Continuing his rounds, he found Marshall Kershaw also dead and relived the Carneys of duty in that room. Ron Haskell came staggering in, limping slightly
“We’ve run aground. There appears to be an island nearby. I need help with lifeboats and stuff. George was knocked out in the impact, but is coming around. The ship appears to be taking water. I think we should presume that it will sink pretty soon.”
James walked forward to the Taylors’ cabin, detecting as he did so that the walk was slightly uphill.
“Maria, I need your help elsewhere. Please organize the evacuation of the ship. Priority one is the sick and injured. Priority two is water. Priority three is shelter. Priority four is food. Priority five is anything else that seems worth having – like ropes, snorkeling gear, and so on. Our number one priority is to get the Kirkpatricks, Roger Applebee, Jim Hawthorne and George Fuller on dry land with care takers. I think we can put Valerie in charge of the nursing crew and let her have Jeanne, Julia, and Marcella for help. Michelle will help you with looking after food and water. Ron, take Mark, Ralph and Paul and start mobilizing the lifeboats. Get the sick people evacuated first, but make sure there are boats afloat for Maria and Marcella to load with water. I’m going to continue to see what I can do with the remaining people who are alive.”
He realized he had not checked on Marilyn Jones yet and did so. She was lying in bed, her ashen face and slightly bluish lips announcing her status better than any evaluation he could have made. James was pleased that Marcella appeared to be OK, and sent her to help Valerie. He poked his head out the door and saw Ron Haskell helping Jim Hawthorne out. Paul was escorting Roger Applebee. Valerie was dividing up her scant nursing staff, and indicating the need for help to mobilize the Kirkpatricks out to the lifeboats. Mark and Ralph had apparently already started in the direction of the lifeboats.
James returned to the Taylors’ cabin and bent to attend to Melodie. Her symptoms were about the same, and he agreed with Valerie’s judgment in having Julia sit with her. He pulled John out of the corner where he had landed and dragged him across the hall to cabin 8, leaving him be out of the way, on the floor near Jayne Applebee, turning off the lights and shutting the door as he left the cabin. He returned to Marilyn Jones and sat with her as her consciousness faded. Outside, he could hear the noises of the evacuation taking place. Surprisingly, most of his fellow passengers were performing up to the needs of the moment. There was a loud storming of disagreement as George Fuller insisted on making his way to his cabin to see his wife’s body. His reaction was neither calm nor particularly functional, but Mark and Ralph managed to get him moving to one of the lifeboats. In the ensuing silence, Marilyn’s breathing stopped.
Stopping off in his own cabin for long enough to get his first aid kit, stuffing it in a pocket of his bathrobe, picking a flashlight out of the top drawer, James returned to see how Melodie Taylor was doing. He told Julia she should go to help the others, he would sit with Melodie, whose breathing was noticeably shallower than it had been, and her face was ashen. He took her hand and felt a squeeze in response. But, as with the others, there was nothing he could do to slow or stop the inevitable progress of the poison as it gradually slowed then stopped nerve conduction along the cranial nerves, affecting the eyes first, then facial muscles, then, finally, breathing. James was not aware of how long he sat with Melodie, holding her hand, watching her breathing gradually slow, feeling the ship gradually sinking lower and lower aft, so that the floor was gradually becoming steeper and steeper. The noise of the generator stopped. The lights began to fade. James switched on his flashlight. Once or twice the ship lurched and shook as it changed position on the coral that had impaled its hull. Water began to seep under the aft bulkhead, gradually becoming deeper. James realized that everyone must have completed whatever rescue could be done. He and Melodie had been left behind. Melodie’s hand relaxed and he realized that her breathing was no longer providing enough oxygen to keep her awake. Death would follow very soon. It was time for him to leave.
The gangway was two cabins aft, downhill, under water, from where he was. Taking a big breath of air, he lowered himself into the water, swimming down to the gangway, grappling his way along the walls, out through the portal, swimming free of the ship, not sure whether he was floating up or the ship slipping down. He exhaled a little air and watched the bubbles slowly rise, in the feeble light from his flashlight, which appeared to be living up to its classification as “waterproof.” He kicked his feet to keep up with the bubbles and exhaled some more. Make bubbles, match speed, make more bubbles, match speed. His SCUBA training had taught him well – to avoid damage to the lungs and the bends, continue to exhale and don’t rise faster than your bubbles. But how long would it take? It seemed like forever already. He needed to take another breath. Make bubbles, match speed, make bubbles. He seemed to see the bow of the ship going down as he went up, apparently sinking deeper. There was turbulence. It took effort to keep from being pulled down. Make bubbles, match speed. The flashlight stopped working. How was he to match speed with bubbles he could not see?
His head broke the surface of the water; he took a big breath and coughed, then took another. He looked around and did not see the ship. So he had been right about it sinking. Where was the land? There were small wavelets breaking over in that direction, so he swam slowly toward them, breathing heavily, catching up to his oxygen deficit pretty quickly. His knee scraped something hard. Feeling around carefully, he found he was crawling over the top of the coral reef the ship had hit. He put his feet down, glad for the sandals strapped to them, found footing, and stood. The water was to his mid-thighs, and the breaking of the wavelets was still a little ahead of him. Using his hands to help guide him and to help his balance, he moved forward, finally standing in water reaching only his mid-calves. He could not see land, but he could see lights shining a little ways away. He hoped someone would hear him.
Acknowledgments
I want to acknowledge all people involved in this book series, without their permission and their support of whom this work could not be accomplished: Mr. Samuels, Mr. Del Mar, Captain Ashley, and the free spirit of Mr. Gallagher.
Distributed by Nick Niels Sanders with all rights and permissions required.
Table of Contents
A New Island
21
The Desert Island
22
The Island
Native Dances
Acknowledgments
A New Island Page 7
