Life Preserved

Every way I lie on this shindly splinter of tree, cold saltwater attacks. The arctic froth won’t leave me alone.

“Is it so much to ask?” I shout into the cerulean void. Of course, nothing answers. Good; I’m not quite ready to go fully crackers yet.

The water didn’t start out this cold. It had actually been pretty warm back at the island. But it’s gotten steadily and rapidly colder the farther away from the island I get. I think it might be somewhere near the Galápagos Islands, but don’t take my word for it. At least the sun is still trying its best to burn me. My only protection from that is a bit of tarp I carved out on the island. It has been a good friend in the past few days of purgatory between fire and ice.

I recline on the sea-stripped, pale bark to listen for any other human life. It’s all I can do, since I ran out of drinking water and crumbly crackers this morning.

I can’t say exactly how many days I’ve been out here, since I was unconscious from the night of the storm to the dusk of a later day. Hopefully it only adds one day to my weak tally. If it was only that one, it would be immaterial, of course. But the initial panic threw the concept of keeping track of days from my head entirely. It was at least a few days before I found a small reserve of hard tack and water left in the ship wreckage to get my mind back in order.

My chest rattles with an ugly chuckle at myself. I tried to go full survival at first, hacking unsuccessfully at coconuts with pointed rocks and twisting twigs together in a sad attempt to spark a flame. At least I soon discovered that a fire wasn’t necessary for warmth; the island was a muggy, tropical beast. It was trying to cool down that had been the trouble.

Finding the wreckage after had been Providence; I could joyfully cast aside my pitiful efforts with the coconuts and eat the crumbly, nasty crackers. Not to mention the helpful wood beams I was able to scavenge into a raft. I named it the Dreamboat purely for the irony.

I look down at what’s left of it. It was never a beauty, poor thing, but it’s decidedly a shambles now.

Oh, well. What does it matter? If I’m ever found, I’ll have no need of the Dreamboat again in the future. If not, I’ll drown or dehydrate, and I’ll have equal desperate need for floating.

I growl at the renewed spray of encroaching sea and kick it. “Begone. I want you not. If I get out of this,” I mutter, shaking my head at the clear white-blue sky, “I may never want to see water again!” I sit up sharply on my elbow and glare at the blinding water, willing it to have feelings so it might sense my vigorous hatred. “That’s right. I hate you. And you can cry me a river.”

I laugh at my own joke on behalf of the others who can’t be here to do it themselves. I know it’s not a super social thing to do; I laugh again, a little harder and more hysterically.

“There’s nobody here to be upset about it!” I tell the Dreamboat. I don’t know when the laughter turns to sobs, but once I do notice, I swallow hard to stop it. No time for that now.

I blink back up at the sky. I have to squint on a stinging blur after a few seconds, but it’s better than looking at the riotous deep that longs to claim me.

I can’t sleep with this water coming at me from all angles. I wish I could; I haven’t slept in days. That’s why I’m acting so crazy, by the way. I’m really not insane yet.

I glance around myself again, looking for any change of color on the horizon. Any speck or spot would do to encourage me, really.

A bob of deep brownish green, like old vines or seaweed, flickers in the water a few feet away from me. Not a rescue, I know immediately, but maybe something living. That would be wonderful. Something sentient to talk to.

I lean as far as I dare off the side of the Dreamboat without tipping her over. The green bobs up and out of the water again.

“A turtle!” I exclaim instinctively, delighted. Then, suddenly concerned, I look backward, to my starting point. The island is still in view, but it’s far off enough that it’s easy to envision squashing between my fingers. Maybe this turtle isn’t too far out of its way, then.

I don’t know how to call or beckon a turtle. I’m sure it isn’t like a dog. How can I let it just skate by, though? It’s the first sign of life since a couple of weeks, at least.

I splish the water by the Dreamboat for a second before wondering if that will have the opposite effect. If I had some kind of fish, I’d brandish it—but, then again, turtles don’t eat fish, do they? I can’t exactly remember some of these things; they keep getting jumbled up in my brain with all the…well, everything about the past few weeks.

I stare at the turtle again, hating to even think of losing sight of it. I’ve got to catch it somehow. I have rope, but I’m a lousy throw. Can I swim to it? That might just scare it away. Turtles are slow on land, but this one is faster in the water. Besides, I can’t lose the Dreamboat.

Maybe I can tie the rope to my ankle like a surfboard tether and then swim to the turtle. That would work, wouldn’t it? Better than just sitting here and washing away.

I double knot the end of the rope around my ankle tight, and then I slide into the water. Jeez, it’s cold. Ok. Chatter chatter. Quick movements, friction to warm up.

I dolphin kick toward the sea turtle, but the closer I get, the bigger this turtle looks. Isn’t that in reverse? Maybe not. Maybe my head is in reverse.

I get alongside it, but now I’m seeing that this turtle is actually kind of herculean. I’ve never seen such a massive turtle. It’s got to be three times bigger than me.

“Oh, sh—” I start.

A cold, salty flipper slaps me in the mouth before I can finish.

I slam backward into the soft waves and have to catch my head back from the bubbles before I flail back up to the surface and scuttle back toward the Dreamboat.

Wonderful to make contact with life again, right?

I haul myself back up onto the Dreamboat and then look back toward the turtle. I’ll call him Crush.

Crush is gone from view in a minute, and I’m alone again. Sad. I’m too salty and dehydrated to cry, so I laugh instead that I’m sad over the departure of a sea turtle that backhanded me for cussing. Oh, well. That’s life sometimes.

“Bye, Crush,” I rasp after him. “Please, God, get me out of this. Get me home. Don’t let me drown. Please.” It’s only my billionth prayer since the crash, so I have more to give.

I lie out to let the sun suck up the cold water on my now-ratty clothes. Tuning into the waves is nice, relaxing.

Whishhhhhh…shfoooooh…whishhhhhh…shfoooooh.

Plinklop…shfooosh…whishhhhhhh.

“Whishhhhhhh someone would show up,” I mumble.

Water splishes onto my leg again. The Dreamboat sloshes to the left and then bounces to the right.

Whishhhhhhh…shfooooooh…

I wish I could call it ‘peaceful’, but dreadful works for now.

Whishhhhhhhh…shfoooooooooh…whishhhhhhh…

Chuppachuppachuppachuppa—

I open my eyes and squint into the too-bright sky, sitting up quickly nonetheless and staring over the water. That sound isn’t the ocean. That’s a helicopter sound.

I twist around in a circle until the soaked rope is twizzling my leg like an enthusiastic vine. I scan the sky until I finally see the fly-like black helicopter up in the white-blue.

My heart chokes my breath off in my throat, so I just cough and start wildly waving like a dying pelican.

“Oh! Oh, hey! Hey!” I scream toward the sky. They have to see me. If they don’t, I’ll gift myself to the sharks.

“Oh, God, please! Please!”

It closes in, but it’s slowing and lowering. I shriek again in delight now, jumping once on impulse. One-time endeavor; I slip in the sudden swell of water on the poor Dreamboat, and I have to drag myself back onto the wood after another cold plunge. I spit saltwater out more and wave again, but I think it’s unnecessary now.

“Oh, thank God! Thank God, I’m saved!” I cough as a rescue hoist comes down.

Departing with the rescue team allows me a more kindly outlook on the sea as a whole.

What an end. I bid one glance’s farewell to the Dreamboat and Crush and the whole cold, blue affair, and then—praise be—I can look away from the water.