My Writing
Neverisland
After three days the glare of the sun started to sting at their eyes, the unrelenting heat beating down on them was drying out and burning their skin. Food and water were already starting to run low, not that the nausea caused by the rocking left much room for hunger in their bellies. So far it had all been relatively calm, and Marcy hoped that they would not encounter a storm before they reached land.
The fire that had raged still burned bright in her eyes even three days later. She had no idea how the blaze had started, having been asleep in a cabin below with the two boys. The smoke had choked them all awake, Evan crying even before Marcy could get her bearings. Men were running feverish as ants throughout the many halls of the ship as she made her way to the deck, Wyatt and Evan held close so as not to loose them. Wooden barrels and chairs, anything that would float, were being thrown overboard and the two lifeboats were already being lowered. Marcy signaled to a man lowering one of the boats and he stopped it just long enough for her and the two boys to join the one man already on board.
The little boat was lowered into the choppy water and cut free of the ship, and Marcy could already see that there was no hope left for it, the fire already tearing through its wooden hull and engulfing the mast and sails. There was a powerful explosion as the fire reached the store of gunpowder stowed at the bottom of the ship, the hull ripping open from the bottom up as if nothing more than paper, sending a wall of water into the night air. No one else made it off the ship alive.
For the next three days they drifted, not having any navigational instruments on board the little boat; Marcy, Wyatt, Evan, and Bower, the one crewman who had managed to escape the blaze unscathed. There was nothing to do but drift and pray, hoping that God would steer their wayward craft in the right direction. No one talked. Evan, only ten, and Marcy occasionally cried, while Wyatt, now twelve, and Bower stared silently at the never-ending expanse of rippling water.
The crewmen had been arrogant about their own mortality and had not properly supplied the little boat with adequate provisions. The foodstuff consisted of mainly a package of dried strips of meat, heavily salted, and a few bars of chocolate, and the few containers of water they did have were emptying quickly, thanks in large part to the salted meat. But also because Bower felt that he was entitled to larger portions than Marcy and the boys, for he was so much larger than they and needed more nourishment. He would not listen to reason, so she decided to take some preventative measures, to knock some sense into him before they all died of hunger and thirst.
Bower didn’t see the oar slicing through the air until the last second, no time to react; and Marcy didn’t see the sharks darting through the water beneath their boat until it was too late, no time to pull Bower back on board.
The moment she realized what was going to happen, Marcy had both boys cover their ears and pressed their faces against her chest, wrapping her arms around their heads to ensure they would not see or hear anything. She could feel Wyatt squirming slightly, trying to get a look at the source of the piercing cries, but she held him firm. Evan was shaking, shivering as if terribly cold, and she held him ever firmly, too.
When the last of the ripples faded into the rhythmic waves, Marcy finally released the boys. Wyatt immediately craned his neck in hopes of getting a glimpse at the carnage, but all that remained was a slight discoloring of the water. He slunk back down, a slight frown creasing his face. Evan, however, was staring most reproachfully into Marcy’s eyes, water brimming around the corners. “Why?”
“I had to,” she said softly, not trusting her own voice, “he would have killed us all. It is better that one should die so that more can live.”
Marcy never heard him speak again.