At first I think no one’s going to come, but then I feel a body edging close to mine. “I’ve got him.”
It’s Nigel. I slip backward and let him pull the man farther out of the water. When the torso emerges, Nigel gets to his knees and drags the man all the way out. He turns the man onto his back and kneels over him, feeling for a pulse as he simultaneously pinches the man’s nostrils shut and bends down to force air into his lungs. With a sputtering cough, the man’s lungs empty of seawater, and his eyes flutter open.
The man is shivering uncontrollably, and just because he’s now breathing doesn’t mean he’s out of danger. Nigel radios for help.
I myself am shaking, and I wrap my arms around my body to steady myself. The other passengers are still huddled close together on the ice, very near to where the man had fallen in. “Back away,” I call to them, though I know their instincts and fear and the cold are drawing them together. “You’ll have to stand apart from one another—three feet, at least.”
I watch them separate—slowly, reluctantly, dubiously.
Nigel’s talking to the man who’d fallen in, asking him his name, age, where he’s from, anything to keep him conscious. But it’s not looking good; the man is incoherent, sputtering fragmented words, his teeth drumming violently together.
In my mind I’m assembling a chain of events: the Australis trapped in ice, desperate efforts to push its way out, ripped hull, ice floes crashing together, people jumping, fog, chaos, death.
Amy arrives, responding to Nigel’s call, and the two quickly strip off the man’s jacket, sweater, and shirt and wrap him in a fleece blanket, which will have to do until someone else arrives to help Amy take him back to the ship. Already we are too few rescuers, with too few resources, too late to the scene.
I turn to Nigel, who waves me ahead, and for a moment I hesitate. The sleeves of my jacket are soaked through. My arms are still numb, and water courses from my sleeves down the front of my chest. The fabric against my skin is wet and cold. Yet I start out again, clenching my jaw tightly shut to keep my teeth from chattering—as much from nerves as from cold—and I move my arms up and down as I walk, to keep the blood flowing.
A shadowy ridge of icebergs rises like giant incisors in the distance. I continue slowly, cautiously, watching for signs of movement in case any of them, like ancient trees, decide to tip over and crack the ice I’m standing on. Despite the thickening fog, I can tell I’m getting closer to the Australis; I hear the sounds of tortured, twisting steel and muffled human voices. As I navigate the ice, I place flags marking my route, the places that are safe to walk—for now, anyhow.
And then I see her.
Still shrouded in mist, about a hundred yards straight ahead, is the Australis, listing heavily to port. I pick up my pace.
Everywhere I look, I see lifeboats and passengers in the cruise company’s bright blue jackets: some in Zodiacs, some on the ice. I scan the jackets for a glimpse of orange, a flash of red.
My throat swells with despair, and I swallow it away and try to breathe. As I study the scene in front of me, I do a rapid triage in my head. The Australis’s lifeboats may be able to navigate out of this maze of ice with the wind thrashing the floes together, assuming they’re manned by crew members; at any rate, those inside are safe for now. Zodiacs are more maneuverable and easier to pilot, though they’re also smaller and more prone to tipping; passengers might be able to get to safety as long as they don’t get stuck in pack ice, which is becoming increasingly likely.
Those who are stranded on the ice need help, and fast—but there are so many of them, and though I know Nigel and the other naturalists and crew members will be following close behind, for now I’m the only one here. I look at the groups of passengers, clustered together like penguins at a nesting site, and realize the agony of the choices ahead, weighing lives against the thickness of ice, weighing my safety against theirs, weighing the fact that there is only one of these victims who really matters to me and I don’t know where he is, and, as much as I’d rather look for him, these people in immediate danger can’t be ignored.
The Cormorant is now at least a quarter mile behind me, and I radio Glenn and give him my position, tell him what the situation is. I don’t see anyone I recognize as Australis crew; they’re likely still on board, trying to get more passengers to safety, and this gives me hope.