The following is an excerpt from the Mike Scott thriller Wreck of the Huron. 

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In their tight confines, Mike held Sarah around the waist to keep her steady while she prepared to push her scuba gear over her head into the opening. She wrapped her leg around his while she got everything into position. For a moment, Mike’s mind wandered again, but this time he was thinking about something more immediate — the feel of her skin on his. Sarah must have sensed his thoughts because this time she looked him in the eyes again. She was still smiling, but this time there was a different expression on her face. She squeezed his arm tightly and nodded.

After a moment, she released her grip and began looking upward again. She pushed her gear ahead of her with one hand and her dive light in the other. Mike watched as Sarah’s scuba cylinder and buoyancy jacket slipped through the hole, followed by her head and then her shoulders. In a moment, she was completely out of sight.

It must go up further than it looked, Mike thought to himself. He sat still, waiting and watching for what felt like 10 minutes, but was probably no more than a few seconds. Then, Sarah’s head reappeared back down through the hole. She motioned for him to come up.

Mike repeated the steps Sarah had just gone through. He unbuckled the buoyancy jacket that kept the scuba gear and air cylinder in place and then bundled it all together in tight package. He kept the regulator in his mouth and turned the scuba unit upside down. To give him the most room to move around the top of the unit had to stay close to his face. He pushed the bottom end of the cylinder through the hole first and then began swimming up after it.

The hole had been a tight fit for Sarah. Mike knew it was going to be tougher for him to fit his broad shoulders through the space into the cave above. Mike just hoped it opened up quickly once he was through the hole. Keeping his arms above his head helped him narrow his profile slightly. He felt the rocks scrape against his arms and shoulders. Mike was afraid he was going to get stuck for a moment until he felt Sarah grab his arm and pull him through the sticking point. With that, he was in the cave. It was only in his imagination, but he almost thought he heard a pop when he cleared the narrow opening.

Mike quickly realized he was seated on a rock in three feet of water. His head had broken the water’s surface. Sarah was standing up. She had taken her regulator out of her mouth and was taking off her fins.

“Are you nuts?” Mike shouted. “The air might not be safe to breathe!”

“You’re breathing it now, too,” Sarah replied, her eyes dancing.

“Only after I saw you doing it,” Mike grumbled.

“I knew you were right behind me. If I passed out, you could get me out of here,” Sarah reasoned. “One of us had to test it.”

“Fine. But next time at least let me get through the hole first,” Mike said.

“Sure. Next time you and I wiggle into an air-filled sea cave, I’ll let you be the one to test the air,” Sarah laughed.

“You better,” Mike said smiling.

“If you’re finished being grumpy, take a look around.”

“Pffft.” Mike snorted, but he did shine his light toward the ceiling of the cave. It was much higher than he expected, rising at least 15 feet over the water level. It was larger than he expected, too. Toward the back of the cave, he could see what looked like an opening into another room. The floor was mostly flat, almost worn smooth.

He turned to face the front of the cave, where it should have been open to the outside. What he saw confirmed that the once-open cave had definitely been closed off. He had no way of knowing if it was closed intentionally, or if it was a natural rock slide, but the opening was filled with rocks and other rubble.

Sarah pulled herself out of the water and laid her gear beside the opening to the pool. Mike pushed his dive gear toward her and she lifted it out too. Mike climbed out beside it. The air inside the cave was cool, but neither of them was uncomfortable even though they were dripping wet.

“Let’s take a quick look around, but we can’t stay in here too long. The guys outside will freak out,” Mike said.

“Agreed,” Sarah said, already in motion with her light pointed at the ceiling. “Look at this. Are these cave paintings?”

“I’ve read about pre-Columbian paintings in some caves in this area,” Mike said. “They looked similar to these. The ones I read about were only discovered after the beginning of the 20^th century, though.”

“That could mean this cave was closed off before then. When did you say the Huron wrecked again?” Sarah asked.

