Now you have to tie your boat to the chamber wall to stop the boat from moving as the water rushes out of the chamber into the Pacific Ocean.
“Throw the line,” Jason and the pilot instruct you. You throw the line to a canal worker who will tie it to the wall for you.
Oh, no! The whole line falls into the water.
Quick! Do you jump in after it? Or is there time to look for another line onboard before the boat surges forward and crashes into the opposite wall?
JUMP IN FOR THE LINE.
LOOK FOR ANOTHER LINE ON BOARD.
You shake your head no. By sharing one tank, you’ll run out of air twice as fast and, besides, that’s a lionfish she wants to follow. Beautiful, sure. Dangerous, definitely. It stings with its venomous spikes.
On your way to the boat, the two of you swim by an intricate coral city. It teems with fish of every color and every shape. An enormous large-mouthed grouper swims close to check you out, then swims away, unimpressed. But you’re impressed. In and around the reef, amazing creatures are busy swimming, eating, cleaning. You spot the most adorable clown fish, with its orange-and-white stripes.
Georgina yanks your arm away from what looks, at first, to be yellow-green seaweed.
Your eyes widen. It’s not seaweed. It’s fire coral! If you had touched it, you would’ve gotten a burning, itchy rash. Close call. You gesture thanks, and swim out of danger… and into the waiting tentacles of a pale-blue, bell-shaped box jellyfish. The nearly-transparent, gelatinous creature is the size of a basketball. It hits your leg with one of its sixty tentacles. The pain is indescribable. Your muscles tense and your body convulses. You forget to breathe. You forget everything except the intense, mind-numbing pain.
You’re vaguely aware of arms pulling you up to the surface. You want to curl into a ball, but the pain won’t allow you to move. It’s as if your leg has been thrust into roaring flames. You try to form words, but you can’t make a sound. You are hoisted up out of the water. You writhe on the deck of the boat.
“It was a box jellyfish,” you hear Georgina explain.
“Oh, no! Box jellyfish are the most venomous marine creatures on earth,” David cries.
“Every year people in Southeast Asia die from the stings of box jellyfish. The jellyfish wait around for something to bump into their poisonous tentacles,” he explains.
“Gross!” Chelsea shrieks, staring at you. “There are still tentacles attached to your leg!”
Everyone peers at your shin.
“We need to pee on it,” Brandon announces. “I had a snake bite last year while I was camping. We doused it with urine, and it got better. I can pee into a cup right now.”
“Or we could try vinegar,” Georgina suggests. “An old woman I met while sailing through the Philippines told me that apple cider vinegar cures stings. We only have white vinegar on board, but I bet that would work.”
POUR WHITE VINEGAR ON THE STING.
POUR URINE ON THE STING.
“Chelsea!” you yell. The thundering waves drown out your cries. You scream louder. “Fasten your harness!”
A giant wave pounds the boat.
It hurls you and Chelsea through the air.
You harnessed in time, but did Chelsea?
Up, up, up…you both fly.
Maybe Chelsea was right, you think. Maybe you should have saved the boat first. Now you will both die anyway, the mast will crack, and the rest of the crew will be buried at sea.
The roiling ocean pounds the boat.
BAM! You come down hard, slamming onto the deck.
Chelsea does, too. She harnessed in time. You’re both okay.
The wind beats at you both as you tighten the backstay, preventing the mast from falling forward and cracking.
By the time the storm leaves, you’re exhausted—but you saved the boat and everyone on it.
Today Jason thinks the two of you are heroes. But that will soon change.
You’ve been at sea now for over two months. It’s a quiet day on the water. You and Brandon decide to do some fishing.
“Hey,” Brandon says as he casts his line. “I just remembered. You were going to tell me how you knew so much about the Chronos I—that yacht that sank.”
“I, um…” you start, but Jason cuts you off.
“Brandon, how much longer to Cairns?” he shouts from the wheel.
