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

Author:J.R. Rain [Rain, J.R.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Rain Press
Published: 2020-12-07T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

I wake entirely disoriented.

My whole body is wet, and for one panicked moment, I wonder if the boat has sunk. Wait. Have I been floating around in the ocean on my back all night?

Something is tapping my face, my eyelids, my nose. There’s a noise, too, accompanied by a rattling, a soft vibration that confuses me. It sounds like it happening everywhere.

I sit up and groan against the pain in my neck and back. It feels like several of my vertebrae are out of alignment, and a dozen bruises have somehow appeared overnight. More tap-tapping, and now I feel it over my entire body. It’s raining hard, coming in torrents, slashing like silver daggers. The sky is brightening some, but still gray with clouds. Mean-looking clouds, too.

I’m still in the middle of nowhere. The surface of the ocean is churning some, dimpled with the driving rain. I feel as if I’ve awakened on an alien planet made entirely of water.

The back of my head hurts more than anything, and for a second, I wonder if maybe I fell. When I probe the sore spot with my fingers, I can feel the lines the pointy ridges on the seat left in my scalp. The bruise on my back where I crashed against the throttle handle of the motor feels like it’s fully formed. It hurts to breathe, but I don’t think anything is broken.

I look over at the massive creature, still swimming, still undulating like a big fat black and white serpent over the surface of the ocean. Still bleeding, I see. “Feel like giving up yet? You can if you want to. Nobody’s going to say anything—least of all me. So, why not throw in the towel? Head toward the light.” I crack myself up, but laughing hurts enough to snap me out of my mirth. The whale’s response is to continue swimming. If it hears me, it does not show it.

I stomp my foot, trying to get a reaction from the creature, splashing water up into the air. It’s only about five inches deep, but something marvelous occurs to me. I can’t drink seawater because of how salty it is. But this water—most of it, anyway—is rain. Especially the pockets of water pooling around the lid of the cooler. Surely that is rain water.

Fresh water.

My God!

I can’t help but smack my lips in anticipation as I use one hand to carefully tilt the lid of the cooler, emptying the water into one of my empty bottles. Trying not to think about when the last time I gave the cooler a cleaning, I bring the water to my mouth.

The taste makes me think of what the water pooled alongside a gas station pump might taste like. There’s a definite gasoline-like quality to it. Had I dropped some gas on the lid? Ugh. At least it’s not salty. I’ll die of dehydration long before I die from drinking a few chemicals. I think. So, I swallow all of it, and search for more pockets of water in the boat.

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