“It went down in 1877. I know what you’re thinking and it makes sense. If the cave was where the Huron was headed but never made it, maybe they closed it off,” Mike agreed. “I wish I had brought my camera along.”

“We didn’t quite know we were going to go cave exploring today, after a quick dive and cave penetration,” Sarah said with a smirk.

“It never occurred to me to grab my underwater housing for my camera gear,” Mike agreed. “We’ll have to come back later.”

They looked around the small cave room but saw nothing else of significance. The walls looked like they had been eroded over time, making them nearly smooth. The roof of the cave was egg-shaped with the fat, rounder part of the egg ending in the water.

“Do you want to check out the next room?” Sarah asked, gesturing toward the small opening near the floor.

Mike shined his light at the opening for the first time. It was nearly three feet high and rounded. But Mike immediately realized there was a problem. The hole was blocked.

“We’re not going through that way,” he said.

“Why not? Oh. I couldn’t see that before,” Sarah said as she moved closer.

Two feet inside the opening there was a flat wall. Sarah kneeled down and touched it. It was cool to the touch. Iron. It was a man-made plate of some kind.

“Does it move?” Mike asked as he kneeled down beside Sarah.

She pushed with one hand, and then with two, but the iron plate didn’t move at all.

“Let me try,” Mike said. He dropped onto his stomach so he could get a better angle to push with both hands. Nothing. He turned around and pushed with his feet. Still nothing. Mike kicked it, but all they heard was a hollow ringing sound.

“Just like a man, always going for brute force,” Sarah said with a chuckle.

“Checking to see if it’s rusted shut. Who knows, maybe I can break it free,” Mike said, but after Sarah’s teasing, he didn’t kick the plate again.

“Come here and look at this,” Sarah said, shining her light at the cold metal. “It almost looks like a key slot on this side.”

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Get your copy of Wreck of the Huron today, in softcover or Kindle. It is also part of the Mike Scott Boxed Set that includes the first five novels and two short stories.

The following is an excerpt from the Mike Scott thriller Wreck of the Huron. 

###

Spray from the storm and the darkness of the night made it impossible to see more than a few feet for the men on the midnight watch. The Huron’s engines continued to plow through the heavy surf and the sails still aloft were about one third filled with gale winds as they made their way down the coast. It was slow going, but the stout ship battered its way past North Carolina.

At 1 o’clock, Master French, the midnight watch officer ordered the ship to heave to for a moment to check the depth under the keel and confirm their location. Within moments the crew reported 10 fathoms and French duly relayed the number to Commander Ryan who was standing at the door to the bridge.

“Thank you, French,” Ryan said.

“Why don’t you get some rest, sir?” French asked.

“Once we clear this storm I will, French. Not yet, though. This area is treacherous.”

“Very well, sir,” French said. He knew the commander was simply keeping watch on his ship, not doubting French’s abilities. With that acknowledgement, French turned to the helmsman and ordered the Huron into motion.

“Let’s get her moving again Mr. Denig. Four bells to the engine room, please. I want to pull through these seas,” French ordered.

“Helmsman, let her come off a point on the helm. I’d like to get out a bit from the beach just to make sure,” the navigator Lieutenant Palmer ordered.

The matter-of-fact business of the bridge made it all the more surprising when the Huron struck bottom, violently throwing men and loose equipment forward.

“Hard down!” Ryan shouted as he struggled to stand back up after being thrown against the navigator’s table. There was a collective gasp as a wave passed below the ship, lifting it off the bottom for a brief moment, only to be followed by the second crash as the keel landed on the bottom causing her to begin to roll onto her starboard side. The ship was in instant chaos as men shouted and attempted to reach the upper decks, vainly trying to discover what happened.

“Are we aground?”

“What happened?”

“Help me I’m stuck!”

“Get the commander!”

With each wave that passed, the jarring of the hull against the bottom was lessened — only because the ship was run further aground and was lifted less and less.

“Stop the engines!” Ryan ordered from the bridge. “Palmer, find out if we still have steam in the boilers. I want to see if we can back her out of here before the hull gets holed.”

