Matt jerked into a horizontal position again. Swooping toward the rear deck, his feet were literally pointing toward the horizon. A weird, slow-motion fog filled his brain—probably brought on by terror—and he felt for what seemed a whole minute that the boat had slipped behind him. But the truth was his awkward angle had given him the wrong impression. Blinking, he suddenly saw a silver guardrail rush toward him, and he tried to brace for impact, but there was not exactly anything for him to grab hold of. His right leg hit the railing hard, and a raised screw—or perhaps a twisted corner of metal—dug into his flesh and he felt rather than saw himself flip in midair.

In a way, although it was cold, he was lucky to land in the water.

The next thing he knew his soaked parachute was trying to drown him. Ironically, the temperature of the sea did not bother him. Even though he knew there was something seriously wrong with his right leg—it was burning hot when it should have been freezing cold—he felt a large measure of relief. He was out of the sky and the boat was near at hand. After struggling uselessly with the chute for several seconds, he calmed down and dug himself out from beneath it. He had to be careful with the pile of material. He could not simply let it float away. Some genius could find it and put two and two together.

Earlier he had attached a ladder to the rear of the boat. He was able to climb onto the deck without straining. He had to struggle with the parachute for several minutes but then he had it aboard as well. It was only when he sat down to catch his breath that he realized how cold he was; and that the sticky warmth dripping from his leg was colored red. Pulling up his pants leg, he saw that he had a gash in his calf that was at least an inch deep and over a foot long. The deck was already soaked with blood. He wondered how much blood he had left in the water.

There was a first-aid kit inside the cabin. Tearing off his pants, he treated the wound with hydrogen peroxide and two rolls of gauze. The treatment was a joke. He needed a dozen rolls of gauze and thirty stitches. He could not stop the bleeding. He ended up ripping apart a spare sweatshirt he had brought along to keep himself warm and cozy in the event he went in the water. He firmly tied the material directly over the wound and the pressure finally halted the bleeding.