A Daughter's Lament

Prologue

The waves slammed aggressively into the hull, each impact shaking the little boat with godlike force. Her hands clamped to the wheel in front of her, knuckles white as her eyes scanned the nearly pitch-black horizon. The storm raged around her, waves rising like walls of water, determined to swallow her—and anyone else caught in its wake. Despite the chaos, it wasn't the storm she feared.

They were getting close—too close. She could feel it.

A crackle of static came from the small radio at her side, a muddled voice breaking through: "Who has eyes on her? The storm's too thick—"

"We've got a visual!" another voice snapped. "If we cut her off on the port side, she won't make it to shore."

Her heart pounded in her chest as she twisted the dial, silencing the transmission. They were hunting her—she didn't need the radio to tell her that much. Wiping the water from her face, she squinted into the night, trying to gauge where she was though it was useless in the downpour. Thunder suddenly boomed overhead, momentarily drowning out the hum of the engine as she steered deeper into the storm. Better to face the fury of the sea and put more distance between them. The water was treacherous, but she knew these waters. She had one chance—one way out, and this was it.

Then, through the chaos, she saw it. Barely. The shoreline appeared as a faint, jagged silhouette in the distance, almost invisible in the storm's rage. She needed to reach that small, rocky inlet. Hidden within it was a cove, her only shot at disappearing. If she could just make it there, she might stand a chance.

She risked a glance behind her and cursed under her breath. They were closing in, much faster than she had anticipated.

Another wave crashed over the bow, drenching her, but somehow she held steady. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps now, attributed to the adrenaline coursing through her veins, and the relentless assault of saltwater stinging her lungs. She fought to maneuver the boat through the mayhem. As she looked ahead, a flash of lightning illuminated the cliffs, and she jerked the wheel at the last second, narrowly avoiding the sharp rocks jutting out from the coast.

Then came the light. A sharp beam cut through the storm behind her. A searchlight.

Her chest tightened, panic threatening to take hold. They had found her.

"Damn it," she hissed, moving to push the throttle to its limit. The boat tried to speed forward, but the storm fought back unabated. Impossibly the wind seemed to get stronger, the waves rose higher, and she felt like she was moments away from being pulled under mentally and physically.

Looking up she could see that the cliffs were just ahead now, dark and looming. She could barely make out the small cove she was aiming for, hidden among the rocks. If she reached it, she could disappear. They wouldn't be able to find her.

But the boat chasing her was closing in. Now she was able to hear its engine just barely over the storm. The searchlight was growing brighter. They were almost on top of her, and she was nearly out of time. She wouldn't make it.

Her hand trembled as she patted the pocket to feel that she hadn't lost it—it was the only thing she had left. Her fingers brushed the cold, smooth surface of the small waterproof capsule nestled inside her jacket. She pulled it out briefly, her fingers tracing the edges, knowing that everything they wanted—everything they would kill her for—was sealed inside.

She had to keep it safe. But if she didn't make it, if they caught her... no. She couldn't let that happen. She wouldn't let that happen.

With that thought, she sprang into action, slipping the capsule back into her inner pocket and zipping it tightly for safekeeping. Lurching forward, she frantically rummaged through the glove box until her fingers closed around the cool metal of the flare gun, dry from its secure hiding place.

The boat lurched as another wave struck, and she stumbled, barely keeping her balance and her grip on the gun. The searchlight swung over her, lighting up the deck. They were almost upon her now. She could see the outline of their boat through the sheets of rain, fast and unrelenting.

It was now or never. Swinging her gaze she locked in on the red spare fuel tank. She didn't hesitate.

The explosion was immediate, the fire lighting up the storm like a beacon. She leapt over the side, the freezing Atlantic pulling her under and sending her into shock just as the boat was consumed by flames. The water hit her like a thousand needles, cold and suffocating, dragging her down into the blackness.

Above her, the wreckage burned. She heard the distant roar of their boat, the searchlight flashing over the waves, but it was too late. She was gone—lost to the storm.

The last thing she felt before the darkness closed in was the pull of the tide, carrying her away.