The Dystopian Diaries

by K. W. Callahan

  Soon it will be too dark to write more. Just as well. I don’t have much else to say. I just wish this whole ordeal was over with. I can’t believe how much things can change over the course of only two weeks. We went from happy newlyweds with great jobs and the world before us, to joyous, carefree cruisers with hardly a care and who were contemplating bringing a new life into this world, to stranded and abandoned cruise ship passengers, to THIS…trapped in a floating sauna that might soon become our sarcophagus.

  September 14th

  (Lifeboat – Day 3)

  7:37 a.m.

  I just finished notching off 13 lines on my hour-tally wall. It seemed to perk people up immeasurably…at least until the lifeboat’s engine died. Yep, it just pooped out.

  Hector, Jeremy, and Oswald are fiddling around at the control panel, but without being able to get to the propeller to do an inspection, they’re unable to do a whole lot more than wait, try starting the engine again, wait, try the engine again, and so on.

  Hector said that these boats weren’t made to be operated for such durations. In most instances, it was assumed that a lifeboat would be reached by rescue personnel after no longer than 24 hours at sea. And most of that time was expected to be running slowly or not operating the engine at all. He said he’s hoping that the engine just got hot and shut itself off as a safety precaution to keep it from doing greater internal damage or even catching fire.

  Now I’m left wondering how many tick marks I might have to ADD back onto my wall. That would be depressing as hell.

  Some of us have decided to head topside for some fresh air while it’s still relatively cool out. By “topside” I mean we’re going to climb out on top of the lifeboat. Wish us luck!

  10:56 a.m.

  We had to come back inside. The sun was killer out there on top of the boat. We didn’t want to get burned, and we realized that we were beginning to sweat out a lot of our precious moisture, not that things inside are much better.

  I’m reminded of the movie “Finding Nemo”, but instead of Dory singing, “Just keep swimming…just keep swimming…” my inner mantra is, “Just keep floating…just keep floating…”

  2:35 p.m.

  Jeremy and I just got done playing cards with Hector and Oswald. They seem like the two people doing the best to keep their heads up through all this. And they were the only ones willing to play cards. Everyone else is either too sluggish or depressed to want to play. Fine with me. I’m having a hard enough time just keeping my own head up. Even Jeremy, who is typically my soul savior, seems to be getting a little testy. I’m sure he’s probably thinking the same of me right now.

  Cards went well at first to kill some time and keep our minds off our situation. But the longer we played, the more frustrated the losers became, so after about an hour, I felt it best to call it quits and just try to take a nap…which didn’t work. That’s why I’m writing now. This is the best way for me to kill time and let some of my frustrations out.

  I wish people would realize that this sucks for EVERYONE, not just THEM. Half our boat acts as if this is only a shitty situation for them. I’m really starting to get fed up. Just trying to use the bathroom or plan out our meals leads to arguments. We argue about what to eat, in what quantities, and when. It seems like the littlest thing is setting people off. I think the dying of the engine really has people on edge. I know it does me. I mean, what if we never get it started again? I’ve heard stories of people being lost at sea for weeks or even MONTHS! I think I’d just fling myself overboard and let the sharks have at me. Or maybe I’d fling someone ELSE over the side. Or maybe they’d end up flinging ME overboard. Either way, the results might be worth the alternative of withering away in this floating coffin.

  I thought that being stuck on the cruise ship was bad, but this is far, far worse. It’s not even in the same ballpark as a matter of fact.

  6:48 p.m.

  This will be my last entry before nightfall and it becomes too dark to write. We have several flashlights, but it’s not worth wasting their batteries just for me to night-write. That’s okay. I don’t really want to write at night anyway, and I wouldn’t want the argument that would ensue among the other passengers even if I did.

  So as my last update for the evening, I have a bit of good news to report for once. At least I THINK it’s good news. As it cooled down, some of us climbed out onto the top of the lifeboat again. From there, we could see land, or at least what looks like land. Maybe it’s another ship. We aren’t sure. And we aren’t close enough to tell yet. But it’s definitely SOMETHING, and it appears stationary.

  I wish it wasn’t getting dark because I’d love to know what it is and see if we’re heading toward it or away from it. Maybe as it gets darker there will be lights on it so we can gauge its distance and our direction toward or away from it. Although as the sun sets, we’ve yet to see any lights. It’s hard to tell with the setting sun in front of us, though, so once again, it’s just a wait-and-see game.

  September 15th

  (Lifeboat – Day 4)

  8:15 a.m.

  We’re approaching land! We still haven’t had any luck getting the lifeboat motor going, but the current seems to be carrying us toward a small island. The place looks deserted, but we aren’t close enough yet to tell for sure. We should hopefully know more in about an hour or so.

  10:01 a.m.

  We’ve landed on the island. Our lifeboat drifted ashore about 20 minutes ago. Everyone is just kind of glad to be able to get out into some fresh air and stretch their legs.

