I think about waving, but I don’t. Why?
“The Coast Guard only comes once,” Burr says.
Burr screams at the top of his lungs, waving his arms frantically. His desperation is palpable.
“Sov, give me your shirt,” Burr says. “We need to flag it down. Yellow is the best color. Give me your life vest.”
Sov looks to Munny. Munny shrugs. He hasn’t spoken much after getting hit with the shoe. Now, a large purple crescent is forming below his left eye.
“Sov, I need the shirt,” Burr says. “Give it.”
Sov shakes his head.
“I don’t see anything,” Sov says. “I don’t see the Coast Guard.”
“Shit, you guys!” Burr says. “I’m the captain. It’s my job to save you. I called the Coast Guard, and here they are.”
“Dude, sit here,” Dale says, patting an empty spot on the raft next to him.
Burr looks at Dale and balls his hands into fists.
“There’s nothing there,” Landon says. “You’re seeing things. It’s the effects of dehydration.”
Munny and Sov both nod enthusiastically.
“I guess I’m gonna have to swim to them and bring the Coast Guard right to your sorry asses,” Burr says.
Skate grabs the cuff of Burr’s jeans.
“Don’t go,” Skate says.
“I gotta save us,” Burr says.
I don’t believe that he’s going to jump. I don’t think any of us does. But he jumps. He splashes into the ocean wearing all of his clothes and that stupid shoe, and starts swimming away from the raft toward absolutely nothing. I watch his blond head as he turns it from side to side to breathe in air. His arms take long strokes, and his feet stir the water as he kicks himself forward.
“Get back in the raft!” Dale yells. He’s got his arm stretched out toward Burr.
“Come back!” Skate yells. “Don’t leave.”
I’m in shock. I watch Burr moving farther away from the raft. His swimming body ripples the calm water.
“Should I go after him?” Landon asks me.
“Burr, bring your ass back here right now!” Dale yells.
“I don’t know what you should do,” I say.
Skate sits straight up, and Wick and Landon move to his side.
“I gotta help him,” Skate says.
Skate is covered in sores, and his head wound is so infected that I think he might have blood poisoning.
“You can’t help him,” Wick says. His face looks desperate. He puts his arm around Skate. “He’s gone.”
Munny, Sov, and Dale dip their arms into the water up to their shoulders, and try to paddle the raft toward Burr. Landon and Wick do the same, but as they keep paddling, they struggle to row the ship forward. I reach an arm in too. The water feels frigid. Using all my energy, I claw at the sea.
Burr howls. He sounds happy, like he’s enjoying himself. But then the sound abruptly ends, in mid-howl, and there is silence. I think I hear a splash. Skate grabs his legs and screams in pain. We keep paddling. Faster. Faster.
“Help him,” Skate cries. Skate gasps several times. “He can’t breathe.”
In the distance, I think I can see the color red blooming in the water. I don’t hear any cries. Burr must be underwater. A shark is eating him beneath the surface. I don’t see a frenzy of sharks. I stop paddling and bring my arm back into the raft. We all watch the spot for a long moment. Eventually, one lone dorsal fin, missing a chunk of its skin, slides up out of the water and glides away. Then nothing. Everyone else draws their arms out of the water. To dry them off, they shake them hard, and several clean beads of water slide across my legs. If it were warm, the sun would evaporate them. But it’s not warm. I shiver.
Other than the water-filled sneaker that he left behind, it’s as if Burr were never here at all. We sit in this awful silence. How can any of us ever feel anything close to happiness again? The seconds tick by. They turn into minutes. After about an hour it’s time for somebody to speak. I hear my own voice. I say what we’re all thinking.
“Burr never called the Coast Guard,” I say. “I don’t think anyone is coming for us.”
I turn and look back at the spot where Burr went down. There’s nothing there. Burr Riggs doesn’t exist anymore. Sure, his spirit might be weaving through the heavens, but that’s not the same thing. He’s gone. Forever.
I put my head in my hands. I can’t believe our ship sank. I can’t believe that I just saw my friend get eaten by a shark. Life is not fair. This world will swallow anyone. Even if you know how to swim.
