Page 91 of Uncharted

“Pirates?” I know they don’t want to talk about pirates in front of me. It’s something my mom was always scared about. But then, when she was alive, I was only doing charters out of Florida in the US coastal waters. There’s a pressure in my chest. I’ve heard stories about pirates. Everyone who’s worked in yachting has. You know someone who knows someone who had their yacht attacked. But I’ve never met anyone who actually has been in an attack.

“Yeah, there is a chance we might hear a cargo ship.” Calvin moves things around on the table. The radio isn’t inside the case.

“We’ll need to set up a watch.”

He laughs. “I feel a list coming on. Yes, and we’ll need to be careful when changing channels. I’ve fixed this, but too much jostling and it could be broken again. It’s beyond fragile from combining the two of them together.”

“Let me help you to lunch, and then I’ll come back and listen.” There’s a stick by the door—looks like part of one of the little sailboats. I try to hand it to him.

Calvin shakes his head and smiles. “Or... you could get me some food and I’ll take the first shift. I’d like to come up with a process. If that’s okay? I can go get food myself, Chiefie.”

“No, I’m happy to help. I’ll be right back.” I dash to the galley, where Easton and Dante are eating. “Calvin got the VHF radio working!” I’m ignoring that it feels like Calvin is acting like the VHFs are more pirate protection than a means of finding help.

“Seriously?” Dante drops his fork and glances toward the wheelhouse. “That’s fucking fantastic, Sassy.”

* * *

Iavoided it as long as I could. But I really wanted to know if there’s something in the garbage. Did I really want to dig through the trash? No, but now I’m dripping sweat in a paper suit.

Dante’s down in the hole with a shit ton of bags. He’s opening a bag and doing a quick scan. If he’s confident that it’s from his kitchen, he’s tossing it to the side. And if he thinks it might be the galley trash from the last night, he hands it up to me.

In theory, if Sam hadn’t tried to get rid of some of the trash, we’d have a stratigraphy to work with, but it was smart. Sam did a lot of things when he was drifting on his own that the average person would never think to do. But now the newest garbage isn’t on top. Well, that’s partially true. The bags from Sam being on board by himself were easy to toss to the side.

We’re halfway through our third bag. Penny would like to help, and I’ve had to push her out of the way more than once. But she’s stopped putting her nose into my bag and is sitting patiently beside me.

There’s nothing like garbage that has baked in a pit for months. I turn my head and cough.

Dante’s pushing things around that look like pasta noodles. “Eureka! Leftover Carbonara. I have the right bag.” He holds it open for me to see.

“That’s it.” I try not to gag, which only makes me cough more.

Dante hands the bag up and hops out of the pit. We spread the tarp out flat again from the last bag. “Let’s dump it.”

This is my least favorite part, but Penny’s tail is going strong. Dante rakes the pile out, moving the wet parts out of the way.

I crouch down. Part of the mound is fairly clean. I push stuff around. A broken hanger, a good ten chocolate wrappers that I remember being mine and Shayla’s—we were stress eating chocolate. And there, under an empty granola box, are three little sheets of clear plastic. Two with stickers still in place and one with the stickers missing. Next to it is a wet notecard. There was something written on it in pen, but the ink has run.

“Holy crap.” I hold it up to Dante.

“Holy crap is right.” He tosses the last bag back into the pit. “Holy crap. You found it.”

“We found it.”

Chapter40

Set a Course

Zane

Dante, Easton, Haley, and myself are gathered around the dinner table. I’ve showered the grime of the dank engine room off in cold water, but it was still a shower. Even a quick one is better than scrubbing in the ocean. We stopped for the day because our flashlights have been drained and need to recharge. Now that we’re using the solar power for the VHF radio, it will be a few hours before we can head back down to work on the generator some more. But we’ve called it for today. Sam—under Calvin’s guidance—carried the VHF to the sideboard in the dining room so the two of them could work on the wiring around the corner from us in the main salon.

Like a murder mystery, in the middle of the table are:

Rocky’s agenda.

Waldo’s phone book.

The empty sticker sheet and the unused ones.

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