The Dystopian Diaries

by K. W. Callahan

  With the hatch door being in an irreparable state, we all made our way back upstairs, urged onward by the quickly deepening water below deck. Even though no one had said it at that point, I think we all began to realize that our time aboard the Neptune Triton was running short.

  We found ourselves once again on the Vista Deck for a group meeting. It didn’t take us long to decide that it was time to abandon ship. Barbara seemed terrified by the prospects of leaving the ship. She wanted to know if the lifeboats were safe in this sort of weather. Hector assured her that they were. He told us that it wasn’t likely to be a comfortable ride but that we didn’t have much of a choice.

  I found myself wishing we were still close to the island where we’d run aground. I think our chances of making it back there in this sort of weather are slim to none, though.

  Hector and Jeremy seemed to take charge at this point. Hector wanted to get the lifeboat preparations underway immediately. Jeremy felt that this was a good idea, but he also wanted to ensure we had supplies since our duration at sea could be days, weeks, or longer. Therefore, we broke into two groups. The first group included me, Barbara, Amanda, and Julian. We undertook the task of gathering supplies both from our cabin and the restaurant kitchen to bring with us on the lifeboat. I grabbed my diary and my phone loaded with our honeymoon pictures along the way.

  It took us about 15 minutes and several trips to gather the supplies we felt necessary for an extended lifeboat trip at sea. By the time we made our last trip to the lifeboat, the ship was listing noticeably to starboard and the bow was keeping itself just above water. When larger waves struck, the bow of the ship would disappear completely.

  Our lifeboat preparations took place close enough to the front of the ship to watch each time the ship’s bow dipped beneath the water. Frothy white waves would break and rush over and around the ship’s bow, obscuring it from view until eventually the nose of the ship would slowly re-emerge. By the time we had the supplies loaded aboard the lifeboat, and the boat davits swung outward, the front of the ship was completely submerged.

  It has taken me twice as long to write this as it would have back on the ship since there is so much pitching and rolling aboard the lifeboat. Plus, I’m completely exhausted, so I’m going to take a break now.

  11:15 a.m.

  Wow this REALLY sucks!!! It’s impossible to sleep in here. It’s hot, impossible to get comfortable, and the lifeboat rocks like a mechanical bull in these rough seas. From the outside, our lifeboat reminds me of a big orange pill capsule.

  Hector is in the lifeboat’s little control tower sort of space. It’s an elevated seat in the center of the lifeboat reached by a short ladder. It has a Plexiglas-covered bubble type viewing port enclosing the space from which to see, although with the rain and the waves, I’m not sure how he sees ANYTHING. The lifeboat’s engine is controlled from here. Hector is doing his best to keep us headed into the waves, but he says he’s never done this before. No one else has either, so we can’t complain too much. It still sucks, though. I wish there were some windows, but I get it. You can’t put a bunch of portholes in something that’s supposed to weather a storm or similar event that a massive cruise ship couldn’t. It has to be kind of like a floating safe deposit box for people. Comfort is not priority number one.

  So when I was writing earlier, I was at the point where I was relating how we were readying the lifeboat. We had gotten our supplies inside and Hector had shown us how to swing the davits holding the lifeboat in place out over the side of the sinking ship. The lifeboats onboard don’t seem all that large when you see them from the coastline and in comparison to the rest of the ship. But when you’re dealing with them first hand, they’re actually quite large. I guess they have to be in order to evacuate the entire ship, including the crew.

  The process seemed so strange. In our lifeboat drill, we were all jam-packed together, standing shoulder-to-shoulder in our muster station. But when it came time to actually launch a lifeboat, here we were, a paltry few, a group less than a dozen, waiting to board a lifeboat that could easily hold 60 people or more.

  By this point, the ship’s bow was completely under water. This was pulling the rear of the ship up higher, which meant that we were standing and working on angled decks in the gradually growing morning light. Ahead of us, toward the front of the ship that had now disappeared beneath the roiling sea, we could see water gradually approaching us like a slowly rising tide.

  That’s when the ship’s lights went out. The water must finally have reached the main engine room. Either that or the angle of the ship had forced some component of the electrical system to break free. Either way, we were left in the relative darkness of the pre-dawn hours until Hector, jumping inside the swaying lifeboat dangling out over the water, returned with a large flashlight.

  We had just begun to load the first people aboard when we heard voices behind us. This took us by surprise since we had assumed we were the only ones left alive aboard ship. But we were wrong.

  Hold on, Hector is yelling about something. I need a break from this writing anyway. It’s terrible trying to put words to paper in these conditions.

  12:28 p.m.

  Hector was tired and wanted someone to take over at the lifeboat’s controls. Jeremy said he’d give driving the boat a shot. Hector gave him a crash course on how to steer, work the throttle, and stayed with him for a bit as Jeremy learned to head our little craft into the waves as best he could. I stayed with them to watch and to learn since I figure it’s probably best to have multiple people trained on how to operate the lifeboat just in case. At this point, I’m not taking anything for granted.

  So as I was writing before, we were just preparing to enter the lifeboat when we heard voices behind us. Hector turned the flashlight upon a group of seven people standing on the deck. They were a haggard looking bunch, several of whom were coughing and looked very sick.

