10:03 a.m.
YES! The sun has finally come out! It seemed like that storm was never going to end, but it looks like we’re finally in the clear…at least as far as the weather goes.
The mood among the passengers seems to have picked up noticeably now that the seas are calming and the storm appears to have passed. Now we’ll hopefully be able to make better headway toward the mainland. While we don’t travel fast, if we keep at it day and night, even averaging a mile or two an hour could have us back home in a matter of days. If I recall correctly, our position in the Bahamas was only about 100 miles from the US coast. And even with the storm as bad as it was, traveling all yesterday and last night must have cut some distance off that. Even if it was just ten miles or so, if we can average only one mile per hour, we could be back in 90 hours! That’s not even four days!
I get all excited at the thought of being home, but then I have to remind myself that we have no idea what might be awaiting us. We could be returning to something close to normal, or it could be anything BUT normal. We just have no idea. And the prospects of the latter churn my little tummy something terrible. Still, I’m not going to let that ruin the good mood we have going among our tiny group of passengers here. I’ll just keep my mouth shut, my thoughts to myself (or my diary), and try to keep the positive vibes flowin’.
11:21 a.m.
Well, so much for the positive vibes. It’s hot in here…DAMN HOT!
For some reason, I really hadn’t considered this aspect of lifeboat life. I sure as heck am now, though. If it continues this way, we’ll be like pieces of bacon in a frying pan pretty soon. We’ve propped open the lifeboat door now that it’s calm enough to do so. The fresh air helps a little, not much, but a little.
Oswald said that the heat reminds him of home. We asked him what he used to do there, and this led to a somewhat lengthy recounting of his life. He said he was born in St. Maarten, lived there all his life, and he worked on a fishing boat for the majority of his adult years. He explained that he’d had other part-time jobs – bartender, tour guide, general maintenance and construction worker – but that fishing was his passion, his “true calling” as he put it.
He talked about how much he loved the island and how it was the only place he’d ever lived and the only place he’d ever wanted to live, at least until the flu. This was the portion of his story that piqued my interest most. I asked him how the flu had affected the island. Oswald seems like a very jovial fellow, but at this point in his tale, he seemed to sober dramatically, as if the mention of the flu conjured memories of some deep dark demon.
He told us that at first, people on the island didn’t seem to pay it much mind. Most people on the island were pretty laid back about it. They were laid back about most things. And they knew that with the benefits of tourism as an economic staple to their economy, came the chance of illnesses borne by outsiders. An early flu season could come with the territory. But their indifference to this new flu didn’t last long. It quickly became evident that the Su flu was no regular flu.
As the first few reports came back from the hospital that people coming down with the flu were dying, the island was still slow to react. People died from the flu occasionally; that was just a sad side of flu season. But as the number of dead broke ten, and then a dozen, and then two dozen, people quickly began paying attention. A couple deaths from the flu were one thing. TWO DOZEN?! That was something else altogether on an island the size of St. Maarten.
As similar stories began to roll in from America and the rest of the world, the inhabitants of St. Maarten realized that this was something to be taken seriously. But by then, it was too late.
The number of flu carriers already numbered over a thousand on the island, and the cases were growing rapidly by the day. A week after the first reported flu case, half the island was infected. Two days later, the number of infected was estimated at 70 percent, but by that time, there weren’t enough people to count the cases coming in. Doctors couldn’t come close to treating all the infected. All businesses, schools, and governmental services were closed. With no way to fight the flu, there was nothing to do but hunker down and try to wait the thing out. But with dead and dying everywhere, and stores closed or out of food, hope was fading fast.
Oswald said he’d gotten lucky. He’d been out fishing with his father and several family members. Their boat had encountered a mechanical issue and they were therefore several days late in returning to the island. Those days where the worst days of the spreading virus. By the time they returned to the island, most stores were already closed and the crew of the fishing boat was warned at the dock not to return to their homes if they wanted to stay alive. Several of Oswald’s family – those with families of their own – ignored this advice and returned home anyway. Oswald, his father, and his brother stayed on their fishing boat. They had plenty of fish to eat, and with the island pretty much shut down, they had little else to do. Most of their catches went to area restaurants to feed the tourists, and without passengers disembarking from the cruise ships, business was dead. Oswald didn’t realize at the time that most of the people working in those businesses would also soon be dead, as would be the passengers that were the lifeblood of those businesses.
Oswald’s mother had been dead for years, and he and his brother were both bachelors. “The sea is my mistress,” he told us with a big grin. Being a bachelor, he said, was likely what had saved his life. Those who returned to their families were quickly infected with the flu. But he and his father and brother felt they stood a chance.
After several days of holding out in their tiny fishing craft, however, food and drinking water began to run low. And islanders who had yet to be infected were also growing desperate. Oswald’s father was afraid these people would come after the dwindling supplies they had on their boat. Even then, he was afraid to return to sea due to reports of a large storm blowing in. He was worried their tiny boat might encounter mechanical issues again and be sunk by the gathering storm. They had discussed trying to make it to another island where the flu may not have taken hold like it had on St. Maarten, but again, they were afraid that their tiny fishing vessel wouldn’t make the trip.
