The Raft (9 page)

I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything.

“It was dumb, eating all those cookies. I was just so hungry.”

I knew the feeling.

thirty-one

Max was still, his eyes closed again.

How strange, to learn so much about him all at once. Though I still didn’t know who the thumbprint belonged to. I wanted to ask, but I got the feeling it wasn’t any of my business. I would only learn what he wanted to tell me, and that had to be enough.

For now.

Once more, the sun was low in the sky. Our second full day at sea was almost over. If anyone had ever asked how long I thought I could survive in a raft on the sea, I’d have said I couldn’t do it at all. Nothing in my life had ever prepared me for something like that. It wasn’t like my home-school curriculum included Survival at Sea.

Still, I was coming up on forty-eight hours of survival. Which made me feel …

Nothing.

No, that wasn’t right. I felt something.

Numb. Blurred. Fuzzy.

Dulled.

Like none of it was real. Except for the hunger pangs in my stomach.

I’d never been without food or water this long. Once in a while I’d gone without lunch or something, but there’s a big difference between missing lunch and not knowing if you’ll eat again.

I was thirsty and ravenously hungry, especially after hearing about the cookies. My nose had started throbbing. I didn’t even try to touch it. Thinking about the last time was enough to make me shudder as I relived the fireball of pain that had shot into my head.

I reached into the ditty bag and dug out the few remaining Skittles I’d managed to save. Their colors had bled, and some were half white, while some were an ugly orangey brown.

REMEMBER!
5.
Do not eat, unless water is available.

Ignoring the Survival at Sea wisdom, I popped the candy into my mouth, chewing, trying not to think about Max and how angry he’d be.

But Max appeared well past the point of caring about Skittles. He was so still, he seemed unconscious from the effort of talking.

The stars came out in the dusk sky. The moon rose, again just a sliver, but it would provide enough light for me to see. If it hadn’t been for the hunger and thirst and, well, being stuck in a raft, I might have thought it was a beautiful night.

Maybe my parents were looking up at the sky too. Worrying about me. AJ would have figured out I wasn’t at her apartment. She’d have called my parents. But would they think I was just somewhere in Hawaii?

Something gnawed at me.

The phones had been out.

What if they were still out? Did anyone on Midway wonder why the plane hadn’t arrived? My parents wouldn’t know I’d been on it. They’d think I was still in Hono.

I sighed.

So … no. If my parents were looking up at the sky, they weren’t worried about me. They had no reason to be. Unless the phones were working and they’d tried to call.

Staring at the moon and the stars, I picked out a few constellations. Big Dipper. Little Dipper. Cassiopeia.

I thought about the ancient Polynesians, how they used the stars to navigate.

I sat up then, looking at the moon. The moon rose in the east.

I realized I had no idea which direction was which. I’d watched the sun set, and I knew that was west, but the raft was moving and I couldn’t get my bearings. It sounded so easy to navigate by the sun and moon, but believe me, it was totally disorienting.

Was I anywhere near the Northwest Hawaiian Islands? I knew that there was nothing between Midway and other continents except for a few places like Johnston Atoll, Palmyra, and Wake Island. The chances of me reaching them with no food or water pretty much sucked.

But if we’d been north of the Northwest Hawaiian chain when we went down, then there were a lot of islands. At least the possibility of a lot of islands.

Laysan.

Pearl and Hermes.

French Frigate Shoals.

Lisianski.

Maybe I had a decent chance of reaching one of those. And, depending on where the G-1 ditched, and what direction the raft had traveled since then, I might not be that far away.

Settling down, closing my eyes, I vowed to pay attention in the morning when the sun rose, and try to steer the raft toward where I thought salvation might be. Or, if not rescue, at least water.

Water would be good.

I swallowed and the swallow, dry, stuck halfway down.

How long since I’d had to pee?

My eyes welled and a tear slipped down my cheek.

Water would be so good.

thirty-two

On Day Three, I watched the sunrise. At least I thought it was the third day.

“What day is it, Max?”

