Pirates of the Storm (Stranded In Time Book 1) (2 page)

He finally reached the rocks and
between swatting bugs he spotted what appeared to be a small cave
about 10 feet up the side of the outcropping. It wasn’t exactly
easy to get to, but he was able to climb up the sharp rocks without
too much damage to his hands and feet. It turned out to be a pretty
shallow cave. It was really more of a cut-out in the rocks than an
actual cave, but it did provide a covered area just big enough to
lie down in. It would provide decent shelter from any storms that
popped up from the hurricane that night. By now, Jeff wondered if
the bugs were going to leave enough of him to even have to worry
about storms. Smoke from a fire would help, but despite having seen
several television shows on how to make a fire in the wilderness,
he didn’t have much hope of being able to actually pull it off in
this environment, especially without any tools.

He then remembered reading on a travel
website about using coconut oil to prevent sand fly bites. He was
surrounded by jungle – surely he could find some coconuts! He
carefully climbed down from the cave and was pleased to find a
coconut tree just a few feet away that had a few mature nuts on it.
The only problem was that they were 15 feet up. He tried climbing
the tree but only managed to scrape up his arms and legs before
having to drop back to the ground. Looking around, he found a tree
branch. It was heavy and awkward, but it was just long enough and
he was finally able to knock down a coconut.

But the hard work was just beginning.
Opening a coconut with a machete or other tools is not too
difficult, but opening one with rocks is another thing entirely.
After repeatedly crunching and scraping his hands on the rocks
while beating the coconut on them, he finally opened up a tear in
the husk. After several more minutes of beating, tearing at the
husk, and cursing, he managed to separate the inner nut from the
husk. Although he was still being bitten repeatedly, a light breeze
had come up and the bug bites were slowing somewhat. Realizing that
the coconut would provide much-needed hydration as well as insect
protection, he carefully cracked open the nut and drank the coconut
water before breaking the shell apart to get at the meat. He pried
loose a piece and set it on a rock to beat it into a pulp. He then
rubbed the coconut on his skin and to his surprise and relief, it
not only greatly reduced the number of new bites, it also soothed
the sting of the existing bites. With the sting of the insects
subsiding, John suddenly realized how hungry he was. He broke off a
piece of coconut meat and popped it in his mouth. While he had
always liked coconut, none had ever tasted so good.

It was now getting quite dark and Jeff
realized that he had better get back up to the cave while he still
could see enough to climb the rocks. He placed the remaining
coconut under his shirt and tucked the shirt into his swim trunks
to hold it while he climbed. There was just enough light left from
the sun sinking below the horizon for him to find hand and foot
holds as he made his way back up into the cave. He mashed up a
little more coconut for insect protection and slowly ate the rest
as darkness set in. As time passed, the moon started to rise in the
sky and there was actually a little more light than there had been
when he had climbed into the cave. Although he was tired, Jeff knew
that he probably wouldn’t get much sleep. The floor of the cave was
hard and rocky and his thoughts would surely keep him awake. He
stared up at the moon and stars for a while before lying down to
try to get some rest. As expected, he could not really get
comfortable, but eventually Jeff’s fatigue took over and he lapsed
into a fitful sleep.

Jeff awoke to the sun in his eyes and
the sounds of sea birds. His body ached from a combination of
dehydration and sleeping on his rocky bed. He was surprised to see
the sun, since the Hurricane had been projected to pass close by
during the night. Apparently it had changed course. Jeff was
thankful he’d be able to search for help without being hindered by
bad weather. He climbed down from the cave and set about knocking
down a few more coconuts. His experience from the night before
served him well and he was able to open his first coconut of the
day much faster and with much less damage to his hands. The second
and third coconuts went even easier. The coconut water and meat
made him feel considerably better and after a brief rest to collect
his thoughts, he walked up the beach to the kayak and set off to
try to find help.

Jeff paddled the kayak slowly along
the shore, searching the jungle for any homes or other signs of
life, but there was nothing. He knew that Roatan wasn’t the most
developed place in the world, but it seemed strange that there was
so much prime beach front real estate that remained untapped. In
any event, the island was only 35 miles long and if he kept
paddling the same direction he knew that sooner or later he would
find help.

