“No boat, but we do have this,” I said. “Let’s go.”
I found a half-full gas can near the foot of the stairs. When we reached the edge of the water, I looked up and down the shoreline. I couldn’t see one dock. Either there was some kind of rule on the island, or else it really was impossible to bring in a boat on this side.
I didn’t know how much gas the jet ski had in it. Even if I had known, I wouldn’t have been able to translate that into miles. My feelings on jet skis are about the same as my feelings on snowmobiles, so I wouldn’t own one even if you gave it to me. I had never ridden on one, that much I knew for sure. But that was about to change.
I waded out to the jet ski, stumbling on the rocky bottom. When I got to it, I opened up the gas cap and poured what was left in the can into the tank. Then I screwed the cap back on. I put one wet shoe on the deck and swung my other leg over. The jet ski dipped under my weight and then quickly reestablished its buoyancy. It was a big Yamaha WaveRunner, with plenty of room for both of us. And plenty of horsepower, I was sure. Which made sense. A little underpowered toy jet ski might be fine on an inland lake, but you’d be a fool to ride one on Lake Michigan.
“Do you know how to drive one of these?” Lou said. “I’ve been living in the desert for the past thirty years. I hardly ever see a lake.”
“It can’t be too hard. Get on.”
He waded out and climbed onto the back, fighting for balance and finally grabbing hold of the rear handles. I pulled up the anchor and stored it in the forward compartment. Then I took a few seconds to look the machine over, finally figured out that I had to use that little black tab on the lanyard to pinch the kill switch. I put the lanyard itself around my wrist, thinking, okay, if you fall off, you take the tab with you and the kill switch shuts off the engine. Not that I had any plans to fall off.
I pushed the Start button and the engine came to life. Then I squeezed the throttle and just about put us both in the water. I’d had no idea this thing would have such power.
“Take it easy,” Lou said from behind me. “Don’t get us killed yet, okay?”
I eased into it this time and we were on our way. As I got the hang of it, I started pushing it and soon we were slicing through the water at forty miles per hour. Then we hit a few rougher waves and the spray came right over the top of the craft, drenching my face. I didn’t care how warm the water was supposed to be that summer, you take it in the face like that at full speed and it’s like somebody turning an ice-cold hose on you.
But then of course that wasn’t even full speed at all. I squeezed the throttle all the way and watched the speedometer keep climbing until it topped out around sixty-five. The surface of the water was racing past us and I started to understand how somebody might consider this fun. A different kind of somebody, who doesn’t mind making a lot of noise. On a different kind of day.
The water started getting rougher as we got farther from the shore. I felt the machine starting to fight against the current. I knew we’d be getting out into some dangerous waters soon. There was a good reason why more people died on Lake Michigan every year than all of the other Great Lakes put together.
I kept pushing it through the rough water, taking the full spray in the face every minute or so. My clothes were soaked against my body. I was starting to feel numb.
High Island was ahead of us, getting bigger with every passing minute. I gritted my teeth against the wind and the spray and tried to keep my eyes open. I pictured Vinnie and Buck in a boat, just on the other side of the island. I pictured another boat on its way, getting closer by the second. I squeezed the throttle all the way down again and punished myself even more.
It was a blur of noise and vibration and cold water. I started to veer south as the island came even closer. I saw a sandy beach on the eastern side of the island and a green hill rising in the center.
As I finally started to come around to the western side, I felt the current grow even stronger. Lou was searching the shoreline. There was nothing to see but rocks and sand and trees.
“Keep going!” he said to me over the din of the motor. “They have to be here!”
There was another long beach on the western side of the island, and here the sand rose high onto the hillsides. It was like something off a postcard, and yet there was not one person in sight. Not one boat. If Harry wanted to leave them in an abandoned spot, this would have been perfect. How could he possibly take them anywhere else?
I throttled down for a moment as a terrible thought hit me. Maybe he did leave them here. Maybe Corvo came and found them, and then he took the boat with him. Maybe both boats are on their way south now. It was three hundred miles from here to Chicago.
“They’re not here,” Lou said. “We have to try that other island.”
I nodded. I knew he was right. Or at least I knew it was our only shot left. To our west was the farthest island in the chain. Gull Island. The map showed a national wildlife preserve on the land itself, meaning it was a federal crime to set foot on it. Meaning it was as deserted an island as you could possibly find in the Great Lakes.
Meaning it was the perfect drop-off spot.
So Harry wasn’t exaggerating, I thought. It was a true ten-mile trip, and it was hard as hell, even wearing a wet suit.
I checked the gas level. We had about half a tank left. The engine had been working hard, fighting against the waves and the current. We’d have enough to get out to Gull Island, but a return trip? That I wasn’t so sure about.
Of course, Harry didn’t have to make a round trip. He probably towed the jet ski behind the boat and rode it back. He didn’t have to make the commitment to a blind one-way trip out into the lake, with no way to get back.
“Come on,” Lou said. “Let’s get going.”
I couldn’t feel my hands anymore. I couldn’t feel my face. I turned the jet ski due west and opened up the throttle.
It was another five miles across open water. We were heading into the teeth of the current now. We were heading into those infamous straits that bend around the islands as the unimaginable weight of that water makes the turn toward Mackinac.
Gull Island is a lot smaller than High Island, so it looked like nothing but a smudge on the horizon. We rode and the engine fought and yard by yard we kept going until we started to make out the trees on the island. The current was pushing us north so I went with it, figuring I’d circle in that direction. The gas gauge showed just under a quarter tank now.
I felt Lou practically leaning off the jet ski as I started the big turn around the island. On the shore I saw a sign warning away trespassers. That was the only indication that a human being had ever been anywhere near this place. I kept going around the arc, fighting harder now as we hit the current on the far side of the island. There was a natural inlet there, a long strip of sand curling out into the water.
“There!” Lou said. “I see a boat!”
I kept going around the inlet. The boat was anchored in the protected backwater. It was a fishing boat, like any of a thousand you’d see on this lake every day, with a white canopy protecting the two captain’s chairs from the sun. A small cabin with maybe a table and a marine toilet and not much else. The kind of boat you’d expect to see with a half-dozen fishing rods sticking out in every direction, but there were none. I also didn’t see any sign of a living person onboard.
I brought the jet ski into the backwater and we pulled up alongside the boat. I still couldn’t see anybody.