The Worst-Case Scenario Ultimate Adventure Novel: Deadly Seas Page 8

  Jason and David are on deck with you.

  “Maybe while we’re here, it will erupt,” Jason says, pointing to the volcano. “Red-hot lava. Yes!”

  David is busy worrying about the steering mechanism. He’s always worrying about something on the boat. “It seems to be sticking,” he says, not looking up.

  You dash below to tell the others that you’ve reached land.

  Chelsea stands at the sink, adding water to a dehydrated Tex-Mex beef casserole for lunch. “Freeze-dried meat,” she groans.

  Most of the food on board is dehydrated. That way it stays fresh, and it’s very light so it doesn’t weigh the boat down.

  It ranges in taste from dust to mush.

  But you’re lucky to have a desalinator on board. It removes the salt from the seawater and turns it into fresh water.

  Brandon and Georgina sit at the chart table studying upcoming weather forecasts. Brandon’s shoes are on the table. One is filled with stale candy bars. The other is filled with the empty wrappers.

  “You’re such a slob,” Georgina says as Brandon reaches into the shoe for some of the funky chocolate.

  “Aloha!” you shout from the steps down to the cabin. “I have just what everyone here needs—one order of paradise. Come on up!”

  “There are six islands out there,” Jason says, pointing to a map.

  “Which one is Hawaii?” Georgina asks.

  “All six make up Hawaii,” he explains. “We’re going to stop at the one called the Big Island. David says we need a special part to repair the steering equipment. I know they’ll have one there.”

  “Maybe we should radio ahead to make sure,” David suggests.

  “Don’t have to,” Jason says. “I’ve been to the sail shop on the Big Island. It’s practically on the marina. They’ll have it.”

  “We lost a little time in the storms,” Brandon says. “We should call and make sure.”

  “Don’t have to,” Jason repeats. “They’ll have it.”

  And that’s that.

  The way Jason makes decisions is getting on everyone’s nerves. He never really considers what you or anyone else has to say. But you have to admit, he’s been right about everything so far.

  The Chronos II docks, and David hurries off to the sail shop for the part. Jason was right—the shop is near the harbor. But for the first time on your trip, Jason is wrong—they don’t have the part you need.

  The sail shop can get the gear in a few days. Chelsea buys some fresh fruit and veggies on the island. Then you and the crew do some quick sightseeing.

  The Big Island is incredible. It has sandy beaches, looming mountains, a rain forest, and yes, an active volcano—but it’s not spewing today.

  You take the boat back out so Brandon can fish. You can’t wait to have fresh fish for lunch and a real salad. No dusty dehydrated meals while you’re here in Hawaii.

  Brandon throws a line out—and quickly reels in one snapper after another. He cooks them for the crew, and you all eat together on deck. There’s pineapple and strawberries for dessert, but Brandon decides to eat a banana.

  As he lifts it to his mouth Georgina leaps across the deck, snatches it from him, and throws it overboard.

  “Hey!” Brandon says. “Why did you do that?”

  “It was rotten,” Georgina says.

  “It didn’t look rotten,” Brandon says.

  You could be wrong, but it looked perfectly ripe to you. Strange, you think.

  After lunch, Brandon and David sew up a hole in the jib. Jason pilots the yacht closer to shore so you, Chelsea, and Georgina can snorkel.

  “Aren’t you going to take that necklace off?” Georgina points to Chelsea’s gold necklace.

  “Why?” Chelsea asks. “I never take it off.”

  “Nothing shiny in the water, remember?” Georgina says. “It can attract sharks.”

  “You worry too much,” Chelsea says.

  Georgina turns to you. “Tell her to take it off.”

  You don’t want to get dragged into their argument. In fact, after spending all these weeks in tight quarters, you’d like a little time alone.

  SNORKEL BY YOURSELF.

  SNORKEL WITH CHELSEA AND GEORGINA.

  Up and over, that’s the plan. You’ll use your body as a surfboard, straightening yourself out to become as streamlined as possible. The next big swell forms. It’s heading directly for you. You have only seconds to launch your body over the towering wall of water.