As he passed through a stand of
mangroves, Jeff spotted something in the distance. There was a
large sailboat anchored outside the reef! As he looked closer, he
realized that it was actually an old-style sailing ship. “It must
be that pirate adventure ship they do the tourist cruises on,” he
thought to himself. Jeff paddled harder, not wanting the ship to
pull anchor before he could get to it. He could see people on deck
and he started yelling to them. “Hello!” “I need help!”

The occupants of the ship apparently
had heard him as there was a great commotion on the ship. Jeff
paddled the remaining few hundred yards to the side of the vessel
and grabbed hold of a cargo net that was hanging down. Things were
now quiet up on the deck. “Hello?” Jeff called. “Can somebody help
me?” he shouted. He looked up and saw a hand hanging out over the
side of the railing waving him upward. Jeff thought it was a
strange way to greet someone calling for help, but shrugged it off.
He tied the kayak to the end of the net and started to
climb.

When he reached the top of the net, he
looked over the top rail and found himself looking into the barrel
of a pistol held by a large man with a thick, scraggly beard and a
long scar running down the side of his face. “Get aboard and do not
be makin’ any sudden moves,” the gravelly-voiced man holding the
gun ordered. Jeff swung his leg over the railing and stood up on
the deck of the ship. In front of him were several grimy-looking
men in tattered clothing. Some held flintlock pistols while others
brandished knives or short swords.

“Wow, you guys really get into
character!” Jeff exclaimed.

“State yer business!” the scar-faced
man growled.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your tour,”
Jeff said apologetically. “I was out in my kayak yesterday when a
storm came up and swept me down the coast. I’m totally lost. Can
you help me get back to Sandy Bay? I don’t have any money with me,
but I’d be happy to pay you when I get back to my guest
house.”

The man turned toward his shipmates
and asked, “What gibberish he be talkin’?” They all just looked at
him blankly and shrugged. “Methinks he’s had a bit too much rum!”
he laughed.

Jeff was becoming annoyed. “Look, I
really need some help. I know you’ve got a show to do for the
tourists, but could you step out of character for just one…” Jeff
paused as he looked around and realized there were no tourists on
the deck. As a sinking feeling came over him, he realized that this
was no tourist ship. “Uh, yeah, too much rum!” Jeff nodded. “I
really don’t remember much. Where am I?”

“Ye be on our fine ship,
the
Wandering Wench
,” the scarred man replied.

“And where is this?” Jeff said,
gesturing out at the land.

“The island of Roatan. More precisely,
around that point be Port Royal,” came the gruff reply.

Although what Jeff was
thinking was impossible, he hesitantly asked the question that was
screaming in his mind,
“Would you tell me
what year this is?”

“Ye hear that mates, he not even be
knowin’ what year it be! Well, me drunken friend, it be the year of
our Lord sixteen hundred and eighty-eight.” Some of the men
snickered as the words registered in Jeff’s brain.

“1688! Um, yeah, of course it’s 1688,”
Jeff said, hoping he was dreaming.

“Now who might ye be?” the scar-faced
man asked, bringing the pistol closer to Jeff’s face.

“My name is Jeff…”

“Be ye English?”

“No, American…”

“What?!” the man growled.

“I mean, yes, I’m English! American is
my, uh, it’s my last name!”

“What be ye doin’ in yer skivvies, Mr.
American?”

“My skivvies?” Jeff
quickly realized that his swim trunks and t-shirt were a little
unusual for 17
^th
century attire. “Oh, yes, I fell in the water
during the storm and had to take off my other clothes so I didn’t
get pulled down.”

“What be yer business
here?”

“I, uh…”

“Might ye be here to spy on us and
steal our booty?”

“No, no, definitely not! I’m a
traveler and I got caught in the storm...”

“Methinks ye be a spy! Gentlemen,
secure the prisoner in the hold and the Captain can decide his fate
when he returns from Port Royal.” Several of the other men advanced
on Jeff and dragged him below deck, shackling him to a beam before
leaving him in the darkness of the ship’s hold.

