“Again!” you cry. Chelsea nods. The wind swirls and howls. You pull and pull. Your muscles tense and sweat mixes with sea and rainwater on your skin.
“Secure the wire!” Chelsea screams over the roar of the storm. “It’s in a good position.”
At that moment, the wire slips from your grip, and then you hear an awful sound.
“That loud noise was thunder, right?” you ask uncertainly. You raise your head to the sky. Rain pounds down.
“No!” Chelsea lets out a high-pitched wail. “The mast! Look! It snapped!”
You gape and squint, trying to see the extent of the damage. Through the curtains of rain, you watch the huge pole made from carbon fiber wobble in the wind. Not good, you think. Not good at all. You’ve had plenty of rigging problems before, but never a broken mast.
“It’s coming down!” you yell suddenly.
Chelsea doesn’t answer. She stands frozen, a statue in the storm, her gaze transfixed on the swaying mast. For the first time since meeting her, you see fear in Chelsea’s eyes. That really scares you.
At that moment, another gust of wind sweeps across the boat. The cracked mast lets out a final groan and begins to fall. “Chelsea!” You grab her shoulders and give her a shake. “Move! Now!” you scream, fighting to be heard. You both will be crushed if the mast smashes onto the deck. You grab Chelsea’s hand. Which way should you and Chelsea run? You have less than a second to decide!
RUN TO THE BOW.
RUN TO THE STERN.
“Water is pouring in too fast,” you argue. “We all need to leave!”
Jason and David protest, but you hold your ground. You know Jason’s upset—abandoning the boat means losing the challenge. But this isn’t about winning anymore—it’s about staying alive! Soon David agrees that the crack can’t be repaired out at sea and especially not in a storm at night. You must get off the boat before it goes down.
Everyone rushes onto the deck. While Brandon, Chelsea, and Georgina untie the life raft, Jason does a head count. “Where’s David?” he demands.
You turn back and peek below deck. “Mayday! Mayday!” you hear David repeat into the emergency radio. “This is Chronos II-Chronos II-Chronos II WA720.”
“He’s sending a distress signal!” you call back to Jason.
You scan the vast ocean. Nothing but churning water. In minutes, your raft will be bobbing all alone out there. You hope that someone hears the distress call.
The boat lurches heavily, submerging most of the starboard side. “We need to leave now!” Jason yells.
The others are already lifting the life raft into the dark ocean.
“Wait!” David calls. He is starting to relay longitude and latitude coordinates. A rescue boat or helicopter will need these to find you.
Another wave pushes the Chronos II inches from resting completely on its side.
“David, we’re going over!” Jason bellows.
David scrambles up onto the deck. “I didn’t finish,” he pants. “I should go back and call—”
“You’ll die down there!” You grab his arm and push him into the life raft before he can argue. Chelsea, Georgina, and Brandon are already in. The rip cord attaching the life raft to the yacht suddenly breaks free. Jason lunges for the raft and clutches it with both hands as the waves threaten to pull it out to sea and drag him along with it.
“The supplies! Get them!” Jason glances back. There’s a big plastic bag with life jackets, rope, and flashlights, and there’s the prepacked waterproof grab bag.
You can carry only one bag. Which one will it be?
TAKE THE BAG WITH THE LIFE JACKETS.
TAKE THE GRAB BAG.
That green dot could mean big trouble out there. Indecision is the cause of many boating accidents, so you spring into action. You race up to the deck to search for Brandon.
“What’s wrong?” Jason asks before you can find him.
“I saw something on the radar screen,” you yell over the crashing waves and wind. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s somewhere over there.” You point out the direction.
Jason peers through his high-power binoculars. “Iceberg!” he shouts. He struggles to steer the boat clear of the iceberg. But it seems hopeless. The wind is too strong to fight.
You and the crew watch in horror as the boat slams against the waves, heading right for the iceberg. Then, suddenly, the squall ends. Jason moves fast. He takes advantage of the new conditions and maneuvers safely away from the iceberg.
