Treasure Tracks, page 7
“You’re right, but he has no choice now but to accept help from the hospital staff.”
“You mean pee time with nurse?”
“Enough. I don’t want to hear any more of your nonsense or complaints. Sly goes or I don’t go.”
“Hmph…”
“And wipe the snarl off your face. Be polite to him, you understand?”
I slammed the car door and headed toward the dock, ready for combat.
“Need a hand there?” Sly moved to grab my duffel when I reached the boat.
“I got it,” I barked.
“Suit yourself, chief.” He flicked a cigarette butt onto the ocean.
Dad cleared his throat. “Um. I have to insist. No smoking in front of Fin, please. Or in front of me.”
“Yeah, these things will kill you. But something’s gotta, right?”
Dad nodded and accepted Sly’s hand as he came aboard. He balanced himself, one leg at a time, stepping onto the hull.
“How long you been diving?” Sly asked me.
“Got certified a couple of weeks ago.”
“No wonder your dad got me tagging along. Dangerous out here for little kids who ain’t got experience.” He took off his sunglasses, unmasking dark pits in the depths of his eyes. Worse yet, revealing a long, jagged scar above his left eyebrow. I decided that only the edge of a knife could cause a wound like that.
It all played out in my mind. Captain Sly, terror of the seas, evil pirate, and stealer of treasure. An eye patch covered his scar, and he had a hook in place of his right hand. He waved around a sword and bellowed, “Surrender the booty!”
Even his tattoos spelled trouble. They weren’t the nice kind like Abuelo’s anchor. A half-naked woman surrounded by flames decorated his right arm, and a mean-looking sea serpent wound its way around his left biceps.
How could Dad possibly think this guy was okay?
Sly cleared his throat, bringing me back to the present. “I got ’er tanks filled up, enough for two hours. Where ya thinking of heading? I can suggest some real pretty reefs. Water still ain’t too clear after the hurricane, but who am I to judge if you folks in a hurry to go out?”
“Fin’s in charge of our destination.” Dad shot me an exaggerated smile. He had to know I’d be super annoyed at Sly’s little kid comment.
“So where to, Fin?” Sly prodded. “Seems your wish is my command.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.
Dad kept right on smiling.
I jumped onto the boat and sat in front of the steering wheel before Sly could reach it. “I’ll drive. It’s my grandfather’s boat, and he doesn’t like strangers touching it.”
“As you wish.” Sly grinned in his annoying way. “As long as your daddy allows.”
Grrrr …
Dad nodded.
I shot arrows at them both with my glare before turning the key to the engine—hard right. First time back on Abuelo’s boat, first time without him, and I had to share the ride with this poser.
Not the way I pictured it all going down in my mind. Dad had already found a way to betray me.
Sly leaned over and untied our lines from the wood mooring posts. “You figure out the where-to yet?” He pushed off from the dock. “Guess it don’t matter much ’cause ya got me on the clock.”
“You’ll see,” I snapped.
“All right, kid. Makes my job—”
I jerked the boat forward while Sly coiled the ropes into a neat pile.
Ha. Ha. He lost his footing and slipped two feet toward the stern.
“Easy there, cowboy,” Sly said.
“He’s right, Fin,” Dad warned. His knuckles had turned white from holding on to the arms of his seat. “You want to keep driving. Go nice and slow.”
I scowled, shifting down to lowest gear, and pointing the bow north. Back to where Abuelo and I meant to search. Before things had so quickly gotten out of control.
I’d come this far convincing Dad to take me out. I had to make things right. No way I’d let Sly ruin it all. I’d find a way around this hiccup in my plans.
* * *
After a thirty-minute ride, I cut off the engines and drifted in near Rodriguez Key. It’d been a silent trip, but with the noise of the motors turned off, Sly’s nosiness switched on again.
Where are you going? What are you looking for? His questions didn’t stop.
I pulled at my hair. Mind your own business!
“Dropping anchor here” was my only response.
