ONE

As the sun rose for the seventh day, its scorching heat seemed to evaporate away even more of his strength. He was a man comfortable with the sea, but now, with no land in sight, perhaps it would be best to simply let the sea claim him. All he needed to do was let go.

Had he really survived a full week adrift?

The fools. He had told the boat’s captain and crew to cooperate. He told them to ditch the fast boat, leaving a GPS locator aboard so they could find it later. He had a suitable and impossible-to-find hiding spot aboard the fishing vessel. Even infrared detection equipment wouldn’t find his location surrounded by ice and their plentiful catch. Their paperwork was in order, and their excuse that engine problems had prompted their heading for the nearest port in Mexico was easily backed up. A special governor on the engine could duplicate the problem time and time again, as often as they needed to authenticate their claim to any intervening authority.

He stepped outside the bridge in time to see the drone coming their way. He screamed to the captain to release and move away from the fast boat on their port davit, but the man was attached to his expensive toy, despite the fact that its presence screamed “smugglers.” The man’s hesitation gave the drone time to come close enough that its markings as U.S. Coast Guard were clearly seen, close enough to see the fast boat. Maybe even close enough to see him.

As he rushed to the access of his hiding place, he heard the crew begin to shoot. The men had a death wish, something Abdullah did not share with his countrymen. As he secured his spot, he heard the splintering of wood as return fire from the Coast Guard began to shred the cabin and bridge of their vessel. Then came the whoosh of an RPG launch. He knew at that moment, should he survive the next ten minutes, he would not be celebrating with the captain and crew. And if he didn’t, he would see them in Paradise.

Inside his waterproof cache, surrounded by the metal bins filled with ice and fish, he felt more than heard the boat explode around him. Allah protected him. The bins withstood the attack, and he believed he now floated free of the debris along with those containers. Yet, he couldn’t leave his space just yet. The Coast Guard would be searching for survivors. He felt confident that there would be no others, but only by Allah’s good will would the sailors not think to inspect the fish holding bins more closely.

He lost track of time inside the dark space where he lay supine. That claustrophobic world began to become more turbulent. The ice had no doubt melted, and the water it left behind began to toss and heave with every swell. With one sudden lurch he found himself upside down and his face planted against what had previously been the top of his hiding space.

Floating with the swells and cursing the sun, he now recalled the sense of panic that had rushed through him at that moment. Panic was a foreign emotion to him. The fish bins no longer acted like their own little boat, displacing the sea and staying afloat. Whether upside down or sideways, they would begin to take on enough water to sink. In fact, it had felt as if they already were. The panic came from the thought of being dragged to a deep watery grave in a metal coffin of his own design.

In another instant, amid creaking and groaning of metal rubbing metal, he sensed his “casket” shooting upward and beginning to bob up and down. The image of a simple cork fishing bobber undulating in the wake of a boat replaced the panic.

But only for a second.

He found himself standing on his head in the rectangular cubicle. That meant the door was underwater. To open it now would flood the space with water. Or would it? Again, Allah’s hand had intervened. If he could keep the container in its current position, he could escape, shut the door behind him, and keep the air trapped inside. What might have been his coffin became his flotation device.

Today, on day seven—or was it eight? —of his ordeal, he reconsidered the decisions he had made then. Sinking deep into cold water, he would become hypothermic before succumbing to a lack of oxygen in the chamber. It would have been a peaceful way to die. Of course, the cubicle’s breaking away from the fish bins robbed him of that option.

Now, he barely had the strength to hold onto his bobber. His lips were chapped to the point of bleeding, and he had sores and scabs covering his scalp and shoulders. When using his shirt to cover his head, his shoulders burned, and vice versa. Water surrounded him, but he was dying of thirst.

He closed his eyes and focused on saying his dua, his prayer to Allah to reach home safely. “Alw bham a wbaa llrbhanwa tdwhb ab lsha yyghaadr ʿllnyana ḥw bwal h alnḥ mld whww ʿl a kll shyw’r qd yrsh aybṭwnn twamb wnḍ ʿabnd wnr sajadrwny lḥr bmnaa ḥramdwn ṣndqa allahl wʿkhdyhr whndhṣhr ʿbdh w hzm alaahḥlzhab wnḥʿdwh bk mn shrha wshr ahlha wshr ma fyha.” I have come back, I have come back, I seek forgiveness from Allah with such a repentance that leaves me with no sin.

———-

Thank you for reading a sample of  Resurrected Trouble.

For more, you can order it here.

********************

COPYRIGHT
 

Resurrected Trouble – Copyright © 2020 by Braxton DeGarmo. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Braxton DeGarmo.

Paperback/eBook Edition Publication Date: May 2020

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-943509-37-9

EBook (mobi):  978-1-943509-38-6

EBook (epub): 978-1-943509-39-3

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogs are products of the author’s imagination and are not construed to be real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The use of real places and companies is done to add a sense of reality, but the circumstances surrounding such use is also fictional. The employees of such companies, their actions, and their comments are fiction and should not be construed as implied or explicit endorsements by or the beliefs of said companies. The use of public figures, such as politicians, is also done for the purpose of realism. Actions or comments attributed to them may be fiction, but may also come from public records, such as their own writings.

Unless otherwise noted, Scripture quotations are from the ESV® Bible (The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Cover design by Rocking Book Cover 
 

DEDICATION
 

This book is dedicated to all of those families who have lost loved ones under unusual circumstances. May God’s peace be with you.

 
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
 

As always, I again want to acknowledge and thank my dear wife, Paula, for her valuable proofreading skills, help and encouragement.
 
Many thanks as well to Lenda Selph for her expert proofreading.
 
Plus, a big thank you to my editor, Patrick LoBrutto, His feedback always makes my stories better.
 
And finally, my sincerest compliments to Adrijus Guscia for his incredible covers throughout the series.