“What the hell is going on?” Jeff
thought to himself. He figured he must be dreaming, but it was all
so real! He could hear the men up on deck going about their work
and water lapping at the sides of the wooden hull. Thin lines of
sunlight shined through the spaces in the deck planks above him.
Nearby he could hear the scuttling noises of what he guessed to be
rats moving around him in the cargo. The best case scenario was
that this was indeed just a dream, but as much as he wanted to
believe that, he knew deep down that this was all real. He somehow
had been transported to 1688, and he had no idea how to get back to
his own time. An even more pressing concern was that if the ship’s
captain thought he was there to spy on them, there was a good
chance he’d be killed! These thoughts occupied his mind for quite
some time until he heard the men arguing on the deck above. He then
heard footsteps coming down the stairway to the hold. The door was
unlocked and several of the crew seized him, unlocked his shackles
and dragged him up on deck.

As two men held him on either side,
the large scar-faced man from before stepped up in front of Jeff
and said, “We decided not to wait fer the Captain. It be me
judgment that you be a spy. Ordinarily, we be hangin’ ye straight
away, but methinks ye shall provide us with some entertainment
first!”

Jeff started to plead, “I’m not a spy,
I’m just…”

“Silence!” the man boomed. “Ye shall
be given a chance. All ye have to do is be victorious in a fair
fight and ye shall be spared.” Turning to the crew, he yelled,
“Lads, who wishes to fight our spy?” A huge uproar ensued, with
nearly every crew member vying to be selected. The scar-faced man
looked from man to man and finally settled on one. “Mr. Harrison it
is!” he yelled to a round of cheers from the crew.

Harrison was a tall, muscular man who
stepped in front of Jeff bearing a menacing smile and a sword as
the rest of the crew backed up, forming a large circle around them.
“Get the spy a means to defend himself!” ordered the scar-faced
man. With that, one of the crew pulled a mop from a bucket and
threw it head first into Jeff’s face, eliciting a burst of laughter
from the others.

The dirty water stung Jeff’s eyes, but
his adrenaline was pumping and he quickly grasped the mop as a
fighting staff. “You call this a fair fight?!” he yelled, as
Harrison began making cuts in the air with his sword.

“As fair as it gets for a spy!” the
scar-faced man shouted back. Jeff knew that pleading with them was
hopeless, and realized his best hope of survival was to use the
fighting skills he had developed in his several years of martial
arts training. He also knew that surprise would be his best ally,
so he decided to look as pitiful as possible wielding his mop and
hope that Harrison would be caught off-guard.

Jeff held the mop head out in front of
him as Harrison advanced, slicing the air repeatedly with his sword
as he neared. As Jeff had hoped, Harrison’s first attack move was
to slice the head off of the mop handle, leaving a reasonably good
fighting staff. But Jeff had no illusions. Harrison’s blade was
razor-sharp and he was obviously an experienced swordsman. Jeff
moved his grip on the mop handle so that he could attempt to block
and parry with both the middle and ends of the staff. Harrison
moved in with his sword blade over his right shoulder and directed
a downward slice. Jeff raised the mop handle just in time to
deflect the sword enough to avoid being cut, but the blade easily
cleaved the handle in two. Jeff stepped back holding half of the
mop handle in each hand as the pirate crew laughed. Harrison was
looking very pleased with himself with a big smirk on his face, but
his expression was about to change.

Without hesitation, Jeff lightly
tossed the two pieces of mop handle into the air in front of him
and caught them at the ends. Harrison raised his sword, but it was
too late. John quickly closed the distance between them, jamming
Harrison’s arms with the stick in his left hand and striking the
other hard against Harrison’s temple. He immediately followed with
an elbow to Harrison’s face, as he pivoted to disarm the swordsman.
Jeff pushed Harrison’s arms down to meet his knee coming up. With a
sickening crunch of bone, the swordsman dropped his weapon as he
let out a scream of pain. Jeff pivoted again as he shot the ends of
his sticks upward at Harrison’s head, catching his throat between
them as if caught between the blades of a giant pair of scissors.
Jeff pushed forward and the pirate stumbled back as the circle of
his ship mates scattered behind him. Harrison’s back came to rest
against the wall of a cabin at the rear of the deck. Jeff
simultaneously lifted up and squeezed the ends of the sticks
together to place pressure on the pirate’s carotid arteries. As
Harrison slumped to the deck unconscious, Jeff heard the sound of
guns being cocked behind him.