Castaways by Emachinescat

A Hardy Boys Fan-Fiction

SUMMARY: Frank and Joe are supposed to be spending a week with their friends on an island in Barmet Bay, but on their first deep-sea-fishing excursion, the stormy weather says otherwise and they are thrown into a tragic and dangerous mystery on a deserted island.

A/N: This story was an entry in the Hardy Detective Agency's 2009 Dog Days of Summer story contest. One of the contest rules was that the entries would be published on the Hardy Detective Agency site exclusively for one year. I am hoping that I am not breaking any rules by posting this story on here now; it has been about a year since the contest. If I have broken any rules, please any Hardy Detective Agency peeps, send me a message and let me know and I'll take it off. If not, I hope you enjoy the story. (In case you're wondering, it got Honorable Mention). ~Emachinescat

Castaways

Chapter One

"I could get used to this," seventeen-year-old Joe Hardy sighed as he lay back on one of the motorboat's long seats. His wavy blonde hair got caught up in the cool breeze and his blue eyes sparkled with excitement.

"Don't get too used to it," Frank, his eighteen-year-old brother warned, his brown eyes a bit concerned as he scanned the darkening horizon. "We'll be heading back pretty soon—storm's coming."

"What? No way," Chet Morton protested from his spot on the parallel lounge seat to Joe's. "It's been beautiful all day. It's just getting to be dusk, right?"

"Actually, it's only about three PM," Biff Hooper answered, glancing at his watch, then the darkening skies. "Frank's right—a storm's blowing in."

It was summer break in Bayport, Massachusetts. When the boys returned to school in the fall, Chet and Frank would become full time students commuting to Bayport University and Biff and Joe would be Seniors at the local high school. As summer would be over in about two weeks, the four friends had decided to spend one of the remaining weeks at Biff's uncle's cabin right on Barmet Bay. Clyde Hooper was down south visiting an old friend, and he had gladly agreed to let the boys stay at his cabin and gave them full access to his sailboat, scuba gear, and anything they could find in the refrigerator—which was enough to satisfy hefty Chet Morton. The boys had their own motorboat which they had brought along for the trip as well.

It was the beginning of the week—Monday—and the boys were excited at the prospect of an entire week of fishing, snorkeling, swimming, motor-boating, and sailing. To kick off their adventures, they had set off out of the bay in Frank and Joe's motorboat, the Sleuth, and into the ocean, planning to ride just around the bay, do some deep sea fishing, then head back to the cabin for a fish fry. It seemed, however—to the boys' great disappointment—that their first excursion was to be cut short.

"Man, this sucks!" Joe complained, glaring at the darkening sky as the wind started to pick up more speed. "We only caught one fish—not much of a fish fry!"

Frank smiled indulgently at his "baby brother". The siblings were closer than even most twins and their personalities meshed together perfectly, as well as their abilities, whether they were solving a mystery or just having fun. "Joe, we'll be alright. We'll cook up something else for dinner and maybe take the boat out again tomorrow. We've got all week, you know."

Joe sighed. "I guess you're right." The wind chose that moment to let out a high-pitched wail as it ran pell-mell into the boat with even more intensity than before. Frank felt something wet plop onto his forehead as he looked up into the sky and groaned. "It's raining."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious!" Joe crowed in mock enthusiasm. "Now that you're done being redundant, what say ye we get back to shore?"

"Aye, aye, Cap'n!" Biff grinned at Joe's cheesy pirate imitation.

"Walk the plank, me hardies!" Chet chimed in. He glanced mischievously at his two best friends while Biff looked on, smirking. "Pun most definitely intended."

Both Frank and Joe feigned mortification as Frank began to steer the boat back toward the bay. "We take offense to that!" Joe growled, jumping to his feet and brandishing the only fish the boys had caught like a sword, wrapped in paper that was sopping wet because of the ice it had been placed in. "Now, me Morton," he guffawed, "ye shall walk the plank!"

"Joe, get that slimy thing away from me!" Chet ordered. He loved fish—when they were dead and cooked and served on his plate—but when they were dead and wet and raw and slimy, not so much.

"Guys, cut it out—" Frank began right before an enormous wave towered over the small boat.

"Oh no," Chet squeaked as the boat was tossed violently. Rain was pouring down mercilessly now, the four friends looking like drowned rats. The wind increased to such a volume that they had to shout just to hear each other over the noise.

Frank struggled to keep the boat afloat as he steered it toward the direction of the bay. Visibility rapidly decreased and he looked over his shoulder at his brother and friends. "Guys, hold on," he ordered tersely. "This is going to be a rough ride."

Joe glanced around and saw that the water was almost as black as the skies. From his place in the back of the boat, he saw his brother grappling with the wheel through the thick sheet of rain falling mercilessly down on the boys, his muscles straining. Joe yelled to Chet and Biff, "Hey guys, I'm going to help Frank."

Before they could protest, Joe had vaulted over the back of the front seat and was next to Frank, who was having no luck keeping the boat on course and afloat at the same time. Glancing at Joe, he screamed, "I'm shutting off the motor until the storm passes. We're just wasting gas and we're getting off course anyway."

Joe looked concerned. "Are you sure that's the best thing to do?"

"No," Frank admitted. "But it's all we can do." He shut off the motor and reached into the footlocker, pulling out four ponchos, intending to hand them to his friends. As he took them out, a giant gush of wind tore them out of his hand and they disappeared under the waves.

