The Worst-Case Scenario Ultimate Adventure Novel: Deadly Seas Page 4

  Your body stiffens, and you wrap your arms around yourself in a frightened hug. Your watch ticks away the seconds before the attack. Now you remember something else you learned during Shark Week. Sharks are attracted to shiny objects.

  Your time is up!

  THE END

  If you try to swim over the waves, they will fling your body like a Frisbee in a tornado. You know your only hope is to swim under them. You keep your eyes on the foamy white crests in the water. The next wave forms, growing larger and larger as it picks up speed. The lip of water curls menacingly, threatening to suck you in.

  Just as the wave is about to overtake you, you fill your lungs with air, then dive down, plunging deep under the roiling surf. You aim your body toward the bottom.

  Everything is calm and peaceful under the rolling waves. You glide forward and frog-kick gently. The ocean gives little resistance this deep. Fish swim alongside you, accepting you as one of their own. But as your lungs begin to burn, you know you aren’t a fish. Air. You need air! You must get to the surface. Now!

  Kicking with all your might, you propel yourself upward. You break through the water and inhale the wonderful, fresh air. Then you notice the waves. They’re gone. The ocean is now calm. You pivot about, amazed at how far you swam.

  Oh, no. Where is the Chronos II?

  You turn in circles, squinting at the horizon. Searching, searching. This can’t be right, you think. Your heart pounds in your ears as the realization hits you—they must be looking for you in the other direction. Or they think you’ve drowned.

  You are all alone.

  Wait! There is something in the distance. You swim closer to get a better view. No, it’s not the Chronos II. It’s just a tiny speck of land with a solitary palm tree.

  You hope the tree has some coconuts, because this little island is yours for now. Sure, you’ll eventually be rescued, but until then, welcome home.

  THE END

  As soon as you announce you’re staying and offer your fix-it expertise, Brandon breaks free of Georgina’s iron grip. “I’ll help, too—”

  David cuts him off. “Brandon, there’s no room in the small space for anyone else. Really. Chelsea, you go, too.”

  “Exactly,” Jason agrees. “Both of you go on deck with Georgina and disengage the lifeboat. Get everything ready in case this doesn’t work.” He stares at the now knee-deep water. “Grab life jackets.”

  Chelsea hesitates but then follows Jason’s orders. “Work fast,” she warns as she leaves with Brandon.

  You, David, and Jason squeeze into the saloon. David points out the crack to the right of the table. David taps the fiberglass hull near the crack with the handle of a screwdriver. Despite the pounding waves, you can hear a hollow sound.

  “Oh, boy,” David mutters. “It would’ve been a lot better if that sounded solid. We’ve got major damage. Our only hope is to patch it with epoxy until someone can rescue us,” David says.

  “Will it hold?” Jason demands. The waves continue to pummel the Chronos II.

  “I don’t know,” David admits. He smears the thick, gray epoxy on the crack.

  The water creeps up your legs, toward your hips.

  David groans. Not a good sign.

  “The epoxy won’t hold!” you cry. “Everything is too wet.”

  Another big wave batters the hull and the crack widens before your eyes. Water rushes in. In seconds, it is up to your armpits.

  “We need to get out!” Jason orders. But David won’t quit. He keeps trying to repair the crack, even after it becomes a gaping hole and the sea rushes into the boat.

  Water covers your neck, your face, your head. There’s no air. You search for a way out. But you’ve waited too long.

  This is…

  THE END

  It’s too dangerous to let Chelsea fix the rudder alone, you convince everyone. You are going to help her.

  Chelsea dives in first to check out the bottom of the boat. “Whatever we hit snapped the rudder.” Her voice quivers from the icy-cold water when she resurfaces.

  David says it can be fixed, and he has the perfect piece of wood to make the repair.

  “Be careful with this,” he says as he hands it to you. “This is the only piece on board that will do the job.”

