Tarheel Writer - Hunter at Sea by Jevic

Hunter at Sea
by Jevic, The Tarheel Writer
Chapter Two
"Certainty of Truth"

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Hunter at Sea by Jevic

Action Adventure
Violence
Sexual Situations
Rated Teen 13+

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Hunter looked up into the star filled night remembering the last conversation with his mom. He drained his coffee and wadded up the empty paper towel. As his eyes gazed up into the heavens, they came to rest on the Little Dipper. Something in his memory niggled at his consciousness. It was memories of studying for the Astronomy Merit Badge. What was it about the Little Dipper? Hunter stood abruptly as the memory clarified in his mind. The star at the end of the Little Dipper handle was the North Star.
"I can navigate!" he screamed into the night. Hunter pulled the makeshift sea anchor in and stowed it back in the lazarette. He fired the engine and unlashed the wheel. Taking a long look at Polaris, Hunter determined which way was west and brought the "Stargazer" around in that direction.

Little Dipper - Polaris

"Perfect," he thought as he jabbed at the autopilot button. Nothing happened. He jabbed at it again. Nothing. It was then he remembered that all the electronics on the boat had shorted out by the lightning strike. He'd have to hand steer. Keeping Polaris over his right shoulder, Hunter knew he was steering west … west toward Florida … west toward safety.
Now that "Stargazer" was underway, the mast and canopy frame banged against the fiberglass dull. Hunter slowed and lashed the wheel. He worked as quickly as he could in the darkness to lash the whole mess down. By the time he was finished and had returned to the wheel, Polaris was directly behind him. He swore under his breath, unlashed the wheel and turned back to starboard, bringing him back on course. As the minutes stretched into hours, Hunter fought to keep his eyes open. Despite the short nap and the cup of coffee, the adrenalin he'd spent during the height of the storm had taken its toll. Hunter was exhausted. Through bleary eyes, he watched as the dark night slowly turned to gray. Dawn was coming and with its arrival, his only method of navigation would leave. Lashing the wheel wouldn't work. He'd learned that earlier.

Dismasted!

