Chapter 112 – Hell on water

Shortly after Diego jumped out of the Burla Negra, that portion of the ocean became a scene fit for El Bosco, the quintessential painter of hell.

The shockwave of the explosion created a mini-tsunami that initially propelled Diego off the water and then pushed him deep down, dragging him a few meters under the surface, which wasn't a totally bad thing to happen, because that protected him momentarily from the dangerous debris hurled in all directions after that tremendous first blast. Debris that came in all kinds of shapes and sizes, with random fragments, including human remains, that eventually fell in the water above him, some of them in flames, resembling a meteor shower.

For a moment, Diego struggled to swim up, unable to leave the depths of the ocean as if a mysterious, powerful force, kept him down there, trapped in an invisible vortex. When he finally managed to swim back to the surface to breathe, the next explosion sent more fragments his way, and a solid piece of wood fell on his head. Stunned, he kept swimming away from that inferno, hardly covering any distance while hoping none of those deadly, larger pieces of the wreckage would render him unconscious.

A number of smaller blasts followed, until all the gunpowder onboard had exploded, and the burning wreckage of the Burla Negra started to sink. With nowhere to go, Diego found himself in churning, choppy waters, surrounded by fire, smoke, random parts of the ship, revolting pieces of maimed bodies, floating cadavers, and also the bodies of men who were still alive, some with horrific injuries and burns, all screaming mad with the pain and the fear, crying for help.

Dazed and confused, and also feeling an inconvenient pang of remorse for causing such horror, Diego came across the same pantry door he had prepared before, drifting among the other pieces of the smouldering wreck. The door was miraculously still intact, so he could use it as he initially had intended: a floating platform where he could rest and stay alive for a bit longer. With great effort, he managed to climb on top of it without flipping over, just before the next nightmare started: the arrival of a hungry shiver of oceanic, whitetip sharks.

ZZZ

When Almeida finished the surgery, he came up to the bridge to see the captain. He was covered in dry and fresh blood stains, and looked weary and rather gloomy.

"So, what's the count?" Ulloa asked, still steering the Santa Eulalia towards the smouldering shipwreck. "How many men survived?"

"Nine."

"Crew or passengers?"

"Five of our men: García, Sánchez, Gamarra, Valdés, and Torres. I just amputated Torres's left arm. I couldn't do anything to save it; too mangled. García and Sánchez got stabbed in the abdomen, and have a few more wounds here and there, but I think they should make it, same as Valdés. Gamarra… not sure. Probably won't."

"Can any of them help us to handle the ship?"

"No. And it will take a while before they can."

"And the passengers? Who are they?"

"Antonio Ibarra, Luis Suárez, and…" he paused for a moment, as if unwilling to say the dreaded name, "…Don Enrique Salamero."

I'll be damned! Ulloa thought, snorting in disbelief. Of all people aboard, that bastard had to make it!

"Yes, I know," Almeida said when he saw the captain's expression. "I feel exactly the same. But, hey: mala hierba nunca muere."

"How bad is he?"

"Same as Sánchez and García: stab wound to the abdomen. Doesn't look too bad, though. The bastards didn't bother to finish the job with a slit throat, as they did with most of our men, or with his friend. The devil looks after his own."

"All right, we'll deal with that son of a bitch and his petty demands as they come, for the moment, but if he betrays anybody again, he will end up accidentally washed overboard."

That threat put a shadow of a smirk on the Andalusian's tired face. If only.

"Anybody else?"

"Ah, yes, sorry, I forgot: one more. The old guy, José Hidalgo. He also survived, but he looks critical. And I don't know what to do with him." Almeida looked truly worn out then, combing his hair back with both hands while stretching his neck. "I really could do with De la Vega's help."

"Let's pray he made it out of that ship in one piece. By the way, can you check the boats? We'll need one to rescue him if he's in the water."

"I already checked. They got damaged by the cannon fire. None of them are in good order, and it will take days to repair them."

"Damn! How will we fish him out then, if he's still out there?" Ulloa muttered to himself, his eyes fixed on the burning wreckage ahead of them, that was already sinking fast.

"Maybe I could fix something with the planks the pirates used to board us... Yeah, using the cargo crane. Let me see if that would be possible."