Master French pulled back on the throttle, signaling the engineer to stop the engines. Palmer left his station to yell down the hatch to the engine room below.

“Can you back her, engineer?” Palmer asked.

“We’ve got full steam on all the engines. Yes, we can,” Chief Engineer Loomis replied.

“Make it happen, Mr. Loomis,” Palmer ordered.

“Mr. French, save the ship’s log. We’ve probably foundered on Nags Head. Mr. Palmer, please sound the distress whistle. We’re going to need some help,” Ryan said, taking charge of the bridge. “Get all hands on deck and batten down the hatches. Get those sails lowered.”

Within moments, French reported back to the bridge that the captain’s office where the ship’s log was stored was filled with water, being on the starboard side.

“Very well,” Ryan acknowledged. “Lieutenant Simons, order the fore mast cut away, please. Maybe we can right this ship without the added weight.”

“I will make it happen immediately,” Simons said, leaving across the angled deck to organize the men.  The Huron was over on her side, at about 40 degrees.

Night swallowed the dying ship as the storm tossed wind and waves over the deck. The clouds above obscured any moonlight leaving it pitch black. Lanterns on the ship were extinguished to prevent fire in the heaving wood.

“Mr. Palmer, where are we? I need to know how far from land we are to gauge when help will arrive,” Ryan asked.

“Commander, my charts showed us well off the coast, but one of the men reported two rocks directly ahead of our position. They are saying we are solid on the beach,” Palmer reported.

“Where? Show me, Mr. Palmer.”

Ryan and Palmer ventured forward through the gangway to look past the ship toward what they were just realizing was the beach.

“My God! How did we get in here?” Ryan asked.

“I’m not sure, sir. All of our navigation shows us well out to sea,” Palmer replied.

The men could see the white foam of wind-tossed waves crashing on the beach less than 200 yards away, the thick spray making it hard to see.

“The good thing about this is help should arrive quickly. We may lose the ship, but we shouldn’t lose any lives over this,” Ryan said, shaking his head. “It’s a terrible loss. What time is it, Mr. Palmer?”

“It’s about 2 a.m sir.”

“Tell the men to hang on. Help should be coming soon, but let’s see if we can get some of the men to safety. Lower the cutter and try to get a line to shore to send men across.”

When the Huron went down on her starboard side, the port life boats were tangled in the rigging making them useless. The ship itself crushed the starboard side boats. Within just a few moments, Master Conway reported to the captain the status of the one functioning boat.

“Sir, the cutter is in the water and ready to go. We’ve tied her fast with a line. I would like permission to take her into the shore,” Conway said.

“Go ahead, Conway,” Ryan agreed. “But be careful. The surf is getting rougher.”

“Yes, sir,” Conway agreed. He turned and made his way along the slanted deck calling for volunteers to help him row the small cutter to the shore. He quickly organized five men to help him and they assembled at the railing. Conway reached out for the small craft to bring it in close so the men could board. As he did, a wave broke over the port side of the Huron, knocking men down and throwing the ship further on her side for a moment. Just as quickly as the wave hit, the small cutter swamped and disappeared below the waves.

The tide was coming in and making the sea more dangerous. Water was creeping up the deck as well. When the Huron first went down on her side, the water was at the edge of the railing, but as time went on, the sea climbed higher. Waves continued to batter the ship. Just before sunrise, the men had had too much and the pounding of the waves was not lessening. Men began to be swept from the deck and into the churning black water below them. No help had yet arrived from the lifesaving service on the beach.

“You there,” Conway shouted to a seaman on the deck. “Give me your life preserver. I will try to swim in and get help. “

“I can’t do that Master Conway. I can’t swim!” the man shouted over the waves and out of fear.

“If this keeps up, none of us will make it…” Conway’s reply was drowned out by a blast of ocean wave that broke across the deck, knocking him from the rigging and into the water below.

