Page 39 of The Darkest Hour

She swallowed and returned to paddling.

But, every few seconds she glanced at them.

I shook my head and sped up the paddle. “Don’t look at them.”

“That’s easy for you to say—”

“It’s not. I fucking hate sharks.”

She sighed and went back to vigorously paddling, and it was then that I knew. . .no matter what the fuck we were about to deal with in the next moments. . .I would survive as long as she was by my side.

Drifting in Darkness

Havoc

Eventually, the sharks gave up, no longer seeing us as an easy meal.

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving us adrift in the endless, inky blackness of the ocean.

Meanwhile, the full moon hung low, and the stars—those tiny pinpricks of light—gazed down, mocking our journey through hell and providing no guidance.

Hours upon hours had passed, each minute stretching into eternity as the relentless rocking of the raft continued toward nothingness.

There was no land in sight.

No other yachts or boats.

No helicopters or planes.

Not a hint of anything except water in every direction.

The ocean ran vast. It was a terrifying darkness. Anything could’ve lurked under us—sea monsters, other men, sharks. Black waves rose and fell like a living creature, lifting us up and then dropping us back down in a nauseating rhythm.

The raft bobbed and pitched with each swell.

Soon I could smell the distant rain coming a good twenty minutes before thunder boomed and the lightning streaked the sky.

Soon a storm would come and I feared it would toss our boat around like a toy.

We have to get to land.

I had no idea where we were in the Pacific Ocean and what direction we were heading to. A deep sense of hopelessness crept within my already broken soul.

Was it the realization that there was no end in sight, that gnawed at the edges of my mind?

Or was it the terrifying chill that had seeped into my bones—a biting cold that the ocean spray only intensified.

Will we die here?

I shivered uncontrollably, the thin layer of saltwater on my skin doing nothing to warm me. And the darkness somehow amplified the cold as it wrapped around me, squeezing the warmth from my body.

I should have grabbed a fucking shirt before we left the yacht. But why was I naked in the first place? Who cares? None of that matters anymore.

In the chaos and panic, I hadn't thought about anything but getting the hell out of there.

Now, I sat shirtless and vulnerable.

Each gust of wind felt like needles piercing my flesh.