Chapter Thirty-Five
The pub was crowded with villagers, the most ever squashed into the space. And, yet, it was if it was a graveyard tomb. No one said anything, but a hushed whisper rose now and then. For all the people crowded together there were an equal number of prayers directed at the radio, that at any moment it would call and say the Doc and Garvey were found.
Louisa's prayer led the way.
Garvey was still alive. Being out of the water directly had helped him out, plus his waterproof outerwear and gloves. He was shivering, but alert. He still couldn't swallow and he was still probably drooling but with the water that hit his face fairly constantly it was hard to tell. He gagged every few minutes, when a larger wave struck the hull, unable to swallow any water in his mouth. There was a benefit to that, with none being able to enter his stomach.
He had been watching Martin and saw him slip further and further into unconsciousness, until finally, his head had become too heavy and fallen forward. He was now at much more risk of drowning, no longer able to cough or spit or vomit up the water, which got down into his body, his stomach or his lungs. Garvey's heart sank and he lost hope. He didn't want to watch Martin die so he turned his head to the other side, and there, in the distance, he saw a very bright, white, light, shining out from somewhere.
A Coast Guard ship. It was far from them, and god knows headed in what direction. Garvey waved and called out, knowing what a futile gesture both actions were.
It was then he turned back to Martin. Martin with the flare gun
around his neck...the waterproof, already loaded flare gun….
There was something about being Boy Scout prepared!
Garvey reached over with his right hand, and grabbed at the flare gun cord Martin had adjusted around his neck. Garvey had only the slightest capacity to move his fingers, and it took all his coordination with the waves moving him up and down and the cord being wet and the angle odd to grab the gun. It seemed to take forever but then surprisingly, it was lying in his hand. He could not hold it like a normal gun, so he put the canister down on the hull, aimed it straight up in the air, and pushed his whole hand down to have enough force to press his thumb against the trigger. The gun went off upwards with a thundering blast.
Maritime training directed those at sea to fire one flare for quick identification of the general location area and then a second one minutes later to specify the target. With the use of only one very cold hand, Garvey could not reload the gun, even though the flares were attached directly in back of the firing canister. One flare was all they had.
The sky brightened like a fireworks display and then the color faded, and it was dark again. Garvey watched the far light, and he grew disheartened, as it seemed for too long it didn't seem to change. Then all at once, it turned, and the light was coming towards them. And then he saw several other lights as well.
He looked at Martin with a sense of relief, when suddenly the worst possible thing happened. The rope around Martin's chest, having rubbed hard against the rough edge of the remnant, had frayed by the wave-induced friction. As the rescue boats neared, Garvey watched in horror as the rope fully pulled apart and Martin's body continually rose and sank as it slowly floated away.