by Bobby Akart
“Erin, he’s like a son to me. His father and I are like brothers.”
She smiled and patted Hank on the back. She glanced at the laminated nautical charts that were rolled out on the seat next to her. She’d been learning her way around while searching at the same time. Erin stood and leaned over the rail.
“Okay, Jessica. We’ll get started on this upper half of the bay, running an east-west search pattern. You start at the southern end near Whaleback Key. We’ll meet in the middle like before.”
“Roger!” Jessica shouted and gunned the engine as she swung around and headed toward the Boggies. Hank and Erin could hear her conversation with Peter over the marine radio.
“Thank you,” Hank said softly. His shoulders drooped, and the tension was released from his body. It was as if they could speak freely now that they were alone.
“Hey, there’s nothing to thank me for,” she responded, rubbing the top of his shoulders and his neck. “Why don’t you let me drive for a while? I’m no expert, but we’re going slow enough that I don’t think I can get us into trouble. Maybe a trained set of eyes might be able to scan the water better than I can?”
Hank squeezed her hand and relinquished the helm. He retrieved two bottles of water out of a tote bag and handed one to Erin. Refreshed, Hank took a deep breath and exhaled. He looked all around them and identified a point to their east for Erin to head towards. Once they crossed the bay, they’d make a sweeping U-turn and head back across toward the west. Each of the tiny stands of mangroves atop sand bars would get searched before moving on to the next one. It was a daunting, time-consuming task.
Erin got them started, and Hank began to scan the water, both of them realizing that any hope of finding Jimmy alive was diminishing with each passing hour.
Chapter Three
Sunday, November 10
Stump Pass at Derelict Key
Florida Bay
Under normal circumstances, Jimmy Free could swim several hundred yards in just minutes, whether above water or below the surface. When he dove into Stump Pass, a tiny opening of Florida Bay between Derelict Key and the island just to the north, his mind told him the quick swim would be an easy one.
Halfway across the pass, his body told him otherwise. Jimmy didn’t know if it was possible for the body to use up its adrenaline, but it apparently failed to produce enough to carry him the few hundred yards necessary to reach the next key.
He began to tire and suddenly found himself struggling, frantically treading water. Then he floated on his back to catch his breath and regain his strength, but his inability to concentrate resulted in his face frequently falling beneath the surface. The young man who was once capable of holding his breath underwater for more than ten minutes found himself choking for air after a few seconds.
Jimmy furiously began to tread water again, barely ten feet above a sandbar beneath his feet that would appear at low tide hours later. He rolled onto his back and gently kicked his legs to propel himself toward the next island.
Gaining confidence, he kicked a little harder after turning his head and shoulders to gauge his direction. He kept a steady pace over the next two hundred feet. That was when his head was bumped by something floating on top of the water. He quickly turned his body around to see what he’d encountered.
The beady eyes of two water snakes stared at him. In his exhausted, disoriented state, Jimmy panicked. He quickly turned and began swimming in the other direction. Had he been coherent and healthy, he would know that water snakes are nonvenomous in the Keys. The two solid-black salt marsh water snakes were simply foraging for tadpoles in the brackish water. However, his mind refused to allow him to apply logic to the startling confrontation.
Instead of swimming back toward Derelict Key, he took off into the middle of Florida Bay. Within a minute, fear fueled his adrenal glands, and he found the ability to swim again, albeit in the wrong direction. He looked back to see how much distance he’d put between himself and the snakes. He couldn’t see them or Derelict Key.
Once again, Jimmy floated on his back to regain his strength. He closed his eyes to force his body and mind to relax.
Focus, Jimmy. Focus.
He began to control his breathing. His mind blocked out the fear and the formidable task of survival. He allowed his mind to float away, imagining being lost at sea with land nowhere in sight. He was similarly situated because of the poor visibility caused by nuclear winter. Although he was near land to his immediate north and west, he couldn’t see it and had no way of gaining his bearings.
Jimmy began to tread water in an effort to determine where the sun was in the sky. He had no idea what time of day it was. From morning to night, the gray skies became lighter and then darker. It was impossible to determine if it was eight in the morning or five in the afternoon.
Whether it was exhaustion or the ingestion of saltwater or the dehydration, Jimmy was becoming incoherent. He was having trouble determining where he was and how he’d gotten there. He thought he’d been swimming against the current, back toward Key Largo. However, he became confused. Was he swimming in the direction the hurricane had traveled? Or was he going with the current to the closest stretch of sandbar?
He chose a course and began swimming again. He’d been in the water for what seemed like an hour, but it could’ve been two hours or twenty minutes. His mind refused to allow him any form of coherent, conscious thought.
He developed a pattern of swimming for ten minutes followed by treading water or simply floating on his back, giving his shoulders and legs a chance to rejuvenate or, at least, to find the stamina to start again.
His mind and body began to recover. He chastised himself for getting spooked by the harmless snakes. He continued swimming toward what he was certain to be east. The sky appeared to be a darker shade of gray than what was behind him. He stopped again, allowing his legs to drop beneath his body as he swung his arms to release the tension. He couldn’t see land, but he was certain he knew where it was.
