Chapter 8 - Crossing the Sound
The drive to the Anacortes ferry terminal was a desperate, high-stakes gamble against time and tide.
Daniel drove through the relentless Pacific Northwest downpour, his headlights cutting through the pitch-black highway. He didn't care about the speed limits, the hydroplaning risks, or the flashing lights of a state trooper who briefly attempted to pull him over before losing him in the spray of a semi-truck.
He arrived at the ferry terminal at 6:45 PM, tires screeching to a halt just fifty feet from the boarding ramp of the final evening ferry departing for San Juan Island.
The heavy steel gates were already closing.
Daniel threw his car into park, jumped out into the torrential rain, and sprinted toward the toll booth, waving his arms frantically.
"Hold the ferry!" Daniel shouted, water streaming down his face, soaking his designer suit. "I need to get on that boat!"
The ferry attendant stepped out of the booth, shaking his head. "Sorry, sir! Loading is complete. The captain is already pulling the ramp."
Daniel didn't hesitate. He pulled out his wallet, grabbed a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills, and shoved them toward the attendant through the glass slot.
"My wife is on that island," Daniel said, his voice cracking with raw, desperate emotion. "Our marriage is ending tonight if I don't reach her. Please. Take whatever you want, just let me on."
The attendant stared at the cash, then looked up at Daniel’s hollow, rain-soaked face, seeing the unmistakable desperation etched into every line of his expression.
With a heavy sigh, the attendant pressed a button on his console. The hydraulic gate ground to a halt and slowly began to lift.
"Go!" the attendant yelled over the roar of the wind. "Drive straight onto the lower deck before the captain sees you!"
Daniel didn't wait to be told twice. He sprinted back to his SUV, floored the accelerator, and careened onto the ferry’s metal deck just as the massive steel doors began to seal shut behind him.
May you like
The sixty-minute ferry ride across the dark, churning waters of the Salop Sea felt like purgatory. Daniel stood outside on the passenger deck, leaning against the cold metal railing, letting the freezing rain wash over him as the island slowly emerged from the mist like a jagged shadow.
When the ferry finally docked, Daniel sped off the ramp and navigated the winding, unpaved logging roads toward the northern tip of San Juan Island, where the old cedar cabin stood perched above a rocky cove.