Conway barely had time to grab a breath before he was plunged into the cold ocean and dragged immediately under the black surface. He was unsure of which way was up, simply struggling against the pressure holding him down. His heart was pounding as adrenaline surged in his veins. Before being tossed into the water he was on the edge of exhaustion — cold and tired from the night’s torment. He knew one thing in his mind, he wasn’t going to die. Or at least not without a fight.

His head broke the surface and he struggled to breathe as he wiped the salt from his face. He tried to get his bearings as a wave crashed on top of him, crushing him back below the surface and tossing him head over heels. He felt his clothes ripped from his body as he continued to tumble. Panic was rising in his mind as his breath ran short. He had to get to the surface, he needed air. He began to fight, and struggle, kicking with every ounce of energy he had left. His head swam from the exertion and lack of air in his lungs. His body ached and his mind grew sluggish.

It didn’t register at first when his knees hit the sand and he realized his head was out of the water. He had been tossed onto the beach by the waves. Men grabbed his arms, lifting him up and dragging his naked body across the sand. Local fishermen carried him to a small hut where he found three other sailors from the Huron.

“Mr. Conway,” one of the sailors reported to the watch officer after the fishermen loaned him some clothes. “The locals tell us there is a lifesaving station about three miles down the beach from here. But, it’s closed for the season and they say they won’t break into it.”

“What of the Commander? Any sign of Commander Ryan or the other officers?” Conway asked.

“None at all, Mr. Conway. I heard they tried to make it to shore, but no one has seen them come up the beach.”

“Very well then, Mr. Young. Take whatever men you can find and break down the doors. Get the mortar and get back here. Men are being swept from the ship and lost. We have to get them help,” Conway replied to the young ensign. “I’ll do what I can from here. I’ll drag the men out of the surf.”

“It’s a miracle you made it through the surf, Mr. Conway. The undertow is so strong,” Young replied.

“If any of the men are at all exhausted, there is no way they will live. Get that lifesaving equipment and get back here as quickly as you can,” Conway said as he started down the beach toward the water’s edge.

The sun was beginning to rise over the water by the time the men made it back to the wreck site with the lifesaving mortar, designed to fire a safety line with a grappling hook from the beach to the ship. Any men still on board could have used a harness and made their way to safety. The men never fired the mortar, though. No one was left on board alive.

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Get your copy of Wreck of the Huron today, in softcover or Kindle. It is also part of the Mike Scott Boxed Set that includes the first five novels and two short stories.

The following is an excerpt from the Mike Scott thriller Wreck of the Huron. 

###

The air was chaos. Hurricane winds pushed the rain sideways and roared past like a freight train with no stops in sight. Boards from old houses, palm fronds and sand blew around as Mike and Sarah ran through the night looking for shelter — both from the weather and from the men chasing them.

It was almost pitch dark, but the night sky was punctuated by flashes of light as lightning shot over their heads. Sixty feet away, a power transformer exploded and the darkness deepened.

“In there. I think we’ll be safe!” Mike shouted, pointing to the remains of a small house.

“Anything has to be better than this,” Sarah yelled back as she ran onto the broken-down porch of the small bungalow. She grabbed the door handle and pulled the old door open in one motion. The wind caught it and nearly wrenched it from her hand as they jumped inside. With effort, they got the door closed

Inside they surveyed their surroundings and realized the house had been abandoned for a long time. The furnishings were toppled and strewn about. The windows were broken. Rain leaked through holes in the roof. But it was still better to be out of the wind and rain for a moment. At least they could talk without screaming.

“Do you think they followed us out into the storm?” Sarah asked after she caught her breath, leaning against the wall.

“Don’t know. Probably best if we don’t wait to find out,” Mike said.

“I’m not too thrilled about going back out into a hurricane right now,” Sarah said, looking through the broken window as the remnants of an aging curtain flapped in the wind, her sodden clothes glued to her body. “My arm is killing me.”