    As the sun rose over the horizon and the starlit night slowly turned to blue, Hunter shut off the engine and let "Stargazer" drift on the open ocean. Even though the fuel tank was full when they left, it was best to conserve what fuel he did have to use when he actually knew where he was headed. Hunter scanned the horizon and saw nothing but water in every direction. There was no sign of another boat … no sign of anything. He stumbled below deck and sat heavily on the settee. His blue eyes darted around the salon and finally fell on the aft cabin door. Just beyond that door lay the body of Captain Turner. Grief and helplessness struck at the same time. Hunter just wanted to escape the situation he was in. That's when his eyes fell on the half full bottle of tequila. Without giving it a second thought, he snatched the bottle from its place along the bulkhead. That warm liquid slid slowly down his throat and was followed by an intense burning that brought tears to Hunter's eyes. He took another healthy slug from the bottle and settled back onto the settee.
    The now empty bottle of Jose Cuervo gently rolled against the bulkhead with a slight clink, but the seventeen-year-old was fast asleep without a care in the world.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *
    "You don't understand!" plead Hunter as tears streamed down his face. Jesse, his best friend, looked at him with disgust.
    "Oh, yes. I do understand," Jesse said, his voice dripping with hatred. "You're a fag and you've been perving on me ever since we met!"
    "It's not like that!" screamed Hunter as he started to stand up. A fist connected with his jaw sending him back onto the couch.
    "It's exactly like that. You just told me you asshole!" Jesse screamed. "You said you've been in love with me since we met for Christ's sake." Jesse whirled around and headed for the door. "Good God, all those nights we slept in the same bed and you were, you were, goddamn you, Hunter. I never, ever want to talk to or see you again. Just stay away from me!" Jesse yelled as he walked out the door.
    Hunter knew he was taking a chance on telling Jesse that he had slowly been falling in love with him. He couldn't help it. Jesse knew everything there was to know about Hunter, well, except the love part. They were best friends and did everything together. As their junior year was coming to a close, Hunter knew that he had to tell Jesse how he felt. The pressure of keeping his feelings secret was just about to drive him crazy.
    At first, the feelings had been purely emotional, but as puberty matured, physical attraction became more and more prominent. Spending the night at Jesse's slowly turned into torture. They always slept together. It was just the way it had always been. And Jesse was a "hugger." Sometime in the middle of the night, Jesse would roll over and wrap his arms around Hunter. It was the closest thing to both heaven and hell that Hunter had ever known. The pressure became so intense that he was left with no choice. He had to tell Jesse. If his best friend left him, he'd have to live with it. If he accepted him, but only wanted to remain friends, that would work too. But somewhere deep in Hunter's heart, he desperately wanted Jesse to love him the way he loved Jesse. Now, his worst-case scenario had come true. Hunter curled up on the couch and wept. Hot tears rolled down his cheeks as the realization of his loss hit him.
    The following day was even worse as Jesse openly shunned him in school. People kept asking him what had happened. If two friends who were practically joined at the hip were suddenly on the outs, there had to be a reason. And that reason was not something he wanted to get out.
    Hunter went to school the next few days with a heavy weight of dread on his shoulders. He glanced around at the other students waiting for the whispers. Jesse had been mad enough that Hunter knew he would tell anyone who would listen. But the whispers never came. Hunter silently thanked God that Jesse decided not to say anything.
    The invitation from Captain Turner has been a godsend. It was the perfect opportunity to get away from school, from his friends, from his family and especially from Jesse.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *
    Hunter woke with a start. Something wasn't right. The cabin was dark, and everything seemed okay, but a little voice in his mind told him otherwise. Suddenly, "Stargazer" heeled sharply over to port. The sailboat listed so far over, Hunter thought it was another knock down. But that couldn't be possible. He didn't have a mast, much less any sails. A horrid scraping sound down the port side lasted just a few seconds before the sailboat slowly righted herself. Hunter ran up the companionway and peered into the night. Looking astern, he could barely make out the silhouette of a large freighter with no running lights.
