempting to re-enforce itself.
"As long as we keep fighting, we will," he lied again. "It'll take all three of us to get through this storm, but if my crew keeps giving me their all like they are now, we'll be fine."
"Lying son-of-a-bitch," she accused him, "but I love you for trying. Keep it up and I might even believe you."
"Night, girls," he bid them as he left the deck, aware of both women's discomfort at have to fight the storm without him beside them.
All too soon it was time for Brandon to relieve Tracy, and as she headed for the berth, he gave her a quick kiss and held her reassuringly for a moment. She gazed into his eyes with a look of resigned hopefulness mixed with pure exhaustion, then headed below.
"Is she okay?" Celeste needed to know, once they had the deck to themselves.
"She's scared shitless, but she's hanging in there. Gawd, Angel. She's such an amazing woman. Completely out of her element, and still she gives everything she's got. I can see why you fell in love with her – and why she fell in love with you. You're both like two peas in a pod. I'm one lucky son-of-a-bitch to have a crew like you giving me your full support like this."
"We're here because we want to be, you know. Give us half a chance and we'll follow you to the ends of the earth," she assured him. "Now, let me go below and warm you up some coffee. I need it, and you deserve it. Will you be okay by yourself for ten minutes or so?"
"I promise not to fall overboard," he smiled over her concern for him, then watched as she disappear below, the soft roll of her hips capturing his attention. For Brandon, it was a delightful diversion from the severity of their situation.
While their microwave warmed the stale coffee, Celeste took time to surf on the computer, finding little snippets of information here and there. From what she could glean and correlate with the last weather report they'd had, the worst of the storm was almost on top of them. Whether she should tell Brandon or not, she hadn't decided. But once she found herself back on deck with his coffee, that open honesty that she needed from him compelled her to tell him what she'd found out.
"It looks like the worst is yet to come," she opened the subject. "According to the marine weather service, that leading edge should be on our doorstep in a couple more hours."
"Which is a nice way of saying that the fun is about to begin?" he added his own version.
"Something like that," she admitted. "Brandon, I'm not sure which one us is more scared, me or Tracy. Promise me that when this is over, we'll find somewhere to be alone? Just the three of us, I mean? I'm not too good at facing death like this, and I'm going to need all the reassurance you two can give me."
"Angel, do us both a favour; stop talking like that! We're going to get through this and when we do, we'll be just fine."
"Promise? She pleaded.
"Cross my heart and hope to... " he stopped himself from finishing a phrase that had no place on their boat right now.
"Don't say it!" she let him know that she disagreed with what he almost said. "You'd better not die. We need you to get us through this shit. Just remember that I love you, and so does your sister."
"I know, Angel, I know. I love you, too. Both of you. But how about we leave this for later and see if we can keep this ... ship ... afloat?"
By eleven o'clock that evening, they were in the thick of it, with rolling waves lifting the stern of the Gon Waki 2 high enough that the rudder lost most of its bite. Whenever that happened, it took every ounce of strength Brandon had to keep her from floundering.
Tracy had come up early, and had relieved Celeste, hoping that their galley officer could find them something for nourishment. She braced herself by sitting on the deck, pushing her feet against the instrument console. Still in that position, she watched as Celeste made her way through the hatch with hastily-constructed sandwiches. By the look on Celeste's features, her sole focus was to pass that food to the other two crew members.
"Angel!" Brandon hollered. "Safety line! Now!"
Celeste bent over to attach the other end of the line that was tied around her waist to the steel cable that ran the length of the cockpit, just as a large wave picked that moment to lift the stern up in the air again. When it did, she lost her balance, falling backwards and sliding along the deck until her head slammed into the aft wall of the cabin.
"Celeste!" Brandon screamed, his cry echoed by Tracy's shriek of shock and horror. "Gawd, Sis, can you get to her? See how bad she is? I can't leave this wheel!"
In a daze, the injured woman held the top of her head with one hand, and when she lifted it off again, it was covered in blood.
Tracy fought her mind and body's instincts to shut down, crawling over to where her sister-in-law lay, then began to examine the extent of the injury.
"Christ, she's bleeding like a stuffed pig!" Tracy exclaimed. "I can't see the damned thing! There's too much blood and hair!"
"Grab a rag or something and try to slow down the bleeding," Brandon instructed. "We've got to get it to stop or she'll pass out from loss of blood. Sis, I can't leave this wheel, so it's up to you to do all the dirty work. You can do this, Pip-squeak. I know you can."
Tracy did everything she could think of to assess the extent of the now unconscious woman's wounds. While trying to staunch the flow with the T-shirt she'd been wearing, she lifted it briefly to get a good look at the injury's extent.
"There's a large gash on her head that's about four inches long," she reported to her brother, "and I can't get the bleeding to stop. What do I do, Brandon? I'm not a fucking doctor!"
"You are now, Sis," he gave her a field promotion on the spot. "Can you make it down to the galley? There's an unopened bottle of Scotch in the cupboard beside the sink, bottom shelf at the back. We'll use that as an anaesthesia, and then you'll have to put some stitches into her. Go!"
"Fuck you!" she screamed in frustration.
"After we get Celeste taken care of and our asses out of this goddamned storm, you can fuck me until I can't see straight!" he snapped right back at her. "Until then, move your ass before she loses any more blood. Tracy, if you don't do this, Celeste could die! Now go!"
Still in a fog, Tracy struggled down to the galley, finally found the Scotch, and brought it back with her.
"Three good shots of that and in about ten minutes, she'll be feeling no pain," he informed his sister. "There's a sewing kit in the navigation table, second drawer down, left side. Dip the needle in the Scotch to kill off any bacteria, then use the strongest thread we have to sew that gash up. Gawd, Sis, I feel so fucking useless, standing here and not being able to help you with this. But if this boat swings, we'll breech, and you know what'll happen next. I'm counting on you, Tracy. Both of us are."
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