This is it, I realize. I’m going to die out here in the middle of nowhere. This is where it all ends.

  But something deep inside of my mind—something primitive and lizard-like—fights against it. It tells me to battle the shark. Fight it. Punch, kick, and if I get a chance, to take a bite out of it, too. If this is it, I might as well go down with a fight.

  Fumbling in my pocket, I wrap stiff, numb fingers around my knife. I’ll get as many stabs in as I can before I die.

  Absently, I wonder if what I’m feeling is courage. I know I’m going to die—it’s inevitable. And I’ve accepted it. There’s no viable way for me to fight the giant fish. My fists won’t do anything. And I would have to stop swimming to unfold my knife... and that’s if I can even work my frozen fingers. But it doesn’t mean I won’t try.

  Looks like the shark has finally decided to finish me off. It’s had enough of toying with me, testing me, and figuring out where it wants to take a bite. It’s near the bow of the boat and circling back. Now it’s swimming directly toward me, dorsal fin high in the water. It’s ready for a meal.

  “I’m coming, Julian,” I whisper, and wait for the inevitable.

  Something hits my leg, and I cry out in surprise. It doesn’t hurt but spins me around hard. I continue the turn, hands, and feet kicking hard to try to get a look at what it was, just in time to see the shark that’s been stalking me explode from the water in the mouth of the killer whale.

  Kimko thrashes the shark in the boiling water, like a dog killing a chew toy. The whale’s teeth saw through the great white’s tough hide, working its way deep into skin, muscle, and the vital organs. The water around them turns pink and foamy. I’ve got to get away from the fight to keep from drowning as huge, bloody waves splash over me.

  Something wet and heavy hits me in the face. I reach up and find a twisted, knotted rope of entrails. Holy shit. What I couldn’t do, Kimko is accomplishing handily.

  I want to cheer the old boy on, but first thing’s first, I need to get to safety. Hand over hand, I remind myself as I swim as best as I can in the choppy water. It’s still raining, too. The combination is making it difficult to stay completely above the water or see where I’m going all the time. Even gripped by panic, another thought occurs to me.

  The video. It didn’t show the whale thrashing anything around when my son died—nothing that looked like what I’d just witnessed. Whales feed on the surface, sawing their prey back and forth in their jaws, ripping off huge bite-sized pieces. Kimko’s mouth is big, but it’s not big enough to swallow a person in a single bite. Also, they don’t drag their prey to the bottom like alligators do. If the whale had eaten my boy, someone would have caught it on film, or at least witnessed it.

  I continue swimming, praying I don’t attract the orca’s attention. He’s nowhere near as terrifying as the sharks, even though he just killed three and drove the other one away. But I know without a doubt he could kill me just as dead if he wanted to.

  The boat, thankfully, is still upright. I don’t think I could flip it back over if it capsized. It’s never happened to me before, so I’m not even sure I’d know how to do it correctly. I imagine they act just like big spoons, though. I imagine when they’re turned upright, they scoop up enough water to sink themselves instantly. Maybe not. Then again, I’m a sheriff’s deputy, not a mariner.

  I reach my boat’s starboard side, but when I try to hoist myself aboard, the craft gunwale dips dangerously close to the ocean, so I let go.

  Hand over hand, I use the gunwale to slide around to the stern of the vessel, near the dead engine, and hoist myself aboard. As soon as I’m in, I immediately start bailing with both hands. My teeth are chattering like a coked-up Morse code operator. All the while, I’m searching the bottom of the boat for where the water is coming in, and I’m wondering what I can do about it. Maybe rip part of my shirt off to stuff inside the hole. It won’t stop the leak, but maybe it’ll slow it.

  Still bailing, I pause when Kimko’s long dorsal fin glides through the water in front of the boat, barely a foot away. I return to bailing a few seconds later. “Thank you,” I stutter through chattering teeth. I don’t know if he can hear me, and I don’t think he can understand, but I needed to say it.

