3. Jensen

CHAPTER 3

JENSEN

I have no idea how long I’ve been floating here for.

I know it’s hours, not days, because night hasn’t fallen again since the storm passed, but I know for a fact that I can’t survive for long like this.

There’s a tiny survival kit in the life raft — a pack made up of basic first-aid equipment, food rations, and a bottle of water that went out of date three years ago. Combining that with the emergency kit, I have three bottles of water, five protein bars, a bag of weird nutritional biscuit things, and a miniature fishing rod.

I crack open the water and take a tiny sip before I peel back the wrapper of a protein bar and nibble on the corner. I don’t want to drink all the water now. I’ll just have little sips whenever I feel thirsty. I think I have about three days before delirium kicks in.

Probably, with the supplies I have here, I have about a week, maybe two, before I die. I’m pretty sure you can go for a while without food, but without water…

One day at a time. I take another tiny bite of the protein bar then fold it up and tuck it away. God, I wish I’d had a better dinner now. But even though I’m hungry, I have to conserve what little I’ve got. I think I’ll alternate protein bars and biscuits, because the idea of eating handfuls of stale, hard crackers does not fill me with joy.

The reality is starting to set in and it isn’t a good one.

The sun beats down on the roof and I feel sticky with sweat. This isn’t great for the dehydration thing. Plus, as I drift, I keep turning in slow circles, the sun flashing over my skin. I’m a pale Scandinavian guy, so it’s only a matter of time before I get sunburned.

There’s a tiny travel-sized suncream in the first-aid kit, but when I squeeze it, it’s almost completely dry. “Thanks, George,” I whisper. “Great attention to safety practices.”

I guess safety is one of those things you tend to become complacent about until it actually matters.

Shit. I’m going to die out here.

I curl up on the floor, listening to the waves slap against the rubber and roll underneath me. Drowning isn’t supposed to be too horrible a way to die, so I’ve heard. Probably better than starving or going mad, anyway.

Someone will come, right? They track these things, don’t they?

There must have been some sort of radar, some signal or alarm to say “Oh, no! The ship is sinking!” Someone, somewhere must have realized that I’m gone, and so is the ship.

What if they all think I’m dead already?

I’m pretty sure I fall asleep for a while, curled up on the floor, because when I come back to consciousness, my arms are wrapped tightly around my knees and I have a cramp in my neck. Guess all this nearly-dying-in-a-shipwreck business is tiring.

Carefully, I sit up, every one of my limbs aching and heavy. It’s not like I can get up for a walk, so I just shuffle around the raft, moving so I can sit with my legs stretched out in front of me. I’m so exhausted that I could go back to sleep right now without too much effort.

But I’m scared to sleep. What if I never wake up again?

I reach for the emergency kit, wanting a snack, but then I hesitate. Is it better to eat tiny amounts often, or save it all for when I’m starving? Why didn’t anyone ever teach me any of this stuff?

I never should have done this alone.

For a long time, I stare at the water, letting the bright blue mesmerize me as the sun glints off the waves. In the distance, there’s a shadow of land, an island maybe, green and fuzzy, and…

Wait — land?

I sit bolt upright, rubbing my eyes in disbelief. Land! It’s really land! If I can just get over there, then maybe I’ll be okay. I’m still not exactly equipped for survival, but if I can get off the water, I can find shelter, maybe find some berries or whatever to eat. Who knows, maybe someone lives there!

The idea of human contact makes me dizzy enough that I’d fall over if I wasn’t already sitting down.

Another great feature the life raft came with was a paddle. My arms ache, but the sight of land has filled me with adrenaline. I crawl over to the paddle, then wrestle for a minute with the ropes tying the roof to the raft.

In a move that can only count as a fail, I manage to release the roof canvas only for the wind to catch it and whisk it off, far away across the sea. “Damn,” I mutter. Still, at least I can get shelter on the island, and some sun will give me a great tan.

It takes less than five minutes for me to realize why all rowers are absolutely ripped. This is exhausting. Every time I dip the paddle into the water, the waves snatch at it, making it skitter over the surface and fall back with a splash. I grunt, gripping the handle with all my might. I’m not losing the paddle. Without it, I’m screwed.

Eventually, I get the hang of it enough that I start moving in the right direction. It’s brutally tiring, and as the island gets bigger and bigger, the relief of knowing that it’s real is the only thing that stops me from bursting into tears. My knuckles are cracked from the salt water, my skin is going to be blistered from the sun, and my arms are going numb with the exertion, but I can’t stop now.

I have to make it there.

As I get close enough to see details of trees and the sand of the beach, I notice a flock of birds launch into the air and, squawking, flap noisily over my head. It startles me and I cry out, but my fists are clenched so tightly around the paddle, I think I’m going to need a crowbar to open them again.

When I look back to my goal, I see a figure on the beach, waving both arms at me. “Hello?” I shout, my voice cracking. Is this a figment of my imagination too?

But she doesn’t fade from view — in fact, she just gets clearer, until I can see that she’s a beautiful blonde, her hair tied in a loose ponytail, her tanned arms bare, and just the hint of her belly showing under the crop top she’s wearing. I must have done something right, because this is fate smiling on me.

Abandoning me on an island with a beautiful woman? Now, that’s like a dream come true.

Or at least it should be. I keep paddling with renewed determination, and call out again, waving. “Hello!”

She waves back, but finally I can just about make out her expression, and it’s not the joyful welcome I had hoped for. Her voice carries over the waves, faint but not too faint that I can’t hear it. “For God’s sake, what are you doing?” she yells. “You’re disturbing the birds!”

She’ll understand when I get there. Whatever she’s doing here, she’ll understand, and she’ll take me back home and everything will be okay.

Won’t it?