  Hector asked them where they had come from. They said that they’d been hiding in their cabins, subsisting off the remnants of room service and boxed meals they’d scavenged from the cabins that had not claimed their food. Hector then asked if any of them were sick. They all claimed that they were not, but several of them looked terrible. They said their condition was due to the rough seas, but in a low voice, Hector told us that we couldn’t chance it. Hector then told the people to stay put as he gathered us together for a quick group meeting in which he explained that we didn’t have time for this. The ship’s rate of descent seemed to have increased, and the water approaching up the deck had nearly reached us.

  Hector said that he felt it was best not to take a chance on these people being sick. He said that he thought they should take another lifeboat. He explained that he would quickly walk them through the process (from a safe distance of course), but he didn’t want to spend much time with them both because they might be sick and because our own time for launching our craft was growing short.

  We all agreed that this was a reasonable approach to take and felt good about the decision because we weren’t risking our own good health. At the same time, however, we were giving these people a shot at life.

  But while WE might have thought it was a good decision, the freshly arrived passengers did not. They didn’t see why, if we were prepared to launch a lifeboat, they couldn’t join us. As an argument between the two groups ensued, things grew heated. And as the opposing group began to approach, Hector pulled a handgun we didn’t know he had, in order to back them off. While the appearance of the weapon worried me, at the same time, it allowed me a sigh of relief because the sight of it halted the other group in its tracks.

  While Hector held the gun on the newcomers, he gave them brief instructions on how to lower a lifeboat, and then told them that they’d better get to work. As a final note, he told them to select a lifeboat located closer to the aft section of the ship to avoid being swamped by the water gradually climbing its way toward us from the bow of the ship.

  He then urged us
all aboard our own boat, standing guard, gun in hand until everyone was loaded. Then he released the break governor, climbed inside the boat, closed the door, and lowered us using what he explained was a break wire located inside the lifeboat.

  I honestly never thought of such a gimmick, always thinking back to visions of the Titanic where there were crew on board to lower the lifeboats. But it makes complete sense. If you’re the last person or people aboard a sinking ship, who is going to be left to lower YOU down? So such a contraption is an obvious addition to an encapsulated lifeboat.

  Once we hit the water, Hector fired up the lifeboat’s engine (he had tested it before we “lowered away” to ensure it worked), and off we went. Due to our enclosed setting, and without windows other than the control station viewing port, we never again saw the Neptune Triton.

  I’m sure that by now, our honeymoon vessel has reached the bottom of the Caribbean Sea. As for the other lifeboat, well, I have no idea if they ever got their boat launched or not, but I wish them all the best.

  As an interesting note, we have one additional passenger aboard our lifeboat. Yes, we have a stowaway. His name is Oswald. He was one of the men who made it aboard the ship back when we were being raided in St. Maarten. So far, he seems like a decent individual. He explained that the men trying to board our ship were not ALL bad men. Some of them were just trying to escape the sickness sweeping their island. They weren’t expecting the ship’s crew to fight back with such tenacity against their efforts to board. He has been hiding, fearing for his life inside this lifeboat, since we disembarked. He hid under a large tarp at one end of the lifeboat until we left the cruise ship before revealing himself.

  On the downside of this, it’s one more mouth to feed, not to mention, he consumed many of the lifeboat’s supplies while hiding here over the past week. We asked him why he hadn’t made himself known earlier. He said he could tell that the ship had stopped several days ago, but not knowing the situation, was afraid to come out. He thought the crew might kill him or make him jump overboard, which could be just as good as death. He said he only emerged from the lifeboat at night to use the bathroom. When we began boarding the lifeboat, he thought it was best to remain hidden until we launched because he was afraid we might force him to stay aboard the cruise ship if we knew he was aboard.

  Personally, if I were him, I would have been even more afraid that we’d make him leave the lifeboat once we found him and we were at sea, but apparently he didn’t consider that. He’s just lucky we’re good people.

  For now, it’s time to rest and do my best to keep from getting seasick. We just took more motion sickness medication we found in the lifeboat.

  4:46 p.m.

  The waves that have been pounding against and rocking our boat have begun to subside. While they’re still substantial, they aren’t the massive rolling things that were trouncing us like a toy boat in a bathtub previously. The rain has slowed as well and the wind isn’t howling like before. But that doesn’t mean we’re out of the woods just yet. We’re still a tiny vessel adrift in a giant sea, largely at the whim of Mother Nature and our own best efforts at survival.

  Speaking of survival, we’ve taken the last few hours to try to put some order to our situation here in the lifeboat. I’m so thankful for Jeremy. Not only does he give me comfort as my loving husband, but he was so insistent on bringing additional supplies in the lifeboat. Without his forward thinking, we would be in a bad way since Oswald has eaten much of the boat’s supplies while he was hiding in here over the last week.