“That way,” he muttered as he pointed toward the east. He was partly right. He continued to swim, hoping land would materialize on the horizon. He focused on keeping the lighter shade of sky behind him. His eyes felt scarred from the sea spray the night of the hurricane. He was unable to produce tears to wash them and to help correct the burning sensation.
His legs felt like lead, and his thigh muscles twitched and convulsed. Jimmy was beginning to lose the adrenaline rush, and doubt crept into his mind. The logical part of his brain, the frontal lobe that reasoned, screamed at him to keep going or he’d drown.
Jimmy began to frog-kick and used a breaststroke to propel his body ahead. The change of swimming technique seemed to rejuvenate him. He was making some progress, and then his heart leapt as mangroves appeared in the distance.
He ignored the small, gray-green waves that hit his face each time he thrust his arms outward and pushed the water to swim. He was doing his best to avoid ingesting it, but there was little he could do to keep it out of his eyes.
His muscles screamed in agony, but he continued. Jimmy knew there were many ways to die while stranded in the water. Hypothermia, especially in these atmospheric conditions, was one of them. The reduced temperatures had lowered the water temperature substantially. His core was reaching a temperature that was on the verge of being hypothermic.
Jimmy continued to swim, turning his head as another small wave rolled under his body. His mind began to wander to his parents. Were they worried about him? Were they looking for him? Did Peter make it to safety? If he did, why didn’t he bring a search party?
Jimmy had always been attuned to his surroundings, especially on the water. He could recall sounds and smells and tastes regarding the ocean so vividly that they became real even though he might be lying in bed at night. He was using this same application of sensory memory to force his mind to focus on his mother and father. He could smell and taste Phoebe’s cooking as if he were sitting alongside her at the kitchen
table. He could hear Sonny teaching him about the greenhouse or hydroponics or whatever wisdom a father found necessary to impart upon his son.
He tried not to think about the dire situation he was in. He tried to push out of his mind the requirement to tread water in order to stay alive. He forced himself to remember bright moments in his life with his parents as well as with his extended family, the Albrights.
He started with ordinary activities like fishing or scuba diving, but then he drilled down to the minutiae, every meaningless detail of diving at John Pennekamp Coral Reef State Park. He knew every square inch of those reefs. He recalled the ones he could reach without the aid of scuba gear. He thought about the girls he’d met at the inn, who begged him to take them diving.
This exercise kept him alert and reminded him of how great his life had been. It took his mind off his body and the pain it was enduring to keep him afloat. It took him out of Florida Bay for a moment to a more pleasant place where he wasn’t shivering or fearful of losing his life.
The intensity with which Jimmy wanted to see his parents became more than he could handle. Emotion swept over him, and he began to sob. His uncontrolled crying resulted in him taking deeper breaths coupled with more salt water.
Jimmy began to cough up phlegm and the salty fluids. His stomach seized. A massive grip squeezed his insides, forcing bile into his throat. This triggered nausea, and while he was trying to tread water, he began to vomit.
He retched over and over again until the bile once stored in his gallbladder found its way to his throat. Jimmy desperately wanted to crawl onto his hands and knees to let it all out. Empty the contents of his stomach and start over. However, he couldn’t.
Jimmy gargled with sea water to clear the nasty taste out of his mouth. He tried to produce saliva and swallowed. He discovered he didn’t have enough saliva to soothe his raw throat. He fought the pain and the nausea as he floated on his back. The exertion, salt water and stress were dehydrating him at a rapid rate now. He took a deep breath and slid beneath the surface of the water.
That was when he heard the low rumble of a boat motor in the distance.
Chapter Four
Sunday, November 10
Florida Bay
Hank focused his attention on the tiny island sitting equidistant between the Boggies and Derelict Key, which he identified on the nautical chart. The key was not identified on the charts, and by Hank’s estimation, it barely measured three hundred feet across. It was not the island itself that caught his eye. Something was bobbing in the water, up and down, yet remaining in the same location despite the gently rolling waves that would carry the debris closer to the island.
Hank pointed to the south after tapping Erin on the shoulder. “Slowly make your way toward that island. We can pick up the search again in a moment.”
Erin followed his instruction and turned the Hatteras to port. While she did, Hank picked up the handset to the marine radio and reached out to his sister-in-law.
“Jessica, do you copy?”
“Go ahead, Hank.”
“We’re working our way due west of Buttonwood Sound. Nothing so far.”
“Roger,” she replied.
Hank slowly pressed the transmit button. “Stand by.”
With his other hand, he pulled the binoculars back up to his face and focused on the bobbing debris near the small island of mangrove trees. He leaned forward as if those extra few inches would close the gap and allow him to get a better fix on the object that had grabbed his attention.
Hank’s voice became excited. “There, Erin! Do you see it? Just west of the island.”
“Okay, barely,” she replied as she brought her hand above her eyes to reduce the glare.
Hank fumbled with the charts and tried to get his bearings. He keyed the mic again. “Jessica! Twenty-five degrees, ten minutes, north longitude. Eighty degrees, twenty-nine minutes, west latitude. I’ve got something. Definitely a body!”
“I see it, Hank! A guy. He’s treading water!”