"Yes, please, do that before we get there. Approaching a man in the water with a fully functional ship is difficult enough… With the Santa Eulalia, as it is, will be plain impossible."

Halting a ship in a specific position in open seas, following a man-overboard manoeuvre, was rather difficult at the best of times. If Ulloa tried that, with the damaged Santa Eulalia, and without any crew to handle the sails, he would probably miss by far, or on the contrary, get too close. The risk of accidentally hitting and killing the victim could be too great. And he could not let Victoria know those concerns, as distressed as she was already.

He looked at the group of women as they got ready with the available firearms, distributing themselves at different places to cover the perimeter of the ship, walking along the dead bodies and the general carnage still on deck, as nobody had been able to deal with that problem yet.

Killing any survivors of a shipwreck went against moral principles and the naval duty of rescuing people in distress at sea, but those men at the Burla Negra were monsters, not average human beings. No chance in hell Ulloa would allow any of them aboard his ship ever again. Not if he could avoid it by any means. Yet, if any of those bastards had survived that blast, he doubted the women would shoot them in cold blood to honour their deal, and for that reason, he felt ready to take over and finish them off himself if necessary.

Resenting his busted ribs as he handled the wheel, Ulloa smiled bitterly, because deep down, in a dark, despicable recess of his soul, he kind of hoped he could take petty revenge on those men that miserable way, blowing their brains off if they tried to come aboard.

ZZZ

Once on top on that drifting door, Diego rested for a while, exhausted, rocked by the waves. He tried to look back at the Santa Eulalia, but with all that smoke, he couldn't spot it. With his eyes closed, he hoped they would return to rescue him, but at the same time, he trusted Ulloa's word, who swore he would take Victoria to safety no matter what, and that should include the destruction of the pirate ship. Maybe he should have insisted Ulloa could do an exception if the Burla Negra blew out in flames, but that would have given away his plan to the pirates.

No, unfortunately, he was on his own.

While on his back, he removed his belt to use it as a tourniquet on his injured leg, tightly fasten above the bleeding wound, which stung after the prolonged contact with the salty water. Yet, despite the additional pain, he kind of welcomed that throbbing, because the salt would act as a natural cleanser.

Then, as he lay there, spent, he saw the first, ominous white-tipped fin gliding along the debris; the first of many, as a shiver of oceanic sharks soon came along on a feeding frenzy, attracted by the smell of all that blood and human remains. Scared by that sight, and fully aware of how much blood his wound was oozing, Diego prayed the sharks would have enough with the flesh provided by the dead pirates, and that they would leave him alone. Or at least, he hoped they would only try to eat him after he was already unconscious, or even dead.

However, right then, the sharks weren't his main threat. Not at all.

All of a sudden, Benito de Soto jumped out of the water, by his side. Before Diego could do anything to stop him, he sank a dagger into his chest, with such force the long blade went through all the way, and the tip got lodged in the wood.

"Die, motherfucker!"

As Diego cried in pain, De Soto tried to retrieve the dagger, shaking it, but karma worked its magic before he managed that: right then, one of the sharks took a large bite off one of his legs, just before another one came along to take a chunk off his abdomen, spilling his guts.

After that, as Diego lay in shock on that door —a much safer place to be than the bloody water— the horrific screams of De Soto and the other pirates pierced his ears, and his soul. It was the kind of sound a man would remember for ever, embedded in his brain to feed numerous future nightmares.

However, in a similar way as Ulloa, when Diego grabbed the dagger's handle to remove it, he didn't feel any kind of empathy for the pirates as the hungry sharks devoured them, with all remnants of remorse for blowing up their ship evaporated in an instant. The bastards totally deserved what they got.

He grunted in pain as the pulled the blade out with a trembling hand, dropping it at his side. At least, as a consolation, he reckoned the wound was quite close to his shoulder. It could have been worse.

As he bled out, Diego prayed for a miracle. Then, as the cloud of smoke dissipated a bit, he spotted the Santa Eulalia heading his way.

"Victoria…" he muttered while fading. "I'm here..."

ZZZ

Nobody aboard the Santa Eulalia was prepared for the kind of carnage they encountered, not even Ulloa. The screams of those men were so horrific, the women felt inclined to rescue the survivors. At least until one of them got hold of a loose rope at the starboard side and started to climb up the hull.