  Three…

  Two…

  Oh, no! Your timing is off. You aren’t in the right position, and you can’t get in front of the wave fast enough.

  One…CRASH!

  Water pummels you. You tumble about like a dirty sock in a washing machine. Salt water pours into your lungs, into your ears, into your eyes. The surface is nowhere in sight. Darkness envelops you.

  Instead of going over, you are going down…

  down…

  down…

  down to the bottom of the sea.

  THE END

  “Abandon ship!” you cry.

  “Why wait until the boat drags us down to the bottom of the ocean?” Brandon adds. “Let’s get out of here!”

  You and Brandon remove the lashing wires and dislodge the bright-orange life raft, then lower it into the swirling sea. Georgina gathers the life jackets. David grabs the prepacked emergency grab bag.

  You all work quickly and are secured in the life raft in less than a minute.

  “Okay, we’re all in safely. Let’s get out of here,” Jason says as he pulls the release cord and the raft is set adrift.

  Huddling together, you toss about on the swollen sea. Darkness blankets the raft. In the dead of night you can’t even see your hands.

  But you can sure feel Georgina’s cold feet on your legs. The six of you are squeezed shoulder to shoulder with no room to spare. The wind whips Chelsea’s long hair into your face, and Brandon keeps elbowing you in the side. Together you ride out the storm.

  By the next morning the ocean has settled and the sun is out. You can see the Chronos II, but barely. It’s now just a speck on the horizon—and it’s upright!

  You made the wrong choice abandoning the boat.

  RAISE THE CANOPY.

  KEEP THE CANOPY DOWN.

  You search frantically for another line to throw. No way are you risking the jaws of a hungry crocodile.

  “Here, take this!” Georgina throws you a rope.

  “You can’t use that!” the pilot yells. “It’s not heavy enough.”

  “Oh, no!” Georgina realizes her mistake. “He’s right. That rope is too thin. It’s half the width it should be.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” David says. “It’s just as strong as the thicker ones. Use it! Use it!”

  The boat is veering away from the lock wall. It has to be tied to keep it under control.

  You turn to the Panama pilot. Will he let you use it?

  Yes! He gives you the go-ahead.

  You secure the boat, and Jason and the pilot enter the lock safely.

  You sail to the ocean under the Bridge of the Americas. The Panama pilot returns control of the boat to Jason.

  Welcome to the Pacific!

  A pod of dolphins appears portside. There must be at least thirty of them. They try to get close to the boat, as if they’re playing a game of tag with you. You watch as they whistle and click and ride the waves alongside the yacht.

  The crew is on deck enjoying the dolphin show.

  You rush below to get a camera.

  You rifle through a bag that looks just like yours—and realize it’s not when you come up with Georgina’s diary. You can’t help yourself. You have to peek inside. You scan the first page—and, suddenly, you understand everything:

  My stupid brother wished me good luck today as the boat took off. He knows saying “good luck” to someone on a boat brings bad luck. He knows how superstitious I am. He did it on purpose. Sorry, but I had to punch him i
n the nose and make him bleed. Blood reverses the curse.

  There are other entries about bad luck:

  —Had to snatch Brandon’s banana from him and throw it overboard. He probably thought I was nuts, but bananas on board are bad luck.

  —I’m sure Chelsea hates me, but you can’t cut your nails or hair onboard ship. Definitely bad luck.

  —What was Jason thinking, bringing a BLACK bag on the boat?!? Black is the color of death. Totally BAD luck. Good thing no one saw me toss it overboard.

  —This crew doesn’t have a clue about bad luck. I’m working hard, keeping them safe.

  You close the diary. You don’t want to be caught snooping, but you’re glad you did. Georgina isn’t crazy—she’s just very superstitious, like a lot of sailors you know.

  You feel much better about her. But how will she and the crew feel about you when they learn your secret?

  It’s a week later, and you’re all on deck, talking about the wind. There hasn’t been much of it, sailing has been slow, and time is running out.