    "Bastard!" he screamed as the dark hulk quickly disappeared into the night. His head was pounding, and he grabbed it in anguish. Hunter stumbled back below and went straight to the head. He searched through the cabinets and finally found some aspirin. Returning to the galley, he washed them down with a glass of water. A slight clinking noise drew his attention to the other side of the salon. Rolling slightly with the easy pitch of the boat was an empty bottle of Jose Cuervo.
    Hunter used the frying pan and a flick of his wrist to flip the eggs. A paper towel was soaking up the grease from the cooling bacon on a plate. He filled a cup of coffee as he waited for the eggs to finish.
    The clock told him it was eight at night. The reason he'd managed to sleep over twelve hours was the empty bottle of Jose Cuervo, now bobbing in the calm waters far astern. Hunter emptied the frying pan onto his plate and added several strips of bacon before settling down at the salon table. Biting into his first fork full of eggs, Hunter's thoughts turned to his mother and the last breakfast they had together. He knew she would be worried. Since he had promised to call her on his cell phone every day, Hunter knew she would call in the Calvary. He smiled as he bit into a piece of bacon. Help was probably already on the way.
    Unbeknownst to Hunter, the storm had pushed "Stargazer" far out to sea, hundreds of miles from where she should have been. Coast Guard ships and planes were scouring an area well-away from his actual position. And in a bedroom, behind closed doors, another young man sobbed into his pillow. The news of the missing sailboat hit him headlong. As the tears fell, he finally realized what he had denied. He silently prayed that the missing boy would be safe and, hopefully, would forgive his best friend for a moment of panic.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *
    The stars shone bright and Hunter once again put Polaris over his right shoulder as he powered the sailboat to the west and hopefully, the coast of Florida. The dishes in the galley sink from his meal rumbled quietly from the vibrations of the diesel engine. The body of Captain Turner, now cold and stiff, lay on the floor of the aft cabin. Hunter knew he would have to find land soon or he would be forced to dump the captain's body overboard. He shuddered at the thought.
    Hunter grabbed a flashlight and opened the port lazarette. The yellow beam of light cut through the darkness and illuminated the fuel gauge. The needle hovered around the half mark.
    "Wow," he whistled to himself. "I've used more fuel than I thought." He snapped the flashlight off and closed the lazarette. It took a few minutes for his eyes to regain their night vision, but when they did, Hunter didn't like what he saw. A line of clouds was gradually moving from the west, slowly and surely obscuring the stars. By his best estimation, he had less than a half hour before Polaris would be hidden and navigation would no longer be possible. Checking his watch, Hunter knew that being underway for a mere six hours would hardly make up for the action of the current during the day. Reluctantly, he shut down the diesel engine and sat back in the cockpit. His rudimentary knowledge of the Atlantic Ocean told him the prevailing currents worked clockwise, going up the coast of the United States. That simple knowledge told Hunter he was probably being pushed north. If he were close enough to shore, the Gulf Stream would push him even faster, even as much as a hundred miles a day. If he were further out to sea, he would be at the mercy of the prevailing winds.
    Hunter pushed a cushion behind his back and while watching the approaching clouds, contemplated his situation. The biggest Achilles' Heel in all this was not knowing where he was. The "Stargazer" could easily be a couple hundred miles out to sea. If that were the case, it would take thirty hours to get back to shore at a cruising speed of six knots. Even wide open at eight knots, it would still take twenty-five hours. Hunter doubted there was enough fuel for that long of a run. He could try but exhausting his fuel supply meant no more charging the batteries and that meant no more refrigeration or lights. That was a chance he simply could not take. So, he resigned himself to let the "Stargazer" drift with the current and hope a rescue plane would spot him soon.
    As dawn broke over the Atlantic, Hunter's growling stomach demanded attention. He went below and started fixing a sandwich. This sleeping all day and steering all night schedule was going to have to change.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *
    Max Westphal had been flying search and rescue missions for the coast guard for the better part of three decades. The coast guard was his life. He'd join right out of high school and never looked back. Through the years of his service, he'd pulled countless people from certain death. Jumping headlong into boiling seas to save people he had never met gave him a much-needed sense of meaning. Max lived each and every day as if lives depended on him. In actuality, they did.