And with that deft maneuver, you’ve rounded Cape Horn. Hooray!
Brandon runs below to check the radar to make sure there are no more icebergs in your path.
Oh, no! The radar screen is black. It’s of fline, and so is every other piece of navigational equipment on board. David goes below to try to figure out what’s wrong.
Meanwhile, the iceberg you missed has forced you off course. You’ve drifted into the inlets that surround the rocky islands north of Cape Horn. Brandon uses a compass to help Jason steer around these dangerous islands. But the winds are extreme here. And the course is narrow. These gusts can drive the boat right into the rocks.
You return on deck and remain there with Georgina and Chelsea in case Brandon and Jason need you. Jason carefully steers to avoid the rocky shoreline and the other boats up ahead. The wind never stops. You hunch over to try to escape it—and you realize you look just like the trees that grow on these nearby islands. They grow bent over from the constant force of the wind.
These waters are grim—and are about to turn bleaker. In a few minutes a heavy fog rolls in—and you’re sailing blind.
“I can’t see a thing,” Chelsea says, peering out into the heavy mist.
“There are islands and boats out there, but they’re totally hidden,” Georgina says. “It’s sort of creepy.”
You’re all on the lookout, but you’re afraid that by the time you can actually spot a rock or a boat in this dense fog, it will be too late. Should you continue sailing? You took Cape Horn because you thought it would be faster. You really don’t want to stop now. But it might be safer to drop anchor in a cove and wait out the fog.
CONTINUE SAILING.
DROP ANCHOR.
Everyone sides with Georgina. You’re relieved. You definitely didn’t want Brandon’s urine on your leg if it could be avoided!
The vinegar is poured on your skin. Georgina wears gloves to pry off the tentacles adhered to your leg, because even detached from the jellyfish, the tentacles can continue to sting. The acetic acid in the vinegar stops the stinging cells left on your leg from harming you, but Georgina must still call for a helicopter from Cairns, Australia, to whisk you away to the hospital. You will live, but your sea voyage is over. The only thing that hurts more than the box jellyfish sting right now is the sting of defeat.
THE END
Once the mainsail is tied with the reef knot, you’re ready for the storm. It passes quickly, and the sun peeks out from the clouds. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt its warmth on your face!
You’re standing on deck with Georgina—and an albatross soars gracefully overhead. With its huge wingspan, it’s one of the largest flying birds on earth. It glides on the same wind that sends your boat skipping across the ocean waves. Today you feel like you own the ocean. Today you remember why you love sailing.
You’ve been at sea for five months and three weeks—175 days, to be exact—and you just rounded the Cape of Good Hope!
Georgina looks up at the soaring bird. “Some sailors think that seabirds carry the souls of dead sailors,” she says. “That’s why it’s unlucky to kill them.”
Before you can reply, the bottom of the boat hits a UFO!
At sea, that’s an unidentified floating object. It’s probably a lost shipping container or a lost oil barrel—but it found you.
JUMP IN TO HELP CHELSEA.
LET CHELSEA FIX THE RUDDER ALONE.
Life jackets will keep us afloat if something goes wrong wi
th the raft is all that runs through your mind. Everything is moving really fast—and you should, too. You scoop up the bag of life jackets, rope, and flashlights and fall into the life raft alongside Jason.
And then that’s it. It’s over. The winds change direction as night gives way to dawn. The ocean becomes calm and the sun breaks through the clouds. Without your navigational equipment, you have only the vaguest idea where you are.
“Now what?” Chelsea demands.
“Just chill out and wait for rescue,” Brandon replies.
Georgina gives Brandon a shove. “Move over. Your pointy elbow is jabbing my ribs.”
“Well, you’re totally leaning on me,” you tell Georgina. “It’s really tight in this thing.”
