Spring Tides

The following is an excerpt from my upcoming novel, Pelagic:

Splashing and sputtering, I woke, and scrambled to my feet. The tide had risen above the planks. I couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few minutes. Aunt Sara left out the part about how fast the tide would rise.

There was a groan to my left, and alarm rang through me. Diego must not have loosed the lines, because Dreamer was heavily canted towards the dock, lines straining with the effort. 

The water was still rising.

I sloshed over to the boat, taking care to stay in the middle of the dock. In the darkness of the night, one misstep could send me plummeting off the side, and I did not want to get caught in this crazy current.  I reached the stern line, and risked a quick look over at the neighboring dock to see how their boat was faring, just in time to see their boat make the final tilt and begin to take on water. 

I returned my attention to Dreamer with renewed urgency. The cleat for the stern was already underwater. I felt around for the loop and impatiently dug my fingers into the knot. It gave, and a few hard yanks set the overloaded rope free; the hard tilt of Dreamer eased.  Circle around the base of the cleat, loop over each end, twist the rope once, and then fit it over one end, just as Porter had taught me. The stern line was secured once more, with enough slack as the length of line would allow. 

One line down, one to go.

Trudging through the thigh deep water, I reached the bow line, just as a distinct bang! rang through the night.  The boat two docks down broke free from its tether and swung towards shore, propelled by the insistently rising tide. Already, the neighbors were shouting and making their way towards the runaway.

Dreamer’s bowline was strung so taut, I thought the line itself may break. Craning my neck toward the sky to keep my head out of water, I retied the line by using my hands as both eyes and tools. It was an awkward business, working by feel alone trying to use the very end of the rope while it threatened to swim away like a live eel in the water. By the time I completed the final loop, the water was over my head. I stood with a gasp, inhaling lungfuls of night air while water streamed from my hair and clothes. Surveying my handiwork, I was pleased to see Dreamer floated beautifully, with lots of slack to accommodate the swift tide.

The neighbors had clambered onto their sport fisher, bringing out spirits stored below. I could see the amber bottles passed from hand to hand while somebody had figured out how to get music going. Apparently they were content to ride the rise and see where the current takes them.

Smiling at the impromptu congregation on the back of the boat, and feeling quite proud of myself for successfully applying my newfound nautical skills, I turned toward the house, black water swirling around my hips. 

I could see its progression through the yard, a liquid blanket creeping up, up. The sandy beach was already gone, the water beginning to swirl around the base of the bronze statues and landscaping in the yard. The large lawn chairs were beginning to float, their cushions lifting free, pulling on their tied bases, urging them to join. The pool stood barely above the tide line, and it looked may grow to several times its current size if the river decided to include its concrete confined brethren in its rise.

With a cry of alarm, I started towards the house. I took three steps— and fell in.