Coast Guard HH-52 Rescue Helicopter

    Max sat in the station's command center and re-watched the storm the night before on the radar loop. It had been vicious, causing a string of tornados as it raced across the sunshine state before heading out to sea. Years of experience told him that any small craft in that storm's path didn't stand much of a chance. Those thoughts haunted his mind as he flew out on the rescue mission.
    "I got me ah sun reflection at ten o'clock," called out his co-pilot. Captain Westphal banked the HH-60J Jayhawk Helicopter to the right and dropped altitude to a hundred feet. Skimming the surface of the ocean, they raced toward his co-pilot's sighting.
    "Nuthin' but a damned ol' bottle," his co-pilot, Ted Hagen said as he lowered his binoculars. "I guess the glass was just reflectin' the sun." Max grinned at Ted's southern drawl. He was a good ol' boy from a farm in eastern North Carolina and the only one in the family to ever graduate from college. Perpetually the "glass half full" kind of guy, Max admired his professionalism and valued his friendship.
    With their fuel running low and their search coming to a close for the day, Max banked the helicopter back toward base. They had pushed the limits of the search area, but Max knew the sailboat could be virtually anywhere, even at the bottom on the Atlantic. He knew chances for survival in the open water dwindled with every passing hour. If the sailboat had foundered, then finding someone in the water would be almost impossible.