  Soon, I’m feeling better about the amount of water in my boat. It’s not completely dry on the bottom, but I’ve bailed enough that any more would be difficult. Breathing heavily, I take stock of my situation. There doesn’t seem to be a leak, so the water in the boat was probably there from a combination of rain and splashing from the fight happening nearby.

  The cooler is still secure, and there’s still one bottle of water in it, along with the dirtier water pooling around the bottom. The granola bar is there, along with the beer. Hey, it’s a party.

  It’s still raining, so I leave the cooler lid open, collecting more water.

  I sit next to it and close my eyes—and suddenly remember what’s stored in the front-most bench seat. Scrambling across the deck, I flip the small seat up, revealing the shallow storage beneath. Storage filled to overflowing with a folded blanket.

  A very dry blanket.

  Chapter Seventeen

  My eyes snap open. I fell asleep but not for not long; at least, it didn’t feel as if I’d gotten much rest. The sound of splashing gets my attention.

  I’m alive and somewhat dry. The blanket saved my ass.

  Kimko is circling the gutted shark. It’s like he’s trying to figure out whether he wants to eat it or not. The shark’s intestines are strung out on the surface of the water like spaghetti on a blue plate. There’s absolutely no way that particular fish is ever going to bite anything ever again.

  I could’ve ended up in those intestines, slowly being transformed into shark manure. But the whale saved me, even though I didn’t deserve it. It rescued me, but to what end? What’s in it for the whale? What could it possibly gain by fighting four deadly predators—especially when it’s wounded already?

  The boat doesn’t appear to be filling up with water... at least, not fast. I open one of the beers. To hell with it. I drink that sucker faster than I’d ever drank a beer in my life. It’s so good that I drink the second one too. Okay, that might have screwed me. But my ice cooler is filling steadily with the driving rain. And, quite frankly, so is the bottom of my boat, though that thought turns my stomach. Still, if it saves my life...

  And hey, beer has a lot of calories. It’s a meal, right?

  Sporting an actual buzz, I chuckle to myself and reach under the back bench and twist the wingnuts loose. This bigger bench doesn’t have the flip lid or storage underneath. My fingers are numb, and if I’d left the nuts tight, this task would be a lot more complicated. Luckily, they unscrew quickly.

  I experiment for a few seconds, trying to figure out the best way to hold the seat to use it as a paddle. But just when I dip the end of it into the ocean, I’m showered with water spray from orca. Is he playing with me? Messing with me. I turn and jump a little. He’s floating just behind the boat, watching me. Is he about to attack? Finish off the bastard who’d caused him so much pain. First the sharks, then me?

  I bring my makeshift oar back into the boat, so as not to appear threatening. I don’t want Kimko to think I’m going to bonk him on the head with it or something. There’s no way I can fight the orca. If it wants to, it can easily capsize me and tear me to shreds like it had done with the disemboweled shark, who may or may not be alive. Or the shark it bit cleanly in half.

  There’s intelligence behind its eyes. He’s watching me like he’s trying to figure me out and come to some decision.

  “Hello, Kimko. Thanks for saving me back there. So, what’s the play now? What are you trying to figure out?”

  The whale responds by gently flapping his fluke. Its muscular tail thrusts once, twice, and now it’s circling the boat. I follow him with my eyes until he’s directly in front of me. He pauses there, then continues back around, moving in a clockwise motion, its right eye on me. So, yeah. This is happening. But what does it mean? Maybe nothing, but it’s making me nervous. Is he studying me? Or is he examining the boat, working out the best way to flip it over?

  Oddly, this last part makes the most sense to me. I mean, it does look like it’s studying my boat. In fact, I can almost see its big black eyes following the line of the craft.

  There’s nothing else I can do but study the whale, so I do. The wound I caused near his blowhole looks okay. It’s still swollen, but it doesn’t look like it’s bleeding anymore. Would it get infected or heal? The wounds on his nose healed, wounds I am certain had been caused by a propeller.

  But there are new wounds, too. One of the sharks bit him on the snout. It’s not bad, but I bet it hurt. Probably what pissed him off enough to kill a few of them. He probably should have left me to the sharks and made a run for it. Why did he stay to fight, risking his life in the process?