  We’ve pulled the front of the lifeboat up to shore as best we could and tied it to a palm tree to keep it from drifting back out to sea. The boat is much larger than it felt from the inside.

  Now we’re going to do some exploring of the island.

  11:28 a.m.

  Most of us explored the island while Hector and Oswald stayed behind with Jeremy to work on the lifeboat. The plan was to have Oswald swim beneath it to check the propeller.

  There wasn’t much to see on the island. The spot is beautiful but pretty small. And it’s totally deserted.

  We didn’t find much of use other than some coconuts. Right now, I’m working with Richard. We’re using the small hatchet we found with the lifeboat supplies to try to cut into them, but the husks are very thick, and the ax is kind of dull, so we aren’t having much luck. Okay, my turn to take a few whacks again.

  1:13 p.m.

  We just finished lunch. We had a couple of the coconuts that we finally managed to hack open. Most of the milk spilled out while we worked to open them, but we got a little out of the last one. The meat inside was refreshing though.

  Most of us have also taken baths in the warm and amazingly clear sea water surrounding the island. It feels good to get rinsed off after being stuck inside that oven of a lifeboat for so long.

  Speaking of the lifeboat, Oswald found that some twine had become wound around the propeller. That’s what was keeping us from getting the engine restarted. Working with Hector and Jeremy, they took turns diving beneath the boat to untangle the propeller.

  Now that it’s free, all they have to do is try to restart the engine. They said that they would do it after they ate since they were all very hungry from their work. Personally, I think they’re just delaying it because they’re afraid it might not work. I don’t blame them in a way. I’m afraid too. If they can’t get the engine restarted, we might be stranded here indefinitely.

  2:47 p.m.

  Guess what?! The lifeboat’s engine is working again! The guys fixed it! I’m so proud of them, and thankful!

  We just had a group meeting regarding our next move. The first topic discussed was whether to stay on the island a bit longer or set back out to sea. Most people saw little reason to stay here longer. While it’s a beautiful place, it doesn’t offer much in the way of supplies. Plus, we’d just be delaying the inevitable.

  The next topic then became when to leave. While the lifeboat is operational a
gain, darkness will be settling relatively soon. There appears to be a reef toward one side of the island that we will have to navigate around. Doing so in the dark could prove problematic. It also looks like there is a rain squall headed our way. Therefore, after a group vote, we decided that we will shove off first thing tomorrow morning.

  6:03 p.m.

  We spent most of the afternoon swimming, trying to stay cool, walking the beach and exploring the rest of the island (not that there’s that much to explore), and collecting firewood. The island is apparently too small for habitation. It’s probably just an acre or two in size.

  Now we’re sitting around a bonfire we made with the driftwood we collected and eating our dinners. Dinner isn’t anything spectacular, just lifeboat biscuits and some granola bars we brought along from the cruise ship. We’re trying to limit ourselves to about eight ounces (half a bottle of water) with each meal, but it’s hard. Trying to chew these dry biscuits feels like munching on a mouthful of sand. You need you’re allotment of water just to choke down the doughy paste you eventually work the biscuit into. But we have little choice at this point, we have to eat. Still, water is going to run short if we don’t conserve.

  We managed to collect about a gallon from the rain squall that came through earlier this afternoon. We quickly dug a shallow pit in the sand when we saw the rain coming, laid down a tarp inside it, and collected as much rain water as we could. Then we boiled the water over our fire and did our best to carefully funnel the collected reserve into empty water bottles that we’ve saved. It’s not much for the group, but every little bit counts. We left our water collection contraption in place, just in case it rains again.

  There isn’t much conversation as we eat, that’s why I’m writing. People don’t pay my diary much attention anymore. At first it used to draw comments, questions, and the occasional odd stare, but now everyone knows it’s just what I do – my coping mechanism I guess you might call it.

  This island might actually be a nice place if we were here under different circumstances, but I think we’ve all had our fill of the Caribbean. While beautiful, even the most beautiful thing can be deadly. Even then, spirits have picked up noticeably among our small group after the fixing of the lifeboat engine. Still, I sense that tension remains thick among us. I think we all know we’re close to the last leg of this horrifically long journey, but that final leg is nothing to be scoffed at. We still have a long way to go, and we have no real idea of how long it will take us to get there or where “there” will finally be. But we have no real choice regarding the matter. We know what we have to do. We stay on the island and eventually starve or we head due west again. If we stay on course, we’re bound to hit the mainland sooner or later.

  God, these biscuits are terrible! I’m trying to nibble at mine, eating it slowly so I can swallow easier, but it’s just so bland and paste-like!

  September 16th

  (Lifeboat – Day 5)

  8:08 a.m.

