The Raft (17 page)

Oh, God.

Her neck was at an impossible angle and I held her hand to my chest.

I yelled for help. We were in the middle of nowhere. We’d passed one car in the last hour. I felt in my pocket for my cell phone. My hands were shaking so bad I could barely push the numbers. I waited for 911 to pick up.

A woman’s voice. She kept asking questions. I kept answering.

We were a long way out. She was sending help, but it would be a long time. Too long. She told me to hang on.

Brandy didn’t move.

I already knew. Still, I held my head to her chest. No heartbeat.

I already knew. Still, I held a hand in front of her mouth and nose. No breath.

With a hand, I touched her cheek. Warm and sticky.

I held her to my chest and started to rock as I sobbed, my face in her hair, smelling her. How could she be gone if she still smelled so good? I straightened her hair, pushing it back over her shoulders like she liked it. It was so soft. So soft.

I heard a sound.

The antelope I’d hit lay in the road, about ten yards away from me. Another, this one with horns, stood over it, looking down. Then he looked at me as I lay in the road, holding my dead girlfriend.

The mountain night was cold enough that his breath was a puff as it came out his nostrils. He was motionless, staring at me.

He didn’t need me to tell him not to love. Ever.

fifty-four

I said, “I’m sorry, Max,” and started to cry. But when I reached up to wipe away my tears, there were none. My face was dry.

There were a few pages left, but I was so tired, I couldn’t see straight anymore. I lay down on my side and fell asleep.

When I woke up, I was still tired. So tired.

My throat was so dry, I could barely swallow.

I rolled on my back and looked up at the sky. Cloudless. Again.

That color blue used to be my favorite. I’d grown to hate it.

What was the last thing I’d had to drink?

Days before, the last water from my makeshift bowl.

When had I last felt the urge to pee?

I couldn’t even remember.

I licked my lips. So parched. I pulled out the Carmex and covered them.

All I could do was watch the smoke spiral in the breeze.

Max said, “You can’t let the fire go out.”

I looked at the small pile of wood only steps away. “I’m too tired.”

“You have to.”

I got to my hands and knees and crawled over to the pile. I grabbed a piece in each hand and crawled back, then tossed them into the fire, which quickly renewed itself.

I collapsed on my back again, staring at the blue above me.

If I get out of this
 …

“I will…”

What?

I will be happy with my life. I will feel lucky, because I am. I am lucky, just to have a house and food and water and parents who love me
 …

“But I don’t have any of those things.”

I’m not lucky at all. Not anymore.

My face crumpled and I sobbed invisible tears. Invisible tears that were a sign.

I covered my face with my arms. “I’m not gonna make it. I’m not.”

Would my parents ever know what happened to me?

Would
anyone
?

I rolled on my side. An albatross skeleton lay not far from me, feathers still clinging to the bone. Maybe I would end up like that. Maybe it would be years before anyone stumbled across my body. Maybe, when someone did find me, they wouldn’t even be able to tell who I was.

I put my hands together, praying.

Was I? Not really. When I was little I did say my prayers every night. But when it was just me, and I was older, without Mom and Dad putting me to bed, I stopped.

Midway didn’t even have a church. We did have a white cross though, on an edge of the island, overlooking the lagoon. A metal plaque on it said something about the cross being 140 miles from the international dateline and that, traditionally, the world’s last Easter sunrise service was held there every year.

Every Easter, the residents of Midway did gather at the cross at sunrise. Sometimes someone read from the Bible or said a few words. Usually we sang a hymn.

This year I had slept in.

I slipped my hands under my head and shut my eye.

I could bargain with God. Isn’t that what people did in these situations?

“Dear God…” I stopped.

Somehow praying now, when I really needed something, seemed too little too late. Besides, if God was up there, He could make His own decisions. Truth was, I had no strength to plead my case.

I hoped sleep would find me fast.

fifty-five

My dreams were of cats. Spitting. Then snakes. Hissing.

The spitting and hissing seemed so real.

