A reblog of Uvi Poznansky’s Blog
He’s lost control.
The deck tilts and he’s sliding—sliding toward the edge. He screams. His hands scrabble desperately across the wooden surface, searching for something to grab onto, to stop him from plunging over the side into the churning black sea.
His fingers graze a rope and he grabs hold. Hand over hand, he hauls himself up the deck, muscles straining as the next wave hits. The storm is intensifying.
He needs to get below deck.
The boat pitches and he loses his footing as he scrambles toward the cabin’s opening. He grabs hold of the ladder and climbs down into the darkness below. The bilge pump huffs as it tries to empty the cabin. The water is already thigh-deep—as heavy as wet cement as he struggles toward the red light.
Teeth chattering, he drives his legs forward, gathering his last bit of strength. Stumbling. Reaching. Gasping until he makes it. He tears the radio microphone from its perch. Thumbs the button. He screams out the words in a torrent of panic hoping somebody will hear.
“Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! This is the Dreamcatcher. We’re three miles east of Deception Bay. We are sinking. Repeat. We are sinking. One on board, one overboard. Over.”
One overboard… Scott. He can’t think about that now.Excerpt from Deception Bay