Fury of the Storm

Myrtle Beach, South Carolina Christopher still stared toward shore, but periodically, his gaze slipped to where what looked like a jet ski was engaged in a methodical search of every boat within a mile of shore. He could not help but wonder if it was Matthew.

Damn, Spencer, why aren't you calling me back to let me know what's going on? Christopher had searched the boat from top to bottom and inside to out. There were no weapons of any kind aboard…absolutely nothing to protect himself with. He released a frustrated sigh. Another stupid move on my part. His gaze strayed to where Kristy's photograph still stuck out of the groove in the yard arm. He had lied to himself before; the picture did not make him feel any less alone. In fact, if anything, it reminded of how alone he really was.

Christopher performed a slow, one hundred eighty degree turn upon the sound of an approaching engine. It could be that jet ski, he mused. Or it could be Matthew Fox. He could see nothing in the blanket of darkness that surrounded him and, as was common on out on the ocean, he could not even tell for sure which direction the noise was coming from.

The sound was getting louder though, and was beginning to more closely resemble an inboard hotrod engine than a jet ski. He relaxed, if only a little.

Suddenly, when the volume of the engine was almost ear-splitting, the boat came into view. Spencer's telltale orange hat was the first thing Christopher saw. He smiled and breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe Matthew Fox was in jail… Christopher leaned over the railing to grab the bow of the ski boat. "Where'd you get this?" He laughed. "This thing is a hotrod."