The Raft (15 page)

Pull me back in …

scrambling …

Chomp me in half like the seal …

My screams, though becoming ragged, were still so loud they nearly drowned out the heartbeat pounding in my ears.

On the beach, Max still beckoned to me as I clawed my way through the water and didn’t stop fighting. Or screaming.

Not even when I reached the sand, dragged myself up away from the water, and collapsed in a shivering heap at his feet.

Pushing myself up, I looked back at the water.

The shark was still there, a dark shadow circling where the suit had been. Looking for more of a meal.

“You monster!” I yelled. “Monster!” My words were choking sobs. “You can’t have me! You can’t have me…”

And the shadow came closer to shore, so much closer than I ever imagined a shark of that size could come.

Was anywhere safe?

I screamed again, but the scream morphed into a wail and then faded to weak whimpers as I dropped back down and curled myself up in a ball, a wet and shaking ball, as I rocked back and forth.

Max wasn’t real. He had never woken up. And I had pushed him off the raft.

I wished I hadn’t admitted that to myself. Because I needed him then. I needed him. I couldn’t do it alone.

So I brought him back.

“I’m here,” he said. He sat beside me and took my head in his lap.

I just needed a few moments of comfort.

Just a few moments.

Then I would let him go.

forty-nine

I didn’t expect Max to be there when I opened my eye.

He wasn’t real. I was more than aware I’d made him up. I’d made him up to help myself.

I wasn’t insane though. At least I didn’t think so.

I would save him for when I really needed someone. I would ration him.

The shadow in the water was gone. The monster had vanished.

I breathed out.

Vowing to never step foot in the lagoon again, I stood and went to check if my containers had anything left. One of them had enough so I could have a long drink of the tepid, stale water. I choked it down and tapped the bottom to get every last drop.

The water was gone.

I needed to move and trudged toward the other side of the island. Starbuck was sleeping in the sun when I rounded the corner. I dropped to the sand about ten feet away from her and just lay there, still breathing hard.

I whispered, “I almost died. I almost got eaten by a shark.”

Her eyes stayed closed.

I spoke normally, “Starbuck, did you hear what just happened?”

I shook my head. “I’m talking to a seal.” Worse than that, I was waiting for her to answer.

And then I felt something bubble up inside. Not more of the sobs that had fueled the tears that had recently dried salty on my cheeks. I couldn’t hold back as the laughter exploded, so long and hard I found myself holding my stomach because it hurt. “Oh, my God…” I tried to catch my breath. “I almost got eaten by a shark…” And I laughed some more, until my lips stung and the tears flowed freely and I couldn’t even breathe.

I rolled on my back and just looked up at the blue sky, shielding my eyes from the sun with one hand as I let the laughter disperse at last.

Had I lost it? Maybe I
had
gone insane.

Or maybe I was so on edge that my emotions were all boiling up, getting mixed and gnarled, leaving me with no control over which one would show up next. Or maybe I’d just run out of fear and grief.

Laughter was all that was left.

So, taking a deep breath, I let it out.

When the last guffaw finally faded, I found myself spent, but relaxed, calm even.

Crazy.

A giggle popped out before I could stop it.

Yeah. I was definitely losing it.

I lay there for a while, napping in the sun along with Starbuck. She was definitely skinnier than the first time I saw her. I imagined going cold turkey on her rich diet of mother’s milk had been a shock to the system. Sea cucumbers and algae were a weak substitute.

I wished I could help, but I couldn’t even feed myself.

The sun was too hot on my skin and I headed slowly back to the raft.

I thought of all the food I’d eaten in my life. All the food I’d
wasted
in my life. That Happy Meal in Honolulu that ended up on the ground. I didn’t even care then, not really. There was always more food. Always.

Not anymore.

There was a lump in my throat. I swallowed to get rid of it, but it stayed.

All the meals my mom made me. My favorites. Her French toast. She dunked day-old bread in a mixture of beaten eggs and vanilla, fried the slices in butter, then sifted powdered sugar on top before drizzling hot maple syrup over the stack.