Biff laughed from the back of the boat. "They wouldn't do us much good now, anyway," he yelled, considering all of the boys were soaked to the bone.

The storm raged on with increasing strength for about twenty minutes, making seeing anything more than five feet away impossible, before abating the smallest bit. Gradually, visibility increased. All the boys were shivering uncontrollably and hadn't spoken a word for quite some time. Chet was clinging to the side of the boat, his face an alarming shade of green. Biff looked shell-shocked.

At the front of the craft, Frank was trying to clear the water from his eyes and nose and mouth. Spitting out a stream of water, he glanced at his brother. Then gasped in shock. Because his brother wasn't there anymore.

"Joe?" he said, panicked. "Joe?" He twisted around to face the waterlogged Biff and Chet. "Did you guys see Joe do anything during the storm?"

"I couldn't see my own hands," Chet announced, concern etched on his plump face. "But he couldn't very well have gone anywhere. Wasn't he strapped in?"

Frank paled. "No—remember, he came up here to help me. He must not've buckled in—he got washed overboard and we didn't know because we couldn't see or hear anything!" His hands were shaking as he gunned the motor even though it was still raining and the waves were threatening. "Who knows how long he's been gone—we've got to find him!"

Biff put a hand on Frank's shoulder. "Frank, he had his life jacket on and he's a great swimmer. I'm sure he's around here somewhere, floundering around and waiting for someone to pick him up."

"I sure hope so," Frank muttered. For the next forty-five minutes they searched every square inch of surrounding ocean meticulously for the youngest Hardy. They were forced to admit defeat when the gas gage boasted "E" and Joe was still nowhere to be found. Worse still, a thick fog had replaced the rain about thirty minutes into the search and had turned the already lost boys around so they didn't know where they were. Frank sighed as the engine coughed feebly and died. His face was pale and his eyes were sad.

"We were too late," he groaned. "Joe's gone. He's drowned."

Biff and Chet glanced at each other, worry over Joe, the shock Frank was clearly experiencing, and the seriousness of their own predicament making them tremble. "Maybe not," Chet said quietly. "Someone else may have very well came by and saved him. Or he could have swam to land."

Frank managed a wan smile. "Thanks for the thought," he said glumly, a pang of guilt and depression washing over him as the obvious settled in through his shock. His brother was dead.

A tear of grief swam down his face, blended with the raindrops still clinging to his lashes and cheeks, and became lost. "Joe..." he cried out softly.

In the back, Biff turned to Chet. "This is not good," he groaned. "We've lost Joe, Frank's in shock, and the fuel gage says E. And on top of all that, we're lost and stranded in fog."

Chet smiled weakly. "Maybe 'E' means 'extra fuel'," he suggested lamely. Biff gave him a withering look. "Or maybe not," Chet quickly amended.

Frank was sitting at the front of the boat, staring ahead, expressionless.

Even as the fog began to clear away and the distant sound of sea gulls could be heard, he didn't move. When slivers of sunlight met with droplets of rain and sent shafts of colors arching across the sky in a magnificent rainbow, he didn't notice.

Finally, Chet tapped on his shoulder. Frank, lost in his thoughts, jumped. The brown eyes that turned to look at Chet were worn, weary, and grief-filled. Chet almost lost his nerve because he didn't want to interrupt Frank's mourning but pressed on after receiving a sharp nudge in the ribs from Biff. "Erm...Frank? The storm's over. The fog is gone."

"What do you want me to do?" the eighteen-year-old asked in a voice that was almost as hollow as his eyes. "We're way off course, the bay is nowhere in sight, we're out of gas...and Joe is gone." He let out a strangled sob, then took a deep breath and wiped his eyes. "I'm sorry," he blurted to a slightly stunned Chet and Biff. "That was uncalled for." His voice was still pain-filled and bleak but the other boys could sense a hint of purpose behind it now. "There'll be plenty of time to grieve later. We've done all we can do for Joe now. Right now, we need to focus on finding a way to get us back to safety." He paused, a bit of empty hope in his voice, then went on, "Maybe we can contact the Coast Guard...maybe Chet was right...Joe might've been picked up by somebody else...that likes to be out in the ocean in the middle of a raging storm..." he trailed off.

"Regardless, they can launch a search for him...or his..." again he left his sentence unfinished, a pained expression commandeering his lean face for a moment. He turned to Biff and Chet. "Do you guys still have your cell phones on you? I think mine was washed away in the storm."

Biff checked his pockets. "Nope, sorry, Frank." He scowled. "And that was a two-hundred dollar Blackberry Curve Platinum Edition," he groaned.

"Get over it," Chet said, his eyes widening as Biff described his prized phone. "Some of us have crappy phones," he kidded as he pulled out a small, dinky, blue track phone from his pocket. Then he started and looked at the miserable phone as if he were seeing it for the first time. "Oh, wow," he said stiffly. "My phone didn't get washed away."

"That's because it was in your back pocket, Chet," Biff remarked. "With all that weight holding it down, there was nowhere for it to go."

Chet made a face at his friend and Frank entered the light-hearted conversation, bringing the boys back to depressing reality. "Please, Chet...just see if it works."

Chet tried to turn it on. Nothing happened. He frowned. "I think it got waterlogged," he admitted.

Frank tried for good measure but nothing happened. Then he took out the battery and laid it in the sun. "Maybe we can dry it out," he said without much enthusiasm as he lay the phone beside the battery and turned back to face the endless expanse of ocean before him. There was nothing to do but wait, think...and grieve.

~Emachinescat ^..^