The teen sailor wrapped his seventeen-year-old hand around the winch handle and started to turn. The fierce wind snapped his blond hair around his face. At first, it was easy, but with each rotation of the winch, it got harder. The wind driven spray coated him with fine needles of cold pain. His bicep burned as he turned the winch as fast as he could.

"Hurry up, boy!" Blue eyes glanced back at the helm of the sailboat. "I can't hold her much longer." A large green wave crashed over the bow and rolled back over the deck drenching the boy in cold seawater. He gritted his teeth in determination and swung the winch handle around again, inching the mainsail downward into the second reef position. Wind lashed through the rigging as he turned the winch. * * * * *

Hunter Ward ranked near the top of his class in his senior year of high school. Of the two hundred thirty-seven students, he was ranked fourth. It was his grades and not his social standing that brought him that stature. Socially speaking, Hunter ranked two hundred thirty-seven, dead last.

Camden County High School in the southern state of Georgia was a typical high school where anyone in sports ruled the social scene. While Hunter excelled in academics, he shied away from sports. His mother called him sensitive. Wyatt, his older brother, called him queer. Following in the footsteps of a brother three years older, who had excelled in every high school sport, cast immediate expectations on a boy who just wanted to read. He had no aspirations to sack the quarterback or to dunk a basketball. All the girls thought he was cute with his slim figure and longish blond hair. The boys thought he was a pansy and constantly gave him a hard time. Hunter suffered through it all knowing that as soon as school was over, he'd be on his sailboat leaving all the haters behind.

Hunter had one true passion in life and that was sailing. He loved his sailboat. It was perfect for Hunter and he would always remember the day his parents gave it to him. It was his eleventh birthday.

In retrospect, he was probably too young to be getting a boat, but Hunter had proven a remarkable skill in everything aquatic. From swimming to boating, he seemed to know it all and was not afraid to show that knowledge. His parents restricted him from taking the boat out alone until he proved his skills.

His brother Wyatt had all the freedom in the world even though he was just three years older. What Hunter lacked in social status Wyatt had in spades, more than making up for Hunter's shortfall. Wyatt was always over at a friend's house, out on a date or attending a party. He was captain of the basketball team and quarterback of the football team, loved and envied by everyone, except his own brother. The two did not get along at all and were polar opposites. Where Hunter excelled academically with little effort, Wyatt struggled to maintain a C average, just enough to keep him eligible to play sports. Hunter's friends and acquaintances could be counted on one hand, while Wyatt's name and face were recognizable to everyone school wide.

Hunter's parents had agonized about the sailboat but ultimately decided that it might help bring Hunter 'out of his shell.' What happened caught the parents pleasantly by surprise. Hunter latched his interest on to the sailboat like a kid in a candy store.

Hunter was happy sailing, ecstatic even. After school every weekday, more often than not, you would find Hunter at the marina working on his boat, his bicycle haphazardly laid on its side on the dock. He kept his boat immaculate. You could see yourself in the reflection of the highly polished teak wood. The stainless steel reflected the bright South Georgia sun. Below deck was Hunter's sanctuary. He would sleep on the boat as often as his parents would let him. Hunter was a happy boy, but he wanted to share that joy. The boy who just moved in down the street, if Hunter had it his way, would soon be joining him on his sailing adventures.

Hunter showed up at his new neighbor's house one Saturday morning wearing cutoffs and a smile. He introduced himself to the parents and asked if their son would be interested in spending some time on a sailboat. That perked the father's interest as he worked for the Coast Guard. The boys were promptly introduced.

The boy didn't go willingly at first. It took some persuasion on Hunter's part, but finally the boy gave in that morning and that was the beginning of an epic friendship.

* * * * *

"That'll do!" came the captain's call from the helm as the forty-five foot sailboat 'Stargazer' staggered to port. The canvas caught in the squall and the sailboat heeled over in the thirty-knot wind. The boy held on with a tight grip of the winch handle as the rails dipped into the green water only to resurface a moment later.

"Travel the main over and let out the main sheet!" This was in Hunter's blood. He'd sailed his own boat for more than five years. This was second nature. Hunter popped the traveler's line from its brake and eased the boom over, lowering the wind's force on the mail sail. With the line's brake back on, he turned to the main sheet, giving the line a few wraps around the winch. He released the brake and eased the boom out even more. The hard heel to port diminished even more.

