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What do you do with a drunken sailor when the world is under water?
My name is Bird Howsley, and I'm a beautiful disaster. Okay, "beautiful" is probably being generous. But the "disaster" part is right. In a brutal, dystopian waterworld, where survival depends on skill and smarts, I'm pretty much always one bad decision away from watching my life go completely down the drain.
Luckily, I have a lifeline: my cute, level-headed sailing teacher, Sargo Paz. Did I say cute? I didn't mean cute. He's just a friend. I definitely don't have weird sex dreams about him.
Anyway, three days ago, I got a message from a guy who's been dead for ten years. That's odd, right? I had a plan to go find him, but it went pretty badly sideways, and Sargo and I ended up in the crosshairs of a very sketchy underground organization that now wants us dead.
We didn't know what else to do except flee into the Salt. Now we're stuck together on Sargo's tiny sailboat, facing down pirates and harrowing seas, and things are getting, um-tense between us.
Oh, and did I mention I've been blacking out? Like...a lot?
An Excerpt
I climb down the stairs to the galley, expecting to find Sargo making a cup of tea, but he isn't there. I squint through the cabin to the bunk in the bow. He's kneeling on it, facing away from me with his head down. I take a few steps closer and hear him breathing hard. A shaft of fear goes through me. Is he sick? If he's sick, I don't know how I'm going to sail Panga on my own.
Then I see what he's doing, and freeze. My view of his hands is blocked by the angle of his body, but I know immediately by the sound. The rhythmic sound of his fist, beating against his hips. The ragged breaths he is trying to take quietly.
He's jerking off.
My whole body ignites. I feel like I just stepped over the edge of the world and am free-falling into nothing. I should turn around and go back to the cockpit. I should pretend I haven't seen this.
Instead, I take a step closer.