Erin immediately turned in that direction and gave the Hatteras full throttle, forcing the bow upward. From the flybridge, Hank was still able to keep his eyes affixed on the body.
Hank raised Jessica on the radio again. “Almost there. We have somebody in the water alive. West side of the island. Hurry!”
In the distance, the sound of the powerful outboard engines on the back of Jessica’s boat coming to life could be heard across the serene waters of Florida Bay. Hank glanced at the depth finder mounted on the helm of the flybridge, carefully monitoring their distance to the sandy bottom as they approached the small island. The draft on his Hatteras was about four feet, making it susceptible to dragging along a sand bar.
“He’s waving, Hank! He’s waving!”
Hank grabbed his binoculars and focused on the bobbing head. He saw the arm for a moment before it fell below the water’s surface along with the man’s head. For several seconds, the man’s arm from the elbow up was able to wave.
And then it disappeared.
Jimmy had slipped below the surface. He’d summoned every fiber of his being to help him stay alive. He’d heard the boat in the distance and tried to tread water to get its attention. He followed it in the distance as it traversed the bay, clearly searching for something.
His eyes betrayed him at first, partly due to the damage caused by the salt water and partly because of his dehydration. Jimmy thought it was a Coast Guard vessel. He suddenly wondered if the National Guard had enlisted the assistance of the Coast Guard to locate their escaped prisoner. Afraid of being captured and beaten again, he considered hiding under water to avoid detection. He glanced toward the small stand of mangroves that seemed to be a good place to hide, as well as hang on to until his body could recover.
Only, he didn’t have the strength to get there. Jimmy accepted his fate, assuming that he’d be caught and imprisoned. At least he’d be alive. He made his way closer to the trees until his feet were able to touch bottom. Standing on his toes, his head and upper shoulders protruded above the surface. He tried to shout, but his swollen throat betrayed him. He began waving, but as he did, he lost his balance and slipped underwater.
Jimmy inched closer to the mangroves, hoping to reach higher ground yet still be visible to the passing boat. He was able to get better footing and waved with both arms when he noticed the boat turning toward him. To his rear, he heard another boat approach rapidly from the other direction.
They’d seen him. He was going to be rescued. He began jumping up and down to elevate himself above the surface, waving his arms to grab their attention while suffering the stinging pain of trying to yell.
Up and down, bounding along the sandy surface, unknowingly moving away from the small mangrove-covered sandbar. And then, as is often the case in the ocean, the currents had created a trough along the sandy bottom that dropped off six feet or so. Jimmy lost his footing and immediately slid down the trough until he was more than ten feet underwater.
Jimmy felt something bump his legs. It was large, solid, cold. He frantically twisted his body to avoid the underwater creature. His heart raced, and his face seemed to tingle.
He felt the movement of the current that had created the trough in the sandy floor. It pulled at his legs, tugging him deeper below the water. The sea creature, a large fish of some kind, bumped into him again. Its skin was like rubbery sandpaper as it grazed his feet and ankles.
Jimmy opened his mouth, thinking if he screamed, the monster that circled him would leave him be. He tried and tried, but he had no breath left as he cried for help.
“Where’d he go?” asked Erin. She pulled back on the throttle and allowed the boat’s wake to push them slowly toward the island.
Hank scampered off the flybridge and raced onto the bow. He was holding the railing as he walked around the perimeter of the bow, looking into the water.
Jessica was less than a hundred yards away as she raced toward him. Hank turned toward her and rais
ed both hands in the air, urging her to slow down. It had been nearly a minute since they’d seen the man waving his arms high over his head. And then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone.
Chapter Five
Sunday, November 10
Florida Bay
Jimmy tried to hold his breath and fought death by not panicking underwater. He slowly turned in a circle, waving his arms, just below the sandy bottom before the drop-off, his arms churning the water over his head. He could see the surface and the large boat hovering nearby. It was moving closer to him. His efforts to swim upward weren’t working as if his feet were tied to anvils holding him down.
Soon, his body began to tire again. An argument raged in his mind as to what was the best course of action.
You gotta breathe or you’ll die!
I can’t breathe or I’ll die!
He had to make it. He twisted his torso to lay prone underwater. The other way wasn’t working. He closed his eyes and allowed his body to go limp. He imagined himself as bait on a hook, awaiting the big fish to carry him away. Or a dead body floating, waiting for the hand of God to snatch him up to Heaven.
Jimmy’s mind wandered, wondering how long he’d been underwater. Was he even conscious? Was this what it was like when a person died? He kept waiting for the soothing voice to tell him to go to the light. Instead, a shadow passed over him, covering him in darkness.
Hank jumped off the transom into the water while Jessica dove off the bow of her WET team boat to assist. They both swept their arms in wide arcs and furiously kicked their feet to force their bodies deeper below the surface, fighting the natural buoyancy of their oxygen-filled lungs.
Jessica arrived at Jimmy’s body first and immediately waved Hank off. A drowning person may appear docile when first discovered, but she knew from experience that they were prone to panicking when rescued. When a victim begins to flounder, they could easily knock their rescuer unconscious or prevent them from rising back to the surface.