"Stop right there!" cried Doña Margarita, the closest woman guarding that side, aiming her gun at him with unsteady hands.

"Please, help me! Please!" that man cried, too desperate to listen. As he carried on climbing the rope, she cried again, lacking conviction.

"Stop or I'll shoot! I mean it!"

But that man didn't stop. After all, getting shot was a much better prospect than becoming live bait for the sharks.

Doña Margarita hesitated. Killing a man in need like that didn't feel right. It was against everything she believed in. As if time had stopped for a moment, unable to press the trigger, she watched how that pirate reached the top, hoisting himself over the gunwale. He was one of the few survivors who looked unharmed, and still quite threatening.

"Stop!" she cried one more time, with the weapon shaking in her hand.

"You'r not gonna shoot me, are ye?" the man said, stepping menacingly towards her as she backed off, scared.

"She won't, but I will!" Mary-Jo cried, coming to help the older woman, aiming another gun at the intruder. "Stop right there!"

Something in her harsh tone made that pirate take her more seriously. He stopped advancing towards the older lady and turned to look at the younger one.

"Turn around and jump overboard, or I'll shoot!"

"Are you crazy? Lady, please, let me stay. I'm not going back in the water with them sharks. Whatever happened to Christian compassion, ah?"

"You took it away when you raped me!"

The pirate recognized her then. He had raped that woman with the help of another three men, taking turns.

"Please! I promised I won't harm you anymore!"

"I don't believe you," Mary-Jo said, taking aim more accurately.

"Please, stop! Let me stay! Don't make me jump in the water!"

"Didn't I ask you to stop? Didn't I say you were hurting me? And what did you do? You laughed and slapped me, and carried on until you had enough, and some other bastard took over, and then another…"

"I'm sorry!"

"The hell you are."

BANG!

ZZZ

The gunshot startled Ulloa, who was busy with the approaching manoeuvre, and wasn't aware of the drama caused by a pirate reaching the deck. As that man fell, shot in the head, the captain smiled, glad to know he didn't need to worry about the women's lack of conviction to dispatch the bastards.

"Can you spot him?" he asked Almeida, who was also back at the bridge, scanning the waters with the spyglass, searching for the man in black.

"Yes! There he is! Over there!"

"Keep pointing at him, and don't lose him."

While Almeida marked the position, pointing with his arm extended, Ulloa turned the wheel to halt the ship as close to Diego as possible, which was still over a hundred yards. Then, he called for him.

"De la Vega!"

"Diego!" Victoria cried as well from the upper deck when she spotted him, but the black-cladded figure lying on that floating piece of wood didn't answer, or move. "Diego!"

"Is he alive?" Ulloa asked.

"I don't know," Almeida said, using the spyglass again. "It's hard to say, but I think he's still breathing."

"Diego! Diego!" Victoria insisted. She leaned over the gunwale then, as if willing to jump overboard to reach him, but Doña Margarita stopped her. "I told you he would make it!"

"Yes, but you can't help him by drowning, mi niña!"

"How do we get to him?" Ulloa said, turning to look at Almeida.

"The cargo crane is set up. We can lower those plankboards and use one as a boat, paddling to cover the distance, but…" the contramaestre said, hesitating. Numerous white-tipped fins still lurked along the debris, as the sharks targeted the remaining cadavers and the last survivors.

The two sailors looked at the shark-filled waters with apprehension.

"I'll go," Ulloa said in the end. He owed De la Vega as much for saving his life before, and for sacrificing himself for everyone's sake. "You'll handle the crane."

"But, Sir, I'm in a better shape to…" Almeida started to complain, but Ulloa cut him off.

"Precisely. You are the only able-bodied man left aboard, and our doctor. If the sharks bite one of you arms off, we are all doomed."

"But…"

"No buts. It's an order: get the crane ready."

ZZZ

While the two sailors got on with the rescue operation, Doña Margarita got back at the helm to keep the ship still in that position, against the wind, while the rest of the women kept guard at the upper deck.

