Free Vampirates: Tide of Terror by Justin Somper

shake the feeling that, in spite of the captain’s fine eulogy, Jez Stukeley had died a needless death.

9
    THE GIFT
    Sunset. After a day of rough, squally weather, the surf is good tonight. The lone surfer is out again, pitching himself against the waves. Every night, he grows stronger — every night, more proficient. And every night, in spite of himself, more lonely. Yes, he can admit this now. He is not made to be alone. It is life — and death — that have contrived to separate him from others. But he is not one to be dictated to by the fates. Just now, he might be dependent on the ebb and flow of the tide, but soon he will start to direct the flow of events. This time of waiting will be over.
    The moon is on the rise, shooting golden darts across the dark water. He is careful to avoid the light, steering the board toward the dark places in between. Now he is fighting both the pull of the tide and the moon’s flaming arrows but, muscle-bound as he is, he is holding his own against them both. His footing is firm as he shifts the board from left to right, feeling the energy of the waves beneath him, propelling him toward another empty cove.
    As he cruises into the shallow water, there are rocks to negotiate. He jumps down from the board, the water scarcely higher than his ankles now. He pulls the board from the water, before it comes to grief on the waiting rocks, and walks the last remaining feet onto dry land. As always, the moment he emerges from the water, his clothes and flesh are bone dry.
    The cove is as rocky above the water as it is beneath. He rests the surfboard lightly against a jagged boulder and climbs up to a ledge. There, comfortably cloaked in the darkness, he can safely survey the scene.
    A ship enters his vision in the distance. The sight of it makes him wistful, thinking of ships he has left behind. But there will be other ships in his future. And, this time, he will be the captain. No more will he do another’s bidding. This is his destiny — of that he is certain.
    The ship sails across his line of vision, torches flaming about it. They light up the skull and crossbones flag. A pirate ship — hardly uncommon in these waters. Yet the ship looks familiar to him. He closes his eyes, shutting out the light to think more clearly. In the darkness, he sees the girl. The strange girl who escaped from him. Grace. That was her name. Why is he seeing her — an insignificant girl to whom he once told his story? He crushes the mental picture of her — as if it were an insect that dared to land on his palm, and opens his eyes.
    The ship has sailed past, but now something much closer takes his attention. Something which bumps against the rocks in the shallow water below. Something which is pummelled by the white horses, bobbing in and out of the shards of moonlight. He leans forward. His vision cuts through the dark shadows and he sees the wooden box brought to him on the tide. He decides to take a closer look at the gift the ocean has delivered to him.
    Leaping down from his ledge, he strides back into the water, his feet deftly avoiding the jagged rocks beneath. The box is within his reach now, buffeted between twin rocks, like a football kicked back and forth between them. His large hands find the edges of it. It is bigger than it seemed from above, and as long as a man. To others, it would be impossibly unwieldy, but to him it is manageable. He frees it from the dueling rocks and lifts the coffin — for that is what it is — out of the water, carrying it effortlessly to the sanctuary of the small stretch of beach.
    He sets it on the sand and, unsure of his next move, looks for somewhere to sit and think. Then he realizes that the coffin itself will make the perfect seat so he eases himself down on it and looks out to sea once more. Beneath his weight, the tender wood begins to crack and splinter. Quickly, he jumps up, surveying the damage he has done.
    The coffin is not in a good way. Wherever it has