"That's good!" Captain Turner shouted above the roaring wind. "Come take the helm. I've gotta go below and check the weather." Hunter scampered back to the big silver wheel and took over. "Just steer south and keep us within sight of land. I don't want this storm to push us out too far." The boy nodded. "And don't get too close to shore either. We don't want to end up in the shallows," the captain said as he clambered below. That was easy enough, even child's play for Hunter. He'd done this plenty of times, granted he'd not done it in thirty-knot winds, but he had done it. The 'Stargazer' trudged through the heavy weather, slow to respond to her rudder and moving clumsily through the ever increasing waves.

* * * * *

Every summer day and almost every weekday afternoon after school found Hunter doing what he most enjoyed, either working on or sailing his eighteen-foot Catalina sailboat. Making the run out the St. Mary's River, past the Cumberland National Seashore and out to the ocean was second nature. He had done it countless times. He could even balance his sails so well that the sailboat steered herself without any input needed from the helm. His father still scratched his head at that advanced skill.

Now that Hunter had a best friend in Jesse, the boys were always together on Hunter's sailboat. Most of their time was either sailing or just on the boat. When they were at dock, they were both hanging out or, more than likely, working on the boat. It was their sanctuary, their escape and their private place to plan 'best friends' adventures. There was nothing they would rather be doing. The sailboat provided the independence and freedom all teenage boys want. When they were sailing, it didn't matter who was at the helm, as they often switched. They both loved the sea air and even the occasional salt spray on their faces. Sometimes it was just a short day sail up and down the St. Mary's River. Other times it was an epic overnight adventure. Those were Hunter's favorites. They would sail to their favorite place just south of Cumberland Island where they would anchor for the night. They would eat supper then take their small dingy ashore to the sandy beach and have a campfire. It didn't get any better than that. No matter what kind of trip they took, Hunter and Jesse always had matching grins.

* * * * *

Hunter's heart was hammering in his chest. When he signed up to help move a sailboat down to the Florida Keys, he never imagined it would be like this. It was supposed to be sunshine and a steady breeze. That was the forecast. It should have been an easy two or three day coastal cruise with the emphasis on 'easy.' The heavy seas, huge swells and howling wind were not something he was used to. In fact, he avoided weather like this, always carefully listening to the marine forecast before casting off. He was sure that Captain Turner had checked the weather. In this case, even if the marine forecast had been listened to, this storm came up out of nowhere and would not be mentioned by the weather service.

An unexpected wave slammed into the side of the boat sending a solid shower of cold water into his face. He wiped the water from his eyes, but his cargo shorts were drenched and the thin tee shirt was soaked. He'd dressed for the weather forecast when they set sail, sunny and warm with a light breeze. Goose bumps rose on his arms and legs. An involuntary shiver ran down his spine.

"Here!" the captain's voice called out. Hunter looked down at the companionway and saw the captain holding a bright yellow slicker. He hit the auto pilot button and scurried around the huge wheel to get the coat designed for foul weather. "Be sure to keep your safety harness on!" the captain ordered as Hunter took the coat. He nodded, tightened his safety harness across his chest, and pulled the coat on. A bright flash was immediately followed by a loud crack of thunder. Hunter looked up and saw a dark line of rain racing toward the boat. He glanced down at the captain and for the first time noticed the man's face was white.

"You okay?"

"Seasick. This boat's not built for this weather. She's not very graceful. Wallows around like a drunk in a bar. Look, the wind's gonna pick up. I just checked the forecast and this storm's gonna get a lot worse. You need to put another reef in the main and take in about half the jib. We should be fine," the captain choked out as he turned to vomit in the galley sink.

Hunter's eyes bulged at the captain's request. Reefing down a sailboat in the middle of a storm was a job for a seasoned professional, not a kid, but Hunter, if anything, was determined to prove his worth to the demanding captain. The same captain that was relying on him to bring the sailboat through the storm while the captain dealt with his seasickness.

