I stayed on the hull, my legs around the motor, holding Marquis, praying that he was alive. Will grabbed Corey and held on to him in the crashing waves, about five feet from the boat. They got near the stern, and I reached and grasped Corey’s life jacket with my right hand. He was kind of sagging now, not holding on to anything. I tried to prop Marquis’s head up with my left hand, doing what I could to wipe the foam off his mouth. “They’re going to be here soon,” I told Marquis again. “They’re already looking for us. It’s a matter of time.”
Will returned to the boat and helped me take hold of Corey. “Don’t let go of him,” I said.
Corey tugged at me, trying to pull himself up. I said, “Corey, stop, you’re hurting me.” He was choking me, grabbing my life jacket. My neck felt like it had rug burn. Corey kept yanking and jerking, trying to hoist himself up, a 265-pound man having a delirious temper tantrum. He probably did that twenty times.
“The sun is going to come up soon,” I said, trying to calm him. “It’ll be daylight. They’ll see us.”
I asked Will to check Marquis’s pulse again.
He put his finger on his neck. He leaned in to listen.
“I don’t know,” Will said. “I can’t find it.”
I tried to stay positive, even though I feared the inevitable.
“He’s alive, he’s fine,” I said.
My right hand was burning now, holding on to Corey. He began flinging himself again, squatting against the boat and trying to jump away. Over and over. I was getting jolted. A couple of times Corey pulled on Will’s jacket, or whatever he could get ahold of. Then he would grab my jacket.
Will would let go of Corey and try to stay out of reach for a few moments so Corey couldn’t tug or choke him. Meanwhile, I kept holding Corey, while keeping Marquis balanced in my lap. I asked Will a couple times, “You all right?”
His answer was short, serious.
“Yeah, yeah,” he would say.
“Good,” I told him once, “because I can’t do this without you.”
Not only had we taken care of ourselves, but now two of us were helping four people. I got to the point where I felt like I couldn’t hold on to both Marquis and Corey for another second. Marquis was completely inert, and I didn’t think I could keep holding a 215-pound guy, using one arm and one leg, while I also restrained an even heavier man who was trying to pogo-stick himself away from me.
Every muscle I had was burning—my shoulders, upper back, lower back. The rug burn on my neck was getting bad. My hands were so pruned and battered. I still had my cotton gloves on, but at that point all but two or three fingers were torn from banging into the boat and the motor and trying to hold on to those two guys. Blood seeped through the gashes in my gloves. The motor had plenty of solid, hard edges. The sharp propeller was nearly in my face. I was sitting on the keel, and I kept trying to shift my weight because the ridge of the keel ran right up the crack of my ass. Both of my legs were uncomfortable. My right hip flexor was gone. I was cramping in my hip, my groin, my feet. I kept trying to move my toes. I was in so much frickin’ pain. I was pumping my chest, shrugging my shoulders, squeezing my abs. I kept telling Will to do the same thing. Whether he did or not, I don’t know.
I think it was close to six now. Marquis had been unconscious for a while. Corey was thrashing. I kept telling him, “They’ll be here in ten minutes.” I said anything to try to calm him down.
Corey and Will continued their sad tug of war. Corey would pull Will into the water, and Will would let go of him to get free for a second. Then they would just float behind the boat. Will held Corey with his left hand and tried to hold on to the motor or some other part of the boat with his right hand. Corey pulled on the cushion Will had on his back. He yanked on Will’s arm. Quite a few times, Will floated for what seemed like ten minutes, holding on to the boat, but completely in the water, the cushion still on his back.
I kept looking at the watch I had taken from Corey and saying to him, “The sun’s coming up—they’re on the way!”
Marquis remained limp. I didn’t know if he was alive or not. Corey was the opposite of Marquis. Marquis’s fights had been longer and more frequent, but they died down. Corey’s were more sporadic at first, but as it got closer to dawn, they got more frequent, stronger, and more consistent, with more swearing, more meanness.
He wouldn’t say more than a few words, like “Come here, bitch!” There was a terrible look in his eyes. They seemed completely bloodshot and real wide. He would let out loud grunts.
“They’re going to be here real soon,” I said to Corey, and I would tell Marquis, “Coop, hold on a little longer, just a little longer—we’ll be home soon.”
It was not yet light. Marquis was just laying across me, not moving. Will checked him a third time. He shook his head. He couldn’t find a pulse.
“I don’t know man,” Will said. “I don’t think he’s here. I think he’s gone.”