  “With a little luck, we can still make it on schedule,” Jason says, and Brandon agrees, although they both look tense.

  At the mention of the word luck, Georgina’s attention sharpens.

  You hope she has some good luck charms stowed away, because you’re gazing out to the horizon and you can’t believe what you see.

  A dark blotch. It’s a squall. It’s miles wide—and it’s coming at you, fast!

  The sky turns black, the wind picks up. A bolt of lightning lights up the sky. You don’t want to be the tallest object in the ocean when lightning strikes, but you are.

  Chelsea and Brandon start to trim the sails. You and David clean off the deck.

  “Watch out!” Chelsea screams at you.

  But it’s too late.

  STAY WHERE YOU ARE.

  START SWIMMING TOWARD THE BOAT.

  You start to swim back to the yacht. The watch is just a fancy toy, you tell yourself. It’s not worth drowning or risking another shark attack. The shark could still be nearby. Besides, if you make it to California and win the challenge, you’re sure you can ask Mr. Houseman for another one.

  Lost in your thoughts, you swim mechanically back to the yacht. You wish you weren’t out here alone. You can hear your crewmates in your mind, encouraging you to swim on. Chelsea, especially, would insist that you not give up. But the waves are growing higher and stronger, making it more difficult to keep up your good form. One minute they toss you up like a rag doll. The next, they force you under and hold you there.

  Up. Down. Up. Down.

  The water slams against your body, rushing up your nose and down your throat. The salty liquid makes you gag. Coughing and sputtering, you desperately try to battle forward into the waves. How are you going to fight your way through this treacherous sea? Every stroke you take is like slamming yourself into a concrete wall. You need to make a choice.

  TRY TO LAUNCH YOURSELF OVER THE CRESTS OF THE WAVES.

  TRY TO SWIM UNDER THE WAVES.

  “No!” you cry to Chelsea. “Safety first.” You clip your harness onto the wire line running around the boat, then give it a tug to test its strength.

  “Chelsea, clip on!” you plead with her again over the howling wind.

  “Later!” She turns her back, pushing away the wet strands of hair that slap across her face. Then she leans forward and grasps the backstay. You watch as she secures it, ensuring that the mast doesn't crack. You feel silly, swaying in the wind and rain, as Chelsea does all the work.

  She whirls around, hands on her hips. “Big help you were,” she accuses.

  “Chelsea—” You grab onto her arm as the boat pitches violently. You both tumble across the deck, banging your knees and elbows. “Let’s go below,” you tell her. “We’ve got to get out of this storm.”

  “No. I’m going to check all the lines.” Chelsea’s eyes blaze with a fierce determination.

  “I’ll help,” you insist. You wouldn’t leave her alone in a storm. “We’ll get it done faster together.”

  “Let go of me!” Chelsea cries.

  You squint through the puddles collecting in your eyes. The rain is coming at you sideways. You glance down. You’re still gripping Chelsea’s arm.

  “Let go!” she repeats and wriggles to free herself.

  Slowly, you release your hand. At that moment, a terrifying wave crashes over the boat The foaming water scoops both of you in its rush across the deck. Your safety harness tightens, cutting through your clothes and into your skin. The cord groans against the weight of the water.

  The wave retreats into the sea. You’re splayed on your stomach on deck, gasping for breath, but you’re still attached to the boat by your harness.

  But Chelsea . . . where is Chelsea?

  You scan the vast ocean for her. There’s no sign of her. You scream for help. But there’s nothing anyone can do. She wasn’t harnessed in. You didn’t insist. The only thing you did was let her go. And now she is gone for good.

  THE END

  “This way!” you cry, pulling Chelsea as you race toward the stern. The shadow of the mast looms and you quickly realize your mistake. “No, no! Turn around!" you yell. You try to push Chelsea back the way you came.

  Too late.

  The mast plunges, clipping your backs as it falls. Intense pain shoots down your side, and you fear you’ve broken a rib. You want to cry out, but before you can, you are tumbling off the boat. In that instant, you realize why clipping on the safety harness would have been a much better choice.