  “What are you planning?” I ask as he makes another circuit around the boat. “Well, if you’re not going to attack, then you should just get out of here. There’s still blood in the water. It’s going to attract more sharks. You’re wounded, and I don’t think you can take anymore. Go on now.”

  Kimko continues to circle me—his one icy black eye staring at my soul. The creature’s expressionless face gives me no clues as to what it might be thinking. It’s an eerie feeling. Then he makes a noise—one I hadn’t heard before—a gurgling, high-pitched kind of squeak. It startles me so much I jump back. Weirdly, he appears to make up his mind and vanishes beneath the surface.

  So what the hell was that all about?

  I wait several seconds before moving. Crap. Is he lining up a shot to hit the bottom of the boat and launch me into the ocean, like one of the sharks had done? I don’t see him anywhere. Is he gone? Was that circling business his way of saying goodbye and good luck?

  “If you’re going to do it,” I mumble, “then get on with it.”

  Still nothing.

  No, there he is. A burst of water spray about a hundred yards away. He’s leaving, and I’m glad for it. He can go live his life while I try to pick up what’s left of mine. Hopefully, he’ll find his pod again—reunite with his family. He’ll have some stories to tell. Admittedly, I feel a sadness I’m not expecting.

  With the storm clearing, I can easily make out where the sun is, so I take hold of the detached seat and move to the bow of the boat, to a spot where I can paddle on the both sides easily enough. It takes a bit, but eventually the boat starts moving east.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Hours later, the storm is finally starting to clear. This is good and bad. Good, because my boat has been filling with water. Bad, because that’s the end of the fresh water.

  I’ve had to pause rowing a few times out of pure exhaustion. I’ve been at this all day. The flat board—or seat—I’ve been paddling with feels like it weighs fifty pounds. It doesn’t. More like a few pounds.

  It’s easy to make sure I’m headed in the right direction since the sun is getting low in the sky. All I have to do is keep the sun at my back. Its warmth feels good after being wet so long. Hopefully, my clothing will be dry before night falls.

  I think I’ve reached my limit for now and set aside the board. It’s time for a break. My hands feel like they’re going to be permanently curled into claws after this. There are blisters covering every square inch of my palms, but I don’t look. No matter how bad it is, there’s little I can do about it, anyway.

  Taking this break is a significant risk, I know. The ocean isn’t still, regardless of how it looks on the surface. Currents are moving the water around, but it’s happening on such a global scale, it’s hard to spot except from satellite. I could get lucky and land in one that’ll take me north, closer to home. But there’s a better chance it’s taking me in one of the other three compass directions. The sea, as it’s been said, is a harsh mistress.

  East would be ideal. Take me to the western shores of some distant land, and I can at least get food and some water and call my wife. But I’ll need time to work out my story and clean up a bit before she sees me. My billfold is in a buttoned pocket in my cargo shorts, so it’s safe and secure. Unless seawater affects credit cards, which I don’t think it does. But these new cards have that microchip in them, so I don’t know what shape they’re in.

  Soon, there’s a break in the remaining clouds. The sun warms my neck and back, and I get the feeling I might actually be okay after all of this. My legs aren’t numb anymore, and I can feel most of my toes again.

  There are still bumps on the roof of my mouth, but they’re getting better now. I’m glad I drank all that water when it was available. The cooler is half full, which is a relief. That’s got to be a few gallons of fresh-enough water in there. I still have one bottle of water, too.

  I’m going to make it. I hope.

  Night will be here soon enough. I can navigate by the stars, as my father taught me to, and his father before him.

  Break time is over. Can’t let the currents sweep me in the wrong direction. I think good thoughts, try to stay positive, and start paddling again.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The sun sets behind me.

  I didn’t realize how badly my neck was burning until the night stirred-up a cool breeze across the back of it. I’ll probably blister later, but for now, every gust of cool air makes it feel a little better. I splash salt water on it too.