My face almost felt wet.

My eye opened. My face
was
wet.

The sky was cloudy and there was
rain.

I sat up and put my open mouth to the sky. Just drips, barely enough to dampen my lips.

After a while, my neck cramped and I looked back down.

Steam. There was steam coming from my fire.

“No!” I lunged forward and grabbed the end of a stick from the fire. I started pushing the charred wood around. “Come on, come on.” But there were no more flames, and the wood was all wet.

I looked back up at the sky, at the dark clouds moving off to the east.

How had I missed the rain?

My hair was damp. I stuck some of it in my mouth and sucked, trying to get out any moisture I could. I felt my camisole. Damp as well. Frantic, I yanked it over my head and twisted it, trying to wring whatever was there into my open mouth.

Not enough. Not enough.

I hugged myself and cried more dry tears. There had been rain, enough to put my fire out. But not enough for me to get a drink.

I didn’t bother to put my top back on and just fell to my side.

My face smashed in the sand as I watched the last bit of steam rise from the fire.

The signal fire. The fire that was supposed to save my life.

Suddenly, I felt a chill. I put my top back on and looked around for my hoodie. My gaze drifted to the horizon.

Then I gasped.

A white ship with blue writing, right in front of me.

Was it really there? Was it just a mirage?

A hallucination brought on by dehydration?

I froze. If it was a hallucination, I would die. Die from disappointment.

So I told myself it wasn’t real. And I sat and waited to see if I was right.

fifty-six

My imaginary ship didn’t move, just sat there. Anchored out at sea. I couldn’t read the blue letters, but had seen enough to know it was a NOAA ship.

I knew what NOAA stood for. National Oceanographic and … something …

I tapped my forehead. “You know this.” I couldn’t even think straight. Funny, that my imaginary ship would be a NOAA one. Coast Guard would have made more sense though. For a rescuer.

I sat up straight.

Coast Guard would have made much more sense. And wouldn’t a hallucination make sense? I mean, it would be a fantasy, right? Something I would want to see. Like Coast Guard. NOAA was just dumb.

There on the top of the dune, I hugged my knees and watched. A boat lowered into the water. And came toward the island.

It’s a hallucination.

Max stood at the bottom of the dune and looked up at me. “It’s not a hallucination.”

I told him, “But that’s all you are.”

The boat got closer.
Say it was real, just say it was.
Had they seen my fire?

The boat neared the beach on the farthest point of the island from me. Wouldn’t a hallucination have them land closer, be more convenient? Two people hopped out and pulled the boat onto the beach and more people got out. They just stood around.

If it was my hallucination, wouldn’t they come right for me?

Maybe they
were
real.

I stood up. My legs collapsed beneath me and I rolled down the dune, landing at the bottom by Max. I could no longer see the boat or the people.

Because they weren’t there.

I laid my head on my arms, not wanting to get around the dune. Not wanting to look out at the sea. Not wanting to see … nothing.

If that’s all it was, a hallucination, why exert myself? I was done.

“But it’s not a hallucination.” Max crouched in front of me. “Robie, you have to do this. You have to get to the beach.” He backed up slightly. “Come on. Come with me.”

I shook my head. “I can’t.”

He nearly shouted at me. “You can. You can.”

I got up on all fours and crawled a few feet, then fell forward onto my face. “I can’t.”

“Get up!” He backed up, beckoning to me.

Up on my knees again, I followed him until I was nearly around the dune.

Walking ahead a bit, he turned to me. “Just a little farther. You can do this.”

I looked up at him. “Are you saving me again?”

“No.” He shook his head. “This is all you.”

Grunting, I put my head down and crawled, crawled until I had nothing left, and then I fell onto my side. I looked up and saw the boat. It was still there. So were the people.

I tried to scream. I didn’t even have any words, just screeches.

I tried to get to my knees, but fell down. So I rolled over on my back, raised my arms in the air, and kept screaming until there was nothing left. I shut my eye.