  Even without the supplies we brought, we still have an array of survival items at our disposal. We have a rain collector (although it’s still too choppy out to use). We have plenty of water since we have the water we brought with us in addition to some that Oswald didn’t drink. We have food and a decent amount of these nasty cookie-like crackers that were inside the lifeboat. Oswald has eaten probably 30 percent of the supply of these and the on-board water in his effort to survive inside the lifeboat. But with enough supplies aboard to easily sustain 60 people for at least a day or two, and there being just nine of us, we still have plenty for the time being. There is also a sizeable supply of seasickness medication (thank god!), a radar reflector to signal with, fishing hooks and line, a couple bailing buckets, a sea anchor, a hatchet, sanitary wipes, some twine, a “Survival at Sea” manual, some other odds and ends, as well as plenty of lifejackets.

  The best way I can describe the interior of the lifeboat is a big oval with structural reinforcement in its center where the control console is located. The perimeter of this oval is skirted by seats for the passengers that have orange padding by the head and neck areas. It’s actually pretty spacious, all things considered. However, I have to keep reminding myself that we’re just nine people. I can’t imagine if this thing was full to capacity. I think it would become very claustrophobic very fast.

  Since we’ve been aboard, we’ve spent much of our time just trying to keep our supplies secured and from crashing around. We’re trying to do the same for ourselves. This can be a dangerous environment to say the least – lots of hard surfaces. And it’s like trying to walk inside a funhouse or a constantly moving child’s bouncy house. One minute, you’re up and doing fine, the next you’re being hurled from your feet by an errant wave. I think all of us have taken at least one good tumble, several have bumps and bruises, and Richard took a pretty good knock to his head that has left a sizeable bright-red bump on his right temple.

  Seeing as how light is fading, I think it’s time to put my diary away and try to get a little sleep. I need my rest to try my hand at the lifeboat controls later tonight. I have to admit, I’m a little nervous about that, but I’ll do my best. I will also admit that I’m a little concerned about two other things – Hector’s gun and the newcomer, Oswald. Neither seems to be of immediate concern, but they are concerns nonetheless. It’s not like Hector is waving the gun around threateningly, but just the knowledge that he has it kind of gives him an upper hand in running the show and calling the shots. And Oswald seems like a decent fellow from what I’ve gathered so far, but we don’t know him, at least not like the others. Although I shouldn’t be so quick to judge, we don’t even know the “others” THAT well.

  As a final note, we’ve talked a bit about our course. At first we were of the mindset that it might be easiest trying to return to the Bahamas. But the wind and the wave seem to be pushing us west, and with our tiny lifeboat mostly at the whim of the sea, we felt it best to go with the flow. The motor for our boat isn’t that powerful, and Hector felt that trying to combat the storm for any length of time would likely do it in. He said it’s already being pushed to its limit just trying to keep us headed into the waves and straight. Therefore, we all decided that trying to make it back to the mainland United States would probably be our best bet. So that’s exactly what we’re doing.

  September 13th

  (Lifeboat – Day 2)

  7:58 a.m.

  I never EVER thought I’d be writing “Lifeboat – Day 2” in a diary or really anywhere for that matter. But here we are.

  It was one heck of a long night last night, but somehow we made it through. I feel like I’m back in college pulling all-nighters again, that’s how little sleep I got.

  I was at the lifeboat’s controls for several hours on my own last night. Jeremy stayed with me at first. He held my hand through the first hour until I told him that I was confident enough for him to try to get some sleep. The seas were still rough, but the rain had stopped and the waves weren’t as high as they were when we first entered the lifeboat.

  My job wasn’t super difficult. I mostly just had to watch our compass and keep us headed as best I could in a westerly direction. My other major duty was to keep an eye on our boat’s engine temperature to make sure that it didn’t get too high and overheat. Any time the temperature gauge started approaching the “high” level, I was to throttle back for a while until it dipped back down to normal. It was
a tough balancing act in these rough seas. Whenever you throttle back, the lifeboat seems to become unwieldy and much harder to navigate through the waves.

  But for the most part, it was a fairly boring night. The hardest part was staying awake. There wasn’t much to look at but the white caps that would occasionally break over the lifeboat’s windshield capsule as I did my best to navigate. That took a while to get used to. It was kind of scary at first. It felt like I was going to be doused with a huge bucket of sea water each time it happened. By the end of my shift however, it didn’t even faze me unless it was a REALLY big wave, one that would smack against the windshield with a crack. I was afraid when it happened that it was going to crack or even break the windshield; but each time, it held. Still, it made for a very LONG night!

  I made it until almost three a.m. before Hector took over the controls again. Then I joined Jeremy for a few hours rest.

  Today, Hector said he wants to train some of the others to navigate the lifeboat so that we can have shorter shifts. After last night, I’m all for that.

  On the personal hygiene side of things, we’ve been using a bailing bucket that we found inside the lifeboat as our makeshift bathroom. It’s far from ideal, but it’s better than nothing. We’ve hung up the tarp that we found Oswald hiding beneath to serve as a privacy screen at one end of the lifeboat. I don’t know what we’ll do when someone finally has to go number two. I guess we’ll just have to make it work. Hopefully by that point, the seas will have calmed enough so that we can open the lifeboat’s hatch door for some fresh air; otherwise, it could get real stinky real fast!