“You ain’t gonna see much of anything out this way.” Still, Sly jumped to action, pretending to be all helpful. He crawled up to the bow to toss out the weight and hooked up the Diver Down flag announcing to the world what we’d be doing. “Nice coral reefs close by. I could get us there in five minutes.”
Who asked you? I fought to keep my voice steady. Keep my eyes on the prize, as Abuelo often said. “This is where I’d like to dive.”
“Suit yourself, kid. But don’t complain when you ain’t see nothin’ but sand.”
And hopefully, you ain’t see nothing but me disappearing in front of you. Tsk. Tsk.
Quick as I could, I strapped on the BCD vest and tank, along with mask and fins. I balanced the heavy load sitting on the rim of the boat, ready to hit the water. Escape.
“Right behind you.” Sly struggled to yank clingy black neoprene around his midsection and zip up his wetsuit.
“Wait for Sly,” Dad cautioned.
Not a chance … “I need space. To explore on my own.”
“Signal if you gots any trouble or equipment issues. Remember, most important sign. You go like this”—he moved his index finger across his throat—“if you got no air.”
Thanks for that, Captain Obvious.
Dad shot me a warning look. “Stay—”
My back splashed against the water, drowning out his words. And, darn it! When my head popped up, Sly was already beside me. He’d be hard to shake.
“Gonna check on the anchor.” He motioned beneath the bow. “Don’t think it took. Wait here.”
Right. I’d show Sly how to do the Slippety—the Slippety Sly Shake. It’d be the only chance I’d get.
The second his head dipped under, I dove down, blowing out of my ears to equalize while my body plummeted.
Down. Down. Down.
I breathed in and out of the regulator, moderating the oxygen, and wiggled my torso imitating a dolphin. My black-and-yellow fins served as propellers, kicking behind me in furious strokes and cutting through current.
Bubbles trailed above as I skimmed grassy beds, passing occasional bursts of corals, their colors muted in the murky water, unsettled from the storm. A school of parrotfish—four, five, six—swam by in a blur of pinks and blues, welcoming me to the hidden depths of their underwater world. I jerked my head in a circular motion. Nothing but fish swam behind.
At last, I was free. Free to explore. Whee …
I took my time scouring every inch of ocean bottom, creating a square grid similar to what Great-Grandpapa had logged in his journals. This would be my plan, and I’d log each dive site into my journal—the one Abuelo gave me. I’d continue this way for miles and miles. Plot my coordinates. Chart my destiny. Save Abuelo. Find the family legacy. It all seemed foolproof. Till reality hit. It was a big, big sea with no riches to be found. At least not on this first dive.
An empty air tank later and my confidence whacked down a notch, the boat’s hull beckoned from above like a giant bathtub floating. Except there were two. Two boats. Two hulls. More curious than anything I’d seen below.
Sly appeared out of nowhere. He tapped on his watch and his index finger signaled up. The instruction was obvious. Time to go.
The moment I began to ascend, Sly yanked my heel, holding me in place. He made a stop sign with his hand and proceeded to slash through the water in an X stroke.
My mind sped up to match my pulse, skipping into high gear. He couldn’t mean X marks the spot, could he? Did he know? Or was he ready to slash me into pieces? I should’ve known better than returning near the spot where Abuelo’s heart took the wrong beat.
A buzzing sound carried down. I craned my neck to study the surface. This had to be the X Sly meant. Engines running above. Props were definitely not something to mess with. They’d be knife blades rotating. Sucking me in and chopping me into bits. Not a nice visual.
I followed his instruction and froze, even down to my breathing.
The other boat had no right invading our dive spot. The Diver Down flag we raised meant all boats had to maintain a three-hundred-foot distance. I studied this. Its presence here wasn’t even legal. It was deadly.
The second bathtub glided away on the ocean top.
Once the vessel moved out of sight, Sly loosened his grip and signaled me up again.
Upon breaking through the surface water, Dad treated me to a close encounter with his face. “Find any gold?” He leaned over the edge.
“Shhh. Sly’s right behind.”
“There you go again. I’m paying him to help you, not steal. You can’t go accusing everyone you meet.”