The seventeen-year-old turned the forty-five-foot sailboat to the west, directly into the wind, to slacken the wind force on the sails, and engaged the autopilot. The front line of the rain rolled over and stole away already gray skies and replaced them with an ominous darkness. The temperature dropped another few degrees. The wind increased. Despite being miserable, Hunter quickly wrapped the main sheet around a winch and drew it tight. Then, he wrapped the third reef sheet in another winch. He grabbed the wench handle, inserted it and cranked the winch tight. Slowing releasing the main sheet, Hunter cranked in the third reef sheet reducing the amount of canvas of the mainsail to the size of a storm trysail, just enough canvas to keep the sailboat under control. He engaged the brakes on the sheets and released them from their winches. Just as he turned to crank in the jib, the bow took a nosedive into the trough of a wave. The bow seemed to bulldoze directly into the following wave, scooping up tons of water that were thrown across the deck as the bow rose quickly. The giant cold green wave of water raced quickly down the length of the boat and slammed into Hunter, tossing him over the aft railing and into the boiling seas.

* * * * *

Hunter's knowledge of sailing came from books and from sailing his own boat, plus his father encouraged him and taught him everything he knew. It didn't take long for Hunter's knowledge to surpass his father's. His mother was just thankful her son found something to be passionate about. His brother Wyatt was too engrossed in his high school sports to even notice. At the insistence of his father, Hunter had joined the Boy Scouts. He instantly fell in love with the outdoors, the companionship and the competition. His mother and father quietly celebrated.

Hunter earned merit badges at such a furious rate his mother could barely keep up with all the sewing. Astronomy had been a favorite along with First Aid, Camping, Swimming and even Cooking, much to his mother's delight. His father and brother had looked at Hunter's culinary pursuits with questioning eyes but were soon won over as they tasted delicious creation after delicious creation.

Hunter received his Eagle Scout award at the tender age of fifteen, which is almost never heard of from someone so young. His essay of life goals requirement included sailing a circumnavigation as a long term goal. His short term goals included spending more time with his best friend and making his own sailboat shine like a new nickel.

Hunter's Eagle Scout project was to introduce underprivileged kids to sailing. The project had been wildly successful. Even his brother Wyatt had started to take notice as Hunter's personality expanded and grew.

Summer Scout Camp offered a sailing course. Hunter, naturally, took the class and surprised his instructors with his knowledge and ability at handling a sailboat. The boat was much smaller than his Catalina and took some getting used to, but it was still a sailboat. Hunter could handle that. The instructors even had Hunter coaching the other campers. He also learned the advanced knots he would use for sailing his own boat. He already knew all the basic knots. Hunter excelled in every aspect of sailing and swimming, even earning the prestigious Scout Lifeguard award. When it came to water, Hunter was a force to be reckoned with.

* * * * *

The freezing water cut into him like a thousand needles, but he clung to his safety harness line. Without any help, pulling yourself back onto the deck of a sailboat in pitching seas would be almost impossible, but Hunter's youth and dexterity were an asset. That and the fact that Hunter had sluffed the sails leaving the sailboat with virtually no forward momentum. He prayed the lifeline would hold. If it broke, Hunter could count himself dead in the raging seas. He slowly dragged himself through the furious water. Hand over hand he pulled on the lifeline bringing himself toward the sailboat and safety. At last, he pulled himself onto the rear swim platform while choking on what seemed to be half the water in the Atlantic Ocean. His eyes darted around wildly as he took in the situation. The boat was still headed directly into the wind, due west, directly toward the shore. The sails were flapping violently in the wind. Thankfully, the autopilot was still doing its job. Hunter remembered the captain saying to keep the shore in sight, but not too close. From what Hunter could see through the driving rain, the sailboat was less than a half mile from shore. He could almost see the distant surf pounding on the beach. He clambered over the railing, released the autopilot and quickly turned to port. The thirty-knot wind had increased to forty and quickly filled the small storm trysail. Then the full jib caught the force of the wind and dragged the boat even more to port, heeling over dangerously in the process. Hunter realized at once what was happening and moved to reef in the jib. Every sheet on the boat was taut as catgut on a banjo. The wind screamed in his ears as he wrapped the jib sheet around a winch. He slowly released the jib causing the canvas to flap madly. Just as he turned to winch the jib sail in another unexpected gigantic wave slammed into the side of the 'Stargazer.' The boat shuddered as she heeled over to port. Hunter grabbed the rail and held on. The boat heeled over until the top of the fifty-five foot mast was just feet from the water. It happened so fast, there was nothing he could do but desperately hang on for dear life. Hunter feared the boat was going to capsize in the heavy seas, but 'Stargazer' held at horizontal.