Mike was still up and was moving around, checking out the house. “I wish I could do more to help you with that arm. I know it must be pretty tough to keep it in a sling when you’re running for your life. When we get out of this I’ll find a way to make them pay for that. ”

“It’s not your fault, Mike. They knew they would never get you to tell them anything. Easier to hurt me and get to you. Always the way it goes with you tough guys,” Sarah rationalized. “Hurts like hell, though. And you’ll have to stand in line behind me to get some payback for it.”

The men chasing them had used Sarah as leverage to get to Mike, slowly twisting and finally breaking her arm. He had fashioned a makeshift sling for her when they escaped, but it wasn’t enough to keep it steady…definitely not while running. He knew it had to be killing her, but she refused to complain.

Mike explored the two-room shack, moving into the kitchen to see if there was anything they could use as a weapon or to communicate with their friends on the research ship. They weren’t going to be able to last forever without help. When the storm passed, they would still be on the run.

“Hold on, it looks like this house has a storm cellar. If it’s solid, it’ll keep us safer than up here,” Mike said as he pulled on the small door built a few steps down from the kitchen. The angled door seemed to point straight into the ground.

“How does it look?” Sarah asked. She stood and began to follow, then hesitated at the top of the steps. Mike eased his way down the narrow steps with their one slowly-dying flashlight. The room was built into the earth below the house with wooden walls to keep the sandy soil from collapsing. The ceiling was so low that Mike couldn’t come close to standing up. The air was musty and stale, but dry.

“Looks solid,” he called from below. “I definitely think this is going to be safer than staying up there. We’ll be out of the wind and away from prying eyes,” He waited for a response that didn’t come. “Come on down.” He shone the light on the steps while Sarah began climbing down, gingerly holding onto the wall with one hand while she cradled her injured arm against her body.

Sarah was on the third step when her instincts told her it was time to move. She leaped forward into the small, dark room. A fierce wind from the storm slammed the angled storm cellar door shut behind her.

“Did I suggest diving in?” Mike asked with a laugh as he lay sprawled on the floor where Sarah had tackled him.

“You made it sound so appealing I just couldn’t wait to join you. You know how I am,” she said with a chuckle as she rolled away, and then hissed from the pain in her broken arm. She moved to sit up, but Mike held his arms around her for a minute.

“Do you really think this is the time and the place for that?” Sarah asked, looking at Mike through the dim light and dust.

“Probably not, but it felt pretty good,” Mike said, relaxing his hold and helping her to sit up. He watched Sarah move in the half-light for a minute before he half-stood up to examine their surroundings — his 6’2” frame filling up the room.

Sarah began moving around the cramped, musty cellar, looking through shelves and behind boxes with only the dim light from Mike’s light to see. Mike moved up the steps toward the door. He turned the knob but nothing happened. He pushed against it and then shoved upward with his shoulder, bracing on the steps below. Nothing.

“We’re not getting out this way any time soon. Part of the house must have fallen against it,” Mike said.

“Then we aren’t getting out at all. That’s the only way out. No back doors,” Sarah said. “I did find some candles, though. Got any matches?”

“No such luck.”

“It’s going to be a dark, wet night until this storm passes,” Sarah said. “Maybe we’ll see another opening in the light of the day. I see lightning flashes through cracks in the ceiling from time to time. We’ll find a way to get out when we can see something.”

She slumped down to the floor with her back to a wooden wall. Mike moved toward her and placed his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him and they sat still for a few minutes, listening to the wind and rain howling and crashing above them.

“Are we going to make it through this?” Sarah asked during a lull in the clamor.

“Of course we are,” Mike said, doing his best to lighten the mood. “If we don’t, you can tell me I was wrong.”

“Very funny.”

“Who knows? Maybe those guys chased us out into the storm and they’ll get killed,” Mike said, trying to sound reasonable. “It could save us the trouble.”

“That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” Sarah said, looking up with a sparkle coming back in her eye. “Although it would be a little disappointing – I wouldn’t get my revenge.”

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Get your copy of Wreck of the Huron today, in softcover or Kindle. It is also part of the Mike Scott Boxed Set that includes the first five novels and two short stories.