  We’re back underway in the lifeboat. On the way out from the island, we encountered a bit of trouble. I mentioned the reef near one side of the island when I was writing yesterday. Well, we hit it. I guess we didn’t really “hit” hit it, we just kind of bumped and grinded our way overtop it. Still, it was some pretty rough bumping and grinding. It looks like it did some damage to the bottom of our lifeboat, having put a noticeable crack in the bottom. There is a little bit of ocean water seepage coming through, but it’s not much. We can mop it up with a couple rags we have aboard every few minutes and wring them out back into the sea. While it’s not a huge problem, it’s yet something else to deal with when it seems like we have no end to the list of issues we’re confronting on our arduous journey home.

  11:13 a.m.

  Well, we’re certainly on our way again. The island has disappeared behind us and we seemed to be moving at a decent clip. I’m going to start notching off the hours on the wall again starting at the eleven o’clock hour moving forward. It feels good to be back on track. I’m holding Jeremy’s hand as I write this. His hand feels good holding mine – comforting and safe.

  1:21 p.m.

  We’re back in our sauna again. It’s one thing I didn’t miss when we were on the island. The good thing is that we have a stiff breeze blowing in, and with the lifeboat door open, we at least get a little air circulation inside.

  It feels like we’ve been away from home for SO long. It has only been a little over two weeks, but it feels much longer. Being cut off from the news and other people like we are has been very difficult. I feel so in the dark. We just have no idea what’s going on outside our little realm – our tiny spot on earth.

  Have things returned to some sense of normalcy back home but we’ve just been forgotten about in the process? I have no idea. No one here does. I have to say, it’s frightening feeling like you’ve been forgotten by the rest of the world. You feel so small, so insignificant, so alone. It’s like we’re a small capsule floating in outer space, forgotten about by anyone and everyone and left alone to find our way back to safety.

  3:33 p.m.

  Bad news! The lifeboat’s engine has died again. We heard it making a weird noise about half an hour ago, then it started acting up, revving and slowing, revving and slowing, and then it stopped altogether. When it conked out, an audible groan from the passengers reverberated through our tiny capsule. We all figured the engine was in bad shape, yet I think we were praying it was just a bit of a coughing spell – maybe “some debris in the fuel line” as Oswald put it. But apparently it was something more.

  And now, here we are again, adrift at sea, at the whim of the wind and the waves. All we can do is pray that the current or the wind takes us in the right direction.

  I guess that this once again puts the kibosh on marking off my wall notches.

  4:24 p.m.

  Someone needs to go out and check the propeller just in case it’s fouled with rope or fishing line or whatever. Obviously, this is going to be much more difficult, not to mention dangerous, out in the open water. No one is jumping to volunteer for the job. We’ll have to tie a tether to the person (whoever it is) in order to ensure they don’t get separated from the lifeboat since there is no way to go back and retrieve them if they do.

  5:22 p.m.

  Oswald said that he would go out to check the propeller. We’re rigging up a line to tie around his waist to tether him to the boat before he goes. We told him to give the rope a good yank two times if he gets into trouble out there and needs us to help haul him back in using the line.

  5:58 p.m.

  Oswald is back. He said that there is indeed something wrapped around the propeller. He said it looks like a big plastic bag or something. He told us he needs a good knife to cut it free, so that’s what we’re getting him. He also said that he keeps getting tangled in the tether line when he tries to swim. Therefore, we’re adjusting its location, tying it around one of his ankles rather than his waist so it hopefully won’t be in his way as much.

  6:36 p.m.

  Well that was no good. Oswald is back. He hurt his hand badly. While he was cutting some of the plastic bag away from the propeller, the knife slipped and cut a pretty good gash into his left hand. I patched him up as best I could with the supplies in the small medical kit we have aboard.

  So now we have an injured Oswald and a propeller that still doesn’t work. Add to that, it’s getting dark out. Looks like it might be another fruitless night adrift at sea.

  Wait, Hector just said he would go out and try to dislodge the bag before darkness falls! Maybe it won’t be a wasted night after all.

  7:25 p.m.

  Jeremy, Oswald, Richard, and I are atop the lifeboat right now. Jeremy and Oswald are standing (which can be a difficult balancing act) to get a better view. Richard and I will stand next since we’re working in shifts.

  Why are we up here? And why are we standing? Well, the reason isn’t a good one.

  As I mentioned in my last entry, Hector was preparing
to swim out to try to dislodge the debris around the propeller. Barbara tied the tether to his ankle before he went out, and we reiterated that should he need our assistance in some way that he should tug twice on the line. We reinforced the fact that he shouldn’t just pull on the line but that he should try to tug hard so that we knew the difference between his regular movements around and below the lifeboat and an actual jerk on the tether. He told us that he understood and then set out to clear the obstruction.

  It was probably about 10 minutes later when we started to grow concerned. But we calmed our nerves by telling ourselves that cutting the obstacle free could take time since it was below the waterline. With Hector being forced to make dives beneath the boat, he was only allowed the time he could hold his breath with each dive to work. Therefore, likely more than half his time outside the lifeboat would be spent catching his breath and swimming rather than working.