Maybe the whale is a better man than I am.

  The sea has whipped up a stiff breeze from the south. The creases and seams of my clothes, especially my pants, are still holding on to water, but the wind should dry them out quickly enough. I might even get a chance to have all ten of my toes dry at the same time. Also, since the wind is coming from the south—the direction the whale was towing us—it’s moving me north. That’s good news for me. North is the curve of Alaska.

  I catch myself thinking about what I’m going to do after I get home, and it makes me laugh a little. I guess I’m not feeling utterly pessimistic after all—not if I’m thinking about this. When I think of my wife—the beautiful woman who promised to stay with me no matter what—my stomach knots. This whole scheme was selfish and unfair. I can’t imagine what she’s going through right now. I know she won’t leave me, but I’ll have a lot of explaining to do.

  I’ve rested enough. It’s time to start paddling again. Hefting the seat once again, I take a deep breath, dip one end in the water and start the familiar, agonizing motion of paddling. I try to think of a song—something with a proper cadence. I pick one and hum it softly to myself. I think it helps. At least it takes my mind off the pain I’m feeling in nearly every inch of my body. Of course, sleep would help a lot more.

  Eventually, I’ve played the song so many times in my head, I’m damn near delirious, so I try to find another. But my brain is too foggy and exhausted, so I don’t play any song, and listen to the slap of the ‘oar’ against the water. I’m making progress. I know it. I believe it.

  I hope so. I really, really hope so.

  After checking the stars to make sure I’m still going in the right direction, I pause and stretch and work the kinks out of my neck and shoulders. I’ve got a pinched nerve in my neck, and when I reach up to rub it, I feel the salt on my skin, both from the seawater and sweat. It’s like fine sand.

  A wave of dizziness washes over me. My vision narrows to a single pinpoint, and I teeter toward the center of the boat. One arm raises lazily to try to stop my fall, and it works. I’m spared another lump on my head, but it frightens me. My hearing—it’s changed somehow. I feel like someone is holding their hands over my ears, making everything quiet. Pressure builds behind my eyes. Breathing suddenly becomes difficult.

  I’m dying—I just know it.

  But some time later, it clears. The roof of my mouth feels like it’s on fire. I crawl to the cooler, open it, and can’t find the fresh bottle of water. Where is it? Where is it? Did I drink it? I don’t remember; I don’t remember. No, I do remember. Sometime in the late afternoon. I had to. I was so thirsty, so thirsty. It’s okay, it’s okay.

  I unstrap the cooler, pick it up in both hands and wrap my mouth around one corner of it... and tilt the dirty water into my mouth. It goes down the wrong pipe and I cough. Water splashes out onto my clothing. Shit shit shit!

  I pause, licking my mouth for any stray droplets, then try again. Careful this time. Careful. The water flows over my lips, down the right pipe, and I drink as deeply as I dare. Set the cooler aside, close the lid. Anchor it back to the boat with its Velcro strap.

  A minute or so later, it feels like I catch my second wind. I can breathe again, and my thoughts clear a little. It’s time to get back to paddling.

  Two strokes on the right, then two on the left before, back and forth, over and over and over. I feel like a damaged machine. There’s no more thinking, just paddling. No more feeling, just movement.

  It’s time for more positive thoughts. When I get back, I’m going to be a stronger man for what I’ve put myself through. Finally, my wife will be able to grieve without worrying about how it’ll affect me. I can be that solid rock she needs.

  Right forearm cramping. I fumble with the seat for a few seconds, trying to find a way to paddle despite the pain, but I can’t. Instead, I use the thumb of my opposite hand to dig into the muscle to get it to relax.

  “Dammit, Kimko,” I say out loud. “Why did you take us so far out? What was the point? Is this you trying to make sure I die the slowest way possible? Do I have you figured all wrong, after all?”

  This time the cramp isn’t going away. In fact, I think it’s getting worse. My arm is so bent, it feels like it’s trying to pull my elbow out of socket.

  “That’s it,” I murmur with a sigh. “I’m tapped. There’s nothing left. I can’t row, I can’t swim, and I still can’t see land. If this is where it ends, then so be it. I deserve it. I can’t deny that.”

  I lay down on the center bench and try to get comfortable. My arm is still cramping, but pain no longer seems to be so important anymore. I’ll try to sleep. Not for long—just enough to refresh me so I can start paddling again. If I wake, that’ll be good. If I don’t, I won’t know it, will I?

  Slowly I feel myself fade from the world...

  ***

  I dream of Julien.

  I dream he is in the boat with me, sitting next to me, hand on my back, patting me like he’s the father and I’m the son. He is glowing in my dream, and so handsome I don’t dare look him in the eyes. He pats my shoulder, and tells me it’s going to be okay. I ask him if he’s a ghost and he just laughs. I ask him if I am dreaming and he says, maybe.

  He pats my shoulder and holds my hand, and I squeeze it back and weep and ask if he’s alive and he says nothing. Not for a while. The boat rises and falls and the moon passes overhead. Finally, he tells me he is sending a very forgiving friend to help me, a friend who is deeply tied to him. I ask which friend, and he says I will know him when I see him.

