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

the surface and slapped against the hull. An image flashed in my mind—the sun glinting off the blue water in the pool, behind my father’s lifeless body. I grabbed the line with both hands and stepped over the lifelines. My heart pounded, and I squeezed the line to stop the tremors in my hands. I broke into a cold sweat.

I glanced at the hatch as Brad’s head poked out of it, and he pulled himself on deck facing aft. I had to hurry before he turned and saw me.

I leaned against the line to make sure it stayed taut and stepped onto the side of the hull. I pushed away from the yacht, transferring my weight onto my feet. I descended, hand over hand, walking my feet down the hull toward the water.

I peeked over the gunwale one last time. Brad stood and flexed the muscles in his arms. He turned around, and I ducked. The line burned the skin off my palms, and I spread my toes to improve my tenuous purchase on the hull. I stopped halfway and bent my knees until my body lay against the hull. I dangled my healthy foot beneath me and used my toes to locate the loop. I slipped my foot into it, and the knot tightened around me. I shifted my weight onto my leg and took the strain off my arms. I loosened my grip on the rope.

Above, Brad growled and ran around the deck hunting me. The virus had devastated his mind, and his synapses failed to connect as the damage spread. His brain had become a neurological fireworks show. I doubted he would think to check over the side, which meant I was safe.

For now.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

I dangled from the bow, gripping the line—holding onto life. Above, Brad growled and scampered around the deck, like a wolf stalking a wounded doe. A moment later, the muffled sounds of breaking glass emanated from the galley. He seemed furious.

The wind increased, and the sails ruffled, heeling the yacht and providing some forward momentum. The sea undulated around me.

If I lost my grip and fell into the water, I could not climb back onboard without the line. Even where the stern sat lowest in the water, the deck remained far above the waterline. Unreachable. My foot pulsated where my stitches stretched. Blood dripped off my toes. I followed a drop as it plunged through the air and splashed into the ocean. A pink haze formed on the surface below me.

The shark.

Fear jolted me—an electric shock arcing across my nerves. How had I forgotten about the shark? I had read sharks could detect a drop of blood in the water from miles away, and Brad had told me they could leap out of the water after prey. I dangled two feet over the surface, like a worm on a hook.

My eyes flickered across the surface, frantic. The line creaked from my shifting weight and rubbed against gunwale. If the line snapped, I would not have to worry about drowning. The shark would devour me.

I closed my eyes. I had not been to church since my father’s funeral, but I bowed my head and prayed. I did not ask for God to intervene and save me—that was too much for me to believe. Instead, I prayed I would be smart enough to find my way out of this predicament, to think my way to safety. But if a solution existed, I could not see it.

“Shit.”

I shook my head. I had a madman above me and a shark somewhere below. The wind had increased, and no one manned the helm. Brad would only live for a few more days, so if I could outlast him, I had a chance to survive.

My good leg tired and the line dug into the sole of my foot. My teeth clenched around the knife handle and my jaw quivered with a spasm. My position was unsustainable and soon, I would be too tired to climb up the line. I needed to find a better hiding spot, somewhere safe to make a plan.

Blood soaked my bandage, and a red stream trickled across my foot and beaded on the tips of my toes. I watched droplets grow then break free and fall into the water. I balanced on my right leg, bent over, and wiped off the blood. I dried  my fingers on my bikini bottom. A long bloody trail hung in the water as the yacht drifted eastward, and I waited for the wound to clot.

Below me, a black fuzzy shape skirted the port side, swimming ten feet underwater. The great white had returned. I became a cat toy hanging at the end of a string. I had no choice but to climb up on deck.

A dorsal fin broke the surface of the water forty feet off the starboard side and turned toward me. The shark followed the blood trail, which led to me.

I hoisted myself and braced my feet on either side of the bow for balance. I followed the fin with my eyes and waited. I would have to be quick.

Its nose broke the surface fifteen feet away. Its mouth opened as if it were tasting the blood in the water. The shark stared at me with its black eyes, flicked its powerful tail, and submerged.

I bent my right knee, shifting my weight onto it, and rotated to the port side of the hull.

The shark broke the surface, its jaws open and its eyes rolled back in its head. It snapped its teeth and banged against the bow, where I had just been hanging. It splashed back into the water and disappeared below the surface as quickly as it had attacked.

My body shook, and I hyperventilated. I did not care if Brad was rabid. I had to escape the shark. I lifted my left foot and swung my weight across the bow until I straddled it. I pulled myself higher as I walked with