My chin quivered involuntarily.

Mom’s weird pizza. She made whole wheat dough in the bread maker, let it rise, then rolled it out and slathered it with barbecue sauce, chunks of bacon, grilled chicken, cheese, and some drips of ranch dressing.

Tears welled up in my right eye and spilled down my cheek.

I wiped them away with the back of my hand and sighed. I reached the raft and pulled it over me, anything to get out of the brutal sun.

Clack! Clack! Clack!

One of the few remaining albatross chicks stood a few feet away, warning me not to get too close. I couldn’t really tell, but he seemed like a male to me. “Hey, you walked over to me, buddy.”

Clack! Clack!

“You should fly away. There’s nothing left here for you.”

If he didn’t leave soon, he would die here. Like all the other carcasses scattered around the island. I tried to imagine his dilemma. Do you wait for your parents to show up one last time with food? And if you do wait, how long? Hunger is a powerful feeling that has been sending albatross chicks on their first journey since forever. But wait one day too many and you’ll be too weak to fly.

I could empathize with that.

“How long since
you
ate?”

His dark eyes sparkled, and the brilliant black under them made him look wise. His new adult feathers ruffled in the wind, the last bit of silvery baby fluff barely clinging to the top of his snow-white head. He spread his wings, catching the breeze and floating a few feet off the ground before landing again with another
clack
!

“See? You know how to fly. You have to go.” I nodded. “You have to go.”

And maybe he heard me, maybe he understood, because with one shrill call to the sky, he spread his wings, caught the wind, and deftly flapped his way out above the lagoon.

I applauded. “Go, dude. Go.”

About fifty yards out, he slowed and began to drop.

“No! Keep going!”

He plopped into the water.

“Fold your wings! Fold your wings!”

He floated there, wings held out straight.

I groaned. “Fold your wings. You have to fold your wings.”

But instead, he held them out to the sides until they began to droop. Once the tips touched the water, he struggled to get them to flap. But they wouldn’t, because they were too soaked and heavy.

I covered my face with my hands.

He couldn’t fly. So he would float there, until either a shark found him or he just succumbed.

Doomed. He was doomed.

Maybe he wasn’t the only one.

*   *   *

The sun was about to set on another day without food. I’d gone back to the spot where I saw the sooty tern egg, but found that it had hatched into a tiny fuzz ball. I’d searched for more, but realized it was too late in the season, and that chick might not even have much of a chance.

There were a handful of albatross chicks left on the island, along with some other birds, but that was pretty much it. Well, not to mention me and Starbuck, if you wanted to count all living things.

I sighed.

Barely
living.

I knew I could go a long time without food. But not water. I pinched the skin on the back of my hand and it was slow to return.

“It better rain soon.”

I watched the sun turn almost tangerine as it neared the horizon. Just as it slipped below, for a split second, a shimmering ray of green appeared on the water.

I squealed. “A green flash!”

How many sunsets on Midway had I sat on the beach in front of the Clipper House, hoping to see a green flash? So many people off boats had told me about seeing one, and I never had.

“About time!”

Sailors long held that a green flash meant good weather, and I’d memorized an English saying. I smiled and said the words aloud:

“Glimpse you ere the green ray, count the morrow a fine day.”

As I listened to myself, I stopped smiling. Because the last thing I needed was for the morrow, for any of my morrows, to be fine.

Because what I really needed was rain.

fifty

After another night, I walked slowly along the beach as the sun rose on another cloudless day. I needed to get off the island, and if someone else wasn’t going to do it for me, I would. I walked over to the highest dune; the pile of wood still lay where it had rolled down. I started piling it up, constructing a signal fire.

When I had a good pile, I tucked in some dried grasses from gooney nests as tinder. One spark, and if all went well, the pile would burst into flame. I spent quite a while testing each cigarette lighter I’d gathered. When I didn’t get a spark, I broke the top off with a rock, and poured any lighter fluid into an empty plastic Pepsi bottle that was too moldy and gross for me to use for drinking water. For now, at least.