No more pirates tried to climb aboard. However, as the injured men cried for help from the water, attacked by the sharks, Mary-Jo shot another one down. In her mind, she was helping him to die faster, and helping everybody else at the same time by not allowing any of the bastards aboard, as she had promised the captain. The other women looked at her, scared of her cold-heartedness and cruelty, but the dreadful experience had damaged her so much she was now too keen on revenge, for her and for her dead husband, and she didn't care.

"Thank you for doing this. Thank you so much," Victoria said, hugging the captain as he approached the crane. "Please, bring him back in once piece!"

"I'll do my best."

"Good luck!"

Ulloa held onto the ropes with apprehension as the contramaestre lowered him down to the water. Once there, he pushed the top, loose plankboard onto the water, and on his knees, he started paddling towards Diego as if he was using a canoe, praying none of the sharks would attack him.

The whole scene around him was a hellish nightmare. Balancing precariously over that board, soaked with splashes of the bloody water, he slowly made his way through all that debris, resenting his battered ribs at each stroke. At one point, one of the desperate pirates tried to climb onto his improvised craft, but Ulloa hit his face with the oar to get rid of him. Soon, that unconscious man got devoured by the sharks, right behind him.

Impassive, Ulloa pressed on, paddling non-stop towards the immobile man in black.

"De la Vega!" he called again when he was closer, but his friend didn't react. "Diego!"

Goddammit! Did I risk my life for a dead man?

He reached for Diego's neck to check his pulse, glad to feel a heartbeat. Then, he evaluated the situation: none of the boards looked big enough to hold the weight of both men, but Diego lay over a door, which had a handle, something he could use to tie the rope he carried around his waist. After he secured that rope with a tight knot, he paddled back towards the Santa Eulalia, gritting his teeth, because dragging all that extra weight behind him made the rope dig into his bruised abdomen, providing a new level of pain.

To add to his misery, he was paddling now against the current, making matters even more difficult, as he had to work harder to advance. The only positive thing he could see in that grim situation was that the strong current would also bring the ship a bit closer.

Eventually, just before the point of exhaustion, he reached the Santa Eulalia.

"Is he alive?" the anxious wife cried from above. Ulloa just nodded, too tired to answer, grunting while transferring Diego's limp, heavy body onto the plankboard held by the crane, which wasn't an easy task either, as the waves kept hitting that side of the hull.

When he finally managed to get Diego onto that board, he tried to undo the knot on the door's handle. As he couldn't, he grabbed the dagger still lying on top of the pantry door to cut the rope, but right then, a shark hit the board he was balancing on, toppling him into the water. Panicking, he reached for the plankboard of the crane, but he struggled to get up.

"Hold onto the rope, Sir! I'll get you up!" Almeida cried.

All the women on deck looked down at the captain, in angst, hoping they could help him, but there was nothing they could do but to watch him in horrified silence.

As Almeida actioned the pulley of that crane, Ulloa managed to pull his upper body onto the board. Just as he thought he could make it in one piece, when he felt the board lifting over the water, a shark attacked him. The hungry predator held onto his left leg, pulling him down. Ulloa screamed, holding onto the board with his left hand while using the dagger he still held in the right one, stabbing the shark several times until it let go of him.

While Almeida kept hoisting them up, helped by the women, the captain made a titanic effort to climb on top of the board, spurred by the insane fear. Then, he lay there, spent, close to Diego, cursing his bad luck one more time.

Fuck! Fuck! FUUUUCK! he screamed in his head.

At the last second, that bloody shark had managed to do what a thousand cannonballs couldn't do before: cripple him for ever.

Damn! You have to make it now, buddy! he thought then, tapping onto Diego's arm, fighting to stay awake despite the unbearable pain. You have to.

When the crane reached the gunwale, the anxious contramaestre and the women dragged the two injured men to safety, onto the deck. Almeida had a quick look at the captain's leg first. It was a mess.

"Tend to De la Vega," Ulloa grunted. "You can't fix me, so don't waste any time trying."

Almeida nodded in agreement. The only thing he could do with that mangled leg was amputating it. And that could wait.

"I'm so sorry, Sir," he said while he placed a tourniquet on his thigh, knowing how apprehensive the captain was about losing a limb.

"Save De la Vega, please. Make it worth it," Ulloa mumbled with his eyes closed before he passed out.

ZZZZZ