Chapter Three

The Red Sea

The next morning, they made it to the docks by first light. Spencer had made sure of it. She had wanted to linger under the sheets, but he was determined to be on time.

The small boat creaked under the weight of the morning tide, its wooden hull groaning as ropes strained against the dock. The scent of salt and engine grease thickened the air.

Spencer came to a stop at the edge of the pier. "This is it."

Alex frowned, "This is what?"

"Our ride."

She followed his gaze, taking in the vessel before them. It was squat and unremarkable, its paint peeling in places, its smokestack dark with soot.

"What is it?" she asked warily.

"Tugboat."

Alex's stomach tightened. "Spencer, I don't think those are supposed to leave the harbor."

He didn't deny it. "This one's leaving the harbor."

Before she could argue, Spencer spotted Lucca moving about the deck. He called up to him. "I'm supposed to ask permission?"

The old captain barely glanced up from his work. "Girl with you?"

Spencer nodded. "Girl's with me."

Lucca gave Alex a once-over, "Quarters are small. The seas can be rough on a tug."

She stiffened. "I'm tougher than I look," she said, lifting her chin.

Spencer thought she looked damn good, too.

Alexandra was a unique contrast of softness and wildness, equally out of place and perfectly at home everywhere they went. The wind tugged at her blonde curls, loose and untamed, strands catching the light as she shifted the weight of her two well-worn leather suitcases.

He took one from her, freeing her hand for him to hold.

Lucca let out a dry chuckle. "I used to say that." He wiped his hands on a rag, shaking his head. "Now I'm an old man, looking tougher than I am." His sea-weathered face scrunched as he hacked up a disgusting sounding cough and spit over the side into the harbor.

He saw Alex's lips curl in disgust, but for once, she remained quiet.

Luccamotioned them forward. "All right. Come aboard. You can stow your gear below."

He pointed toward the dock. "Free the lines from the bollards. Untie the ropes from those hooks, then roll 'em up and store 'em on deck."

Spencer nodded and moved to work. Alex hesitated only a moment before stepping onto the tugboat, gripping the rail to steady herself. The engine rumbled to life beneath them.

She exhaled. "And we're off." she tried to sound enthusiastic, but only sounded apprehensive. "No safety brief.. No toast to the gods of the sea…"

Spencer's somber expression didn't change as he glanced out at the open water. "This is the easiest it'll be." He nodded toward the edge of the boat. "Just be careful. I don't need you bouncing off into the bay."

She smiled, knowing that was one of the ways he said he cared.

For a long time, they stood side by side, gazing out at the endless stretch of blue.

"How far does this boat take us?" Alex asked.

"Suez Canal. From there, we find a ship going anywhere—Venice, Messina, Barcelona."

Her eyes brightened. "Then what?"

Spencer watched the horizon, his jaw tightening. "Whatever takes us west." Then he turned to her. "Your vacation's over, I'm afraid."

Alex grinned. "But the adventure is just beginning."

The tugboat shuddered as it pulled away from the dock and into the vast unknown before them.

Somewhere off the coast of Kenya, the trio traversed the Red Sea.

Below deck, the tugboat rocked gently as Lucca busied himself over the tiny stove, warming a can of beans. He scooped the steaming mixture into three mismatched bowls, setting out a single slice of bread with each on the small, crooked table.

Alex took her bowl, hoping it was more appetizing than it looked, she decided to start with the bread, tearing off a piece and then offering half to Spencer. He took it silently, his mind elsewhere. She let him be and scooped up a spoonful of the bean mixture.

They all ate in silence, until Lucca suddenly stiffened. His eyes flicked toward the porthole, and without a word, he bolted from the table.

Spencer barely registered it at first. Alex kept eating, oblivious. He tried to do the same- until he looked out the small, grimy porthole window.

His spoon clattered into his bowl, spattering beans. Alex glanced over with furrowed brows.

"I'll be right back," he muttered, already standing. His chair scraped loudly against the floor as he strode for the stairs.

The second Spencer stepped onto the deck, he froze at the sight.

A massive ship loomed over them—its rusted blue hull towering like a steel wall, its enormous belly dark and lifeless.

And they were headed straight for it.