It was a knockdown, a true knockdown. He'd never experienced one himself, but he had read enough about them to know this was serious. The sailboat was literally knocked over on its side until the sails no longer held wind. The weight of the lead keel would eventually bring the sailboat back to vertical. It was one thing to read about, but an entirely different thing to experience firsthand.

The boy's hands were white, not from the cold of the water, but from the sheer force he was exerting by hanging on. His heart pounded wildly, and his eyes filled with terror as he looked down into the violently thrashing seas, just feet from his place in the cockpit. It was one of those moments that seemed to last forever, but ended in an instant as the sailboat slowly righted herself and continued to wallow like a drunken lady between the ever-increasing waves of the storm.

Hunter quickly grabbed the wheel and turned her hard over bringing the brunt of the storm to the stern as he headed away from the crashing waves on the shore. He deftly engaged the autopilot and brought the jib in entirely. Then he traveled the main over and let it catch the wind. With the big silver wheel back in his hands, Hunter steered the boat as best he could, steering to port or starboard as necessary to keep huge breaking waves from crashing into the cockpit. Looking down at the compass, Hunter's eyes widened as he realized the 'Stargazer' was now headed due east, directly out into middle of the Atlantic Ocean. A glance at the 'SOG' instrument (Speed Over Ground) told him he was making well over sixteen knots, more than twice as fast as the sailboat was even capable. With that kind of speed, Hunter quickly calculated that the sailboat could easily be more than fifty or even a hundred miles at sea before the storm was over. The captain had to know.

With the autopilot engaged, the young boy scrambled down the companionway. What he found he would never forget and would give him nightmares for years to come. The captain lay still on the teak floor of the salon. A huge puddle of blood surrounded his head. Hunter's Boy Scout First Aid kicked in. He immediately checked the captain's breathing. Nothing. Then he checked for a pulse. Nothing. Surrounded by a raging storm while headed out into the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, Hunter gave CPR to the only person with the experience of sailing in storms and the skill necessary to bring them both back to safety.

The young boy ignored the howling wind and occasional spray of water down the companionway as he gave chest compressions and alternately breathed into the captain's mouth. The nights at Boy Scout meetings and practicing with CPR dummies paid off as his training took over. Hunter performed the lifesaving task flawlessly. His technique was perfect. The training had paid off. The only thing all that training left out was … what to do if it didn't work.

After twenty minutes, Hunter reluctantly gave up. Freezing spray splashed down the companionway followed by a bright flash of lightning. As thunder rolled throughout the salon, Hunter knew the captain was dead. The cold pallor of his skin shone dully in the cabin light. Another wave over the stern sent freezing cold water splashing down the companionway. Hunter hardly noticed. All he could do was look at the dead captain's face as guilt rose its ugly head. He'd failed to save this man's life and the result was permanent. Bright lightning flashed again, and thunder rolled heavily through the sailboat. Hunter had never, ever before, felt so alone.

Another bright flash was followed by an immediate loud boom of thunder that shook the entire sailboat as sparks showered from the navigation table. Hunter watched as first the GPS blinked out and then each and every instrument went dark. He glanced at the VHF radio and saw that it too had died in the lightning strike.

"Fuck!" He's just lost all his instruments and his only way to communicate. Hunter fished his cell phone out of his duffle bag. There was no signal.

Sitting on the deck of the main salon beside the dead captain, Hunter thought through his options. His experience was second to none. Having sailed since he was, well, ever since he could remember, Hunter knew how to sail a boat. His father had taught him well. His father also taught him navigation. Modern electronics made it so easy anyone could navigate, as long as the electronics worked. Now, Hunter found himself in the middle of the Atlantic with no clue as to where he was and no way to find out. His blue eyes swept over the blank instruments. Then he recalled the compass at the wheel. He recalled their original course. It was generally south from Saint Augustine. They intended to stay no more than five miles offshore. Then the storm struck. There had been no warning. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure the Gulf Stream was pushing them north and the storm was pushing them east and out to sea. The only spit of land north was Bermuda. Trying to land there would be like finding a needle in a haystack. To the south were the Bahamas, the Abacos and Grand Bahama Island, to the east, more Atlantic Ocean and to the west, the great state of Florida. It would be hard to miss that.

A particularly large wave slammed into the stern of 'Stargazer' and splashed down the companionway. The cold water roused Hunter from his thoughts. He scrambled up the steps, secured the hatch to keep any more water out and returned to hand steering. With the auto pilot dead from the lightning strike, hand steering was the only choice.

