Primitive: A Bones Bonebrake Adventure

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The storm raged. The wind shrieked in a banshee wail. Lightning shredded the slate gray blanket of clouds that hung low over the churning sea. The San Amaro pitched and rolled, her heavily laden holds causing her to ride low in the water, the icy waves breaking again and again over her decks.

Miguel de Morales squinted against the chill wind and icy rain. The temperature had dropped precipitously since the storm that had been brewing all day finally broke with the fury of a thousand hells. He clutched the ship’s wheel, trying to keep her on a southeasterly course that would take them around the tip of La Florida and back out to the Atlantic.

“Captain, do you want me to take the wheel?” Dominic, his first mate, shouted to be heard above the howling wind. Rain streamed down his face like funeral tears and he staggered to maintain his footing on the tilting deck.

Morales shook his head. “The helm is mine until we get out of this storm.” He didn’t need to add if we get out at all.

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