A Pirate's Life for Mei

What's in the Box?

Mei felt like everything was working against her to drag her underwater and despaired: her long hair, the manacles, her clothes. It was all so heavy in the water and her face kept falling under the surface, saltwater filling her nose and mouth, making her choke and sputter. She fought up again each time, a burst of kicking and one-armed swimming that got her to air again. Only for her to be dragged under shortly after.

The burning ship brightened the whole area. The low, dark shape of land in front of her was still a shadow in the night, except for the beach, a glimmer of waves on sand.

She couldn't keep this up. So she tried changing tactics. She rolled over onto her back. Clutching the box and manacles to her chest with one hand, she kicked with both legs and tried to maintain some stability with one arm. It was slow going but somewhat easier to keep her mouth above water, though she still swallowed a fair amount.

She kicked and kicked, her already abused body growing weaker. Her mind slowed and drifted. She stared at the fire, the ship falling to pieces, the flaming wreckage floating behind her. But she could not think. She could only kick, focusing all her energy on motion. On survival. Because if she stopped, she'd drown.

It therefore came as some surprise when a wave lifted her up and then pushed her down and her head bumped into sand.

Startled, she broke rhythm and sank, and her bum touched sand too. Letting the box and manacles go, she sat up, dead tired, panting. Her mouth tasted of brine. Her body was so heavy. But she was alive. She'd made it.

A wave crashed into her, making her sputter. Grabbing her things, she dragged herself higher, up to the tide line. Then she collapsed. Her muscles and her lungs burned. The sand felt warm on her cheek. Red seaweed and seashells had piled up a few handspans from her face and stunk with the smell of decomposition that so many of us associate with the ocean. But she didn't care. She was safe.

For the moment.

She gave herself bare minutes to recover. But with a deep feeling of resentment, she knew she couldn't stay here. This island was an English base. Someone would see those flames and come running. Or sailing. Or rowing. Whatever. She needed to get into hiding.

She put one palm on the sand and pushed, giving it everything she had to lift herself up and get in motion again. Then she was on all fours. Her sodden clothes clung to her frame. She rested, her stomach sick from swallowing seawater. Then she stood. So much effort. She wobbled in place for a few seconds. Steadying, she breathed deep and ignored the pain. Preparing to head inland where she might seek cover, she took one last look over her shoulder at the disaster she'd caused.

And saw them in the water. Three men slowly followed the same path that she had. One was already nearing the beach.

She cursed, long and hard. She glanced inland again. Should she just run? Hope she could lose them in the night? How big was the island? Would they hunt her down?

To her surprise, the beach did not end in a wall of thick jungle. The land was low and there were only a few rolling hills nearby. They were covered in bushes and tall grasses, marred by the occasional rocky outcrop. Trees sporadically dotted the area, but not so much that they would qualify as a forest. There seemed to be little place to hide.

The men were closing in, nearing the shore. The one nearest her looked weary and battered. He must have taken damage in the blast.

Mei bent down and grabbed the manacles from the sand. She tightened her grip on one end and grimly marched towards the water.

The sailor saw her coming. He wearily tried to change course, but he, too, was nearing his limits. So he was unable to avoid her as she plowed into the shallows towards him.