  You dive into the water with the wood, and you are nearly paralyzed by the cold. The frigid current catapults you away from the boat. Chelsea is struggling too, but she has superstrong legs. She’s winning the battle. You’re not.

  “Give it to me!” Chelsea reaches out for the wood as you fight your way back to her.

  You stretch your arm out to hand it to her, but the monster current is too strong. It rips the wood from your grip.

  “Oh, no!” Chelsea’s eyes grow wide with disbelief as you both watch the wood ride the wild waves, taking your dream of winning with it.

  THE END

  THE END

  Jason will have to maneuver the boat back on course so you can sail through the Panama Canal. It won’t be easy. You’ll be sailing against the wind.

  It’s late at night. You listen to the shriek of the gale-force winds as you head to your berth. The boat pitches like crazy—and you’re hurled across the cabin.

  Your head crashes into Jason’s berth on the opposite side.

  “We should have gone around Cape Horn,” you say to Brandon. “It couldn’t be much worse than this. And it would have been faster.”

  Brandon laughs. “If we took Cape Horn, we’d have to sail through the Roaring Forties and the Furious Fifties! Sailing the latitudes between 40 and 59 degrees is much worse than this. The wind speeds there are wild. The waves are at least 20 feet high. In the Furious Fifties you can hit a rogue wave 100 feet high! Trust me. This is much better.”

  A wall of water crashes over the deck. The wind whips the boat in the churning sea. Time is running out.

  If you blow the schedule and lose this race, it will be your fault. But only a submarine can survive in this ocean, you think. How much more of this punishment can the Chronos II take?

  But miraculously, you make it through another storm.

  “Am I good or what!” Jason says.

  You have to agree. He brought the boat through the mid-Atlantic faster than anyone thought possible. Now you’re sailing along the coast of South America, only about a week away from the Panama Canal.

  You have forty-five days to make it back in time to win the money.

  Brandon and Georgina study the charts and the weather. They think you’ll be able to do it in forty days.

  It will be tight, but today no one is thinking about that.

  Today there’s a steady breeze. The weather is calm. And you’re all relaxing.

  To have fun, Chelsea climbs the mast.

  “Come down now,” David tells her. “That’s high enough.”

  But Chelsea just laughs.

  “Be right back,” you tell Brandon. “I’m going to get my fishing rod.”

  You’ve been fishing all week with Brandon, and you haven’t caught a single fish. Maybe today is your day.

  You go below to get your gear.

  As you head back through the cabin, your eye catches a flash of purple on Georgina’s bunk. You take a closer look. It’s a diary. You know you shouldn’t read it, but if you do, maybe it will give you a clue—maybe you’ll find out why she acts so strangely.

  You pick it up—but you hear footsteps. You quickly drop it, and pass her on the steps.

  “I’d love to catch a blue marlin one day,” Brandon says.

  The blue marlin is one of the largest fish on Earth. It can measure up to 13 feet long and weigh close to 2,000 pounds.

  “I’d be happy with a snapper or a tuna,” you say.

  No sooner than you say “tuna,” Brandon hooks one, but it gets away.

  You fish some more. You reel in nothing—and then…

  “Did you see that?” you ask Brandon. “I think I have something on the line.”

  Your rod
quivers. Something is biting. You snap back your rod and start reeling in.

  You can’t wait to see what you caught. Your rod bends harder. You pull back and keep reeling. The fish puts up a fight. But you’re winning the battle. Finally, it appears on the surface. You swing it on deck.

  “What is that?” you say.

  Brandon shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says. “Never saw anything like that before.”

  It has red stripes with spines sticking up from its back.

  Even though you don’t know what it is, you want to keep it. You’d love to cook it and make a surprise dinner for the crew tonight.

  COOK THE FISH FOR THE CREW.

  THROW IT BACK.

  “Catch you later!” you call to Chelsea and Georgina, as you cannonball off the side. Since you set sail, you haven’t had a minute alone. Snorkeling by myself is going to be great, you think, and you won’t have to see anyone until dinnertime.

