He scanned the gauges overhead. Water temperature, oil pressure, rpm on the tachometer were all in the normal range. The amp meter was erratic and read low but the engine was running. There was more than enough fuel to get there.
The smell dissipated as quickly as it came on.
His eyes darted back to the computer. The download was still in progress.
Seventy per cent.
Seventy-three.
There was no time to waste. He stepped out and around the deck to the fore and untied the mooring rope with his good arm. The boat butted against buffers on the pontoon as he hurriedly released the aft.
Back at the helm, he pushed the throttle forward and steered free. The hairs on his neck prickled. Something was wrong.
The laptop read eighty per cent downloaded.
Then he smelled smoke.
Eighty-four.
Beyond the laptop, a flash of light caught his eye. A fire had started in the aft.
If it took hold, the fuel tanks could ignite. In a split-second decision he grabbed the fire-extinguisher from the galley and rushed to the source. He pulled the pin and doused foam on the flames but the fire seemed to rear. Sweat pouring from his face and chest, he made one more choice.
He raced back to the computer.
Ninety-eight …
A loud whoosh sounded behind the cabin. Flames were out of control. And he was out of time.
Yanking the USB, he took off to the deck and levered himself over the safety rail. He leapt outwards. Midair, the explosion thrust him higher and further.
Intense pain as his shoulder hit the surface caused him to gasp. Water filled his burning lungs. Disorientated in the blackness, he struggled to find air. The surface had to be close. Fingertips broke through.
The next explosion propelled him backwards.
Deeper.
Into an abyss.
Chapter 86
I WALKED IN the door of my apartment clutching pastries and coffees from the local bakery. The sun had risen and streamed in the ocean-side windows. A wheelchair was parked behind the front door.
I wanted sleep after an exhausting night trekking through the bush but there were greater priorities. I heard the shower running and a quick check showed Eliza had spent the night in the spare room.
As I put breakfast on the kitchen bench, the bathroom door opened and Eliza appeared, dressed, hobbling on forearm crutches. Her legs swung wide from the hips as she moved forward. Her hair was wet and fell in soft waves around her face. She stopped when she saw me.
I’d never seen her stand, let alone walk. It struck me how tall she was.
‘Good morning,’ I said. ‘Hope you were comfortable.’
‘You were kind to let me stay.’
She looked drawn, as if she hadn’t slept much.
‘You should see the expression on your face. Surprised I can walk?’
I was a little taken aback, but didn’t want to say something clumsy or insensitive. ‘Maybe a little.’