The Stranger in the Lifeboat(9)

“Science,” the stranger said, looking at the sky. “Yes. With science, you have explained away the sun. You have explained away the stars I put in the firmament. You have explained away all the creatures, large and small, with which I populated the Earth. You have even explained my greatest creation.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“You.”

He ran his hand along the skin of the raft. “Science has traced your existence back to primitive life-forms, and to primitive forms before those. But it will never be able to answer the final question.”

“Which is?”

“Where did it all begin?” He smiled. “That answer can only be found in me.”

Lambert stifled a laugh. “OK, OK. If you’re so great, get us out of this mess. Make an ocean liner appear. Do something besides talk. How about actually saving us?”

“I have told you all you need for that,” the man said.

“Yeah, yeah, we all have to believe in you at the same time,” Lambert said. “Don’t hold your breath.”

The conversation dwindled. The man is an enigma for sure, Annabelle, a source of confusion and sometimes even frustration. But, in the end, he is not the answer. We don’t have an answer. When Mrs. Laghari asks “Where are the planes?” I know what many of us are thinking. If planes were coming, they’d have been here already.



I try to remain positive, my love. I think of you, I think of home, I think of a meal and a pint and a nice, long sleep. Small things. I try to stay active in the boat, moving from side to side, stretching the muscles that I can, but the relentless sun often saps my strength. I never realized how precious shade could be. I am redder than I have ever been, and my skin is covered in small boils. Geri had smartly grabbed a backpack before escaping the Galaxy, and it had a tube of aloe in it, but it is not nearly enough for all of us.

We share tiny dabs on our worst spots. Our only escape is to crawl under the canopy. But it is stifling with everyone inside, and you cannot sit up straight. Geri’s backpack also held one of those small, handheld fans, and we pass it from one to another, creating a miniature breeze. We shut it off quickly to preserve the batteries.

Fresh water remains our most precious commodity. What we have comes from the “ditch bag” of the raft, which also contained various emergency supplies: a bailer for emptying seawater, fishing line, paddles, a flare gun, things like that.

The drinking water, stored in small cans, is what matters most, and it is nearly gone now. Twice a day, we have been rationing equal amounts into a stainless steel cup. We sip it down, then pass the cup on.

Geri makes sure to fill it up for little Alice. This evening, following the strange wind incident, the child took her portion and crawled along the raft bottom toward the Lord.

“What’s that weird kid doing now?” Lambert said.

Alice handed her cup to the stranger, and he swallowed the water in a single gulp. Then he handed it back with a grateful nod. What are we to make of him, Annabelle? Never mind the mysterious things that have happened since his arrival. Would God really drink water before a thirsty child?





Land





LeFleur’s heart was pounding. Keeping his back toward Rom, he pulled the plastic bag fully from the pouch. The notebook’s front cover was torn in half, and its back cardboard was decayed from salt water that had leaked inside. Was it some kind of log? Or maybe a diary that explained what had happened to the Galaxy? Either way, LeFleur thought, he could be holding something of international significance.

And no one knew it existed.

The proper protocol was to replace the bag immediately and call in higher authorities. Pass it up. Step out of the way. LeFleur knew this.

But he also knew the moment he called his bosses, he would be excluded from the process. And something about the raft was gripping him. It was easily the most compelling thing that had ever happened on this job. Montserrat was nearly crime-free. LeFleur spent many of his days in stifling boredom, trying not to think of how his life had come unraveled over the last four years, how his marriage had changed, how everything had changed.

He blinked hard. Today was Sunday. His boss was off. No one knew he was out here. He could take a peek inside this notebook, put it back, and who would know the difference?

LeFleur glanced at Rom, who was facing the other way, studying the cliffs, then slid the bag into the waistband of his pants and covered it with his shirt. He rose and walked down the beach, yelling over his shoulder, “Stay there, Rom! I’m going to check for any other debris.”

Rom nodded.

A few minutes later, LeFleur was alone in a cove. He kneeled down, putting weight on his knees, and removed the bag from his waistband. Then he slowly peeled it open, even as the rational voice inside him said, You shouldn’t be doing this.



News

ANCHOR: Memorial services are being held today for billionaire investor Jason Lambert, who disappeared along with more than forty others when his luxury yacht, the Galaxy, sank in the Atlantic Ocean last month. Our Tyler Brewer has more from the site of today’s services.

REPORTER: That’s right, Jim. The US Coast Guard officially declared the Galaxy lost at sea following twenty-six days of exhaustive search and rescue attempts. It is believed that the yacht blew apart after some kind of explosion or impact. The cause remains unknown.