The Bottle in the Sand
With the sun now climbing high, the crew raised anchor.
The motor hummed as Bonny steered the boat forward, the bow cutting clean through the calm sea.
The sunlight on the water like a hot summers day.
The island slipped behind them slowly.
In the distance, the harbor came into view the one with the tavern, where the Captain had first stormed in like thunder and met the fire-eyed Bonny Vale.
But they didn’t turn.
The Captain stood at the helm beside Bonny, arms crossed, watching as they passed the familiar sight.
Not even a glance.
They sailed on toward the place of buried secrets.
When they arrived at the beach once more, the anchor dropped with a heavy splash.
No one waited.
No signs of watchers.
Just seaweed on wet sand, gulls circling high, and the faint scent of salt and pine.
They went ashore swiftly, spreading out across the stretch of beach where they once lay in shallow graves.
“Fan out,” the Captain called. “Look for anything Crow might’ve left behind.”
Time passed.
Sweat beaded. Sand shifted.
Then: “Nothing yet, Captain!” Elias called.
The Captain snarled. “Keep searching, you fool! Dig as you go — storms have ravaged this coast. What’s buried may no longer be still.”