I began to weep.
I don’t know how long I was in the water that way, crying like a little boy, for myself, for the others who were lost, even for the Galaxy, which I felt strangely sorry for. But I tell you again, Annabelle, I had no part in destroying that ship. I know what Dobby wanted, and the things I may have inadvertently helped him plan. But I was thrown into the sea with nothing but the clothes on my back, and I tossed in those frigid waves for who knows how long. Had I not found that suitcase, I would be dead already.
I began to hear voices of other passengers in the water. Some were howls. Others were clear enough to distinguish actual words—Help me! or Please!—but then, in a rush, the sounds disappeared. The ocean plays tricks with your ears, Annabelle, and its currents are so strong that someone could be a few yards away one moment and gone for good the next.
My legs felt heavy; it was all I could do to keep them moving. I knew if I cramped up, I could not swim, and if I could not swim, I would sink and die. I clung to that suitcase like a frightened child clings to his mother’s midsection. I was trembling with cold and my eyes were about to shut for good when I spotted an orange raft, drifting in and out of the waves. Someone on board was waving a flashlight.
I tried to yell “Help!” but I had swallowed so much salt water, it burned my throat to make a sound. I kicked toward the raft, but could not move fast enough while holding the suitcase. I had to let it go. I didn’t want to. Strange as it sounds, I felt a certain devotion to it.
But then the flashlight shone again, and this time I heard a voice yell, “Here! Over here!” I released my grip and started swimming, my head above the surface so I could keep sight of the beam. A wall of water rose and crashed. My body twisted wildly and I lost all sense of direction. No! I yelled to myself. Not when I am so close! I broke the surface just as a new wave hit me again. Once more, I was spun and yanked like a fish on a line. When I resurfaced, I gasped for air, my throat burning. I turned my head left and right—nothing. Then I turned backward.
The raft was right behind me.
I grabbed the safety rope along its side. Whoever had been waving that flashlight was gone. I can only imagine he or she was thrown off by those waves. I tried to look for a body in the water, but another wave began curling into form, so I gripped the rope with both hands, and instantly I was tossed again. I lost all sense of up or down. I squeezed that rope so hard my fingernails broke the flesh of my palms. But when I burst through the surface, I was still holding on.
I pulled myself along the outside of the raft until I found a handle for boarding. I tried three times to yank myself in. I was so weak, I failed each try. Now another large wave was forming. I didn’t think I could hang on through that one. So I screamed into the darkness, a guttural “EYARRRRGGG!” And with every ounce of strength I had left, I heaved myself over the side and fell onto the black rubber floor, panting like a mad dog.
News
ANCHOR: What you’re seeing is the area of the Atlantic Ocean where the luxury yacht the Galaxy reportedly went down Friday night, some fifty miles off the coast of Cape Verde. Our correspondent Tyler Brewer filed this report.
REPORTER: Miles and miles of vast ocean, as search and rescue teams fly over the Atlantic, hoping for any clues as to what happened on the Galaxy, a $200 million yacht owned by billionaire Jason Lambert. The ship sent a distress signal around 11:20 Friday night, reporting some type of event. It is believed to have sunk shortly thereafter.
ANCHOR: What about survivors, Tyler?
REPORTER: The news is not good. By the time rescue teams reached the area, the Galaxy was completely gone. Bad weather and strong currents may have carried debris—and even the bodies of any survivors—miles from the original transmission site.
ANCHOR: Have they discovered anything at all?
REPORTER: There are parts of the yacht’s exterior that rescue teams say they have spotted. We’re told the Galaxy was constructed of a very lightweight fiberglass that allowed it to go faster than similar yachts. Unfortunately, that also made it more susceptible to impact. An investigation is underway.
ANCHOR: An investigation into what exactly?
REPORTER: Frankly, if there was any foul play involved. There are many things that can happen to a ship at sea. But an event this destructive is quite extraordinary.
ANCHOR: Well, for now, our thoughts and prayers go out to the families of those lost—including our own Valerie Cortez and cameraman Hector Johnson, who were reporting from the Galaxy when this tragedy took place.
REPORTER: Indeed. I’m sure many loved ones still hold out hope that at least some of the passengers survived. But the ocean is cold in these parts. And hopes dim with each passing hour.
Sea
Day six. Another strange occurrence to report. This morning, the skies grew thick with clouds and the winds whipped up until they sounded like high-pitched engines. The ocean is deafening in such moments, Annabelle. You must scream to be heard, even a few feet away. The salt water blows across your face and stings your eyes.
Our raft rose and fell, smacking the surface with each drop. It was like riding a bucking horse. We gripped the safety ropes to keep from bouncing out.
At one point, little Alice tumbled loose. Nina dove and grabbed her with both arms as a crash of water soaked us all. She scrambled back with Alice in her grip and started wailing, “Stop! … Stop!” I saw Alice reach an arm out toward the Lord, who was crouched across the raft, unfazed by any of this.
The man put his hands over his nose and mouth and closed his eyes. Suddenly, the wind stopped. The air went dead. All sounds disappeared. It was like that T. S. Eliot poem, “the still point of the turning world,” as if the entire planet held its breath.
“What just happened?” Nevin asked.
We looked around from our various splayed positions on the raft floor, which now seemed to be parked in place. The stranger made brief eye contact, then turned away and gazed over the sea. Little Alice hugged Nina around her neck, and Nina soothed her by whispering, “It’s OK … we’re safe.” It was so quiet we could hear her every word.
Moments later, the boat began to gently rock, and the ocean formed small, harmless swells. A light breeze blew, and the normal sea sounds returned. But there was nothing normal about that moment, my love. Nothing normal at all.
“Are the sharks still following us?” Nina asked as the sun tucked under the horizon.
Yannis peeked over the side. “I don’t see them.”
We spotted the sharks on our second day in the ocean. Geri says they are drawn to the fish that are attracted to the raft’s bottom.
“They were there an hour ago,” Nevin said. “I think I saw a fin—”
“I don’t understand this!” Mrs. Laghari blurted out. “Where are the airplanes? Jason said they would be searching for us. Why have we not seen a single plane?”
A few of us looked down and shook our heads. Mrs. Laghari has been carping on this every day. Where are the planes? When we first pulled Lambert into the boat, he insisted his crew would have sent distress signals. Rescue would be imminent. So we waited for the planes. We scoured the skies. Back then, we still felt like Lambert’s passengers. That has changed. With each passing sunset, our hope grows depleted, and we no longer feel like passengers of anything. We are souls adrift.
I wonder if this is what dying is like, Annabelle. At first, you are so tightly connected to the world you cannot imagine letting go. In time, you surrender to a drifting phase. What comes next, I cannot say.
Some would say that you meet the Lord.