Red Sand Read Online Free PDF Page A

him.
    The prow of the lifeboat pushed the bag under. It was so close that, looking up, he couldn't see who was inside. He let out a woefully ineffective scream, not at all what he’d been practicing. The prow swerved. Strong hands reached out, took hold of him, and hauled him on-board. 
     
    For five minutes, he was just glad to be out of the water. He gasped as if he’d been dog paddling the whole time. There were four survivors already in the boat – two women and two men. He thanked them, laughing, smiling. He recognized one of them as the Steward who’d shared his table only a few hours before. “Carter, isn’t it?”
    “Yes, and you’re Howard, right?”
    “What happened?”
    “How should I know?”
    “Aren’t you on the crew?”
    “I was sleeping in my quarters. Next thing I know, I’m in the water and these boys are fishing me out.” Carter tossed his thumb toward their mysterious saviors.
    Two men paddled the boat through the wreckage.  They spoke not a word. Don’t lifeboats have motors?
    At first glance, under the circumstances, Howie expected to find some kind of natives. Under the moonlight, their tanned hides and woven hats might have given him that impression. He quickly realized they were not. First of all, both men had white hair. They looked too young for white hair. Second, they were Caucasian. They obviously got plenty of sunlight. Their skin was tight as a belt, but their wide eyes and sharp noses gave them away. These were not people borne of sunny climes. Then there was the clothing. Tucked under the benches, their feet were shod in tennis shoes. In fact, just now the man in front reached over to toss a floating shoe into the boat. Now they’re rescuing shoes? Their tattered clothes were definitely manufactured. One wore what appeared to have been jeans in a former life. The other sported a Speedo. It actually still said "Speedo". They wore t-shirts. Most telling of all, their wide-brimmed hats were not of straw, but braided plastic strips. Some of them still bore an imprint that looked like potato chip bags.
    “I can’t thank you enough for saving us,” he said to the man paddling in the prow. “What brings you way out here anyway?”
    Silence.
    “Well, I see you’re busy and I appreciate it. I’d love to thank you properly when you have time. What’s your name?”
    Silence. The man wouldn’t even turn toward him. “Maybe you don’t speak my language. I hope I can make myself clear when I say…” The words caught in his throat. The man turned to reveal a leathery face with unnatural wrinkles. A black maw opened, hissing. Cavities dotted stained teeth, and a foul odor emanated from engorged tonsils. Inside that dark, moist space was a stump of black flesh where a tongue should have been. Spit pooled below the stump. Wild yellow eyes stood out to create a most horrifying effect. Howie shrank back, and the man turned back to his rowing.
    "Don't bother asking for names," said Carter. "These guys don't talk."
    “He has no... He can’t speak because…”  Howie stuttered. Splashing water interrupted him. They neared someone else, a man. The White Hairs rowed close, and Carter and Howie pulled him in, Howie less so as his bulked tipped the boat dangerously whenever he leaned.
    Their new guest lay at the bottom gasping, grateful, and naked.
    “Hey!” shouted Carter, frightening everyone as he pointed at the man. “I know you! You’re the guy who left with the Lady in Red last night, right? Did you get lucky?”
    The man stared at him. His expression was clear. Plucked from certain death the first question he faced was about a tryst? No “How are you, are you okay”? He pulled himself to a sitting position and turned toward the ocean. “I think all of us got lucky.”
    “Howie,” said Howie, thrusting out a pudgy hand, relieved that this man could talk.
    “Mason,” said the man, extending his own hand. “Who else is here?”
    The theme for the evening seemed to be