Cairns is in far north Australia. It’s the best place to start exploring the Great Barrier Reef. The reef is filled with coral gardens, thousands of different sea animals, and underwater canyons. You can’t wait!
“We’re about two weeks away,” Brandon answers. Then he turns to you. “So, how do you know so much about that boat?”
You want to tell Brandon the truth, but now it’s too late, you think.
“I read about it,” you lie.
“Jules Jr. must be really, really rich. Building two yachts—the Chronos I and II—costs a lot of money,” Brandon says.
“He’s rich,” you say. “But Jules Jr. built only Chronos II. His father, Jules Sr., built Chronos I.”
You tell Brandon more about the boat that went down. But there’s something you don’t tell him. Senior doesn’t want Junior to succeed where he failed. Jules Sr. wants your boat to lose—and you wonder how far he’d go to stop you.
You’ve been at sea for two long months, so when the coastline of Cairns comes into view, you shout out with joy.
“Australia! We’re here!” The rest of the crew joins you on deck to take in the shoreline’s golden sandy beaches.
Cairns has something for everyone—beautiful beaches, amazing waterfalls, a fantastic rain forest—but you don’t have time to see everything. What you and the crew want to do most is explore the Great Barrier Reef.
You put on your scuba gear and dive right in.
“Don’t forget the camera!” Brandon throws the underwater camera to Georgina. He has volunteered to stay onboard.
The sea life here is incredible. The colors in this underwater world are astounding.
You swim among the stingrays and sea turtles. A seahorse glides by you. You explore an underwater canyon. Maybe you’ll search for an ancient shipwreck. You’ve heard that the reef is littered with hundreds of them. It would be so cool to find one—and maybe a sunken treasure along with it!
You swim toward Georgina to see if she wants to explore with you—and gasp. It’s not the barracuda that just passed that has taken your breath away. It’s something much worse.
SWIM TO THE SURFACE AS FAST AS YOU CAN.
MAKING YOUR WAY TO DAVID TO USE HIS EXTRA REGULATOR.
The crew decides to go it alone. Only a few small boats sailed the IRTC with you, and no one wants to wait for more to appear. The Suez route was chosen for speed.
Full speed ahead!
The Chronos II leaves the IRTC early the next morning. Brandon hopes the gray mist of the dawn will help hide the yacht. Hours later, you stand on the deck and survey the flat, slate-blue ocean. For the first time in days, there are no other boats in sight. The Chronos II bobs all alone. That’s when the distant rumble of an outboard motor breaks the silence. “What’s that?” you cry.
“I don’t know,” Brandon admits, squinting through the mist. “Chelsea! Can you see?”
“Over there! Starboard aft!” Chelsea yells down. She shimmied up the mast earlier to adjust the sail. “We have company!”
David hurries to your side with a pair of high-powered binoculars. He raises them to his eyes, then groans. “Not good.” He hands them to you.
Two skiffs zoom across the water, kicking up a wake in their path. They are headed directly for you, as if zeroing in on a target. One veers off, then approaches from your port side. They have you trapped.
Each small boat holds five men, all brandishing rifles and machine guns. They yell in a language you don’t understand, but that doesn’t matter. You get the meaning.
They want to board your yacht.
Jason tries to veer to th
e left, but one of the boats cuts the Chronos II off. Your sailboat is no match for their motors. Or their guns.
One guy, with a black scarf wrapped around his head, stands and fires a warning shot with his rifle. The six of you huddle together as the bullet lands in the water. “We’re in trouble,” David whispers.
In seconds, several Somali pirates toss crude rope ladders onto your deck and scramble aboard. The man with the black scarf takes the wheel.
Georgina sobs and Jason’s face grows red with fury as the men roughly push you below deck. They stink of sweat. Your mouths are duct-taped and your hands are bound tightly with twine. When Brandon tries to fight back, a pirate smashes the back of his head with the butt of his rifle. Brandon falls and hits his head on the floor. Blood trickles down his forehead.