I held on to Corey and tapped Marquis’s face, trying to wake him. Corey ripped at me or Will or Marquis. A couple times he got away from me, and Will held on to him. Or I pushed him off of me and then grabbed him again quickly because he was choking me. The strap burn on my neck from my life jacket was getting worse. Corey was really jerking at Marquis now, and I had to squeeze Marquis tighter to keep him on the boat. I was terrified. Waves were still smashing in. Now I thought it might be drizzling. It was hard to tell, because it felt like that all the time.
Facing away from the boat, I continued to ask Will whether the bow was still up and out of the water. Sometimes he said it looked the same; sometimes he said it didn’t look good.
About now, we knew that Marquis had probably died. I was pumping his chest a little harder than before. I put my mouth to his mouth, but the waves were so rough I couldn’t give him CPR effectively. Will couldn’t do it, either. We were trying to hold Corey at the same time, and it was too much. My hope was that Marquis was still alive. They’ll get here, they’ll take him first, then come back for Corey and worry about us later, I said to myself. I guess I was in denial. I couldn’t let myself believe the worst.
The waves were probably nine or ten feet high, coming from every angle. It was choppy, a bad storm. I was freezing. My orange jacket had a drawstring and I tried to pull it tight to my body. But a wave would come from the backside and shoot right up my jacket, from the top of my butt to the top of my neck. It felt like the first time we went into the water, like needles. I would shout, “Oh my God!” with my teeth clinched.
Will checked Marquis again and said, “Dude, I think he’s gone.” I didn’t want to answer, because I didn’t want to believe it.
Marquis had been unconscious for what seemed like more than an hour. Now it was after six. We were waiting. We knew we had a better chance of being found in daylight.
I told Corey what I had said before: “Hold on, they’re going to be here soon.” And to Marquis: “Please God, stay with us, Coop.”
Corey was jumping again, hurtling from the boat like he was starting a backstroke race in a pool. He kept pulling me, and my endurance was shot.
I told Will about Corey, “You better hold on to him—I can’t.”
Now Corey began catapulting away from the boat at a forty-five-degree angle. Will would have needed another three feet on his arm to hold on—he was already waist-high out of the water now, still trying to keep Marquis’s listless head up with one hand. I didn’t want to believe it, but Will was right. Marquis was gone. We couldn’t get a pulse. There had been no sign of life for more than an hour. He was gone. He was dead.
It was about six fifteen. Corey was either at full throttle or nothing—just floating in the water or fighting and ripping at my life jacket. He was out of Will’s reach, so it was up to me to hold on to him. I thought that if Corey’s life jacket ever came off, we would lose him, too.
Will and I kept trying to calm Corey down.
The helicopter’s gone to refuel, I told him. They would come b
ack when it was light out. I kept telling Marquis to hang on a little longer, just a little longer, but these were just words, as empty and lifeless as he was.
Why, God? I kept thinking. Everything said by everybody seemed to have the word God in it as that first night went on. Corey and Marquis were more religious than me, but we all said the same thing: “I don’t get it, God. Why me? Please, God!”
I had never gotten emotional until now. There was too much going on. I was scared for my life. But now I knew I couldn’t hold on to both Marquis and Corey anymore. Every ounce of muscle in my body was shot.
“I don’t know what to do,” I told Will. “I’m going to have to let go of one of them. Otherwise I’ll lose both of them.”
We decided to take Marquis’s life jacket off because Will was still wearing the seat cushion. He took it off his back and it floated away in seconds.
“Oh shit,” Will said.
He quickly put on Marquis’s life jacket while I held on to Corey, who was still being rough. He got hold of Will again, and Will went into the water. “No, no!” I yelled.
Corey was making grunting sounds, almost like he wanted to wrestle. He would grab Will and try to pull him under. He kept yanking on Marquis, and Marquis’s head kept slipping down, his head falling to my waist. His legs were now completely in the water.
“Stop, stop!” I yelled at Corey. “They’ll be here soon!”
I said to Will again, “I can’t hold both of them.”
Will tried to keep one hand on Corey, but it was hard. Corey would grab him and try to pull himself forward. Then Will would have to let go of Marquis and hold the motor with one hand to fend off Corey.
Will and I went back and forth.
“I don’t know what to do,” I kept saying.
I had to make a decision. It was just a matter of time before I would lose my grip on Corey and he would break free.
“You’re going to have to let Marquis go,” Will said.
“There’s no way,” I said.
“You’re gonna have let him go.”
I struggled with it, but I knew Will was right. I had already lost Marquis. I knew he was dead. Corey was still alive.