  The ocean is quiet. You cut across the gentle waves with sure, strong strokes. The rhythmic splash of your kicks sets a steady pace. Farther and farther from the boat you swim.

  You flip over and float on your back, staring at the puffy clouds in the brilliant blue sky. Your body feels weightless in the warm water, and you let the tide move you along. Squinting against the glare of the sun, you decide the far left cloud looks like Idaho and the one in the center looks like an ice-cream cone. The one to the right … you almost laugh out loud. That cloud looks like a sailboat! You have to show the crew.

  You turn back to wave to them—and you are in for your first shock: the yacht is a tiny dot in the distance.

  And the second shock is headed your way.

  It’s a shark—and it’s aiming right for you! The shark slices through the water like a bullet. Its sharp, powerful teeth glint in the sun. Your heart pounds, and you find it hard to breathe. You have to remind yourself to tread water and stay calm.

  Suddenly, it’s only inches away! Move! your brain screams. Panicked, you jerk to the right just in time, and the shark narrowly misses you. It bumps your hip, scraping you with its thick, sandpaper-like skin. You are bleeding, and the fresh wound burns in the salt water.

  Your eyes widen as the shark turns and sets its sights— and jaws—on you once again.

  Do something, you tell yourself, before it’s too late!

  SWIM AS FAST AS YOU CAN FOR THE YACHT.

  TRY TO HIT THE SHARK TO DETER IT.

  You’re all too restless to just sit. Everyone votes to paddle except Jason. Jason realizes he has been outvoted, so he grabs one paddle. You take the other.

  There’s very little room to paddle. You are all squeezed together like Junior Mints melted at the bottom of the candy box. For a moment, you close your eyes and imagine you are in an air-conditioned movie theater back home.

  “Which way are we heading?” Chelsea asks.

  Back to reality. You open your eyes, squinting in the glare of the sun. To the left lies an endless expanse of water. To the right, the same. Everyone surveys the lonely stretch of the Southern Atlantic Ocean.

  “Go that way.” David points toward the left.

  “Why?” Chelsea asks.

  “I’m a lefty,” David explains sheepishly.

  No one has a better idea, so you head left.

  “One! Two! We should row in sync,” Jason instructs.

  You move your arms to the rhythm. “One! Two!” The crew takes up the chant. The raw, sunburned skin on your arms and neck stretches painfully with every movement.

  “One! Two!” You and Jason paddle for what feels like hours. Every muscle cries out in pain, and sweat drips off your forehead and into your eyes. The air is hot and heavy.

  When you can row no longer, you switch out with Brandon, open a can of turnips and share them with Jason and David. You have to ration what little food you have.

  “Turnips?” Jason gags. “Gross, David! Why’d you pack those?”

  “I like turnips,” David retorts.

  You don’t. You peer into the grab bag: just canned vegetables and protein bars. Little do you realize how badly you will crave turnips when you are down to just one bar. For the next four days, the raft is in constant motion. Everyone takes turns rowing. It’s hard to make any headway with the small paddles.

  As the hours pass in the sun with very little food and only sips of fresh water, you grow dizzy from the heat and exertion. You’re rowing again, and your shoulders throb. Every movement makes you weaker than weaker.

  “One…two…” Jason mumbles feebly.

  Oh, please. You gave up synchronized counting long ago.

  You drift aimlessly. In all this time, you haven’t seen land. You’ve just paddled around and around in circles. Getting nowhere. Going nowhere. And no one has found you.

  But you won’t give up. You’ll keep rowing until your body gives out in…

  THE END

  It’s better to risk bad weather than risk your lives, you all finally decide.

  The Indian Ocean finally starts behaving as expected. The winds pick up and the waves grow huge. These days you’re either cold and wet or tired and wet or hungry and wet. It rains and rains. The gray seeps into your bones. You’ve never been on a boat this long. You’re lonely for home.

  Jason has a black canvas bag on deck that holds a couple of heavy rain jackets, much better than yours. He takes one and gives you one, then tosses the bag aside.