You try to help him, but the pirate raises his gun at you.
The six of you squat in a corner for hours. Any movement angers the guard with the gun. You bite your lip against the pain of your cramping muscles. Your stomach knots in fear.
Jason catches your eye, then David’s. He nods slightly toward Brandon’s radio and computer. They’re not far off. He raises his eyebrows, sending a message. The only hope is to get over there and try to send an SOS. Brandon is dazed from his injury, Georgina is still sobbing, and Chelsea just stares at the floor in shock. It’s up to the three of you.
Jason grunts loudly. The guard tells him to shut up, but he groans even louder. The guard raises his gun to quiet Jason, but Jason shakes his head wildly. “What do you want?” the guard asks, his English heavily accented. He rips the tape from Jason’s mouth.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” Jason rasps.
The guard unties Jason’s hands and watches him walk to the head. Jason is getting close to the equipment. Closer. Closer. You need to create a distraction now so he can use the radio!
You slam your legs on the floor, but at that moment several pirates hurry down the ladder. They grab Jason, just as he’s inches away from the equipment. They drag you all up from the dark galley and onto a pier. You’re driven to a damp hut with a dirt floor and told to wait.
The Chronos II decided to go it alone, and now you truly are alone. Your only choice is to wait until they find Mr. Houseman, and he agrees to pay the ransom. One million dollars for each of you.
Mr. Houseman spent a fortune on this voyage. You hope he has enough money left to buy back his crew.
THE END
Brandon is right. Jason is in no condition to pilot the boat safely.
“Okay. I’ll do it,” you say.
You approach Chelsea and Jason. You feel a little shaky. You’ve never steered a boat through islands and rocks and reefs—and you’ve never forced a skipper to surrender control of a boat.
“Jason, you have to go below and get some rest. You haven’t slept in days. It’s not safe to work this way.” You reach out and place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You need some sleep.”
Jason’s glance darts to Chelsea. She nods in agreement. He glares at her. Then he knocks your hand from his shoulder. He looks over at Brandon and David. He can tell that no one is going to back down.
“Thanks for the support, everyone,” he snaps. “You don’t know what you’re doing.” He wants to argue more, but he doesn’t. He heads below, and the tension that was building starts to ease. Everyone breathes a sigh of relief, except you—because you are now the one responsible for steering the boat through this treacherous path. Will you make it to the Indian Ocean—or will you bring down the yacht?
As you steer the boat, you try to remain calm.
You watch for anything rocky sticking up out of the water.
Brandon stands next to you at the helm, an extra pair of eyes on the lookout.
“The Torres Strait is doom and destruction for small boats like this one,” Brandon tells you.
You wish he wouldn’t talk. You’re trying to concentrate. You’ve been holding your breath since you stepped up to the wheel, and Brandon is making you nervous.
“It takes down huge oil tankers, too,” he goes on. “They collide with uncharted rocks. Takes them right out.”
“Brandon…” you start.
“Then they come limping into port like sick puppies,” he goes on. “All ripped up. Oil polluting the islands. A real disaster. Usually no one dies. Except back in…”
“Brandon! Stop! I’m trying to concentrate.”
SCRAPE.
The bottom of the boat grazes the floor of the strait.
SCRAAAPE.
Louder this time. It sounds like you’re slicing the hull.
Your stomach lurches.
SCRAAAAAPE.
The boat stops moving.
Your trip might be over—and it’s all your fault.
As your heart sinks, a gust of wind blows out of the north. It rocks the boat—rocks it hard and shakes you loose.
You’re doing great now.
You move forward slowly.
Then, without warning, the boat jerks backward—as if something yanked it back.
“What was that?” Brandon shouts.
You stare into the water and see it—a heavy rope, probably lost from a big ship, snaking through the water, wrapping around the keel of your ship. But the rope quickly unwinds itself, and the boat pitches forward.
Congratulations—you conquered the dreaded Torres Strait!