View from helicopter

    Max knew Captain Turner and knew him to be an exceptional skipper, but he also knew the captain was getting on in years and probably wasn't as sharp as he used to be. The old salt's first mate, Hunter Scott, well, that boy knew what he was doing around a sailboat. The kid had been sailing as long as Max had known him. Maybe the combined experience would keep them both alive. Or maybe the compliancy of a skipper that had seen too many miles under the keel and the boldness that came with teenage years would combine to leave them both for dead. Either scenario could spell disaster or survival. Despite the outcome, it was up to him to pluck them from the water and bring them to safety. All he had to do was find them first. It was with a heavy heart that he returned to base with nothing to report. Max dreaded the welcoming committee.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *
    Jesse Westphal watched as his father's rescue helicopter landed. He'd listened to the radio traffic and knew they didn't find anything, but he wanted to hear it from his dad. Jesse's best friend was out there somewhere, lost in a giant ocean. He couldn't help but choke back a sob as he thought back to his last words to Hunter.
    "I never, ever want to talk to or see you again. Just stay away from me!" His words echoed mercilessly in his head.
    The blades of the Jayhawk slowed, and the crew made their way out of the helicopter. Jesse saw his father and started running toward him. The father caught his son in his arms and gave him a huge hug. They exchanged looks and Jesse knew the mission had found nothing. Max put his arm around his son and together, they walked toward the command center.
    "Lieutenant Welsphal reporting in," he said as he saluted the CO.
    "Anything?" asked Commander Walsh.
    "No sir, nothing but an empty bottle."
    "An empty bottle?"
    "Yes sir."
    "It had to come from somewhere, don't you think?" asked Commander Walsh. Max sat down on the bench in the command center with his son at his side.
    "Yes, sir. That's a possibility."
    "We deal in possibilities everyday, Lieutenant. That was a particularly strong storm. That boat could be a hundred miles outside our search grid. First thing tomorrow morning, we're expanding our search and we'll send out a Guardian Jet (HU-25A Falcon) and I want you in command." Max's eyes widened at the order. Jets were rarely called into search and rescue as they were most needed to monitor potential drug boat activity.
    "Sir, begging your pardon, but is there something about this mission that I don't know about?" The commander gave a big sigh and looked pointedly at the lieutenant's son. Making a quick decision, be plodded on.
    "Yes, lieutenant, you're correct. There is more to the story. Captain Turner was testing a very new and very secret radar system. This radar has the potential of finding drug boats up to a seventy-five-mile range, even the submerged ones they're using now. The system only needed to be tested and we chose Captain Turner to do that for us."
    "On a civilian vessel, sir?"
    "On a US Government vessel desguised as a private yacht," the commander ammended. "Radar emmissions from a private yacht and rarely given a second look. Perfect way to test the waters without raising any suspecion."
    "So, we're not only talking about finding survivors, but we're also talking about retrieving a super secret radar system that could put a big dent in drug traffic?"
    "I'm glad to see you've grasped the importance of finding the "Stargazer." The lieutenant nodded slowly and turned to look at the suddenly pale face of his son. He patted Jesse's leg and stood up.
    "I think we should consider adding a second Guardian to this mission, sir."
    "That would draw too much attention to what everyone outside this room considers a rescue mission. You are to report in the morning at 0600 hours for a pre-flight check. I expect you in the air at sunrise. The importance of keeping this quiet can not be emphasized enough," the commander said as he looked directly at Jesse.
    "No problem, sir. I just wanna find Hunter. He's my best friend," Jesse said softly. The commander's stoic stance softened.
    "I know you do, son. And rest assured. Your father is the best. That's why I'm entrusting the success of this mission to him. And I certainly hope to see you as a candidate in our rescue swimmer program. Your father is the finest I've ever known, Jesse. It will do you well to follow in his footsteps." Jesse could only nod in agreement. While the CO's comments made his father proud, it only intimated Jesse. He knew his father's reputation was irrefutable, and that's what scared him most. Filling his father's shoes was expected and Jesse wasn't sure if he was ready to slip his feet into that role. Right now, at this moment in his life, Jesse could think of only one thing … his best friend. What he really needed more than anything was the opportunity to talk with Hunter. They'd parted on less than amicable terms and Jesse intended to fix that. Hunter deserved more than a brash put off. Hunter deserved the truth. It was a truth that Jesse was reluctant to admit, but it was a truth that needed to be told. It wasn't only guilt that held Jesse back. It was confusion. It was cowardice. And it was the fact that Jesse had to admit it to himself before he could admit it to anyone else. He held true love in his heart for Hunter and that, honestly, scared Jesse to death.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *
    Aboard the slowly drifting sailboat, everything was quiet. The weather was warm, the seas calm and the winds almost completely calm. A distant roar of engines rousted Hunter. He grabbed his sandwich and headed topside only to see a Cigarette boat rapidly approaching from what Hunter assumed to be the east.