By afternoon, I had about a half inch of lighter fluid in the bottom.

I sighed.

For so much work, the return seemed so little. Still, I climbed back up the dune and set the bottle in a secure spot. Ready. I was ready. If I ever found a lighter that worked. Or lightning struck my pile.

It was all a long shot, I knew that. But at least I was doing something.

After a nap under the raft, to get out of the sun, I resumed my beachcombing.

Something red caught my eye and I walked toward it, then began jogging. Immediately, my vision began to swim and I stopped, dropped my head down, and rested my hands on my knees. I rested there a moment until I caught my breath, then walked slowly over to the object.

I poked it with my toe and grinned.

Santa Claus.
My
Santa Claus.

I picked him up.

When I went over the reef in the raft, he’d been in it. He made it ashore. But did anything else?

What would be the most useful thing from the raft?

If I could only pick one, I’d pick the Coastal Commander with the flares. And the mirror. I could start a fire with one, couldn’t I?

Yeah, the mirror would be great.

As I kept beachcombing, I wondered how long Santa had been there. Had I missed things among all the marine debris?

The only thing to do was keep looking, and I focused on the area where I found Santa. New garbage seemed to pile up every few hours. A glint of something caught my eye.

“Whoa.” Forest-green glass, about the size of a basketball, the fishing float was encased in light green fishing net and barnacles. I picked it up, straining because it was heavy. Well, heavy for me, since I was so weak. The glass ball stunk of rotten fish and mildew.

As I shifted to get a better grip, a stream of water rolled around the inside.

Bending at the waist, I set the ball down and rolled it slowly, looking for leaks. There were none. The water was on the inside. The ball had gone to depths so deep that the water pressure forced water through the glass. I smiled. I’d seen only one intact glass ball like that before, and it was a lot smaller than this one.

As I picked it up again, heading back to the raft, my foot brushed against something yielding and soft. Something that didn’t feel like the usual marine debris.

I closed my eye for a second. “Please let it be the Coastal Commander.”

The Coastal Commander wasn’t there. But something else was.

I dropped the ball gently into the sand and knelt beside Max’s ditty bag.

I pulled it into my lap, unbuckled it, then unzipped it. Everything was as I’d left it. The manifest. The Survival at Sea card. And Max’s journal.

Maybe he wasn’t done talking to me yet.

Max

That summer, after graduation, I bought Taylor Swift tickets. Brandy was so excited. The only hitch was getting her mom to let her go with me. Almost to Boise, over a two-hour drive. A hotel was not even an option.

It took a lot of convincing, but Brandy talked her mom into it. She couldn’t stop grinning as she climbed into my blue pickup. Her dark hair was loose and long. She’d curled it on the ends. Her dress was flowery, cowboy boots on her feet. She teased me about my outfit, which was my standard: jeans, wrestling tournament T-shirt, and Nikes. I said, “No one will look at me when I’m standing next to you anyway.”

She kissed me on the cheek.

On the drive over, Brandy made me listen to every Taylor Swift song on her iPod. Not my favorite, but I sang along with Brandy, even though I couldn’t sing. She made me so happy. I would do about anything to make her happy.

The drive took forever. Construction. Lane closed. I was worried we’d be late. But we were plenty early to the concert, which was crazy with people. The concert was a blur. A loud blur. My ears rang when we stepped outside in the dark. I remember Brandy laughing. The moment was almost in slow motion. One of those moments that seems to last forever. Like when I lost in state finals that year.

Things just slowed down. And I don’t know why, but I shivered.

fifty-one

I swallowed and set the notebook down. My one eye was shot. I’d have to save the rest for later.

I pulled the other things out of the bag and set them on the sand. Fantasizing about the chance of a wayward Skittle, I ran my hand inside. There was a lump.

Peering inside, it was clear the bag was empty. I stuck my hand back in and felt around. I turned the bag inside out and noticed a small rip in the lining. I ran my fingers along it and followed the lump, then stuck a finger in and, with the tip of it, felt something solid.