That was when our cruise ship arrived at St. Marteen. It was while our ship was anchored in port that Oswald, his brother, and his father had come up with the idea of trying to sneak aboard as stowaways to make their way from the island to somewhere safe. They had planned to make an attempt at night, but before they could, they were confronted by an armed band of vigilante types. The armed men threaten Oswald and his family with certain death if they didn’t share their supplies with them. Oswald was sure they were going to be killed. That’s when he decided to take a chance. He told the armed men that he would let them in on their plan to stay alive if they would let them live, but he explained to them that they had to work together to make the plan work.
The armed men were impatient, but they were willing to listen. That’s when Oswald explained to them his idea about stowing away on the cruise ship. He told them that if they could make it out of port onboard the ship, that they would have a free ride to safety. Oswald told them that he had worked for a time setting rigging on a charter sailing ship as a youngster. Therefore, he was a very good climber. He would use a grappling hook to scale the side of the ship. Then he would throw a rope ladder over the side for the others to board. After that, they would find a lifeboat and stash themselves safely inside until the ship had disembarked. Then they would be home free, since even if they were found, it wasn’t likely that the ship would turn around to take them all the way back to St. Maarten. A worst case scenario would be that they were dropped off at the next port of call where the men could either make a break for it or they would be detained until the sickness passed.
That’s what Oswald thought at least. But the gunmen had other ideas. As they discussed the plan in greater detail, it slowly morphed into something far more daring and dangerous.
The armed men saw no
reason to stop at just getting aboard the ship and hiding. They felt that with the weapons they had, they could take the entire ship for themselves. They knew of the chaos running rampant inside the United States, and they figured that the US would have little time or inclination for dealing with a hostage situation while trying to quell the Su flu and all the violence that was accompanying it. They felt that if they could take the cruise ship, they could garner a quick and sizeable payout from the US government for the safe release of the ship and all its passengers. Then they could make a quick escape from one of the fishing boats they would tow along with them. They would hide out at a desolate island one of the men knew about until things blew over. With the Su flu raging, the taking of the cruise ship would be a minor blip on the world news radar, nothing more. Then they could emerge amidst the chaotic recovery from the flu, rich beyond their wildest dreams.
Oswald and his family members had no desire to be involved in such a plan. They just wanted to be away from the dangerous effects of the flu. But they felt that if they didn’t go along with the plan, they would likely be killed and the plan would be carried out anyway. Either that or they’d be left behind on the island, which from all outward appearances would be almost as good as death.
The men therefore decided that they would carry out the plan just as the cruise ship was disembarking. They figured that this time would be most chaotic aboard ship for the crew members who would all be so busy getting the ship underway that they wouldn’t be paying attention to a few tiny fishing vessels swarming around them like flies. The crew would simply think it was angry islanders making their ire known regarding the flu – that is, until the men and their weapons were already aboard. Then it would be too late.
As Jeremy and I well knew from seeing much of the plan go off first hand, it did not go accordingly.
Oswald said that the crew of the cruise ship was much better prepared (and armed) than he or the other men had expected. I felt bad as Oswald explained how he had managed to get aboard ship and drop a rope ladder down as planned. His brother made it aboard after him, but his father, who had been piloting their fishing boat, was hit by a large wave created by the cruise ship’s wake as he worked to maneuver his tiny craft alongside the massive vessel. The wave threw him from the bow and then swamped the fishing boat. It was the last Oswald had seen of his father as he then had to turn his attention to the fight aboard ship.
Oswald said he had no intention of hurting anyone. He said that he and his family were peaceful people. Their own plan had been to get aboard the cruise ship along with the other armed men and then take refuge inside one of the lifeboats in hopes that their counterparts would be overwhelmed by cruise ship crew members.
While the armed intruders were indeed overwhelmed, it was not before Oswald’s brother was shot by several armed crew. Unarmed (since the other men were somewhat distrustful of Oswald and his family and had refused to arm them), Oswald was forced to abandon his brother or risk being shot himself. In a shaky voice, he explained that he was almost positive his brother was dead when he’d been forced to abandon him.
We all continued to sit in silence listening to the poor man recount his tale.
He finished his story by saying that soon he heard the gunfire around the ship cease. At first he was unsure as to whether the armed combatants had succeeded in their efforts to take the ship. But as he sheltered in place, he heard the voices of cruise ship crew members coordinating a cleanup and sweep of the ship. That’s when he had found the canvas to hide beneath, thus cloaking his presence inside the darkened lifeboat. He said that someone had quickly checked the interior of the lifeboat, but that it had only been a cursory inspection, and much to Oswald’s surprised relief, the crew member hadn’t even entered the craft. He had just stuck his head in, shined a flashlight around, and then moved on.
Oswald held out inside the lifeboat until we entered and disembarked the cruise ship, only making his presence known once he again felt the tell-tale bobbing of being at sea.
