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

from the yacht, rising high into the air. A blinding flash forced my eyes shut and a wall of pressure knocked me off my feet.

My ears rang, and I shook my head to clear my mind. I grabbed the gunwale and pulled myself to my knees. The yacht’s cabin top had disappeared in the explosion. Fragments rained onto the surface as flames consumed the yacht.

A loud crack reverberated across the water. The yacht’s bow tilted at a sharp angle and slid stern-first into the ocean. The fire sizzled and popped as the cold seawater extinguished it. The yacht slipped below the surface, and only the mast remained visible, as if the Karna was giving me the finger.

The yacht sank.

The surface bubbled with air released from below. A billow swept away the disturbance, and the ocean turned placid, as if the yacht had never existed. Only a black cloud of smoke and scattered debris remained.

The yacht was gone. Brad was gone. The poor sailor was gone. But I lived.

I soaked in the thousands of miles of blue ocean. The only sound, the splashing of the sea against the hull. I ran my hands over my legs again to reassure myself I was in one piece. How had I made it off the yacht? How had I escaped the shark? My chance of survival had not been high.

I descended the companionway and walked through the cabin, feeling like an intruder. The elderly sailor had sailed the ocean alone and come to my rescue, only to be savagely murdered. I hoped he had died quickly and not suffered. A pang of guilt tugged at me, weighed on my soul. I had not intended to hurt anyone. I had meant to warn whoever came, but I had pushed my mind and body beyond my limits of endurance and had passed out on the mast.

I would have to live with that.

On the yacht, I had faced my worst fears and insurmountable odds, the sum of all of my life’s tragedy, but I had persevered. I had confronted all of it and won. Beneath my depression, a fire still burned inside me. I would learn how to live with Emma’s death. Her loss was a part of me, but it did not sting the same way it had a few weeks ago. I would be happy. I did not know the exact path I would take, because the future remained a mystery, an unending adventure full of sorrow and joy. But I knew one thing.

I wanted to try.

The Odyssey had an electronics system beside the chart table. I opened the navigation screen and the boat’s position displayed on the map. I zoomed out. We had come within one hundred miles of the Maldives.

A light on the marine radio glowed green, and a list of frequencies had been taped above it. I plugged in the emergency maritime channel, lifted the handset to my mouth, and hesitated. If I notified the governments of the Maldives or India, would they allow me to dock or would they deny me entry as a potential rabies carrier?

I could sail the rest of the way by myself, dock in the Maldives, and fly home. But, two people had died, and I needed to notify the authorities. If the sailor had a family, they deserved to know. I also needed to warn the Balinese authorities before they had another rabies outbreak. And Eric worried about me. Everyone deserved to know what had happened. I had a moral duty to report it, even if it meant they would deny me entry.

I had an obligation to the dead. And to the living.

I lifted the receiver to my mouth.

“Mayday, mayday. This is the sailing vessel Odyssey declaring an emergency.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

Four Years Later

I stood over the Emma’s grave. It had been four years since she passed. It seemed inconceivable how someone that small, whose life had been ephemeral, could have had such an impact. Her death had shaken me to my core, made me wonder if I could ever be happy again. Emma’s death had also led me to Bali and put me on that yacht. It had impelled me to confront my demons and something more elemental. It had forced me to decide if I would submit and die or refuse to surrender and choose life. Emma’s life had led me on a journey to discover who I was and what really mattered. It had been a quest to save my soul.

The early spring air smelled of buttercups, lilac, and hope. Another hard New England winter had ended, and the sun warmed my skin with the promise of summer. I knelt in the soft grass and laid a bouquet of tulips against the gravestone. I kissed my hand and touched the granite.

“The flowers are beautiful,” Eric said.

“Beautiful flowers for a beautiful girl,” I said.

I turned and smiled at him. Seeing him made me whole.

Eric bent over, took my hand, and kissed my cheek. “Spenser and Sophie are playing with Treasure in the car, but they’re eager to get to the park. Do you need more time?”

“I’m ready now.”

Eric helped me to my feet, and we walked to our vehicle. He had asked me on a date six months after I returned from my voyage. He had waited long enough for me to recover from my physical, psychological, and emotional wounds, and given me sufficient time to mourn Brad.

After arriving in the Maldives, I had spent twenty-four hours in quarantine, until a doctor confirmed I was not symptomatic. I received fourteen days of post-exposure prophylaxis; in case Brad had infected me with the rabies virus. During that time, authorities conducted a death investigation. Eric’s testimony describing my frantic calls helped corroborate my story, and the Balinese Department of Health discovered hundreds of infected bats in the Pura Goa Lawah cave.

They averted a rabies outbreak, and the police cleared me of any wrongdoing.

Authorities identified the sailor Brad had killed—a retired engineer named Robert Mathis. His