Furious by Jeffrey Higgins (top 10 novels to read TXT) 📕

but we have pumps and we’ll be fine. That’s not the danger.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound dangerous at all,” I said.

“The real danger from capsizing is damaging the mast. Dragging a ninety-foot mast through swirling currents causes tremendous pressure. It’s not difficult to snap it off.”

“You’re scaring me again. How many ways are there to die out here?”

“Don’t worry, this is an enormous yacht. We would only try that maneuver in hurricane-force winds. I’ll stay on deck and steer us through the peaks. I can also turn into the wind and heave to, which means I backwind the genoa to counteract the main and keep us close to a standstill. I’ve done it before.”

“You’ve sailed through a monsoon?”

“I’ve been in the Atlantic during some good blows. None of them as bad as this will be, but I’ve been in strong enough storms to know what I’m doing.”

“Pirates and monsoons. You planned an interesting trip.”

“Thanks.” Brad rubbed his temples and grimaced.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I’ve never had migraines before this. I took four aspirin, but it’s still brutal.”

I stared at the clouds in the distance. They looked menacing, as if they possessed evil intent. I bit my nail and shuddered.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The sea air—humid, salty, tangible—infused everything, as if the ocean wrapped us in its arms. Wispy clouds accumulated overhead. Cumulus masses, heavy with moisture, approached our stern, and monstrous cumulonimbus clouds filled the eastern horizon. The intensifying wind drove the swells high around us and the coming storm propelled the yacht across the surface at thirteen knots.

“The storm looks bad. I decided to heave to the yacht,” Brad said.

“What do we do?”

“I’ll lower the sails halfway, backwind the genoa, and use the sea anchor to slow us down and keep from being broadsided. I’ll stay on deck and steer.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“I’ll wear a life vest and keep my safety harness on. We could hunker down inside, but I know you’re scared. Don’t worry. I’ll get us through this.”

“The size of this storm is amazing. It spans the entire horizon.”

“Monsoons dominate life in this part of the world.”

Brad and I donned yellow raincoats, foul weather pants, rubber boots, and safety harnesses. I felt cartoonish, like a child playing dress up, and I would have laughed, if not for my trembling. Brad wanted me to stay below when it hit, which was fine with me, but I also wanted to be ready in case he needed me. I hoped he would not.

The storm had seemed so far away, but it had moved in fast and was on top of us within two hours. The sky darkened, and the clouds fused into a thick gray blanket. The firmament lowered like it wanted to merge with the briny deep. The heavens opened and rain stung my face and hands. Lightning flashed in the distance, then closer, then all around us. Thick bolts of electricity exploded inside the black cloudscape, stabbing the ocean. Thunder boomed across the surface, loud and terrifying.  How could the lightning miss our mast, the highest point for hundreds of miles?

“What happens if we’re struck by lightning?”

“The chance of getting hit is less than one-tenth of one percent.”

“Those are the odds of losing a baby to SUIDS, so you can understand why that doesn’t soothe me.”

Brad nodded. “The odds do increase when we’re the only boat in sight.”

“What if a thunderbolt hits us?”

“Lightning strikes the highest point. We have a lightning rod on top of the mast, which should direct the energy into the water, but a strike could ring our bell a bit.”

“What’s the worst case?”

“It could jump from the mast and hit us, stopping our hearts or creating other serious trauma. It could fry all of our electronics. Worst case, it could blow a hole in our hull.”

I glared at Brad. Was he kidding me with this? The weather was not his fault, but he had not explained the dangers we would face. He had pitched this trip as a getaway from our troubles, but it seemed more perilous with each passing day.

“Is there anything we can do?” I asked.

“Go below and stay away from metal surfaces. Unplug all the electronics but keep the AIS alert system on. The storm will reduce visibility to a few yards and if there are any tankers nearby, I want them to see our radar signature.”

“What if a thunderbolt destroys our radar?”

“We won’t get hit by lightning.”

I hurried downstairs and unplugged what I could, but they had built most of the electronics into the bulkheads and I could not disconnect them. The sea raged and our yacht bounced, yawing from side to side like a metronome. I swung from handhold to handhold, propelling myself through the cabin, checking everything. Bile rose in my throat, and I forced it back down.

I climbed on deck and connected my safety strap to the lifeline, my shaking fingers fumbling with the latch. Brad struggled with the wheel, turning us to port, then to starboard, always keeping our bow perpendicular to the waves. Whitecaps foamed atop the surges and we rode down them into deep troughs before climbing the following waves. Our yacht had become a carnival ride and my stomach flipped with every descent. The swells grew—giant hills rolling across the surface—and the rain came harder, pounding in my ears like an oncoming train.

“Hold on to something. I’m coming about to face the storm.”

“I’m scared.”

Brad nodded. He waited for the yacht to break over the next crest. Our bow dipped, and we increased speed as we skidded down the far side of the wave. When we hit the trough, Brad spun the wheel to port, and we came about. For a moment the swell we had just crossed caught us broadside, but our momentum spun us around and we rose to the crest as tons of saltwater passed beneath our hull. We rode down the other side, facing into the wind.

Brad turned until we were close-hauled, at a forty-five-degree angle to the wind and waves. He