The Raft: Chapters 19–34

After a few hours of intermittent bailing, I realized there was definitely a leak somewhere that was not going to stop letting water in.

Once more, I laid my head on his chest. I held his hand, which was definitely not warm. I rubbed it, trying to help get the circulation back, telling myself that’s why it seemed stiff.

My options seemed to be steering toward one, the one I dreaded the most.

Using all my strength, I managed to get Max’s left arm and leg over the side.
He was half in, half out, sprawled like a bug on the side of the raft.

Still, even if my weight was on there, even if it hadn’t been too much for the one engine, there was one other thing, one thing that might be the worst fact of all. And for all my rationalizing, I couldn’t explain it away.

The other things on the card weren’t all applicable.

In order to reduce loss of water through sweat, soak your clothes in the sea and wring them out.

Watch the clouds, and be ready for any chance of rain. Keep the tarpaulin ready for catching water.

I glanced down at him, his face still serene.

My chin quivered and my lips curled as a guttural wail escaped between them.

No longer in the raft, no longer fifteen, no longer in command of my world, I was but five. A little kid of five and I’d awoken from a heinous nightmare and wanted my mother, wanted her to take away everything that was bad.

Even though, for the moment, I could breathe just fine within the pocket of air between me and the capsized raft, the feeling of my legs just hanging there, treading, was more than I could take.

Holding on to the raft with one hand, slapping at the water with the other, I blubbered, as part of me cursed the carelessness that had just lost us all the food we had, and another part was just pissed that I hadn’t eaten them all when I had the chance.

I got out from under the raft and clambered partway up the bottom of the raft and found the leak.

But I didn’t like the water coming up in my face, and the ditty bag on my arm hampered my progress.

I took the ditty bag off my wrist and put the bungee cord around my neck, setting the ditty bag on my back. It was very tight, almost constricting, but at least it would stay put while I swam.

At last, with a final burst, I pulled myself up and over, and I slid face-first into the raft, where I just lay, recovering. Then I remembered the whole goal of my ordeal. The patch.

There was only one thing to do: I went over to the backdoor and stepped into my work boots without tying the laces. Got a jacket on and scuffed outside to the nearest snowbank.

Numb. Blurred. Fuzzy.
Dulled.
Like none of it was real. Except for the hunger pangs in my stomach.

I was thirsty and ravenously hungry, especially after hearing about the cookies.

It sounded so easy to navigate by the sun and moon, but believe me, it was totally disorienting.

Settling down, closing my eyes, I vowed to pay attention in the morning when the sun rose, and try to steer the raft toward where I thought salvation might be.

I held up my sweatshirt in the wind, thinking it might serve as a pseudo-sail, but it wasn’t big enough to do much. And my arms were too tired to hold anything aloft for long.

“Okay, Survival at Sea dweebs, I’ll give you another chance to help me survive.” My voice was raspy.

Fishing line and hook may be improvised from many materials.

I smiled at my hook and line. “Who’s inventive? Me. Totally.”

One fat, lazy cloud drifted above me. Soon, it was joined by another. Then many more began to move in, the clumps turning from puffy white to dark.
At first I was annoyed, because they obscured the sun, so that I couldn’t be sure which way we were heading.

“Round over. I glanced at the scoreboard. Zip-zip. There wasn’t time to wonder why I hadn’t gotten a point for the takedown. The ref tossed the coin. My opponent got to choose up or down to start the next round. He shook his head slightly, deferring to me. He wanted me to pick.”

Anxiety had transitioned to boredom. Just sitting there, watching the same sky, same water, same colors. I longed for something to break up the monotony.

They ate squid eggs or fish and, once they got back to their nest, regurgitated it for the chicks in an oily, viscous, vile-smelling substance.

They ate squid eggs or fish and, once they got back to their nest, regurgitated it for the chicks in an oily, viscous, vile-smelling substance.

The egg had to be kept warm, had to be nestled constantly for sixty days.

Birds. An agitated, chaotic, screeching cloud of birds. I picked out the ones I knew. Sooty terns, at least one blue-footed booby, a few fairy terns. They shifted and dove and flew. Below them, the surface of the water showed just as much, if not more, commotion.

Kneeling, poised with my hoodie in trembling hands, I held my breath as the edge of the bird cloud reached me.

All the calls and cries and screeches were a cacophony after so much silence.