I keep drifting off. Every time I open my eyes, I expect to see Burr. Because what happened can’t have really happened. I look at Skate. He doesn’t talk. I can see the skeleton of his face beneath his skin. His cheeks have caved in. He moans when he sleeps. I don’t know what to do. Dale sits next to him. He’s taken his Windbreaker off and created a tent of shade over Skate’s upper body. Dale tells him jokes. They’re mostly dirty. I can’t always hear the punch lines. I didn’t realize Dale had this much empathy inside of him.
Wick keeps looking at me. He’s across the raft from me. He has tried to reach out and touch me. He wants to make up. “How are you feeling?” he asks.
“Leave me alone,” I say.
“Enid, what if one of us dies? Is this how you want it to end?” Wick asks.
“Don’t do that,” Landon says. “Don’t put it to her like that.”
“Fine,” Wick says. But he’s still looking at me.
Landon sits next to me. My head feels so heavy, I lean it on his shoulder.
“Ouch. You’re stabbing me with your barrette,” he says.
I sit back up. I don’t want to stab my brother.
“Do you want me to take your barrette out? It’s all caught up in your hair. Does it hurt?”
He tugs at the silver barrette. But I don’t want him to take it out. On this raft, it’s one of the few things that I can call mine.
“No,” I say. “I want to keep it.”
“Hey,” Munny says. “Maybe we could use that to make a fishing lure.”
“Good idea,” Sov says.
“My barrette?” I ask. I don’t want to lose it. I don’t want to drop it into the sea.
“That could work,” Wick says.
“Do you still have the cash rope we made out of the twenties?” Landon asks.
“We could bend the fastener to make a hook,” Munny says.
Skate moans. I don’t think it’s related to our conversation.
“No,” I say.
“No?” Landon asks.
“That would never work,” I say.
“It might,” Munny says.
“No!” I try to think of a reason to keep it that doesn’t make me sound self-centered or unreasonable. “We could use it to signal a boat or a plane. It’s metal. It’s shiny.”
“I guess,” Dale says. “But we could use it right now to find food.”
I shake my head.
“Okay,” Wick says. “Let her keep it.”
I wish Landon would stick up for me instead of Wick. I don’t want Wick to be on my side anymore.
We stop debating my barrette. We drift. I think about what Wick said. Is this how I want things to end between us? What if he did die? What if I die? I am staring at him. He is staring at me.
“What are you thinking?” Wick asks.
“You lied,” I say.
“Not totally. I didn’t know whether or not I would call her until after we decided to take a break,” Wick says.
I don’t believe him. It doesn’t matter.
“Don’t think about that,” Landon says. “Focus on your glaciers.”
“Glaciers?” I ask. I don’t know what he’s talking about.
“Your life-sustaining wish,” Landon says.
My life-sustaining wish? My slow mind finally finds it.
“That was a dumb choice. I should have said Machu Picchu. I’ve always wanted to go to Peru,” I say.
“Do both,” Landon says.
“Yeah,” I say. I am tired of sitting up. I lean into the side of the raft and look over into the water. The water is very clear and blue. It’s gorgeous. “The ocean looks different.”
“We’re in the Gulf Stream,” Munny says. “That’s why it’s so blue.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“It means we’re drifting toward the Arctic Sea,” Munny says.
“You mean, that’s one possibility,” I say. “We could be drifting toward land, right?”
“No, we’re drifting farther out. And north,” Munny says.
“I think he’s right,” Wick says.
“Dude, it’s time we call a spade a shovel. We’re all gonna die,” Dale says.
Skate moans loudly, and the conversation stops. Dale lowers his jacket and drapes it across Skate’s chest. After a long silence, Munny speaks.
“We could always come across a fishing ship,” he says.
“What are the odds that’s gonna happen? Like one in a billion?” Dale says.
Wick leans across the raft and shoves Dale in his chest. “Let up,” Wick says. “Think about Mom and Dad. It will kill them if we don’t make it back. You want to talk about odds. What are the odds that our boat would sink and we’d end up in this raft and still be alive?”