  You splash into the inky black water. Chelsea tumbles overboard as well. Your thoughts are a jumble as the waves toss you about. Heart racing, you try to find the boat. It's not far off. You see the silhouettes of your crewmates now on deck. They are yelling, but it is difficult to hear them in the wind and rain.

  The water begins to wrap its frigid fingers around you. At least you and Chelsea have life jackets on. You are thankful you remembered that safety warning, at least.

  “Here! Here! I’m here!” you try to yell. Every breath slices painfully through your aching ribcage.

  You raise your arms above your head. You have to make sure they see you.

  But how? you wonder. The sky and ocean blend together in a sheet of blackness. You can’t even see Chelsea anymore. You call out to her, but she doesn’t answer. You train your eyes on the boat. The crew is using the motor, only to be employed in life-and-death emergencies, to head . . . where? It's definitely not to you.

  Then you spot the tiny light. Chelsea has enabled the flashlight and emergency locator beacon on her life jacket. Her exact location is being transmitted via GPS to the boat's computer and to Mr. Houseman’s warm, cozy offices on dry land.

  You need to turn yours on, too. With stiff fingers, you press the button.

  No light.

  You press it again. Nothing.

  You slap at it. Hit it. You try to turn it on every which way.

  Still nothing. Your beacon is defective.

  Rescue will come for Chelsea, but rescues take time, especially out in the frigid open ocean. And time is your enemy. Your body is losing heat fast. Hypothermia is setting in. When the crew finally circles about in the darkness, searching for you, you will have already met a very watery . . .

  THE END

  All you can think about is air. You begin to swim to the surface as fast as you can. Your flippers flutter rapidly as you kick, pushing yourself up, up, up through the sea.

  You watch your tank’s pressure gauge drop sickeningly fast. Swim, swim! you push yourself, desperate to escape. The aqua-green water swirls around you, making you dizzy. Hundreds of tiny fish dart about. It becomes increasingly difficult to draw in air. Your head pounds with an incredible pressure. Nausea overwhelms you, and for a moment, you stop kicking. Stop swimming.

  No, no, don’t do that, you tell yourself, cringing at the excruciating pain deep in your shoulders and knees.

  Then so
me piece of information buried in your brain resurfaces. You remember what you learned in all those classes to become a certified scuba diver. If you ascend too quickly, you’ll get decompression sickness, also called the bends. Nitrogen gas bubbles will form inside your body tissue, causing possible paralysis, unconsciousness, or even death.

  Now what? Glancing once again at your tank gauge, you can’t believe what you see. It’s wrong, you tell yourself. It’s broken. It has to be.

  It’s not. Time to face facts—you’ve gotten in too deep!

  You are so grateful. Georgina reacted immediately, initiating the low-on-air procedure and sharing her octopus regulator. She saved your life and you owe her—big time.

  Together, you begin to ascend at a controlled speed with the air hose connecting both of you to her tank. Then Georgina stops swimming, forcing you to halt, too. You raise your hands to ask, “What’s wrong?” She points to a beautiful, exotic fish swimming. It has bold stripes, showy fins, and jazzy spikes. Georgina has a thing for fish. She’s told you about the two enormous aquariums she has in her bedroom back home.

  You nod and motion to continue upward. You don’t want to jinx your luck. The air in Georgina’s tank will run out twice as fast with two people breathing it. When and if that happens, you want to be up by the boat—not 20,000 leagues under the sea!

  Georgina won’t go. She’s mesmerized by the fish. She holds up a finger to say “wait a minute.” You’re torn. You owe Georgina, and she’s only asking for a minute to see an amazing fish. But, then again, a minute can make all the difference if you’re gasping for air.

  ALLOW GEORGINA THE TIME TO EXPLORE.

  MAKE HER RETURN IMMEDIATELY TO THE BOAT.

  You wave your arms wildly. “Over here! I’m over here!” you scream.

  They still have their backs to you, searching over the wrong side of the boat.