Another bright flash of lightning and a rumbling of thunder told Hunter the storm was far from over, if anything, the winds were increasing. The giant rollers lifted the sailboat from the stern then rolled under allowing the boat to surf down the face of each wave only to have the crest roll under the boat causing it to slide down the back of each wave. Each trip up and down the wave was racked with danger. If Hunter let either the bow or the stern veer either left or right, the momentum of the wave would flip the boat over. Being tired, cold, soaked to the bone and with nerves stretched to their limit was not a good combination, especially for a boy with no real blue water experience.

A sudden loud sound, much like that of a rifle, rang out in Hunter's ears. He knew that sound. It happened to him only once before. That was the sound of a metal stay, which held the mast in place, breaking under the strain of the wind, which now probably topped out at fifty knots or almost sixty miles per hour. The forty-five foot 'Stargazer' was not designed to handle this much weather. She was designed for coastal cruising, not open ocean storm sailing. Another rifle like sound cut through the intense howling sounds of the storm. Hunter watched as the fifty-five-foot aluminum mast tumbled forward and crashed onto the cabin top just before sliding off the port deck into the raging water. The remaining stays held and kept the mast from sinking to the bottom of the ocean but that presented another problem. That much weight, combined with the canvas attached to it, made steering the sailboat almost impossible, plus the mast was banging dangerously hard against the hull.

With no advance warning, a large wave crested and broke over the stern, filling the cockpit with water and nearly washing Hunter over the side. Thankfully, the companionway hatch remained secure, keeping water from going below. The cockpit scuppers would drain the water from the cockpit but he had to get the seas directly behind him or risk getting turned over. Hauling himself through the water in the cockpit, Hunter fired the engine, stabbed it into forward gear and slammed down the throttle. He grabbed the wheel and turned it hard to starboard, trying to overcome the drag the submerged mast was causing. The 'Stargazer' shuddered under the demands of its rudder and the drag of the mast, which was now continually slamming hard into the side of the sailboat. Hunter knew he had to get the mast out of the water so he could control the steering and he had to do it fast before it knocked a hole in the hull or worse, another wave could turn the boat over. Hunter stabbed at the autopilot button but got no response. Then he remembered the lightning strike took out all of the electronics, including the autopilot. He wrapped a piece of line around the pedestal and lashed the wheel down. The young boy snatched one of the nearby flopping sheets from the mast and wrapped it around the nearest winch. He grabbed the winch handle and started to crank the line in. Miraculously, the line went to the top of the first reef, about two thirds up the mast. As the line tightened, the top of the heavy mast slowly rose from the water. Hunter grabbed another loose sheet and wrapped it around another winch. As he cranked it in, he watched the lower half of the mast slowly come up to the rail. With the mast mostly out of the water, Hunter finally had enough steering capability to bring the sailboat back under control, however there was still canvas in the water. The jib sail was attached to the forward metal stay. When the mast collapsed, the jib went overboard and was still in the water. Hunter looked and realized the jib sheet was already wrapped around a winch. He grabbed the winch handle, inserted it and cranked for all he was worth. The jib canvas was slowly pulled out of the water and dragged across cabin top. Hunter grabbed a flashlight from just inside the companionway and lit up the deck. The mast sat on the edge of the boat, no longer dragging in the water and thankfully, no longer banging against the hull. The canvas attached to the mast was mostly wrapped around the boom and caused no problem. The jib sail had been drug across the deck and was virtually destroyed but no longer caused a steering problem.

Now, with no mast and no sail, the boat was little more than a powerboat, but with sixty-knot plus winds and gigantic twenty-five foot waves, the diesel engine was just not powerful enough to help. Hunter realized the futility and shut it down. He had to do something to control the sailboat. Then an idea came to him. He turned and pulled a five-gallon bucket from the port lazarette. He quickly tied the longest line he could find to the bucket and tossed it over the stern. Before the line trailed out, he hurriedly tied it to the starboard stern cleat. With the bucket acting as a sea anchor, it would effectively keep the stern of the sailboat toward the breaking waves. It would be much better to have the bow pointed to the waves, but Hunter knew trying to get to the bow through all the mass of twisted metal stays and the remains of the mast would be next to impossible. Hunter checked his lashing of the wheel then scampered below decks securing the hatch behind him. There was nothing else he could do.

