5
“Ahoy! I’ve got a flare,” Vivian’s voice sang out loud and clear over the intercom.
Harvey’s eyes actually hurt from the entire hour they’d been quartering back and forth across the violent waves searching for any sign. The silence had been as echoing as that long-ago day by the Catalina Island pier. The whine of the engines, the beat of the rotor, and the howl of the wind did little to penetrate the wall of six people’s lives at stake.
Now a flare. Someone had survived. The helo must have finally flown close enough for the blacked-out boat to have spotted them.
In moments, they were hovering above the pitching craft. It was still afloat, but that was about all it had going for it. The waves—now at least the three stories tall of Sea State 7—were washing it end-to-end. All semblance
