Chapter 3

The steel hatch buckled under another heavy blow.

Splinters of wood from the frame showered down.

Mom was crying silently, clutching Mike's arm.

Mike, his face grim, picked up a heavy wrench. "They're not getting in without a fight."

But we all knew it was futile.

I looked around the small, cramped space. There was a small, round porthole, barely big enough for a person to squeeze through. It overlooked the churning water.

An idea, desperate and terrible, formed in my mind.

"Mom," I said, my voice surprisingly calm. "Your necklace. The diamond one. Give it to me."

It was a family heirloom, passed down for generations. Grandma had given it to Mom, with the instruction that it was for her first granddaughter's wedding, or, God forbid, if she was ever in mortal danger and needed to barter for her life.

Mom stared at me, her eyes wide with a dawning understanding. "Sarah, no..."

"Please, Mom. There's no time."

Her hands trembled as she unclasped the heavy diamond pendant. It felt cold and heavy in my palm.

"The porthole," I said, pointing. "It leads to the emergency raft. It's small, but it might work."

Mike looked from me to the porthole, then back to the groaning hatch. "You want us to jump?"

"You and Mom. Go. Get to Uncle Ben's island. It's not far. He has a villa there, security. He can help."

Mom shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "I can't swim, Sarah! You know that!"

It was a lie. Mom was a strong swimmer. But I understood. She was trying to make me go.

"Then Mike will help you," I said firmly. "I'll stay. I'll try to... distract them."

Buy them time. That's all I could do.

The hatch groaned again, a sliver of light appearing at the edge.

"Go! Now!" I urged, pushing Mike towards the porthole.

He hesitated, his eyes full of anguish. "Sarah, I can't leave you."

"You have to. Protect Mom. Please, Mike."

He looked at Mom, then back at me, his jaw set.

He wrenched open the porthole. Seawater sprayed in.

"Okay. But I'm coming back for you."

He helped Mom, who was now sobbing uncontrollably, squeeze through the narrow opening. She clutched my hand for a moment, her grip desperate.

"I love you, baby."

"I love you too, Mom."

Then she was gone, a splash in the dark water below.

Mike started to climb out. "Get ready to follow!"

Just as his legs cleared the opening, the tool room door burst inward with a deafening crash.

Two rough-looking men, armed with machetes, filled the doorway, their eyes glinting.

Mike, halfway out, saw them. His face contorted with rage.

He didn't hesitate.

He shoved himself back from the porthole, landing on his feet inside the tool room, the wrench held high.

"Mike, no!" I screamed.

He pushed me hard towards the porthole. "Go, Sarah! Get out of here! I'll hold them off!"

He charged at the pirates.

I scrambled through the opening, the shouts and sickening thuds from the tool room echoing behind me.

I hit the cold water and surfaced, gasping.

The small, inflatable raft was just a few feet away. Mom was already in it, her face a mask of terror.

I swam, my limbs heavy, my heart shattering.

I could hear Mike's roars of pain and fury.

Then, a terrible, final scream.

And silence.