Drug Boat

    He watched the approaching boat curiously. Was this someone who sighted his damaged sailboat and was headed to help? What was this speedboat doing out here in the middle of nowhere? Suddenly, Hunter's instincts kicked in. This was not a rescue mission. This was trouble. He quickly darted below and grabbed the captain's rifle. Pirates and drug runners were common in these waters. Hunter would not be taking any chances today. Better to prepare for the worst and expect the best. Hunter did not intend to be a victim today as he racked the first shell of the magazine into the chamber of the powerful assault rifle. The speedboat was getting closer and Hunter realized he was literally a sitting duck, he fired the engine, shifted into forward and gunned the engine. He tightened the loops of line around the wheel lashing it in place. With another quick glance at the speedboat, he took a protected position just inside the companionway and waited for the boat to come into range.
    Hunter watched the boat through his binoculars. The hull and cabin top had been painted to match the color of the water. That didn't indicate anything good. In fact, all indications were bad. The sound of the engine and the spray the boat made while it sliced through the almost calm water were the only real evidence that gave away the boat's location.
    As Hunter continued to watch, he saw a flash of sun reflection come from the rear of the boat. Milliseconds later, hot lead projectiles ripped across the top of the cabin, splintering the fiberglass. Hunter ducked quickly.
    "Shit!" he exclaimed out loud. This was a do or die situation and the young boy instantly realized that. More shots hit the cabin top and one broke the porthole over the galley sink. Hunter's heart was pounding, and his body was taught with adrenaline. He could hear the boat engine slow down and knew they were getting closer. Hunter peeked over the cabin top. The Cigarette boat was less than a half mile away. Two men were in the back of the boat. He ducked back down behind the cover of the companionway. Taking a deep breath, Hunter pulled the assault rifle to his shoulder, swung it on the cabin top and took careful aim. The first rounds from the rifle hit the approaching boat on the port bow, ripping fiberglass along the side. The Cigarette boat didn't waiver in its path directly toward the sailboat. Hunter looked carefully and zeroed in on the two men in the approaching boat's cockpit. He took a deep breath and relaxed just before he squeezed the trigger a second time. The cigarette boat slowly turned to port in an attempt to come alongside and more shots rang out blasting the fiberglass and portholes along the sailboat's starboard side. Hunter gritted his teeth, concentrated, and fired again. The drug boat suddenly slung itself hard to starboard and headed off at a ninety-degree angle. The boy aimed again and fired. The rounds hit near the stern of the boat and thick black smoke instantly appeared. Another round of shots strafed the deck of the "Stargazer." Hunter winced as one of the shots ripped a hole in his shirt. He aimed and fired back, but the cigarette boat was quickly limping off to the west.
    "You sons of bitches fucked with the wrong sailor!" Hunter shouted at the retreating boat. He fired off a few more rounds just to make his point. The crippled craft slowly disappeared over the horizon, smoke billowing from its stern. Hunter leaned the rifle against the companionway bulkhead and took a deep breath. He was shaking like a leaf. Despite his display of bravado, he knew that had been a close call. The young boy shut down the engine, all the while keeping an eye on the horizon. He didn't need that boat sneaking back up on him. He suddenly realized if had been underway, he never would have heard the approaching boat over the sound of the sailboat's diesel engine. Hunter really was lucky to have lived though that. He turned to get his sandwich and couldn't help breaking out in laughter. The sandwich had taken a direct hit and was scattered all over the cabin top.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *
    Search and rescue missions worked on the grid method with all parts of the search area divided into individual grids. Search planes and ships would work each grid like a lawn mower, painstakingly covering every square mile. The fuel cost alone was shocking, but when combined with the man-hours invested, the cost of a single search was staggering.
    The cost of the mission Captain Max Welsphal was flying was the furthest thing from his mind. Just before leaving his house that morning, his son had looked up at him with a pleading face. He knew his son and Hunter were the best of friends and he still scratched his head over their sudden falling out. He'd tried to get Jesse to talk about it, but he had refused. All Max knew was that whatever had caused the rift must have been pretty bad. His son was loyal to a fault, especially when it came to his friends. The more he thought about it, the more it bothered him. His wife told him it would pass, and the boys would be friends again. In the meantime, he could do nothing but watch his son sulk miserably around the house, obviously missing his friend terribly.
    "At least it's a clear day, huh, Capt'n?" commented his co-pilot. Ted was the regular co-pilot on all missions Max flew. It didn't matter what type aircraft was flown Ted was always there.
    "Lookin' like a good day to find Jess's buddy," Ted said as he picked up the binoculars and started scanning the vast blue ocean water beneath them.
    They had just completed searching grid number eight when Max spotted smoke on the horizon. He pointed it out to Ted as he keyed the radio mic.
    "Jacksonville C.G.H.Q. Jacksonville C.G.H.Q. this is S.A.R. Three Six Five."
    "S.A.R. Three Six Five, Jacksonville"
    "We've got smoke on the horizon about fifty miles from our current position. ETA, about a minute. Will advise. Over."
    "Roger, Three Six Five. Keep us informed." Max throttled up the Guardian Jet to its maximum four hundred fifty knots. His co-pilot already had his binoculars to his eyes.