“He’s not everyone. He’s a pirate.” Though I had to admit, he did pass up the chance to feed me to the blades. Not that it’d do him much good yet. I had to lead him to the gold before he did away with me.
Dad snickered. “You’ve got an overactive imagination.”
“I know I didn’t imagine another boat. Why was there another one next to ours? I saw it from below.”
“A diver checking on us. Making sure we were okay.”
“But why—”
A splash to my side and Sly’s head popped out of the water. “Everything all right?”
“Super!” I climbed on board. “How’d you end up right next to me at the end?”
“Gave you space, but it’s what your daddy’s paying me for. Stay on your tail.”
“Indeed.” Dad gave Sly an approving nod.
“That it, kid?” Sly pulled himself up the ladder. “Got another set of tanks filled for one more dive. But like I said before, ain’t nothin’ down in these parts except for a school of parrotfish and the other boat not minding its business. We can head to the Christ of the Abyss statue. Most popular site this way.”
“Been there, and I know where I want to go,” I grunted, yanking up the anchor from my post on the bow.
Sly shrugged. “Suit yourself. Your daddy’s money.”
And Abuelo’s treasure, I almost said. How could I get rid of this creep?
11
JAGGED CLUE
A short distance away, I pulled up to a tiny island. The entire length of this deserted key measured less than a football field across. Mangroves barricaded the coastline, their tangle of brown roots plunging into the water like prison bars, warning: KEEP OUT.
I turned to Dad before cutting off the motor. “This is where I want to explore. Less than four feet.” I tapped the depth finder. “Easy to walk to shore. On my own…” I narrowed my eyes at Sly, sitting in the bow, his eyes hidden behind his mirrored sunglasses.
Dad scratched his chin, examining my face. “Hmm. Time to reapply.” He passed me the tube-o-torture.
Groan …
He addressed Sly. “This place seem safe to you?”
“Little risk from what I can see.”
“You can watch me from the boat,” I shot back before cannonballing off the side, and before Dad could find anything else to freak out about.
Bare feet connected with slimy ocean bottom. A mixture of mud and seaweed, sucking me in knee-deep like quicksand. I plowed on, circumventing the natural barriers until discovering a tiny wisp of sand on the far west side to serve as an entrance point.
After a few tries, I yanked my legs from the pool of muck gluing them to the ocean floor and came ashore. Only to find the island had another defensive barrier: hundreds, thousands, of sharp, broken shells lay scattered all over the sand. Spiky minefields guarding its shores. The aroma of ocean scum greeted me when I entered.
I hopped from foot to foot, balancing on tiptoe to avoid the tiny knife blades crunching beneath my toes. Shorebirds gathered around, watching my freakish dance in fascination.
I turned my face into a mask, erasing the stabs of pain, before waving back to Dad and shooting him a thumbs-up sign. For sure, he’d send Sly over with the giant first-aid kit if he knew about the cuts accumulating on my soles.
Pushing back branch after branch, I followed a narrow trail. The path gave way to roots and chunks of driftwood as I hiked deeper and deeper into the island. A few more steps and I’d reach the other side.
Ouch!
My toe exploded with pain, banging against a hard object. Another roadblock.
I bent down to examine my foot and my pulse went into overdrive. Nature didn’t make this. Only man could craft this corroding piece of steel rail. It was long and almost four inches wide. A thatch of lime-green seagrass and barnacles were attached to the metal. Maybe it had just been tossed ashore in the storm. One thing was sure, it was old. Almost one hundred years old.
The ancient piece of track could only be from Flagler’s railroad. How else would this wash out to sea and land in this remote area of the Keys?
My heart sped up, matching the speed of a real-life train racing across the old rail. Treasure could have landed here, too.
I brushed down the rug of seagrass to get a better look.
Yeow!
The jagged edge of a barnacle buried in the seagrass cut deep into my palm. Blood gushed out, dripping red splotches over the bed of green.
I had to stop the flow. Or … I could give in and crawl back to Dad. Surrender to his stupid first-aid kit.
