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A charming island town off the coast of Southern California.
The beginning of a typical weekend.
Everything is perfect.
Nothing will be the same again.

On a breezy Friday morning, Russell Cruz sails his elegant old yacht out of Newport Harbor, destined for the island of Catalina. He has no idea that he will soon have to summon strength and resolve from the depths of his soul that he previously did not know existed, for in an instant the island will be thrust into the depths of the unknown; clashing with the savagery of global politics, and the brutal chaos of fate.

 

"Avalon begins as a warm journey through the adventures and hardships of an American immigrant during his quest for the Promised Land. Then suddenly explodes with the reality that we are living in a dangerous world where our most troubling fears are just a heartbeat away.

West captures the soul of a sailor and the unique attributes of everyday Americans, and blends them together in a heart pounding, unexpected climax."

 

Please enjoy this abbreviated selection from chapter one.

When there was no light left of the day, the boys stripped
down to their underwear and waded into the sea. The South
Pacific water was warm and the sand soft under their toes. Even
if the ship turned out to be a bore, at least they would have a
good swim.
The fancy yacht had departed and left the side of the ship an
easier target. The boys swam out to the side of the old vessel,
and then grabbed on to the bottom of the rope ladder.
“Ready?” Gerard grinned.
“Yes, you go first.”
At the top of the ladder, Gerard looked around for any guards.
He could see people inside the bridge under the lights, but they
were far away and probably couldn’t see him on the darkened
decks. He hopped over the rail and motioned for Ansell, who
then began climbing the ladder.
“There’s nobody around,” Gerard said when Ansell reached
the top of the ladder.
“Good, I’ll wait here.”
“Right. Ansell look, the holds are sealed. I won’t be able to
see in.”
“Then let’s go.”
Gerard looked around again. His curiosity was overwhelm-
ing him. He spotted an open hatch only a few yards away, with a
stairwell leading down.
“I’m just going to look through that door.”
“Gerard, don’t.”
“Just wait here.”
Gerard sprinted to the nearby hatch and looked inside, then
walked down the steps into the bowels of the ship. At the bottom
of the steps, he looked down the corridor. The interior was dimly
lit with red lighting of the type designed to preserve a crewman’s
night vision. Down at the end of the corridor, he saw an open
door on the left with white light coming from the inside.
Gerard tiptoed over the grating and peered around the corner
of the cargo hold door. His eyes immediately went wide and he
inhaled quickly. He was instantly and profoundly confused. He
knew what he was looking at; he just had no idea why it was all
here. He stared and pondered for over a minute until Ansell’s
bare feet came running up behind him.
“Gerard, what are you doing? Let’s go.”
Ansell then peeked around the same corner of the door, under
Gerard’s arm. Ansell was confused as well, but this turned
immediately into deep terror. So much so, he suddenly felt
nauseas and nearly passed out. He was just able to grab Gerard’s
arm and pull him back towards the stairwell. Gerard turned to
look at Ansell and saw the fever of fear in his eyes, which spread
instantaneously to him. The two staggered backwards, stumbled
back across the steel grating and then began ascending the stairs.

Thirteen days later, the ship was steaming at nearly full speed
through the darkness of early evening. The weather had turned
nasty, with light fog, high winds, and a bad-tempered sea. The
ship plowed through the breaking waves, moaning and creaking,
and angry at being driven on. The sea spray cascaded over the
rails and whipped around the bridge, as the hoist cable and other
rigging clanged from side to side like broken church bells. All
the while, the giant engine droned on, throbbing against the
ocean and echoing throughout the caverns of the ship.
The crew on the bridge steered the old vessel on her course,
steadily watching the rolling ocean out in front of them. For
technical reasons, the radar and radio equipment had been
temporarily switched off.
No other vessels were expected to be out in this weather, and
the region had been checked prior to shutting down the radar.
Despite this, the shut down eventually prevented seeing a
sailboat dead ahead, running from the storm into the blackness.
The sailing vessel was now only a quarter mile in front of the
ship, and quickly being overtaken.
Suddenly, beaming through the spiraling fog, the sailboat’s
spotlight flooded the bridge of the freighter and then scanned the
front edges of the ship. The sailing yacht in the path of doom
was now about a hundred yards away, and trying to race to
starboard. Through the illuminated mist, the ship’s crew could
see two men in the yacht’s cockpit. The ship’s helmsman did not
alter course.

At about the same time that the yacht crewmen were
desperately trying to evade the fast-moving ship, Ricardo Cruz
sat in his Swedish leather recliner inside his dockside home in
Newport Beach, California, watching soccer on his sixty-inch
television and gnawing on peppered beef jerky.
Ricardo was following the moves of nearly every player,
occasionally pulling on his thick gray hair when his team fouled
up, and taking puffs on an eighty-five dollar cigar to calm his
nerves.
An avid sailor, Ricardo would have been horrified by the
oncoming cargo ship, had he been aboard the imperiled
sailboat. However, he may as well have been aboard, for the
horror would soon reach all the way to Newport Beach.
As he watched players boot a soccer ball around on a high
definition grass field, Ricardo had no way of knowing that his
family would soon be neck-deep in the catastrophe developing at
sea. Yet the true terror would not be the looming collision, but
what would come after.