Please let the ship be real.

*   *   *

I wasn’t sure how much later it was when I heard arguing.

A woman’s voice. “We have to get her to the ship.”

“I’m not sure we should move her.” A man.

“She might die if we don’t.” The woman again.

Another man said, “What the hell is she doing out here?”

I opened my eyes to two faces peering down at me. One was a woman with kind green eyes and curly red hair, the other a guy in a blue ball cap and a salt-and-pepper beard. They both wore blue shirts with NOAA on them.

I couldn’t do anything but blink.
Are they real?

The guy said, “She’s awake.” He smiled and touched my arm. “You’re gonna be okay.” He helped me sit up and he and the woman held me up. Then they put a bottle of water to my lips. With both hands, I held it and gulped so fast that more of it ran down my chin than went into my mouth.

There was no way that water was a hallucination, because I’d never tasted any so cold and clear and delicious in my entire frickin’ life.

I chugged that bottle so fast that my temples ached. I scrunched my eyes and pressed my palms into my forehead.

The guy in the cap said, “I’m Brian. We’re with NOAA.”

He talked so slow. Did he think I was dumb or something?

“You saw my fire.”

He looked over at the woman and shook his head. “No. We’re on a research trip and wanted to check out the island.” He shrugged. “We almost didn’t stop.”

They hadn’t seen my fire. They just happened to show up. On my island.

The woman asked my name.

Even after all that water, my voice sounded raspy. “Robie.”

“Well, Robie, let’s get you to the ship, okay?”

I nodded. “But Max—”

The woman’s forehead wrinkled. “Someone else is here?”

I started to say something, then got a grip. I bit my lip and shook my head. “No. No one else.”

Another guy came up. His eyes were brown and kind and crinkled around the edges when he smiled. “I’ll carry you over to the boat.” He gently put one arm around me and the other under my legs, picking me up.

It felt so good to be held. I wanted to sink into his arms, to never leave them. He stepped into the water.

“No, don’t go in, there’s a shark!’ I struggled to be put down, but I was too weak.

He said, “It’s okay, almost there,” and carried me over to the boat.

I didn’t really want to get in their boat, but I didn’t protest as he set me down inside. His white T-shirt had dirt on it. From carrying me?

He climbed in and tucked a shiny silver blanket around me, then another guy started the boat and headed for the NOAA ship. As we moved in the waves, it felt different from being in the raft. Faster, of course. But more purposeful. Not just drifting.

The wind blew in my face as I accepted another bottle of water.

I turned to look back at the island.
Good-bye, Starbuck
.

Good-bye, Max.

And then I passed out.

fifty-seven

Something soft was under my head. And something else smelled. Bad.

The back of my right hand hurt and itched at the same time. I reached over and felt tape.

I opened my eyes.

An IV tube snaked out of my hand and up into a clear bag of fluid. I squinted but couldn’t read the label. My arm looked strange. Striped. Then I realized it was clean from the elbow down, dirty the rest of the way.

I was lying in a narrow bed. My headache was gone for the first time in ages.

“Welcome back.” A bald guy with black glasses rolled over on a wheeled stool. “I’m Dr. Gary.” He smiled. “You’re in pretty good shape, considering—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” The words were practically out of my mouth before I even thought them. “Sorry.”

Dr. Gary shook his head slightly. “You don’t have to.”

My eye welled up and I wiped it with my fingers, then held them up. They glistened. “I have tears again.”

“You were very dehydrated.” He nodded at the IV bag. “We gave you a couple of those.” He smiled. “Let’s get you fixed up so you can get out of those clothes and get cleaned up.”

As he snapped on gloves, I glanced down.

No wonder I’d gotten the other guy’s shirt dirty. At that point,
Robie
could have been listed in the dictionary as a synonym for
filth.
That was what I smelled. I was grateful that the doctor didn’t say a word. He didn’t look like he was holding his breath, but he was. I heard him suck in, then not breathe in for a bit as he inspected my left eye.