Wick’s words silence everyone. I search their faces. I think we all start concentrating on our families. I imagine my mother. She stands in the kitchen, her brown hair pulled into a low ponytail, her green eyes lined with a light charcoal color. She’s baking a wedding cake. The timer on the stove top dings. Using her mitted hands, she pulls a large circle pan from the oven. The batter has turned a golden color, and the cake top has risen to form a perfectly even dome.
Her breath mixes with the oven’s heat, and a pillow of steam forms in front of her face. She closes her eyes and inhales. She sets it on a wire rack on our kitchen counter. My mother loves weddings: the happy brides and anxious grooms. I think she misses the romance that somehow drained out of her own life. I can smell the scent of vanilla wafting off of the hot pans. Then I conjure up my father’s face as he walked down the stairs to his new lair. I stay in the kitchen with my mother, and then I slink away. Though it comforts me that he’s inside this daydream, I don’t want to spend any time with him.
Noon arrives. The bright sun is directly overhead. We’ve been adrift for a day and a half, and the raft continues to grow a crust of salt. It looks like lace. Or snow. But it’s salt. The waves have remained calm ever since the big storm. I wish it would rain. I’m dying to have some moisture to dampen my tongue and the inside of my cheeks. If I had enough liquid in me to pee, I think I would drink my own urine. I can’t believe I’m thinking this way. I’d do anything for a taste of something wet.
The sun is heating the water that’s gathered at the bottom of the boat. It’s releasing a thick, disgusting smell.
“We should dump the raft out and get rid of this crap,” Dale says. He kicks at the water with his shoe, accidentally splashing some on Skate.
Skate moans.
“This crap is giving me sores,” Dale says. He lifts up his pant leg and reveals several oval, festering patches.
“We all have those,” I say. “It’s from the exposure.”
“She’s right,” Munny says.
“The sludge in the raft can’t be helping. It’s gonna make us sick,” Dale says.
A part of me knows that he’s right, but really, there’s nothing we can do.
“Let’s use a shoe and bail out the water,” Wick says.
It’s a good idea. I’m surprised none of us thought of that. I guess that we’re so worn down that both our minds and our bodies are weak.
Skate is holding Burr’s sneaker to his chest.
Wick sorts through the pile to find his own sneaker and begins bailing out the water. Landon follows suit and joins in. My hand is so raw and puffy that I can’t make myself touch the water. After emptying their shoes out several times, they stop.
“We’ve got out as much as we can,” Wick says.
“Let me see that,” Dale says. He grabs Landon’s shoe, and scoops at the inch of contaminated water still left in the raft. But Dale can’t position the shoe in a way to drain any more. He jams the shoe at the floor, and eventually flings it into the sea.
“That was so stupid of you,” Landon says. “Think before you pull that crap.”
“Shut up,” Dale says. “Once we’re dead, we’re not going to need our shoes anyway.”
Wick glares at Dale.
“You need to grow up,” Wick says. “And fast.”
“What you did with that shoe, that’s a $25, 000 fine,” I say.
“You did the same damn thing with your own shoe,” Dale says.
“But you’ve done it twice,” I say.
“Knock it off,” Wick says.
Wick shouldn’t be telling me what to do. I turn and look out into the water. And when I do, I am shocked by what I see. It’s awful. One more new thing that could kill us.
“Eel!” I yell. “Eel!” I point into the water.
Everybody stares.
“What is it?” Landon asks.
I know what it is. I can tell by its outline. “It’s a giant eel!”
“Can we eat it?” Dale asks.
“Eels live in reefs,” Munny says. “I don’t think it’s an eel.”
“But if it is an eel, we can eat it, right?” Dale asks.
Munny doesn’t answer him. Nobody seems nervous that it’s headed right toward the raft.
“That’s definitely not a giant eel,” Munny says.
But I know what I’m seeing. It’s long and dark and the top of its head bobs in the water as it climbs over tiny white-tipped waves to reach us.
“Wait. It’s not even a fish, is it?” Dale asks.
We’re nervous as we search the water. We don’t want anything else attacking us.