The shock held him still for only a second before instinct took over. He sprinted into the wheelhouse.

Inside, Lucca was already at work, hands flying over the controls. He wrenched the wheel to port, his boot slamming against a rusted lever as he cranked something with all his strength. The tugboat groaned in protest, its small engine straining to obey.

Spencer couldn't take his eyes off the looming ship. He suddenly noticed it was dark and unmoving. "What the hell is it doing?" demanded, gripping the doorway.

Lucca didn't look up. His voice, rough and winded, carried an eerie certainty. "It's a ghost."

Spencer's eyes flicked back to the ship. The behemoth drifted silently in the water, dark and ominous, as if waiting to kill them.

And it could. Crashing into that ship would be nothing to them, like swatting away a fly. For the tugboat, it'd prove deadly.

"A ghost ship?" he repeated, not quite believing, despite seeing.

Lucca nodded, still struggling with the controls. "Boilers blew in the spring. Crew abandoned her. But she didn't sink, no, no… And she won't run aground either. The current in this channel holds her." His voice dropped, almost reverent. "Now she lists back and forth… hunting captains who don't pay attention."

Him being one of them, clearly.

The words sent an uneasy chill through Spencer, but he stayed focused on the immediate threat. They were gonna dodge disaster by inches.

The tugboat groaned again as it fought against the current, straining to veer off course.

Back below deck, Alex sat unaware of the danger… until a shadow fell over the room.

Her stomach twisted. She turned slowly toward the porthole.

A solid wall of blue steel filled her vision, so close it swallowed the light. The sheer size of it—so sudden, so silent—made her breath catch in her throat.

Panic gripping her, she shoved away from the table, her bowl tipping over, forgotten. Her only thought was to find Spencer. He always knew what to do, always faced danger with that infuriating, unshakable calm. She needed that now.

She burst onto the deck, skidding to a stop as she took in the sight before her.

The ship was right there.

Her pulse pounded in her ears. She hardly noticed when Spencer joined her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

She grabbed hold of his hand. "Are they mad?"

Spencer's voice was steady, but grim. "It's abandoned. No one's piloting the ship."

She could barely process the words. "It's just… floating?"

He nodded once. "Just floating."

Alex stared at the inches—mere inches—separating them from death. "If he had turned the wheel even a second later…" A sick feeling curled in her stomach.

They never should have left the harbor.

That night, they huddled around the small, battered table, candles flickering shadows across the walls. Lucca sat on one side of the booth, Alex tucked under Spencer's arm on the other. The cramped quarters smelled of salt, iron, and the lingering scent of engine air was thick with tobacco smoke as Spencer and Lucca took slow drags, listening to the old sailor spin a tale.

"There was this ghost ship called the Zebrina. British cargo ship hauling coal. She ran aground in France after floating past all of you fellas coming to join the war. My hospital ship ran from her for weeks. He paused to cough, a deep, rattling sound. "I swear that empty bitch, she was chasing us."

After a drag of his cigarette, he continued, "But the strangest thing I ever saw was off the coast of Indonesia. Little dinghies, two-man fishing skiffs. Just floating, three hundred miles off shore." He exhaled his smoke slowly. "The seagulls swarmed 'em like hornets, picking at the men inside. And there must have been a thousand of them small dinghies, maybe more."

He paused again, not coughing or smoking; Alex suspected it was for dramatic affect, after his horror story.

"I passed 'em for a week. Must have been a big swell that pushed 'em all out to sea. I don't know. It's a mystery." He stubbed out his smoke, a wily grin stretching his wrinkled skin, "The sea's like that. Cunning… Like a fox. Always looking for ways to trick you."

It wasn't a surprise when he reached for another cigarette. "Now," he struck the match, flame illuminating his face as he inhaled and exhaled a steady stream of smoke, "who wants first watch?"

Alex straightened. "What do you do on watch?"

"Pilot the boat, ma'am."

She glanced around at the three of them occupying the table, below deck. "Who's piloting the boat now?

Lucca's grin widened, smoke wafting through his yellow stained teeth, as he loudly whispered, "The fox."

With a rusty cackle, he shuffled toward the door, leaving them in the dim candlelight.

