We stopped paddling to look. There, in the coming sunlight, clinging to a deck chair, was a little girl, maybe eight years old. She wore a red dress, and her light brown hair was soaked against her head. Her eyes were open, but her expression was blank, as if she were waiting calmly for something to begin. I imagine she was in shock.
“Hey! Are you all right?” we yelled. “Hey!”
Then splash! Geri was in the water. She swam until she reached the deck chair, then swam back with the girl’s arms around her neck.
That’s how we discovered Alice.
Who has not said a word since.
When the sun set and the sky turned an amber shade, Geri rose and made an announcement. “Look, everybody. I know what happened to Mrs. Laghari is awful. But we gotta regroup. We need to focus to survive.”
I looked at the Lord. I did not tell anyone about his hand going in the water, or that strange look he gave me. Am I imagining things? Was he in some way responsible for that attack? What kind of God would do that?
Jean Philippe collected what was left of our supplies. We’d lost the binoculars, the sunglasses, and, worst of all, some of the food. The sea anchors are gone. The sharks cut a hole in the lower tubing, so the raft tilts downward and water splashes in repeatedly. One of us must constantly bail it out. Geri is trying to figure how to patch the hole closed, but it may mean going beneath the boat, and nobody wants to do that after what just happened.
“From now on, if those sharks get close, we’ve got to use these,” Geri said, holding up one of the paddles. “You bang them on the snout. Hard.”
“Won’t that make them mad?” Yannis asked.
“Sharks don’t get mad. They only attack when they smell or sense—”
“Stop this! Stop it!” Nina yelled. “We have to say something about Mrs. Laghari! We can’t talk about what happens next without saying goodbye to her! What’s the matter with us?”
Everyone went quiet. The truth is, none of us knew Mrs. Laghari well. We don’t know anyone well. I was aware from our conversations on the Galaxy that she had come from India and had two children and that her work involved cosmetics.
“I liked her,” I finally said, for no particular reason. Then the others said they liked her, too. Yannis imitated her accent, and a few of us chuckled. It didn’t seem right, laughing, but it felt better than weeping. Maybe laughter after someone dies is the way we tell ourselves that they are still alive in some way. Or that we are.
“Tell us that she’s someplace better,” Nina pleaded, looking at the stranger.
“She is,” he said.
Geri scratched her hair. She glanced at Nevin, whose head was bobbing up and down, like someone fighting sleep.
“Nevin? You want to add anything?”
Nevin blinked hard. “What? … Oh … yes … She was lovely.” He sighed and rubbed his wounded thigh. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m not much use.”
Nevin’s injuries have grown concerning. His ankle is bent at a horrific angle, the result of tripping over a locker on the Galaxy deck. The wound on his thigh, which he slashed open on that locker, is bad and not closing. Over the days, it’s turned dark red, and we have noticed a foul odor. Geri believes there may be a small piece of metal lodged inside, causing an infection. If so, there is nothing we can do. Not about him. Not about Mrs. Laghari. Not about Bernadette. There is nothing we can do about any of this, I fear, except pray and wait to die.
News
ANCHOR: Tonight, Tyler Brewer continues his series on the victims lost at sea in the mysterious sinking of the Galaxy. In his tenth installment, he profiles a British media executive who changed the face of television.
REPORTER: Thank you, Jim. You might not know the name Nevin Campbell if you’re American, but in Great Britain there is hardly a popular TV program that doesn’t bear his mark. He rose from the ranks of the BBC to start his own streaming service, Meteor, which now has more British subscribers than any other.
Nevin Campbell took chances in the early days of Meteor, borrowing money to finance expensive productions like The Hill, Cleopatra, and Do You Know Sherlock Holmes? At one point, he had a triple mortgage on his home and rode a bicycle around London because he couldn’t afford a car. But the shows he gambled on turned into blockbusters, and Campbell became one of the most successful media figures in Great Britain.
The Times of London, just before his untimely death, called Campbell “a kingmaker worthy of Hollywood’s biggest moguls. If he blesses your production, you will likely make a fortune. If he chooses you for the cast, you’ll become a star.”