As soon as Ken could see what Sandy was holding he said, “Great! A paring knife. Now let’s hope it’s sharp. Stick the handle between my teeth and hold your hands in front of me.”
The barge dipped sickeningly and Sandy braced himself against the table to avoid being thrown. Ken leaned back hard against his chair. There was a heavy thud as a wall of water swept over the stern and struck the rear wall of the cabin. The pool in the middle of the room was widening fast.
“Come on,” Ken said. “Hurry up.” He dreaded thinking how long it was going to take him to free Sandy’s hands. The pump had already been out of operation for some time. How much water had the barge taken on already? How much more could it stand?
He closed his mind to the questions as the barge settled, and twisted sideways on the chair so that Sandy could get close to him.
Sandy got into position, back toward Ken, who reached forward and took the handle of the knife between his teeth, blade downward.
“A little closer. Up a couple of inches,” Ken mumbled between clenched jaws. “Good. Hold it.”
He moved his head rhythmically back and forth, drawing the blade of the knife across the tough cord. Sandy held himself rigid, his legs spread for balance against the roll of the deck. The muscles in his arms and shoulders bulged with the effort of holding his hands in place.
Finally one strand parted. But Cal had done his job well. Each loop was independently tied. Ken kept on. His eyes ached under the strain of trying to focus on the rope a scant few inches from his nose.
Another loop parted. And then a third. And then a fourth.
The knife clattered to the floor. Ken sank back, exhausted.