The Ocean Above Me by Kevin Sites EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Kevin Sites
- Language: English
- Genre: Military Thrillers
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
STORM
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Philomena rose on the swell of an early-winter sea. A humble, cuppedhand offering to angry gods, 110 gross tons lifted like a 110-pound
ballerina. The mid-Atlantic water turning gunmetal gray as it stretched and
then clipped into windblown froth. Her outrigger arms, shaken loose from
their bindings, struck hard against the deck, hammer to gong, sending a bass
current resonating through the ship. At the helm Captain Clarita Esteban
allowed herself to glance back, momentarily, wary of the next monster that
would crash across the bow. In the loose flapping of the outriggers she saw
the skeletal wings of a flightless, heavy-bottomed bird. All velocity, no lift.
“Shrimping 101, Junior,” she shouted above the noise of the storm.
“Secure the damn outriggers.”
She shook her head in disgust, but knew it was no time to school her
crew. Junior, the deckhand, ducked away among the five others gathered in
the wheelhouse, all dressed in boots and rain slickers, summoned in the
middle of the night by the unexpected ferocity of the storm.
They struggled to keep their footing when the arms soared skyward
again, slapping against each other as the water disappeared beneath the ship
after a moment of zero gravity at the wave’s crest. Philomena’s bulk,
unstoppable on the downward stroke, displaced its weight and more on
splashdown, sucking in torrents over the gunwales before washing back out
again on the next lift.
“And where the hell’s the reporter?” Esteban demanded, once confident
they’d all stuck their last dismount without injury.
Lukas Landon had slept through stormy prelude, woken only now by his
nausea. The hot lavender tea the cook had given him, mixed with a
teaspoon of a peculiar white powder, had indeed helped him sleep. Too
well, it seemed. He climbed down from his top bunk, slothlike, timing his
movements with the ship’s rise and fall. Pushing himself against the back
wall, in a lean-to squat he threaded one leg through his jeans, then the other.
He was wearing a mil-spec T-shirt the color of cocoa powder, bought from
the mall-size post exchange in Bagram, his thick, green wool sweater pulled
over it. The sweater was an ugly pragmatic thing of ropy Celtic weave, a
gift from Vanessa, handed to him blank-faced on their last Christmas
together. Even in his fuzzy state, Landon noticed that the two bunks below
his were empty. Junior and Chuy were above deck already, no doubt, tying
things down, battening the hatches or whatever it was deckhands did in
rough seas.
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