Rory wrapped her arms about Zeke’s neck, her face nearly as white as the crests.
“Oh, Zeke, I can’t swim. Tony tried to teach me, but I always sank.” She made a valiant attempt to smile. He said it was because I have rocks in my head.”
“He’s right,” Zeke said, but took the sting from his words by straining her close. Desperately, he scanned the distance, making out the edge of the shore, but it had to be a good quarter of a mile away. At full strength, he might have been able to make it, even towing Rory.
But his injured arm throbbed, reminding him of his weakness. Zeke cursed under his breath. He had never felt so helpless, so caught up in circumstances beyond his control. If they managed to come through this alive, Zeke vowed, he would never set foot in one of these damned contraptions again, and he wouldn’t allow Rory to do so either.
The wind current seemed to be carrying them closer to shore, but Zeke could tell they were never going to make it. A spray of water dashed over the basket, wetting his face and dampening Rory’s hair. He could already taste salt upon his lips.
“Rory,” he spoke desperately into her ear. “Isn’t there anything you can do to bring us up a little?”
She shook her head. Her lips were set and she was trying to conceal her fear. Only her eyes betrayed her. She called back above the ocean’s roar, “We’ve got nothing left to throw overboard, nothing to lighten the load.”
As Zeke’s gaze roved frantically around the empty basket, he saw that she was right. There was nothing in the gondola except Rory and himself.
The thought struck him like the slap of a wave. Yes, himself, some two hundred pounds of dead weight. Without him, Rory might have a chance. A desperate one, but a chance all the same.
But if he was going to act, it had to be now. He had no time to debate the wisdom of his decision. He thrust Rory away from him. Steadying himself by gripping one of the balloon cables, he moved quickly before Rory could divine his intent and try to stop him.
He had only worked one leg over the side of the basket when she screamed. “Zeke! Stop. What are you doing?”
She launched herself at him and she managed to catch his arm. He tried to shake her off, but she hung on with a strength borne of desperation.
“Rory! Damn it! Let go.”
“No! Zeke, you fool?—”
He shoved her away, but it was already too late. The balloon lost altitude, the gondola hitting the ocean surface with a hard smack that toppled Rory over. As a wave crashed over the side, the basket tipped, some of the cables snapping.
Zeke lost his balance and felt himself falling. He gasped as he plunged into the ocean’s chilling depths, the sea foam dissolving over his head. Taking in a mouthful of ocean, he choked, the salt water burning his throat and stinging his eyes.
Kicking, he fought his way back to the surface, drawing in a welcome lungful of air. Treading water, he battled the waves, blinking his eyes, searching for a glimpse of Rory and the balloon.
He spotted her some yards away, clinging to the side of the overturned basket. The deflating balloon, still connected to the gondola by the few remaining ropes, was acting like a sail, dragging the basket through the water.
“Zeke?” Above the wind, the waves, Rory’s cry came, faint and desperate.
Drawing in a deep breath, Zeke struck out after her, swimming as hard and fast as he could. Ocean water seeped through his bandage and salt got into his wound. His arms and lungs seemed to be on fire as he battled both the waves and his own weakness.
Twice he drew near Rory and the balloon, only to have them wrenched out of his reach. His muscles ached with the effort it took to keep kicking, extending his arms for just one more stroke.
Rory was so close, but he knew it didn’t matter. He was never going to make it. Panting and choking on the briny waves, he was all but spent. Rory risked her tenuous hold upon the gondola, stretching out her arm to him.
Her fingers seemed to drift upon the water, like a slender thread, all that stood between him and going under one last and final time. With a tremendous effort, he forced himself forward. Rory’s hand clamped upon his wrist, her fingers not so fragile, far stronger than he would have imagined.
Somehow he found himself beside her, clutching at the rim of the basket. But the ordeal was far from over. The remaining buoyancy in the balloon kept the soaked gondola from sinking, but with the great monolith pulled by the breeze, Zeke and Rory were left at the mercy of the wind and the waves.
Zeke knew neither one of them could last long at this rate, taking such a buffeting. Rory looked white with fatigue. When she showed signs of loosening her hold, he used the length of his body to shore her up, keep her hanging on.
It was going to take a miracle to save them, a blasted miracle. Zeke, who put no faith in such things, hardly recognized it when it came.
But suddenly a small dinghy loomed before them, two men in oiled cape coats and yellow sou’westers pulling at the oars, fishers by the look of them.
Zeke thought he must be hallucinating until Rory also lifted her head, a choked cry of gladness escaping her. She saw the boat too. It had to be real.
“Help!” Zeke croaked. “Over here.”
He wasn’t sure if the fishermen could hear him. But they had to be able to see the balloon, the two people clinging for their lives. The dinghy had drifted close enough now that Zeke could observe that the two men were frozen, staring.