Alex smiled up at Spencer, stood up and stretched, "Looks like I've got first watch." Just try and stop her. She was thoroughly enjoying this new course of their journey, experiencing the world for the first time in her life.

Next lesson, piloting a tugboat. How hard could it be? She thought, heading for the exit.

"Hold on," Spencer slid out of his seat, reaching for his hat. "I'm coming with you."

She reached her hand back for him to hold, but didn't stop until they reached the cockpit.

Inside, Lucca stood by the controls, explaining with a practiced ease- and a touch of impatience. "There's not much to it. This is the wheel. Tiller rope connects it to the rudder. Turn the wheel, you turn the rudder…"

The old seaman cast a quick look around the cockpit. He points to the one thing Alex recognizes while looking right at her, "Compass." She barely refrained rolling her eyes at his misogyny.

"Now, our course is fifteen degrees north-northeast. The wheel is locked on that heading. If you need to adjust, you do it right here," he continued pointing out various handles and switches, "Now, here's the throttle. You gotta go fast to turn fast, go slow to turn slow. Right, right."

Alex hoped Spencer was absorbing more of this rudimentary lesson than she was.

"But you shouldn't turn unless there's something in front of you, and there shouldn't be anything in front of you but open seas."

"Radio work?" Spencer asked.

Lucca shrugged. "It works when it works."

"Distress channel?"

"Hundred fifty-eight point six." He gestured to the dial. "But if there's trouble, don't use the radio. Come and get me."

He turned to go, hacking into his sleeve as he disappeared below deck.

"Three-hour shifts," he called over his shoulder before being seized by a lingering cough.

He spit into his mug. "Wake me in six."

Once he stepped out, the wheelhouse became quiet, except for the churning engine and waves slapping the hull.

Alex peered out into the dark horizon. "How far off the coast are we?"

"Twenty miles," Spencer answered.

"Just far enough the pirates can't see us from shore…"

Not wanting to linger on the fact that Spencer didn't have a response to her that, Alex sat behind the wheel.

Spencer stood close, one hand steady on the back of her chair, watching over her.

She placed her hands on the wheel. He instantly covered them with his own. "Don't turn it."

Alex smirked. "I'm not. I'm awaiting the calamity I must react to. I'm driving the ship."

"I think they call it piloting," Spencer corrected.

"I'm piloting the ship," she amended, then paused. "I need a hat. One shouldn't pilot without a hat. I feel naked."

Spencer smirked. She smirked back.

"Don't get any ideas," she warned playfully. "This is no tree in the Serengeti. This is serious business—piloting."

For a moment, Spencer just looked at her.

"Thank you."

She tilted her head. "For what?"

He didn't elaborate. Just held her gaze. "Just… thank you."

Alex wanted to blurt out how much she loved him, but didn't want to scare him off. Instead, she kept her eyes on the water and playfully bantered, "For piloting you across the sea, nothing but my nautical expertise to guide the way? You're quite welcome."

She almost succeeded in not throwing herself at him. But when he removed his prized wide brimmed fedora that rarely left his head and placed it on hers, simply to fulfill her silly request, she had no choice.

Spencer was a talented man. Alex was sure he was fully capable of piloting while she ravished him.

Spencer piloted the ship with ease, the tug responding smoothly to his touch. In the distance, the first hints of sunrise painted the horizon, a sliver of light cresting over the water, telling him the hour.

Ensuring the boat was steady enough to hold its course until Lucca arrived, he stood and stretched before turning toward the corner where Alex lay curled up asleep.

He smiled. She looked impossibly small like that, tucked into herself, lost in dreams.

Kneeling beside her, he brushed a hand over her soft hair, moving it away from her face. "Hey," he murmured. "Our watch is up."

Alex stirred, blinking up at him sleepily. A soft, contented smile played on her lips.

Before she could protest, he scooped her into his arms and carried her below deck. She made no argument, just sighed against him.

They were below, in front of their bunk a minute later, and silently chuckled when he saw her already asleep again.

Setting her on her feet jolted her eyes open. Before she fully woke, he gave her a gentle nudge for her to crawl under the covers.

Spencer pulled the blanket up around her shoulders. She gave him another drowsy smile, and he smirked when her eyes fluttered closed simultaneously.