  Georgia comes around to inspect the sails for any tears. Her gaze rests on Jason’s bag. Then, before you can say a word, she picks up the bag and throws it over the side.

  You can’t believe what you’ve just seen. But you don’t say anything. You don’t want a fight to break out, and you hope Jason thinks his bag flew overboard. Georgina is dependable and responsible. But she’s also a little crazy, and you wonder if you’ll ever find out why.

  “Come quick!” David yells a couple of weeks later. He sounds frantic, which is very unlike him.

  As you climb the steps, something rams the boat. You’re slammed against the bulkhead. Everyone else is already on deck.

  BAM! The boat is hit again.

  You pull yourself to the top step. Clutched by fear, you look around quickly for the ship that hit you. But there’s nothing there, just miles and miles of empty gray sea.

  The crew stands at the bow of the boat, gazing down into the water. That’s when you see the huge, dark shadow.

  A whale.

  You’ve never seen one this close before. It’s twice as long as your yacht.

  With a blast of spray from its blowhole, it leaps out of the water. If it lands on the boat, it will crush you instantly.

  The whale crashes next to you with a huge splash and rocks the boat madly.

  Everyone goes sprawling across the deck. David’s head hits the floor with a sickening thud.

  The crew let down their guard in the calm water—no one is wearing a safety harness. Another leap like that, and you’ll all drown.

  You watch in horror as the whale soars up again. It crashes down, closer this time. Chelsea slides across the deck. Jason reaches for her arm and yanks her back.

  The whale disappears under the boat—then swims away.

  David rubs his head. “That was a pygmy blue whale. The smaller type of blue whale.”

  “If that’s the small one, I hope we never meet the big one,” you say.

  A few hours later, a nasty storm rolls in. Chelsea, still a little wobbly from the whale incident, asks you to help lash the mainsail to the boom.

  What kind of knot do you use?

  TIE A REEF KNOT.

  TIE A ROUND TURN AND TWO HALF HITCHES.

  TIE A BOWLINE.

  “Take Cape Horn. You can do it!” Mr. Houseman’s words ring in your ear. You don’t want to disappoint him.

  “Cape Horn!” you vote.

  The color drains from David’s face. Georgina and Brandon shake their heads in disbelief.

  “Big mistake,” Brandon mutters.
“Really big mistake.”

  “Why?” Your voice comes out in a croak.

  “Let’s put it this way—there’s a statue on Cape Horn of an albatross. It was built in memory of the hundreds of sailors who drowned trying to round the cape.”

  “Maybe we should rethink this,” you say to Jason and Chelsea.

  “He’s just trying to scare you,” Chelsea says. “Besides, we voted. The decision is made.”

  “Let’s stop wasting time talking about it,” Jason says. “We’re going to sail around Cape Horn. It’s the ultimate challenge! We’re going to earn our gold rings!”

  “Gold rings? What does that mean?” David asks.

  “In the 1700s and 1800s, sailing around Cape Horn was a popular trade route for sailors carrying goods from Australia to Europe. If they made it around the Horn, each sailor earned the right to wear a gold hoop earring in his left ear—the ear that faced the Horn as they sailed around it,” Jason explains.

  You want to take back your vote and head for the Panama Canal, but it doesn’t matter what you want because Jason has his mind made up. You’re sailing around Cape Horn.

  “Time to earn our gold earrings,” you say.

  Brandon shakes his head in disgust. “Or die trying.”

  Jason and Brandon chart your new course around the tip of South America—Cape Horn. This part of the world has the most treacherous seas on Earth. You’re sailing through the latitude range called the Furious Fifties, and now you know why they got that name. The powerful winds blow constantly here. They pound the boat with punishing gusts. The waves are enormous and the currents are lethal. These forces are so strong, they take your breath away.

  The sailors’ graveyard. That’s what Cape Horn is called, and those words haunt you as the Chronos II battles the raging sea.