His chin was on his chest and his eyes were closed. He didn’t answer.

Since the sun rose in the east, I turned exactly opposite and mentally picked a point on the horizon to aim for. I scootched to the side of the raft and tried to paddle with my arm. The raft did move, but not with any efficiency. I couldn’t reach both sides of the raft at the same time, so unless I moved from one side to the other between strokes, I would turn in circles eventually.

Plus, within minutes, I was out of breath. Lacking an actual paddle made the task too hard. Not to mention I was weaker than normal, and even my normal condition wasn’t exactly athletic. Fortunately, it seemed like the raft was already heading in the direction I had wanted to go, so I just sat back, hoping the ocean current would get us somewhere before we starved or died of thirst. I held up my sweatshirt in the wind, thinking it might serve as a pseudo-sail, but it wasn’t big enough to do much. And my arms were too tired to hold anything aloft for long.

A clump of something appeared about fifty yards away. I paddled again, trying to head toward it. As I got closer, I saw it was just a bunch of marine debris. The beaches at Midway were full of it. Every Sunday my parents and I picked the beaches to try to keep them clean for sea turtles and seals, but it was a losing battle. There was so much trash, a constant barrage, that we didn’t make any difference.

For me, it had become a treasure hunt. Ask anyone on Midway, and the one thing they all wanted to find was a glass ball. Glass balls were actually old Japanese fishing floats. They used to be handblown, but then became factory produced before they stopped making them from glass altogether and switched to plastic. Shops in Honolulu sold them for a ton of money, and it was fun to find something for free that you knew tourists paid a lot of money for.

They were made of very sturdy glass, and I rarely saw a broken one, even though they had been floating around in the ocean for years and years. Some were small, the size of a baseball. But some were huge, the size of a basketball. I had a couple softball-size ones up on a shelf. I was always looking for those when we cleaned beaches. They were supposed to bring good luck.

So when I neared the batch of debris, I naturally looked for a glint of glass. We could use a little luck.

The smell of dead fish and rotten sea reached me before I got close enough to see what was in the debris. Covering my nose, I leaned over to look. Mainly a fishing net, with all its captured trash. An empty ketchup bottle, a soda can, each with Japanese writing. As far as I could tell, most ships in the Pacific just tossed their trash overboard. No wonder the oceans were in trouble.

A battered green toothbrush lay entwined in some of the net. My teeth felt like they’d grown fur and I
was
tempted … for about half a second.

Something red caught my eye. Without thinking, I reached out to snag it.

I let out a short laugh.

A fat, red-and-white plastic Santa Claus, both arms outstretched, with only one short stubby leg. Barnacles covered half of him, and a good deal of his paint was missing, but his jolly smile was still there. Along with his merry eyes.

“Maybe you’ll be my luck.”

Holding him to my chest, I grinned up at the sky where one white puffy cloud crept across the unbroken blue. But no others showed up to filter the blazing sun as the morning crept by.

I wanted to cry.

Hunger, thirst, pain from the infected piercing in my nose. And my lips. They were so dry I was afraid to move them. I forgot once, and licked them. My hands turned into fists until the stinging passed. I made a mental note not to ever lick my lips again.

I thought about
The Hunger Games
, how when the main character was about to give up, a little silver parachute would come floating down with exactly the item she needed.

At that moment, if I could have a silver parachute bring me anything, I would want some kind of lip balm. Well, no, that would be dumb. I needed food. Maybe some Power Bars. No, I wasn’t supposed to eat if I didn’t have water. So I’d want the silver parachute to bring water. A gallon of water. No, I’d use that up right away. I’d want a water purifier thing, so I could convert salt water to fresh water.

But was I going to get any of those things? No. There were no silver parachutes coming my way.

I sighed.

Some distraction from my situation would be really welcome.

Once again, I picked up the ditty bag. The Survival at Sea card was still crumpled in the bottom and I pulled it out, smoothing it down. “Okay, Survival at Sea dweebs, I’ll give you another chance to help me survive.” My voice was raspy. Maybe I should add talking out loud to the list of things I should no longer do. Except hearing my voice aloud was comforting for some reason. I liked it.