You continue to head into the Indian Ocean—and into another argument with the crew. This time it’s about changing course—and once again the wrong choice could be deadly.
You’ve been at sea for nearly five months. Sailing the Indian Ocean has been unpredictable.
The winds are light. You’re making very little progress. Then the water turns choppy. The boat slaps the waves as you sail right into them.
Chronos II creaks and groans and shakes, and makes all sorts of noises you’ve never heard before. With each thump on a wave, she sounds like she’s cracking apart.
Jason is worried about the yacht and all the time you’re losing in this lumpy sea. “I think we should change course,” he says. “We can pick up speed if we sail through the Suez Canal—downwind—instead of going round the Cape of Good Hope—upwind.”
You want to save time, too, but to travel the Suez, you have to sail through the Gulf of Aden—known as Pirate Alley!
Ships are attacked there daily.
Pirates seize boats and hold crews for ransom—if they don’t shoot them first.
“Not every ship is attacked,” Chelsea says when you mention this. “Maybe we should take our chances.”
Jason agrees. “Around the Cape of Good Hope, we could hit ferocious winds and torrential rain. We could lose A LOT of time there—enough to lose the prize money.”
You and the crew argue back and forth about which route to take. Finally, you all come to a decision.
TRY TO SAVE TIME AND TAKE THE SUEZ CANAL.
REMAIN ON COURSE FOR THE CAPE OF GOOD HOPE.
Hit the shark? No way! This deadly fish is at least 10 feet long and weighs about 1,000 pounds. And its teeth are enormous!
I’m out of here, you think, and swim into action. Faster and faster you push yourself. Your legs kick violently, and your arms windmill through the water. The shark circles confidently. The yacht is still far off. Even if you screamed, no one would hear you. Your once-smooth strokes become jerky and frantic. Uh-oh. The more you flail, the more you attract the shark’s attention.
The shark moves in again, circling even closer. It’s so incredibly close you can see the dark stripes marking its body. A tiger shark. Knowing its name doesn’t make you feel any better. In fact, it makes you feel worse. Tiger sharks are one of the most dangerous sharks to humans. They like to eat large prey—and you’re just the right size! Don’t panic, don’t panic, you repeat to yourself, but your leg suddenly cramps. You flail in the water and hope the motion scares the shark away. But the frantic splashing only seems to make you more interesting to the hungry-look
ing tiger shark.
The shark’s cold eyes are now gleaming with excitement. It stops circling…
Blood trickles from your wound into the ocean, drawing the shark closer, eager for a taste. Its jaws open wide, exposing rows of razor-sharp teeth.
You try to massage the cramped muscle in your leg, but it doesn’t help. The pain is paralyzing and you can’t move, but at this point it doesn’t really matter.
There’s nowhere to go. No escape. Looks like the crew won’t be eating with you tonight. You have a dinner date with a shark, and unfortunately you’re the one on the menu.
THE END
“Stay right here,” you say. “If you go down below, you’ll feel worse.”
“Okay,” Brandon says. Holding the railing, he hangs his head down, waiting for the dizziness and nausea to end. But his knees start to buckle and he lets out a low, long moan.
“Look up, Brandon. Look out at the horizon,” you tell him. “Looking down at the water will make you sicker.”
Brandon follows your instructions, and the greenish color in his face slowly turns back to pink.
The storm quickly fades and so does Brandon’s queasiness.
Even the most experienced sailors get seasick, and it’s horrible when it hits. But you’re glad that Brandon’s problem was seasickness and not your story about Chronos I.
It’s been about a month since you left Los Angeles. After that first squall, the yacht ran into a few more storms. A couple of them sent you off course, but Brandon is a great navigator. He re-charted your route, and you’re back on track.
“Hey, look!” you shout. You’re standing on deck—and you’ve spotted palm trees, lush green hills, and the top of a volcano rising up in the distance.
“Hawaii!”
The Worst-Case Scenario Ultimate Adventure Novel: Deadly Seas Page 7