Before he could cuddle up against her, they needed a pilot. He turned to wake Lucca, but paused when he saw blood trickling from his mouth, a larger stain across his chest and pillow.

Just when Spencer was deciding to take the next shift and leave the old man asleep, his bloodshot eyes sprang open.

Hacking up a cough, he sat up pretty quick for a dying man, "Shift change?"

Spencer nodded, reluctant to admit it.

A deep, wracking cough tore through Lucca, wet and raw. When he pulled his hand away from his mouth, there was blood.

His conscience was nagging, forcing him to action, "I'll take the next watch."

Lucca scowled. "It's my watch."

Spencer wasn't one to mince his words, "Old man, you need to rest."

Lucca's glare sharpened. He straightened, bracing himself with the bunk rails. "This is my damn ship," he snapped.

Stepping into his face, he held up a finger, "Only one giving orders here is me," the finger jabbed Spencer in the chest, pushing him out of the way as he headed above deck.

Spencer shrugged, letting it go. He was exhausted and wanted to sleep next to his fiancé. If the man didn't want to die in a hospital, but at the helm of his boat, who was he to stop him?

Kicking off his boots, he slowly lifted the blanket and curved himself around Alex's back. He was asleep a minute later.

Hours later, the sun now high in the sky, Spencer woke with a start, his senses prickling at the unnatural silence. Something was wrong. The steady hum of the engines had vanished.

Alex lay curled against him, her breath warm against his chest. He patted her shoulder gently.

"Let me up."

She stirred, barely opening her eyes. "What's wrong?"

Spencer was already swinging his legs over the side of the bunk, moving swiftly, instinctively. "Engines aren't running."

He hurried up to the deck, bracing himself for the worst.

Lucca lay crumpled near the controls, his body unnaturally still, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth.

"Shit." Spencer crouched beside him, pressing two fingers to the old man's throat. Nothing.

He exhaled sharply, grief barely registering beneath the weight of immediate survival.

Without hesitation, he lunged for the radio.

A click. Static. Then, tuning it to the right channel— "Mayday, mayday, mayday."

A crackle. Then a voice. "This is S.S. Lambridge. What's your mayday?"

Spencer gripped the receiver tightly. "I'm a passenger on a tug headed to Suez. The captain has expired."

A pause. Then: "Can you read a compass?"

"I can."

More static. "What is your heading?"

Spencer glanced at the dial. "Due east, but we're drifting."

"Do you have nautical maps?"

His eyes landed on the maps beside the controls. "We do."

"Alright, chap. I'll talk you through finding your bearings with the compass—"

Spencer never heard the rest. A shadow loomed over the tugboat, swallowing it in darkness. His blood ran cold as he turned toward it.

The ghost ship.

They had drifted back to it, the tugboat caught in the cursed current. And now they were heading straight for a collision.

"Sir?" The radio crackled, distant and irrelevant.

Spencer dropped the receiver and lunged for the engine controls, frantically cranking them. The engine sputtered, coughed, but refused to roar to life.

He slammed his fist against the throttle. "Come on!"

The engine clanked. The wheel wouldn't budge. They were locked in the ghost ship's pull.

Then it struck.

The massive bow of the derelict vessel smashed into the side of the tugboat with a sickening crunch of metal. Their small ship flipped violently onto its side, the world tilting into chaos.

Spencer was hurled backward, crashing against the wooden wall of the wheelhouse. Pain exploded through his ribs, but he barely had time to react before he was thrown again.

Below deck, Alex had clung to the bunk at the first violent lurch, but it was no use. The sheer force sent her flying into the opposite wall before crashing to the floor in a daze.

The tug groaned, dragged mercilessly in the wake of the ghost ship.

Spencer clawed his way back to the controls, each movement a battle against gravity. He reached for the throttle, yanking at it desperately. Nothing. The ship wasn't responding.

He couldn't give up. He needed to keep their boat upright or they were doomed. He panicked thinking of Alex trapped below; he needed to get to her. She needed him.

Another heave. Another violent jolt.

Spencer lost his grip and went sprawling across the deck as the sea flipped them in its relentless grip.