The six of you are side by side in a tiny rubber life raft, without a centimeter of room between you.
“When will we be rescued?” Chelsea asks. Her voice is shrill. Anxiety clouds her usually determined eyes.
Everyone looks to David. “Never,” he replies. “Nobody knows where we are.”
“Don’t think that way!” Jason scolds. “Of course we will. It will just take time.”
“I’m hungry,” Georgina complains.
“I can hear your stomach growling,” Brandon taunts, nudging her shoulder out of his face.
Jason scans the life raft. It doesn’t take long, since it’s so small. “Where’s the emergency grab bag?”
Everyone turns to you. “I—I—I just got the life jackets and flashlights,” you stammer. “I could only grab one bag from the boat.”
“Yum, I really want to eat a flashlight,” Georgina replies sarcastically. She’s becoming mean without food.
You realize now you made the wrong choice. The grab bag had food and other emergency supplies, including a handheld radio. “I’m sorry,” is all you can say.
And then you all wait. And float. The sun beats down. All you want is a cool drink, but the grab bag has all your emergency water. The sun makes the ocean glitter around you. Cool glittery water. Everywhere.
“I’m so thirsty,” Chelsea complains the next day through her cracked and bleeding lips.
“If we don’t have fresh water, we’ll die.” Brandon says. His eyelids have swollen shut from sunburn.
“Just hold on,” Jason implores. “Rescue will come.”
But it doesn’t. The hours warp together. Everyone is dizzy and faint. Reaching her hands over the side of the life raft, Chelsea scoops up the salt water.
“Don’t!” Jason cries in a brittle rasp.
She slurps the salty water anyway. Scoop. Slurp. You are too weak to pull her back. The more salt water she drinks, the thirstier she becomes. Then she begins to vomit uncontrollably. Her body shakes as she wretches. Dehydration eventually overwhelms Chelsea.
Rescue arrives a few hours later, but that’s too late for poor Chelsea.
Months go by and Jason calls you at home. He wants to form another crew and try again. You refuse. The pain of losing Chelsea is too raw. Your sailing dreams have come to …
THE END
You kick off your deck shoes and dive in, clothes and all. The brown water is warm and murky. There is less than 10 feet between the yacht and the wall. You swim alongside the Chronos II, searching for the end of the line.
“Found it!” you cry. You lift it high, then begin to swim it toward the canal worker. A large cruise ship somewhere nearby blares its horn at the same moment the canal worker yells to you.
“What?” you call. Fragments of Spanish float back to you. You can’t piece together what he’s trying to say.
The lock gates click shut as you tread water, still trying to understand his warning.
After that, everything happens so fast. The chamber fills with the rush of thousands of gallons of water. You flail about helplessly, caught in the current, unsure whether to swim to the wall or back to the boat. Chelsea’s high-pitched squeal calls your name.
The Chronos II has been nested, or tied, to a tugboat for the transit through the canal. Suddenly, the tugboat’s stern swings away from the wall, violently pushing the Chronos II along with it. In less time than it takes to blink, the two boats are upon you. You are slammed full-force into the concrete lock wall. For minutes, you are pinned to the wall, the weight of the yacht crushing your ribs and blocking air from your lungs.
Pain ricochets through your body. You can hear your crewmates’ screams of horror.
David blasts an emergency air horn to let everyone know you’re in trouble. Jason and the tugboat skipper quickly redirect their boats away from you, but the damage is done. You leaped before you looked, and your dreams of glory have been crushed.
THE END
The Suez Canal will get you back to California three weeks faster and save thousands of miles sailing. Maybe you’ll meet up with some pirates, but maybe you won’t. It’s worth the risk, everyone decides.
“Man the sails! We need to come about,” Jason calls, setting sail for your new course.
Brandon grimaces, not pleased with the crew’s choice. But over the next few days, it seems like a good one. The weather is hot and sunny with a steady breeze, and the Chronos II sails smoothly into the Gulf of Aden.