Coast Guard Jet

    "Put 'er on the deck, Capt'n. Looks like we got us a drug boat." Max glanced at Ted, eased back on the throttle and dropped the aircraft to an altitude of five hundred feet. As they passed over, Max looked down.
    "You're right, Ted. Looks like a drug boat, but what's up with all that smoke, engine trouble?" While Max only got a glance at the boat, Ted got to study it through binoculars.
    "Nope, Capt'n. That there boat's been in a shoot out and got the short end of the stick. Looks like thar's somebody lying down on the deck. Might be wounded or even dead." Max banked hard right and brought the jet around for another pass. Ted studied the boat intently. The black smoked still billowed from the stern as the boat sliced through the waves. Despite the obvious loss of one engine, the second still propelled the boat at a pretty good clip. Suddenly, the boat slowed and stopped dead still in the water. Ted watched with morbid curiosity as the saw what he thought he was going to see.
    "Gun! He's gonna shoot!" Ted warned. Max banked hard left, pulled up and slammed the throttle down. For a half second, Max thought everything was all right. Then alarms sounded and a red warning indicator started flashing.
    "Fuckers shot us!" exclaimed Ted. Max glanced to his rear left and saw flames coming from the engine. "Port engine's on fire," he said calmly. Ted quickly shut the port engine down and flipped the fire extinguisher button. The flames instantly disappeared and were replaced by thick gray smoke.
    "She handln' okay, Capt'n?" Ted asked as he surveyed the instruments on the right side of the cockpit.
    "Yeah, but help me trim her out," Max directed as he struggled with the wheel. Ted quickly went to work making adjustments and in a few seconds, the Guardian Jet smoothed out.
    "Yuh better call that'n in, Capt'n." Max nodded.
    "Jacksonville C.G.H.Q Jacksonville G.C.H.Q. this is S.A.R. Three Six Five. We've been engaged by a drug boat and been hit. I repeat, we've been hit. Port engine is out."
    "Three Six Five, Jacksonville. Can you make it back to base?"
    "Starboard engine is fine. We can make it." Max relayed the coordinates of the boat to headquarters. In a matter of minutes, at least three heavily armed Coast Guard boats were headed toward the drug boat. Since it had fired on a Coast Guard jet, the drug boat would see no mercy from the encroaching fleet.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *
    Hunter sat in the cockpit and listened to the clanging of the mast against the hull. The sound had been tolerable in the calm wind, but a breeze had come up and now the "Stargazer" was wallowing on the waves. The sound was slowly driving him crazy and spurred him into action. Working methodically, Hunter first cut the canopy loose and let it fall in the water. Next, he removed the boom and lashed it to the deck. Then he removed all the canvas and stowed it in the forward cabin. All that was left was the mast. He found some bolt cutters in toolbox and started cutting each of the remaining metal stays holding it. Manhandling a fifty-five-foot aluminum pole was more than Hunter could manage, so he cut the last stay and watched as the mast vanished beneath the blue water. He sighed and turned his face into the wind. With all that work, he'd worked up quite a sweat. His long blond hair flapped in the breeze like a canvas sail.
    The light bulb went off without warning. Like any young sailor, Hunter had read the story of Robin Graham and his circumnavigation on his boat called "Dove." Robin had lost a mast, but he had stepped the boom and sailed on. Hunter's blue eyes locked on the boom. Then he glanced over to where the mast once stood. He could do this.
    An hour later, dripping in sweat, Hunter stood back and admired his handiwork. The boom stood proudly on the deck. The jib had been cut down and had been fixed to the boom. The spinnaker pole served as the boom. For the first time since the storm, Hunter smiled as the breeze filling the makeshift sail and the "Stargazer" started making headway. The improvised rig did not allow for much maneuvering, so he was resigned to let the wind push the forty-five-foot sailboat wherever it wanted to push it.
    The hot noon sun shone brightly overhead. In all the excitement of the morning, Hunter had no idea which direction he was headed, but at least he was moving. After lashing the wheel, he went below for some lunch. The funny smell in the galley had him checking the trash bin. Then he checked the refrigerator. With all sources eliminated, the true source of the smell almost made the young boy throw up. He went topside as quickly as he could, gulping in great lung fulls of fresh air.
    "Shit, how long has it been?" he asked himself. "Three days?" Hunter shook his head. "And today has to be the hottest day of the whole trip." His appetite evaporated when he realized he was smelling Captain Turner's body. He resigned himself that if he hadn't been found by sunset, he would bury the captain at sea.
    The hot afternoon sun blazed down on the deck bringing the interior cabin temperature to a stifling hundred degrees. Hunter took some deep breaths of fresh air and headed below to the front cabin. He grabbed what was left of the jib and carried it back topside. In a half hour, he had a canopy up to protect him from the sun.
    Inexplicably, Hunter's thoughts turned to Jesse. Hot boiling tears came from nowhere as he remembered what he had lost. At first, it was an immediate friendship. They shared those formable years side by side, experiencing the thrills and wonders of early teenage years. The whole world seemed to be at their feet until an ugly monster started to grow in Hunter's chest. He looked at his friend with slowly changing eyes. The camaraderie was still there, but now he looked at Jesse with adoration and with a hint of unbridled teenage lust.
    Night after night, Hunter had cried himself to sleep racked with guilt over his feelings for his best friend. Despite everything he tried, nothing helped. Just seeing Jesse without a shirt was enough to stir a libido that knew no bounds. He tried everything he knew, but Hunter continued to wake up with his warm juices coating his underwear. The guilt continued to worsen.
    The weekends were the worst. Jesse would spend the night. Hunter spent those weekends in purgatory. The good part being Jesse's touchy-feely personality and the bad part being stretched out in the same bed with the warm inviting body of his best friend just inches away.
    The tears came unchecked as Hunter's vision blurred in the bright sun reflecting on the gently rolling waves of crystal-clear water. He brought his arm up to wipe his face and was unceremoniously brought back to the present by the horrid smell of his armpit.
    "God, I stink," he couldn't help but chuckle to himself. Hunter pulled his makeshift sea anchor from the post side lazarette. It still had the rope tied to it. He lowered the bucket into the water and filled it.
    "Time for a bath," he said to himself. He shucked out of his clothes and dumped the bucket over his head. A bottle of dish soap in the lazarette would have to do. After lathering up, Hunter refilled the bucket and dumped it over his head again. Using the sailboat's fresh water rise at the swim platform, Hunter quickly rinsed off with fresh water.
    "Wow, I actually feel better," he said to himself as he sat back naked on the cockpit cushions to air dry as he watched the blue water slip peacefully by. Half an hour later, he slipped his shorts back on and continued to think about Jesse.
    Hunter watched as the sun slowly sank toward the horizon. The moment Hunter dreaded more than anything had arrived. There was no choice left. It had to be done.
    If anything, the smell had become worse. Hunter quickly made his way around the main salon and opened every porthole. He slowly looked at the aft cabin door and a dread grew in him like he'd never known. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open and looked down on Captain Turner's sheet covered body. With his jaw set in determination, Hunter grabbed the body by the shoulders and pulled. The young boy was not prepared for the wheezing sound that came from the body and stumbled back, eyes wide with terror.
    "Don't do that to me old man," he mumbled as he tried to get his heart rate under control. Getting the dead weight of a human body up the companionway was akin to dragging a couch up a set of stairs, but Hunter persevered. He dragged the body out into the cockpit and sat back, catching his breath. The lifeline that normally ran the entire perimeter of the sailboat was missing on the starboard side of the cockpit, thanks to the canopy's demise. It was there that Hunter finally got Captain Turner's body, poised for its final resting place. Hunter looked down at the sheet shrouded body., then looked up and saw the most amazing sunset he had ever seen.

