Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
N ever mind the waterproof boots!
Patrick should have advised me to slip into a waterproof bodysuit, preferably one that comes with heating pads. We’ve barely stepped onto the boat and my clothes are already soaking wet. My hair’s hanging in my eyes in limp strands, and my skin feels like I’ve just jumped out of a hot shower and right into a freezing arctic storm.
The rescue mission is mostly comprised of men. Commands are coming so fast I can barely keep up. Luckily, no one’s talking to me. In fact, I doubt anyone’s even registered my useless presence.
“Move it, lads!” a man yells.
“Look for any sign of a flare!” someone else shouts.
By that I assume he’s talking about one of those rescue lights that lost people use in movies, though I can’t be sure because I’ve never seen one in real life. I’ve also never seen the ocean up close and at its worst—angry waves that keep throwing the boat left and right, barely giving us a moment of rest before the next wave hits harder than the ones before. My stomach is in knots, ready to rid itself of the little food I had for lunch at the café. My knuckles are hurting from the effort to hold on to a safety rope, like Patrick instructed me to do before he dove right into the action.
Literally.
I catch a glimpse of him yelling something at the other men, right before someone switches on a beacon of light and swings it around to illuminate the dark surface of the water. It looks deep and menacing. For the umpteenth time, I’m actually questioning the sanity of my decision to tag along. Clearly, these men aren’t doing this for the first time in their lives. I, on the other hand—well, let’s not go there.
Let’s just say I can’t even watch when disaster strikes on TV and have to keep my eyes closed all the way through any scenes that hint at people being in mortal danger or worse.
We’re on the open sea, surrounded by raging waters, any sight of the shore lost in the torrent of rain that’s pouring down on us. I keep holding on to the rope for dear life while trying to ignore the freezing cold sensation. We’re barely half an hour in and my entire body is already shivering uncontrollably, though I can’t tell whether from the cold or the sheer effort to stand on my own two feet. Given the current weather conditions, I can only hope the fisherman was clever enough not to venture out too far out here because there can’t possibly be any hope for him.
“I see something,” a man yells. “Over there.”
“Where?” someone yells back.
I turn to peer into the darkness, craning my neck to get a better look. That’s when a gust of wind hits me so hard I lose my footing and I slip on the wet wood, letting go of the rope.
It all happens so fast I don’t even get to catch my breath.
An angry wave dips the boat low to one side. Without the rope I have nothing to hold on to and am tossed over the railing, landing in the freezing water. All the air’s knocked out of my lungs as I’m carried by a wave like a piece of dead wood, pulled under and into the depth, the dark surface of the water quickly closing over my head. My brain registers what is happening, and adrenaline surges through my veins. My arms and legs begin to flail in a panic, but I’ve never been a good swimmer and the movements are too uncoordinated.
It’s too late anyway.
The current is too strong, and in the freezing water, my body feels numb, alien, as though it doesn’t belong to me. In a bout of clarity of mind, I remember something about preserving energy. Try to float. Don’t move too much. Keep my mouth closed. Don’t swallow the freezing water. Stay calm. Someone’s surely noticed me going overboard and help is coming.
But it’s all easier said than done.
Seconds seem to stretch into minutes. I don’t see the light from the boat anymore. All I see is darkness. The water’s cold my entire body’s frozen, but my lungs feel like they’re on fire from the lack of oxygen.
I’m going to drown.
That’s the last conscious thought I have before I close my eyes and succumb to my fate.