Brandon finds Jason at the wheel while you’re scrubbing salt from the metal winches nearby. “Listen,” Brandon says. “Sailing Pirate Alley is a big gamble. Since we’re doing it, we have to stick to the IRTC.”
“What’s that?” you call.
“Internationally Recommended Transit Corridor,” Brandon explains. “Along this 500-mile path, there are patrol ships that police the waterway. They bring the risk of a pirate attack way down. And that’s important for a small yacht like ours, which is easy to board. Pirates have guns. They won’t hesitate to use them.”
The Chronos II sails alongside gigantic container ships, tankers, and car carriers on the IRTC over the next two days. Somalia, where most of the pirates are from, is a very poor African country with a weak government. The pirates know that if they hijack the ships in this area, the shipping companies will pay huge ransoms to get them back, and few pirates are ever punished.
The crew feels pretty safe while in the IRTC. You see several patrol boats. All is quiet. Then Jason and Brandon call the crew together. They are glaring at each other. Something is wrong.
“Tomorrow morning we leave the IRTC,” Brandon announces. “We then have to make it through a hundred miles of pirate-infested waters unprotected.” He shows the route on a chart
“What now?” Georgina asks.
“I think I should get on the radio and find other small boats in the area. We could cross together,” Brandon suggests. “Pirates may be less likely to mess with a group.”
“It could take days or even weeks to gather a flotilla,” Jason counters. “Besides, a big group could attract unwanted attention. If we go it alone, we may be able to slip by unnoticed.”
WAIT FOR OTHER SHIPS.
SAIL IT ALONE.
Chelsea has super-strong legs. She’s a great swimmer—and you’re not. The waters of the South Atlantic are the roughest you’ve met so far. The current is strong, the swells are huge, and the water is icy.
Chelsea lowers herself into the frigid ocean. Even with her drysuit—a special diving suit with a thermal undersuit to keep her warm—her lips turn blue. One thing’s for sure—she can’t stay in these waters too long.
In a few moments she resufaces with the report that part of the rudder has broken off.
“When you scraped bottom in the Torres Strait, you must have weakened it,” David says to you. “Whatever we just hit finished the job.”
As David instructs Chelsea on the repair, the current pushes her. Then a wave hurls her away. She fights hard to swim back to try to replace the missing piece.
Then a huge wave barrels in.
Chelsea goes under.
Her head doesn’t reappear for more than a minute.
Your pulse races as you search for some sign of her—a flash of her sui
t. A strand of hair. An air bubble.
Nothing.
“I’m jumping in,” you say, when you can’t wait any longer.
Jason and Brandon are ready to leap in, too.
And then she pops up.
“That was a big wave,” she gasps.
You nearly collapse with relief.
The rudder is fixed and you sail on through the South Atlantic. The waves are enormous. The winds are out of control.
“Huge one coming!” David yells as another monster wave rushes the boat. Jason is at the wheel when the wave pounds the deck and knocks him off his feet, submerging him underwater.
When the water washes out. Jason is still holding the wheel, and he’s already bracing himself for the next big one.
Everyone works hard to keep the boat upright. The wind and the waves toss it around as if it’s a child’s beach ball.
And this is a sunny day.
Georgina says a real storm is headed your way—and it’s going to be a killer.
The storm hits early the next morning.
You hear a roar—and a gale-force wind slams the boat.
The boat flips on its side. You’re thrown across the cabin and your back slams into the bulkhead. No, not the bulkhead. It’s the deckhead—the ceiling.
“The keel is out of the water,” Jason shouts, holding on to the table. “The mast is underwater.”
Jason doesn’t have to say anything more—this is danger of the worst kind.
“One strong wave will flip the boat totally and rip the mast from the deck,” David says. “Snap it like a toothpick.”
The Worst-Case Scenario Ultimate Adventure Novel: Deadly Seas Page 2