"Redemption's Run": Chapter 16 closes

A Star Tribune serialized novel by Jane Fredericksen

Chapter 16

The story so far: Kinney must climb the mast as the storm bears down.

Ronnie's brain was buzzing. "Wait a minute. He stole True Wind?"

"Borrowed it. He had his reasons. Over."

Vince jumped in again. "I still say we should alert the Coast Guard. Over."

"He's got Kacie with him. I doubt he'd just sail off somewhere. And things are kicking up out here," Ronnie noted. "They might just have radio interference. Or they might be in trouble. There's no way to know. Over."

Now, however, she didn't feel quite so sure.

She felt unease at Redemption's lack of communication. But she also suspected that Kinney would probably prefer to avoid any unnecessary contact with the Coast Guard, especially given his past.

A past she knew little about, apparently. Why would Kinney "borrow" True Wind? Or have to?

There was nothing definite to go on, no clear and present signs of danger.

"We'll wait and watch," she decided. "Let us know if you hear anything. We'll do the same. Over."

"I still don't trust him," cut in Vince. "If he's taken her, I'll hunt him like a hound from hell. Over and out."

It took Ronnie a moment to realize that "her" didn't mean Kacie, but Redemption.

"He's worried about the damn boat," Ronnie informed her crew.

* * *

Sighting up a mast always unnerved him, especially a wooden one, especially in a storm.

Then, there was the difficulty of the climb itself. The varnished spruce mast was slick from spray. The wind buffeted him. The luffing mainsail threatened to bat him away like an unwanted fly. It was a challenge to keep his knees locked and find a secure hold, to not slip each time he grabbed hold and hoisted himself a bit higher. He tried not to look down, but always ahead. And that created another problem.

Because, finally, there was the symbolism that he tried hardest to ignore: The vertical pillar stretching toward the sky, the horizontal spreaders, like arms in supplication. A cross of sacrifice. Some sailors found comfort in the sight, but Kinney did not. It was just a piece of the boat, he told himself, nothing more. Right now, it posed a problem that he had to fix.

The wind chattered in his ear. Whatever it was trying to tell him, he didn't want to hear. "You had your chance," he muttered under his breath.

His arms started to ache, and his wounded hand throbbed under its bandage. He ignored it, as he did the wind. He was almost to the spreaders now.

In the distance, he heard a throaty rumble of thunder and, for a moment, he froze. Not yet, he told himself. Almost there.

He could hear voices in the wind, taunting him, mocking him. He was sweating. Blood trickled from his bandage onto the knife handle.

And then the tangle came free.

The halyard slid.

The mainsail slipped.

Kinney breathed a sigh of relief. He laughed triumphantly and faced the wind. "Can't have me yet. Not yet, you son-of-a …"

And suddenly, there was dead silence. The wind fell.

Redemption stopped rocking.

And the wind whispered one word: "Kinney."

Startled, he turned to hear the soft ping of a pin give way, the whistle as it flew toward his face, and the sharp sting as it hit just under his eye, as if he'd been slapped.

He winced. And in that second, he let go, and plummeted toward the deck.

But he knew he had never been lucky.