I skimmed past the Five Commandments of Survival.

Sleep and rest are the best way to endure periods of reduced food and water.

I gave myself a thumbs-up. Since I’d been doing little but sleeping and resting, I’d done one thing right at least.

Skimming over the section on water, which I’d already read, I noticed a small line under the part about the tarpaulin. A part I’d missed last time.

A sponge can be used to collect dew off the raft.

Dew?

“Are you serious?” I ran my hand along the edge of the raft, which was already bone dry from the sun. I groaned as I pulled the sponge out of the Coastal Commander and thwapped it against my forehead a couple of times.

If there was dew, I could have been getting moisture every morning.

Tomorrow morning I’ll be ready.

I tucked the sponge away and read on to the section labeled Food.

Eat any birds you can catch.

Yeah. I would be sure to do that as soon as I caught one.

Fish will be the main source of food at sea. Use your fishing gear to catch them.

“Are you kidding me?” Right, let me grab my rod and reel.

Barely resisting the urge to toss the card into the sea, I kept reading.

Fishing line and hook may be improvised from many materials.

“Puhleeze.” Just where was I going to find these materials? Setting the card down, I adjusted my hoodie under my butt, which was sore from sitting. And I noticed the string in the hood. Pulling on it, I managed to get it out. I held it up. Fishing line? Maybe.

But what about a hook?

I felt the silver hoops in my ears. Too flimsy.

What else was there?

I looked in the ditty bag. The spiral notebook?

I glanced over at Max.

Taking out the notebook, I twisted the metal until the end came out of the top. With my repeated twists, several inches stuck out. I bent it back and forth until about three inches of metal broke off. I held it up, and then curved it into a hook on one end. The other end I twirled around the string from my hood.

I smiled at my hook and line. “Who’s inventive? Me. Totally.”

Determined and hungry, I read on to see what else Survival at Sea could tell me about fishing.

Do not handle the fishing line with bare hands or wrap it around your hands. Salt may adhere to it, making it a sharp cutting edge that could damage your hands or the raft.

Eyeing the string from my hoodie, I didn’t see how that could ever become sharp enough to hurt anything. I decided to ignore that part.

Wear gloves in order to avoid injury from sharp fins.

No gloves. But I could wrap my hands in my hoodie if I had to. I grinned at the card. “See? You keep trying to trip me up. But I’ve got you. I can do this.”

If you are in a warm area, gut and bleed fish right after you catch them.

How was I going to do that? Even if I had a knife …

Any fish you do not eat right away must be cut into thin, narrow strips and hung to dry. A well-dried fish can stay edible for several days. Otherwise, fish may spoil in half a day, especially fish with dark meat. Do not eat any leftovers. Use any leftovers for bait.

Bait.
My shoulders slumped. I had none and had no way to get any. I tossed the card aside. That was that.

My fishing was over before I even started.

thirty-three

Morning turned to afternoon and I sat slumped in the raft, trying to sleep. But sleep didn’t happen, so I just shaded my eyes and looked up at the sky. One fat, lazy cloud drifted above me. Soon, it was joined by another. Then many more began to move in, the clumps turning from puffy white to dark.

At first I was annoyed, because they obscured the sun, so that I couldn’t be sure which way we were heading. Then, as a sprinkle hit my forehead, then another, and a shower began, I smiled. And when rain began to pour, I screamed with my hoarse voice, and then opened my mouth to the sky, drinking and swallowing.

Max was still sleeping, but there was rainwater gathering in the raft, so I figured I could scoop some up for him when he was ready.

And then I heaved, puking up all the water I’d just drunk.

I prayed the rain wouldn’t stop, at least not until I had drunk my fill for the second time. A little more cautious, I kept my mouth open for a long time, swallowing, until my stomach felt full and my throat was no longer dry. My headache had gone away, and I pinched my hand, smiling as the skin sprang back quickly. No longer dehydrated.