    "Somehow, it's fitting you should be buried at sea, captain. You loved and respected the sea more than anyone I've ever known. I can only hope that she welcomes you with open arms and gives you the rest you truly deserve." Hunter bowed his head and tried to keep his tears in check. "Ashes to ashes and dust to dust. May God have mercy on your soul," he muttered as he rolled the captain's body over the side.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *
    Jesse Westphal walked slowly down the dock. Resting peacefully in the calm waters was the seventeen foot "Pearl." He couldn't help but smile as he looked at the small sailboat. He remembered when he and Hunter had named her. It was a sunny Saturday afternoon. The night before they'd watched Johnny Depp in "Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl." Together, they'd painted the name on the transom. Afterward, they'd donned bandanas and set sail. Anchored out that night, they grilled steaks and drank beer Jesse had scoffed from the family refrigerator. Hunter had the idea and Jesse quickly agreed as they stripped down to nothing and skinny dipped off the aft swim platform. Afterward, they'd rinsed off with fresh water and settled down below. A Coleman lantern turned down low provided the only light. That was the night that two fourteen-year-old boys experimented. It had felt deliriously wonderful and at the same time it had felt dangerously wicked. For Jesse, it had been a one-time bonding experience. Evidently, it had meant a lot more to Hunter. Regardless, they'd both had a great time that night. It had sealed their friendship.
    Jesse walked along the dock, his eyes caressing the meticulously maintained deck of "The Pearl." Hunter was thoroughly dedicated to maintaining his sailboat and Jesse was happy to help. The boy tipped his shoes off and stepped aboard. Glancing around the cockpit, the memories of his time aboard with Hunter filled his mind. He fished out his key and opened the companionway. The late afternoon heat didn't even bother him as he made his way inside and sat down on the settee. He grabbed a pillow and hugged it close to his chest. It even smelled like Hunter. Jesse made his way back topside and stood behind the wheel, his hand caressing the smooth stainless steel.
    "Please, dear God, bring Hunter back safe," Jesse sobbed. "Bring him back and I swear I'll tell him. I swear it! I've got to tell him that I love him too!" Jesse looked up at a most amazing sunset. He felt a calmness wash over him as he watched the golden sun sink through the clouds and disappear into the dark waters of the Atlantic Ocean. "God be with you, Hunter. I miss you so much."

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *
On to Chapter Three
"Throckmorton Island"

Back to Chapter One
"Squall"

Chapter Index

Hunter at Sea is © 2008-2022 by The Tarheel Writer.
    This work may not be duplicated in any form – physical, electronic, audio, or otherwise – without the author's written permission. All applicable copyright laws apply. All individuals depicted are fictional with any resemblance to real persons being purely coincidental.

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