Oswald went quiet after this, and no one probed for any more details than he’d already given. We felt it best to leave the subject alone. I’m sure the emotions at not only being torn from his home but losing his brother, and possibly father as well, are still quite raw. Plus, I think Oswald’s tale has us all thinking about our own loved ones and what might or might NOT be awaiting us at home.
2:24 p.m.
This is HORRIBLE! It is SO hot! I feel like I’m sitting inside a sauna. The mood among us is starting to sour like bad milk in this heat.
Everyone seems to be in a melancholy sort of mood right now. I don’t know exactly what their thoughts are at the moment; but I certainly know mine. And I’m sure they’re having similar thoughts. Personally, I’m thinking about the passengers and crew who didn’t make it. I’m thinking about friends and family back home who might be suffering under circumstances similar to those on St. Maarten or on the cruise ship. I’m thinking about what might await us back home. I’m thinking about what my life was, what it is right now, and what it might be soon.
Right now, everyone on the lifeboat is doing their best to keep their distance and kind of doing their own thing. I think we’re just trying to stay away from each other to keep squabbling to a minimum. The heat and the close proximity to one another means that tempers are short and even the smallest of things can have people barking at one another. I got yapped at by Barbara just for asking where the bathroom bucket was. She had cleaned it out after using it and had left it to dry somewhere other than where it is usually located. When I asked, she told me where it was, and then she muttered something about using my eyes and that the lifeboat wasn’t so big I couldn’t have just looked for it myself. I ignored her comments. It was hard because I had a few choice words of my own for her, but I know what we all are going through here.
Currently, Hector is as the helm, guiding the lifeboat west in its ploddingly slow course. Oswald is trying his hand at a little fishing with some hooks and line that were in with the lifeboat’s supplies. We’re fine with food right now. More than anything, I think it’s just a way for him to kill time. Not like there is any way to cook what he catches anyway. And while I enjoy Sushi, I’m not sure I’m ready for raw fish right now.
Speaking of food, we all tried some of the biscuit-like things that are in the lifeboat survival supplies. At least “food” is how the things are billed. I’m not sure I’d go that far, but while they’re pretty much flavorless, and seem a bit stale, they’re edible and filling, so I guess they’ll do the trick if it comes down to it. I’m not putting them on the list of first foods to eat, though. Pretty much everyone made their distaste at the biscuits known. We’ll finish the supplies we brought from onboard the cruise ship before we consider eating any more of the lifeboat supplies.
Lucian and Amanda are taking a page from their teenage son’s book right now and trying to get some sleep, but with this heat, even sleeping is difficult. Julian seems to sleep a lot, but I can’t say I blame him. What else is there to do? And the more he’s sleeping, the less he’s eating. Boy can that kid eat! Meanwhile, his parents don’t seem to do much other than complain about not eating enough or him eating too much or how hot it is or how much the boat is rocking or how small the boat is or how it sucks to have to piss in a bucket or whatever else they can come up with to moan about.
Then we have Barbara and Richard. They mostly just sulk miserably over toward one end of the lifeboat. She’s always bitching about the bathroom accommodations. He’s always complaining about the heat and how bad it smells inside the lifeboat or how uncomfortable it is to try to sleep.
Jesus, you’d think they were still aboard the cruise ship! What a bunch of whiners! I mean, am I thrilled with the situation? Heck no! But we have to make due with what we have. Complaining about it isn’t going to change it. We should be counting ourselves lucky we didn’t turn out like the other passengers aboard the ship or the poor people back on St. Maarten or god knows how many
other poor souls who have succumbed to the flu.
At this rate, we just have to think about this as four more days of discomfort, and then we’ll be home…or at least back to America. Making it back “home” could still be a ways away.
I found a felt-tip permanent marker in the few paltry belongings I brought along. I’m going to put up 96 marks on the wall to represent the hours we have left, and then I’ll begin crossing them off one-by-one as we tick away the hours. I think it will make for a good way to measure the time and our progress toward home. As we get closer and closer, I think it could prove a really good morale booster.
5:34 p.m.
This is terrible! If the next four days are anything like today, I’m not sure how we’re going to keep from killing each other.
The time grinds by so slowly it’s ridiculous. Every minute, feels like ten minutes. Every hour feels like a day. I’ve crossed off a whole three lines of the 96 lines I drew on the lifeboat wall. The remaining 93 might as well be 10000. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I’m hoping that when we wake up in the morning, we’ll be able to look at it more positively and it will be a big morale booster as we tick off 10 or 12 lines all at once.
Our main concern right now is water. Due to the heat, we’re consuming a lot of it, and it wasn’t something we brought in quantity. Luckily, there is a container of water along with the supplies under each seat inside the lifeboat. The problem is that Oswald probably drank a fifth of the supply while he was hiding in here. I think that some of the people onboard are beginning to hold that against him. I’m afraid that as we consume more of our supply, it will become a larger sticking point among the passengers of our tiny vessel as they hold him increasingly responsible for any shortage.
The Dystopian Diaries Page 39
