Chapter III - Storm
"Well whaterya waitin' fer!" Jack roared, swinging his bottles of rum around, stumbling about the deck. "Git all hands on deck!"
"All hands on deck!" Michael hollered over the winds, which had just begun whipping violently. "Git the sails down!"
"Captain!" Thomas shouted, "could we not use the wind to get out of the storm?"
Michael stomped up to Thomas and took him by the scruff of his clothes, lifting him up to eye-level. Thomas attempted to touch the deck with the toes of his boots, but he couldn't reach.
"Did ye just argue a direct order, matie?"
"N-no sir."
"Ye know what, Thomas? I like ye, and since yer new 'ere, I'll let ye in on somethin'. This type of storm will toss our ship and reduce her to nothin'. We canna out run it, mate. We 'aveta get the sails down an' wait 'er out."
"Y-yes sir."
"Good lad." He dropped Thomas to the floor then went over to Jack at the helm, who was looking from his hands to the wheel. Then he thrust out his hand, giving the nearly empty bottle of rum over to Michael, who took it silently. The captain then downed most of the other bottle, and handed that over as well.
"I'll keep her," here he hiccupped, "in control jus' in case. Make sure the lads," another hiccup, "git her ready."
"Aye, sir." Michael drank the rest of the rum and tossed the bottles overboard, helping the crew and giving orders when they were needed. He coughed and spluttered as a massive wave crashed and broke against the ship, hitting him and the men in the face, sending most of them reeling. Half spit up salt water as they crawled back to their spots.
Shaking his blonde hair free of excess water, Michael tugged on a rope, the fibre digging into his hands, cutting him. But he didn't notice because another wave rolled right over the vessel. Anyone who wasn't holding onto something was swept into the side of the ship. Most, like Michael, held onto ropes and masts for dear life, the water trying desperately to drag them along. Five men were sprawled out, against the side, groaning.
"Git up ye scurvy dogs or ye'll dance with my knife!" Michael snarled, putting more fear into them from him than the sea. They scrambled up and made their way over, following his voice because it was nearly pitch out. It was almost impossible to see, nearly impossible to hear because of the wind and water. Michael finished tying off the rope, then stared at his bloody, burning hands. He washed them off in the layer of water on the deck then patted them down on his clothing. Looking down as his hands made wet sounds with his wetter clothes, he figured that there was really no point.
"Sir, this rope is tangled!" one of the crew screamed from the foremast.
Michael barely heard him on the wind, but was sure of what he said and that was never good. Rushing over, slipping and sliding through water and past the crew, he slammed right into the screaming man. They nearly went over, but clasped their hands on the rope. Bad idea. The knots and tangles tightened and Michael's hands ripped up more. He winced then slowly climbed up the rope, doing his duty and fighting through the pain. Swinging gently, he jumped to the mast and clung on, slipping down a few inches.
"Cap'n!" he screeched at the top of his lungs.
Jack looked up dazedly, thinking that he had been called. He wasn't too sure on that, but when a crack of lightning lit up the sky and ship, he noticed Michael clinging onto the foremast with all his might.
"Hang in there, lo . . . laddie!"
Getting no help from the captain, Michael figured that it was up to him and he could make his own decisions without permission. After all, it was to save the Pearl. Reaching up with his hands then digging his fingers into the wood, soft from years of use and abuse, he dragged his legs up gingerly. Then he gripped the mast with his legs and reached his arms up again. He made it almost all the way up the foremast and fell back, arching his back as his legs held on desperately. The crew beneath him stopped their frantic work and stared up as lighting bolt after lighting bolt lit up the sky, allowing them to see these acrobatics.
Michael diligently worked the tangles, legs becoming weaker, feeling himself about to slip. But the knot was almost undone, the ropes were almost free . . .
"Cap'n! I can't get this done!"
"Keep working lo . . . lad!"
"I need help!"
"I can see that!"
His legs began burning like his bleeding hands. Wincing and forcing himself to stay suspended in the air, he continued to work.
"You halfwit!" Jack screamed, "yer gonna git yerself killed!"
"I'm almost –" Michael paused when he realised he was screaming. Loudly. There was complete silence now. No wind. No crashing waves. The ship was barely bobbing on the water. That was enough shock to make him nearly fall. "Done."
Jack looked quite alarmed. "Hit the deck!" he screamed.
"HIT THE DECK? HOW THE HELL DO I HIT THE DECK?!" Michael shouted back, still hanging from the near top of the foremast. Looking down he realised that all the men, and the captain, had dove down and were gripping onto something for life. Jack had his arm around the wheel column, his free hand firmly on his head, holding his hat down.
