Windhaven 6

I usually write about supernatural stuff or mystery/thrillers. Windhaven might have some thrills but no mystery and no vampires or trips to hell (see my other books.) It’s a survival adventure that could happen any day now.  I’m not doing official chapters every post, just whenever.  The numbers are to keep it all in order, for you and me.  Comments and suggestions are always welcome as long as you know that I may or may not follow them.

To start Windhaven from the beginning go HERE.

What Ifs?

I had bees in my kitchen the other day. They came in through a vent, but appeared in midair as if from another dimension. I’m not that wild about multidimensional stories, but, What If? they were from another dimension? How would you know? They might be little robot reconnaissance insects. We have tiny mechanical flying insects, why couldn’t THEY? What would they be looking for? Are they friend or foe? If they were friends they should send butterflies instead of bees. Either way, not in our kitchen, thank you very much.

What If? Windhaven, or another boat, Windhaven has enough troubles, in the middle of the ocean sails through a dimensional rift with out knowing it? The sea is the same, it’s when they get to land that things get strange. Maybe they’re arrested as spies, their boat confiscated. How do they get it back? Maybe the people think they are heroes of some sort, but the perks of heroism are not what they seem. In either case, how do they get back to their home dimension? And do they want to? 

Windhaven 6


WNoah waved at the follow boat and turned to the task at hand, leading their closest rival, Global. The sixty-eight foot boat was fast with a well experienced crew, but Windhaven had Larry Brockard. Larry stood beside Noah his gaze intent on every wind ripple, every wave, every wisp of cloud, how the other boat’s sails were trimmed. Though only twenty-six, both his parents had degrees, mother a PhD in weather science and father a masters degree in weather science and oceanography. They’d been sailing and teaching Larry since he was three. Larry could read every nuance of wind and water and make sure Windhaven took advantage of them.

Over the next hours the racers spread out as they headed in what they believed was the best course for them. As evening enclosed them Larry looked up from his charts and computers and declared that Windhaven led Global by almost a nautical mile. Insignificant in light of the thirty thousand plus miles ahead, but good for moral anyway.

After almost five hours on the helm, Noah sat at the settee table scarfing down one of Ivan’s pasta dishes. Ivan, Leigh and Red, all sun burnt and tired, sat with him.

“You did good today, New Guy,” Leigh said.

“Thanks. You guys make a good crew. It’s easy to work with you.”

Red said, “I told ya.”

“He’s got the magic seat of the pants,” Ivan added. “His ass is one with the water.”

“Thanks for that lovely endorsement of the New Guy, Ivan.”

Tired, and a bit cranky, Noah said, “Ordinarily, I’d ask how long it takes for the new guy to get a real name. But I’m pretty beat today so I won’t.”

All eyes on him, there was a long silence. Noah managed a smile and a shrug and kept eating.

Finally, Leigh said, “You did good today, Noah.”

“Thanks, Leigh. I appreciate that.”

Noah got up soon after and headed forward to a narrow corridor on the starboard side. His narrow bunk was the second fold down in a line of three. The port side had a similar set up with the head in between. He used the head and slumped onto his bunk. He’d barely slept since that phone call. The tension and excitement of five hours on the helm had been the limit. He spared a minute to think of Linda and was out. He was on watch again in a few hours.

And so it went. He quickly joined the rhythm and routine of the boat. Red assigned the watches – two crew on each watch, two hours on, six off, though if there were changes to be made it was all hands on deck.

They crossed the Gulfstream and worked their way south. Larry seemed to divine favorable winds with a glance at the sky and several screens on his wall of electronics.

Noah and Thomas stood watches together.

“I’m just a basic flunky deckhand,” Thomas told Noah one fine clear night with a Cheshire Cat moon grinning down from the East. “I used to work building or repairing fishing boats. Worked with my father mostly.” A sentimental grin softened his face as he gazed straight up at the stars. He chuckled. “I know it’s a cliché but he did teach me everything he knew. Which, except about boats, isn’t much. He made it to tenth grade then went to work. Not much real education, but he had common sense and lots of boatyard smarts.”

“What about you?”

“Huh. If I had any common sense I wouldn’t be on this big ass sailboat racing around the world.”

“Well, I guess we have that in common,” Noah allowed.

“You, me, and every freaking long-distance sailor I ever met.”

“So how’d you make the transition from leaky fishing boats to a million dollar sailboat?”

“A friend of the yard owner had a forty footer with engine problems. I fixed him up and while we were testing the engine he put up his sails and shut down the engine, which ran perfectly, by the way. I’d never been on a sailboat before. It was a beautiful day, sunny, nice breeze, quiet. He gave me a beer and I was hooked. Every captain wants a crew who does what’s he told, doesn’t get seasick, doesn’t whine when the weather turns shitty, and can fix an engine. You?”

“I was sixteen on a family friend’s boat, had the same day you did. Started asking around. I was the same crew you were, except I can’t fix an engine. And here I am.”

Quiet for a while, they took in the easy roll of the boat, the susurrus of the passing water and the ever warming breeze. What sailing is all about.

Thomas asked you writing anything I might have read?”

“What kind of books do you like to read?”

“None.”

“Then no.”

And so it went. Crossing the equator was slow going. It was also their first scheduled live streaming to school kids.

Comments and suggestions welcome – dcburtonjr@gmail.com

Author: davidburtonwriting

David Burton is an American writer living in sunny Southern California. He traveled by motorcycle through Mexico, US, Canada and Alaska. From motorcycles he turned to the ocean, building and sailing his own boats to Mexico, Tahiti, Hawaii, and through the Panama Canal to Florida. He spent a lot of time reading while on the water, so he decided to write books he would have wanted to read at sea. Having swallowed the anchor he now mops floors and collects trash for money, writes for a living, and has become a (temporarily?) unrequited sailor.