“It looks like an alligator,” Dale says.
Is that even possible?
“It’s brown,” I say, as if a color-identification is useful.
“It looks like a log,” Landon says.
“A log?” I ask. Why would we come across a log? I lift my hand to my forehead. It does look like a log. I become filled with hope. “This is great! It means we’re close to land, right?”
“We’re not close to land,” Munny says. “We’re drifting farther out.”
We’re looking at a log. A log used to be a tree. Trees grow on land. We want to reach land. I’m confused.
“Munny’s right,” Wick says.
I try to stand, to get a better view of the log. My movement jostles Skate, and he releases a soft groan.
“Sit down,” Dale says.
I sit. “If we’re drifting farther out, how did we find a tree?”
“It’s drifting too,” Sov says.
“Ever heard of driftwood?” Skate asks.
I’m surprised that he’s coherent. I’m shocked he’s forming words.
“I have,” I say.
“Stupid dick log,” Dale says.
“It’s better than a killer eel,” I say.
“I never thought it was an eel,” Dale says.
I hold my head in my hands. I want off the raft. I want out of this sea existence. I try to force a daydream to come.
“Wait. Maybe it’s not a stupid dick log. Do you think we could break it apart and make paddles?” Dale asks.
“I don’t know,” Wick says. “Maybe.”
“Let’s get it!” Dale says.
I haven’t seen him this excited since he got that gymnast’s phone number.
“It’s too far away,” Munny says. “It has to drift closer.”
It is drifting closer. Soon, it’s only as far away as a car.
“Reach for it,” Dale says.
He’s stretching his arms into the water, but he’s not even close to making contact.
“Hold me. I’m goin
g to use my legs,” he says.
Wick takes hold of Dale’s arms as he sits on the edge and fully extends his legs in the water. I worry that a shark might come and bite them off. Nobody else mentions this possibility. The log inches closer. Dale touches it with his socked foot. It bobs away.
“Come here!” Dale says.
“You’re getting it,” Landon says.
Dale tries again. This time he’s able to apply pressure and the log moves much closer toward us. Landon is able to reach out and take hold of the damp wood.
“We did it!” Dale says.
Wick yanks on him and pulls him back into the raft. Landon slaps at the wet log, trying to break a piece of it off.
“It’s solid,” Landon said. “No way we’re breaking it apart.”
“Let me try,” Wick says. He begins to move toward our side of the raft.
“Wait,” Landon said. “We need to watch how we distribute the weight.”
Wick stops. Dale sits down next to Skate. He’s exhausted.
“Let’s break it apart later,” Dale says.
“There’s no way,” Landon says.
It must be very solid. Because Landon doesn’t register even the slightest bit of hope.
“We should keep it,” Dale says.
“Why?” I ask.
I watch Landon strain to keep hold of it beside the raft.
“If something happens and we have to abandon the raft, we can use it to float,” Dale says.
“What about the sharks?” I ask.
“We might need the log,” Dale says.
It makes no sense. “Don’t wear yourself out trying to hold onto it,” I tell Landon.
His hand is placed firmly on the log. As it bobs, Landon’s hand keeps getting submerged in the water. That has to hurt. Our flesh is rotting even without being in the water.
“Maybe we could use it,” Landon says. “I’m good for now.”
“We should trade soon,” I say. “Landon shouldn’t have to hold it the whole time.”
“I’ll take it next,” Dale says.
We drift. The sun pounds us. Nobody is talking. Skate isn’t moaning. The foreverness of the ocean feels so grim.
There’s a splash. On Dale’s side of the raft, a shark bumps the raft hard.
“Christ!” Dale says. Like a protector, he throws an arm over Skate. We all look into the water. The shark doesn’t look familiar to me. I haven’t seen Belly or Chip for hours. I refuse to think about the last time I saw Notch. I think Notch is an evil fish. It doesn’t have a heart. Or a soul. It’s just a blob of cartilage. An evolutionary mistake. A mouth. I close my eyes. And we continue to drift. And drift. And drift.
Sharks & Boys Page 15