  There’s still no sign of land. In fact, I haven’t seen anything all day. No trash bags washed out to sea by careless beachgoers. Not even a damned seagull. No boats either. Luckily, no sharks. And definitely no orcas. I wonder where Kimko is. I wonder if he forgives me. I wonder if he even knows what the hell happened. Maybe to him this was one long trippy dream. I hope he finds his pod soon enough.

  Part of me wants to paddle like there’s no tomorrow because there might not be. I still can’t tell if I’m doing it hard enough to overcome whatever currents might be drifting my little boat around. I’m second-guessing myself, too, wasting precious time double-checking I’m still headed in the right direction. I know where the northern star is, and I know the general location of the others—enough to find them, anyway. I’ve navigated using the stars before, but back then, it was for fun. My life didn’t depend on it like it does now.

  Paddling has become torturous. I’ve had to modify how I do it several times already, trying to work different muscle groups so I won’t tire as quickly. Already I can feel another knot forming in my left bicep. I know it’ll cramp soon. When that happens, I’ll be drifting again, hostage to the currents.

  The swelling on the roof of my mouth is back, even though I’ve been drinking as steadily as I dare from the cooler. I probably need three times the water I’m giving myself. Pacing my resources is important. Still, my tongue feels like it’s too big for the space it occupies. Cramps have been occurring in nearly every major muscle group, except for my calves, which I suspect will be next.

  A few more minutes of paddling later and a cramp in my left bicep curls my arm. It’s agonizing, yet somehow, I feel like I’m getting used to it. Pressing hard on it with my right thumb, I massage the muscle into relaxation.

  I crack open the bottle, drink about a quarter of the cool, pure liquid. I no longer greedily drink. This is real. This is all I have left. I need it to last another few days, if I can.

  Everything hurts, not just my left arm. Both arms, shoulders, neck, and back. Worst are the blisters on my hands. I’m tempted to peel away the broken skin, but I need that skin as a layer of protection. I tear that away, and soon enough there won’t be any skin left. My palms look like I tried to squeeze a live grenade into submission.

  I reach for the board again, grip it with my damaged, claw-like hands, and begin rowing again. The sea glows golden in the setting sun. My shadow races before me as I paddle.

  An hour later, a wave of exhaustion washes over me. I’ve been at this all day, and I’m wondering if I should just call it quits—throw in the towel. Maybe the ocean currents will take me north and east, all the way back home. Maybe even deposit me at the boat launch and my truck. It could happen. What if I’m torturing myself for nothing? Is this crazy-talk?

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I’m not surprised tears squeeze out. I let them flow. I miss my son. I’m sorry I hurt the whale. And even those sharks didn’t deserve to die. What a mess. What a mess.

  The sun is gone, and the moon is hanging above to my left, rising at an angle. Not quite full dark. I’m alone on the ocean, in the whole damn world.

  The moonlight and my toes tell me there’s water in the bottom of the boat, but not how much. It doesn’t seem like it’s gotten deeper in the last few hours, though, which offers me a bit of relief. At least I don’t have to worry about there being a hole or crack somewhere. I thought there had been earlier, but I guess I was wrong. No surprise there. The theme of this trip has been about poor judgment. Anyway, no leak means I don’t have to worry about the boat sinking, so there’s a bright spot in an otherwise bleak, error-filled excursion.

  As I rest, I think about how inconvenient drinking water used to seem. It always had to be flavored, in soda-form, or heated and forced through ground-up coffee beans. At the moment, the water in the cooler is my lifeline. I see myself diving into a public swimming pool and drinking, drinking, drinking. That thought makes me laugh, but I would do it in a heartbeat. I’m even eyeing the water in the bottom of my boat. A lot of that is rain water.

  Good enough. And yeah, damn straight I will drink it.

  I almost died several times in the past twenty-four hours. The first was the wild ride through the ice fields. Then the sharks. Who knows how many times the great white eyeballed me with hunger and curiosity. Five? Six? Maybe more? But in the end, the whale I’d tortured and tried to kill was the one who saved me. I’m still trying to wrap my head around that one.