Nah. Not happening. No way I’d give him that level of satisfaction. Control.
I tore off a long sleeve of my rash guard and wrapped it around my hand, tightening it into a knot. At least the pressure would stop most of the bleeding. Buy me a little time—long enough to finish exploring.
I had to try.
Within minutes, one thing did become clear. I wasn’t the first to discover this island. After examining every inch of ground, I turned up only discarded beer bottles and food wrappers.
If there was once treasure, whoever beat me here may have found it and left behind a pile of trash when they took off with the loot. Or not. I couldn’t stop exploring. The railroad track might only be a clue that I could be closer than ever to finding gold.
Sirena came into view. Sly had taken control of the wheel and was trolling around the key as though tracking my moves to the back side of the island where I stood.
“Let’s go!” Dad waved his arms high above his head. I nodded and he hooked the short dive ladder off his side of the boat.
I waded out and then swam a few yards to the idling boat. When I stepped back on board, Dad’s gaze froze on the bloodstained fabric tied around my hand. “Did something bite you?”
“Let me take a look-see.” Sly reached toward my hand.
I yanked it out of his reach and unwrapped the cloth, then waved my palm at them both. “A little scratch. Barnacle scrape.”
Dad went into semi-hysterical mode, grabbing the first-aid kit. “It’s deep. We need to disinfect and bandage.”
I’d never hear the end of this …
“Relax, Dad.”
“I’m not about to relax. Lift your feet. Why are you also trailing blood on the floor?”
“Just a few little cuts.” I shrugged. “Shells attacked my feet.”
“I let you go alone for fifteen minutes and look at all the trouble you got yourself into,” Dad fumed.
I sucked in my breath to accept his sting of antiseptic punishment.
“We need to head back to shore. Sly has another commitment—”
“Then dump him,” I hissed in his ear.
Sly pretended he hadn’t overheard my comment. “Anything out there that didn’t make you bleed, kiddo?”
None. Of. Your. Business. “Some washed-up Cassiopeas,” I lied. “We’re studying all about jellyfish in science class.”
“Huh,” Dad said, feigning interest. I’m one hundred percent sure he’d never heard of this species of upside-down jellyfish that could sting if you stepped on it. But now I’d given him one more reason not to step into nature himself.
“We’ll drop Sly off at the marina. You sure you can take the boat back to Abuelo’s from there?”
I rolled my eyes. “Haven’t you seen me driving all day?”
Sly offered his slimy half-smile. “You can always give me a shout on the radio if you get into any trouble. We can send out a rescue party.”
“Thanks, Sly. We’ll keep that in mind.” Dad thought Sly was being sincere, but I knew better. And Sly knew that I knew, which is why he kept it up.
He also knew how eager I was to get rid of him. And maybe he had started to sense why.
12
CATCH A TUBBER
Two weeks passed before I could convince Dad to take me diving again. Abuelo made progress in this time, though not the speaking kind. Still only croaks came out when he opened his mouth.
A few days after Dad and I returned, Abuelo rolled out of the hospital in a wheelchair … and rolled right into a rehabilitation facility. What smiley nurse explained to me in baby talk was that this was a place for him to get all better.
I wished it could be so, that I could flick a magic light switch and get him back, strong as he was before. At least I could turn on the switch at his home, now that electricity had been restored. Though I’d choose to live in the dark if it meant getting Abuelo home.
Friday after school—’cause yeah, that resumed—Dad dropped me off at Abuelo’s house. “You can get things organized. I’ve got a meeting to attend.”
Hmm … “In the Keys?”
“It’ll be quick. I’ll stop on my way home and pick up provisions.”
“Let me guess. Another flower shirt?”
“Don’t get smart with me,” Dad snapped. “Remember, I’m only here because of you.”
I slammed the passenger door a little harder than necessary before entering Abuelo’s house. It welcomed me with its usual cozy embrace as I flicked on the lights. The only sad part was that Abuelo wasn’t here to greet me, and we didn’t know when he would be back.