  I ask Julien if he’s okay and he tells me he’s never been better. I ask if he’s responsible, somehow, for me forgetting to load my rifle and some of the other mishaps, and he only smiles. I tell him I love him, and he says he knows. I ask him not to leave, but he’s already gone...

  Chapter Twenty

  I wake up—not because it is morning, but because I’m drowning.

  Somehow, I’ve fallen off the bench and I am laying face-down along the little groove that runs down the center of the craft. My mouth is full of saltwater, and some of it’s in my lungs. I turn over, retching.

  The boat, I see, is filling with water. It takes several minutes to clear my lungs and sinuses. I guess I’m not so willing to buy the farm just yet. I guess I really do want to live after all. Especially after that dream. At least, I think it was a dream. Julien looked so good, so handsome. So alive.

  Was he glowing?

  Never mind that. For now, I can see there’s more water in the boat than when I’d laid down. It’s not raining, so it has to be a leak. The morning light is still too weak, so I go by feel, running my thumbnail along the many seams in the aluminum craft. If only I’d thought to bring a flashlight of some kind—something that wouldn’t be affected by seawater. I might have to sit here and bail water all morning until I can find the hole, and once I do, I’ll have to figure out how to plug it.

  There’s a splash and something lands in the boat. What the hell?

  I look around, but don’t see anything. I’ve heard that fish do that sometimes—just jump in a boat like they want to get caught, but there’s no fish in here. Or anything else.

  I scan the darkness around me and notice something disappear behind the gunwale. Holy shit! What the hell was that?

  More splashing sounds. My brain is too addled to make out what it is, though. Maybe the boat is sinking, but I’ve just never heard anything like it before. A special kind of leak? What is it? My son said he was sending a special friend to me. Is this him? Am I hallucinating?

  More water splashes into the boat, but this time it also splashes my face. It’s coming from the bow. I move toward it, too curious to worry about my safety. Also, a little delirious too. Hadn’t I just dreamed my son sat in this very boat? Besides, whatever’s happening is going to drown me if it keeps it up. It’ll flood the boat, and I’ll have to swim all the way back to shore, which isn’t happening.

  As I approach the bow, I notice the cleat. Next, I notice the rope. It’s still tied on, and it’s taut. Damn harpoon must be snagged on something. I give it a little tug, but whatever the hook is snagged on is heavy. Could it be the ocean floor? How long was that rope? Still doesn’t explain how the water is splashing into the boat.

  Another blast of water from the direction of the bow, but it doesn’t startle me as severely this time. The next blast of water gets into my mouth. It’s so salty I gag. I wipe the water from my eyes and make my way all the way to the bow.

  Just as I grip the gunwale and look down into the water, something enormous rises from the black depths, hangs in the air for a moment, then splashes down. Something massive. It’s a black tail, wider than the front end of my truck at home. It’s black and powerful.

  It’s Kimko. I’m sure of it.

  He’s towing me, which is why the rope is taut. The whale must have it between his teeth. But that can’t be. Wait. Is he still harpooned? Did I imagine freeing him and nearly getting eaten by a shark? No, this is real.

  Beyond him, I see more stars than I’ve ever seen before in positions I’ve never seen before. It’s as though the sky has melted, and the stars, being nothing more than sparkling diamonds, rubies, and sapphires, have slid down its surface and landed where they are. There are more colors than I’ve ever seen in the early morning sky. The light glitters on the water and along the back of the orca.

  Kimko sprays water and takes another breath. His dorsal rises high into the air and falls again. His tail slaps the water again. It’s the sound I heard earlier. No wonder it seemed familiar. Killer whales don’t generally slap the water when they swim. He tried to awaken me. Perhaps he knew I was drowning.

  Or someone knew.

  Something inside my mind moves, like a transmission suddenly falling into gear. There’s some grinding, and I think I’m low on transmission fluid, but it’s working again.

  Those aren’t stars. Those are streetlights.

  The ones to the right look like they’re illuminating a marina. Yes, I can see boats there! Beyond is some kind of enormous store or shopping center. To the left of that is a flashing light, blue, red, blue, red. It’s a cop, and he’s got someone pulled over. I recognize the harbor, of course.

  Kimko has not only forgiven me, he brought me home.

  Maybe with a little help from my son.

  The whale blows a spray of water over me one last time before letting go of the rope and diving down. Seconds later, the boat bumps into the harbor pier. I don’t climb out right away.

  Instead, I turn and watch the orca swim gracefully out to sea... even as I sense a familiar presence appear on the seat next to me. A presence who’s holding me tight and saying goodbye. And telling me he loves me. At least, that’s what I want to believe.

  In the far distance, a spray of water appears on the horizon.

  It’s answered by many more such sprays.

  The End

  Next up in The Rain Collective is:

  The Grail Quest

  Available now!

  Amazon Kindle * Amazon UK

  ~~~~~

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  About the Author:

  J.R. Rain is the international bestselling author of over ninety novels, including his popular Samantha Moon and Jim Knighthorse series. His books are published in five languages in twelve countries, and he has sold more than 3 million copies worldwide.

  Please visit him at www.jrrain.com.

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  J.R. Rain, Killer Whale (The Rain Collective Book 7)

 

 

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