He looked at Captain Turner, lying dead on the salon floor. The body slid back and forth on the deck with each pitch of the boat, smearing blood everywhere it slid. One heavy pitch of the boat sent the captain's body sliding violently straight toward Hunter. He jumped out of the way as the captain's body slammed into the bulkhead with a sickening crunch and more blood spilling on the salon floor. Something had to be done, and now.

After wrapping the captain's body in a sheet and lashing it to the bulkhead, Hunter suddenly realized there was water sloshing around the salon floor. Then he heard a distinct humming sound. The automatic bilge pump was working. Of course it would be working, thought Hunter. It was wired directly to the battery and had escaped the lightning strike. In ten minutes time, the sloshing water had disappeared.

Hunter shivered in the cold. He knew he needed dry clothes. He opened his duffle bag and pulled out a tee shirt, a sweatshirt, boxers and a pair of shorts. In his haste to get to his clothes, a picture slid out of his duffle bag on to the settee. Hunter grabbed it before it crashed to the floor. As he looked at the photo of himself and Jesse aboard 'The Pearl.' Hunter fell into a deep depression.

While the sailboat lurched from side to side, wallowing in the heavy surf, the boy huddled on the settee and held on with each nerve wracking roll of the boat. He took stock of his situation … no radio, no instruments, no GPS, no mast and no captain. There would be no way to figure out where he was. All he knew for fact was that Florida lay to the west. When the storm settled, he would crank the engine and make way toward safe harbor. All he could do now was hunker down and wait for the storm to pass.

He grabbed a piece of line and lashed himself to the settee. It was the only way to keep from being tossed to the deck with each roll of the sailboat without constantly holding on.

Watching the blood from the captain's head slosh one way and then the other, mesmerized the youth. Finally, he shook his head, got up and grabbed a mop and cleaned the salon floor. He wrapped the captain's head in a towel to keep more blood from seeping out.

Hunter sighed and settled back on the settee, his mind going a thousand miles an hour. There was nothing more he could do now. He had done everything he could think of. The wind howled, the lightning flashed and the thunder continued to boom rattling everything not nailed down inside the boat. Silverware, plates, pot, pans and glasses rattled with each boom of thunder. The captain's body would occasionally bump against the bulkhead following a particularly large wave. Hunter tried to ignore that.

The twenty-five foot waves continued to batter the small sailboat relentlessly as loneliness settled its cloak around Hunter. Despite the change of clothes, he shivered in the cold.

* * * * *

The United States Coast Guard Station in Jacksonville, Florida was on high alert with Tropical Storm Andrea on the move. The massive storm covered hundreds of square miles of the waters the station managed. The whole station was poised at the ready. With sixty knot winds, all helicopters and planes were grounded. Small rescue boats and the one hundred and fifty foot Sentinel Class Cutters were also on standby as the storm was kicking up monstrous twenty-five foot swells. The cutters were all powered up, fully staffed and poised at the ready to save life and property. The fleet would only put to sea when the station received a Mayday call. So far, so good.

The storm had spun up quickly from a low pressure system in the Gulf of Mexico and had been pushed across the state by a cold front. Vicious thunderstorms and powerful tornados battered the mainland before the system continued to head due East into the warm waters of the Atlantic where it intensified into Tropical Storm Andrea with sustained winds of sixty knots or almost seventy miles per hour.

Commander Walsh had every team ready for action. He could do little more. He silently prayed that no small boats were in the way of this storm. In the back of his mind, one small detail niggled away. That detail was a sailboat, an aged captain and a teen boy.

An AIS operator watched active boat traffic in the area. Ships and boats equipped with an Automated Identification System would show up on an AIS 'radar' screen showing the vessel's name and heading. Only a few dozen icons remained on the screen as most boats and ships had made their way to safe harbor.

Unbeknownst to Hunter, the 'Stargazer' was equipped with an AIS transponder, which under normal circumstances would make the vessel easy to find. The lightning strike had unfortunately taken out the AIS transponder, making it useless. Immediately after the lightning strike, the 'Stargazer' had simply disappeared from the AIS screen at Coast Guard Station Jacksonville. With so many vessels in the area, the disappearance went unnoticed by the AIS operator. Hunter was alone at sea with a damaged sailboat, no way to communicate, no way to navigate or for that fact, no way to even know where he was. His only choice was to ride the storm out.

* * * * *


On to Chapter Two
"The Quiet"

Chapter Index

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