Eyes going wide in alarm, Michael pulled out his knife and hacked at the knot, knowing that Jack would probably kill him for this, but it had to be done. The rope fell free and now he had no way of getting off the mast.
"Oh shit."
Looking down once more then straightening up, Michael knew he had three seconds to make it to the deck. Tops. Head rush making him slightly dizzy, he forced himself to think. Taking a deep breath he slid down the mast halfway, then dropped down to the deck between two men, nearly crushing them. As he hit the deck and felt his ribs crack the storm crashed into the ship. They were thrown about, but everyone was holding on, so they were just swept around. Except Michael. He rolled along the deck, growling in pain, then smacked into the bulwark. Gasping for air and getting a lungful of water, he spluttered as the ship was tossed the other way, almost keeling over. He rolled back along the deck, over the two men he almost hit, and right into the foremast.
"Ohhh . . ." With his last ounce of strength and working on instinct to survive, he grabbed onto a rope, trying to breathe. The crew were still skidding along the deck, their screams and calls unable to be heard over the storm. But they could be seen, eyes wide in fear, mouths open in their silent screams each time lightning flashed.
The ship was tossed again and Michael ignored the biting of his hands and held on for all he was worth. He began skidding with the rest of the crew, then kept going, back into the side. Yelping as the rope continued over the edge of the ship, they were all thrown back the other way. Letting go of the rope he had cut earlier, he slid across the deck yet again, luckily between the masts but was heading for the other side.
A hand shot out of the black chaos and grabbed his wrist. He clasped onto his helper's arm and just hung there, trying to avoid breathing in water, coughing and choking as they were tossed back and forth.
Five minutes later, when all the men were exhausted, a shaft of light peeked through black clouds. Jack opened his eye a crack, then took his hat off, wrung it out, and put it back on his head. Then he stood behind the wheel, grinning insanely.
"Well laddies I think the storm is over."
Everyone began dragging themselves up, nursing their wounds; all except for Michael who couldn't move. He looked weakly up at his saviour and was staring at the scholar who had joined their ranks. The cabin boy who was probably older than himself.
Thomas stared back, unable to move because of Michael's death grip. And because the blood oozing down his arm was somewhat disconcerting.
"Sir?"
Michael just groaned, wincing. He reached up gingerly with his other hand to try and get himself up and noticed Thomas go green.
"What is it boy," he said through gritted teeth, barely able to breath, hardly able to speak.
"Your, your hand, sir."
Michael brought his hand slowly to his cloudy eyes. Blinking the salt and water out of them for a second, his vision cleared. He stared at his hand and immediately knew why the cabin boy was green. Not only was his hand rope burned and cut up, but it was nearly totally brown from imbedded wood. And he figured that his other hand was pretty similar.
His eyes rolled into the back of his head as he groaned. "I'm gonna be sick."
The sounds of painful retching made Jack look around his crew. They were all pretty much the same height, which worried him. Where was Michael? He stepped down from the bridge to the deck and followed the sounds. Not to mention that a circle had been formed with pirates looking at someone in pity.
They stepped aside as the captain showed up, stepping forth. His eyes widened as he watched Michael heave, still clutched to Thomas who looked ready to start vomiting for himself.
What Jack found astounding was that none of the men were laughing at the puking and even more astounding was that tears were pouring down the young man's face and no one said a word about it. They all knew he wasn't crying – the force of his heaving would make any man's eyes water, but nonetheless, it was still astonishing for pirates to not mock everything they could.
"Get him up," Jack said softly, sounding unlike himself. No one noticed and two of the crew gently lifted Michael off the deck. He still hadn't let go of Thomas and they pried his fingers, one by one, off the cabin boy's arm. Then they took Michael across the deck, to the stairs leading down to the hull. Jack followed behind, his duty as a captain to make sure his first mate would be alright. And to congratulate him on helping save the ship.
They heard something rolling along the floor beneath them. One of the men stopped, bent over, about to open the hatch. Then they heard that thing shatter. He opened the hatch and peered down.
"Uh sir?"
Jack looked to him.
"That uh, was the last bottle of rum hittin' the steps, sir."
His eyes went wide and he looked as pale as Michael. "The rum!"
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Sukkumbus: Poor Jack. First his first mate smashed up, then the last of the rum. It's so sad (*snicker, snicker*). Just to inform you guys: We have about 30 chapters written (in less than a week, go us!) so don't worry, there is more story to come. And we already have the beginning of the sequel planned. So if you like this story, you're in luck!
Mika: Yeah, so please send us some reviews because my co-author is threatening to take me down if we don't start getting some appreciation for our hard work. Lol. We love writing this, so tell us if you like reading it