Snippets

ATLANTIC STORM

A/N: The Wattlpad Adventure Community issued a challenge to construct a story in no more than 2000 characters - not words, but characters including spaces. 

The idea being to leave the reader wanting more. This is my entry to the competition and I'll be grateful for your  reads, comments and votes. Best Wishes  Hobnails.

I would like to dedicate this story to @bayaBLUE.Unfortunately the regular mechanism for doing so is not working for me and I have to do it this way.

ATLANTIC STORM

Chief Mate Alf Gray's concerns erupted into fear. The ship no longer battled the worsening storm, but was sliding between the waves instead of riding over them. He gripped the rails aft of the centre castle housing, attuning his senses to her creaks and motions.

A giant wave lifted the elderly vessel, heeling her thirty degrees to starboard. The ship hang there; not wanting to right herself. He hung on grimly to the rails as she canted. Drenched by icy spray and with his feet sliding from beneath him, a picture of his wife and four year old son raced through his mind as he grappled to prevent himself falling overboard. The manic screeching of the wind ripped at his face and clothes, drowning his scream.

"She's going."

The ship shuddered and attempted to come upright, but hung listed, as if it was saying. "This is too much. I'm too old for this."

Slowly she righted herself, with her bow rising ever higher as she climbed the next wave. Only to slough to one side, nose-diving into the following trough. Violent vibration carried through the ship as her propeller came out of the water, ending in a jarring crash as the bow struck the next wave.

MT Alva did not ride over this one. Its waters enveloped the vessel, pouring over the wheelhouse onto the maindeck behind, bringing the mainmast down with them. The ship slewed beam onto the waves. She was out of control. Something serious had occurred on the Bridge.

Alf's nostrils picked up the sickly sweet smell of fuel oil and he knew the cargo tanks were breached. Training kicked in, he moved beyond fear, and rushed to the Bridge. Water was everywhere in the accommodation. He sloshed through the mucky wetness and into a scene of utter desolation. The wheelhouse windows had stove in; seawater had devastated the Bridge. The captain and watchmen lay motionless on the deck like sacks of corn. The wheel spun freely from side to side. If the wheel and the engine telegraph still worked? He might yet be able to save the ship.