Will said again, “You gotta let him go.”
Corey pulled Marquis by the legs with both hands. Now Marquis’s whole lower half was in the water, his body getting slammed by ten-foot choppy waves as Corey tried to thrust himself off the boat.
“I don’t know, man,” I said to Will. “I don’t know.”
And then I told Marquis, “I love you, Coop. I’ll see you again someday. I’ll protect your family.”
I let Marquis slide slowly into the water. I told him that I loved him another five or six times. I held on to his wrist with my left hand while holding Corey with my right. Ninety-nine percent of him was in the water now; he was facing the front of the boat, very limp. I felt his body. It was cold and hard.
I kept telling Marquis that I loved him. Then I let him go. It was by far the hardest thing I ever had to do. I watched his body slowly fall away. His head kind of floated in the water, down and off to the side. I watched him a few seconds as his body slowly sank. I shook my head and kept telling him that I loved him. His body was at a slight angle. He drifted away, and within a few seconds I didn’t see him anymore. My face hurt and my eyes burned as I tried to hold back the tears.
WILL DIDN’T SAY anything as Marquis floated away. Then Corey started fighting again. Even though I no longer held Marquis, I couldn’t get both my arms around Corey, not with the motor in the way.
It wasn’t more than a few minutes later when Corey began trying to take off his life jacket. He seemed confused. He would try to lift it up and pull it over his head. Will would reach over and yank it back down.
Then Corey tried to jump away from the boat probably four times in ten seconds. Not straight back, but at a forty-five-degree angle—he would bend his legs and catapult himself. I called to Will, “I’m going to lose him!”
Corey positioned himself near the motor and somehow he stood up, grabbed on to me, and pulled himself up. He looked right into my eyes and said, “Fuck you—I’m a kill you!” He said it again. His eyes were wild.
That wasn’t Corey. I knew it. I didn’t take it personally. A second later, he jumped to my left across the motor as I straddled it. My right arm cut across the propeller. I felt a sharp pain near my wrist, and my immediate reaction was to yank my hand backward. I lost him. I didn’t mean to, but I lost Corey.
I screamed, “Will, grab him!”
Will jumped from the stern into the water and tried to grab Corey, but he was getting away, and Will couldn’t risk straying too far from the boat in rough water. Corey got away a final time, gripped his life jacket, and jerked it over his head. It remained attached for a moment by the lower strap, but then Corey ripped the jacket over his head and let go of it.
“Corey, Corey!” we screamed. At this point, he was probably ten feet away from the boat. It was almost like he did a swan dive. His arms didn’t come out of the water, but his head went down and he did a front roll; his sneakers went straight into the air. He seemed to be ninety degrees vertical. He kicked straight down until we couldn’t see him anymore.
I screamed, “Corey, no, no, no, please!”
I yelled so loud and my mouth was so dry it felt like I was shredding my throat.
Will was screaming, too, “No, no, oh God, no!”
In a few seconds, we couldn’t see Corey anymore. He went under and never resurfaced. For a second, I saw his sneakers, and then I didn’t. Then I saw them again. Finally, they were gone for good.
“Why, God, why?!” I screamed.
About fifteen minutes after we let go of Marquis, we had lost Corey. We were stunned. They were such calm, cool guys. And then they had become someone else, something else, and now they were gone.
It was getting lighter out, about six thirty or six forty-five.
Over the next few hours, Will and I would ask each other, “Why would he do that? Why?”
At 6:38 on this Sunday morning, the Coast Guard suggested that relatives be told to check their missing boaters’ credit cards to see if they had been used in recent hours. It was also suggested that a search be made closer to shore. “Being that these guys are inexperienced, don’t look just at fifty miles offshore,” a Coast Guard dispatch said. “There might be a possibility that they wisened [sic] up and stayed close to shore. At least within visual of land. Find out their departure point. Park? Marina? Home? How much fuel onboard? It might be worth considering getting the story out to media earlier than later—more people on the lookout both on land and water.”
Just after sunrise, at 7:09, the first Jayhawk helicopter was launched. It reached the search area at 7:45. At 7:10, the forty-seven-foot motor lifeboat arrived at the GPS coordinates provided by Marquis Cooper’s friend from a handheld device. Seas were now running eight to ten feet, with some rising to twelve feet. The wind was blowing thirty miles an hour. Visibility was half a mile.
“That’s an E-ticket ride at Disney World,” said Captain Timothy Close, commander of the St. Petersburg Coast Guard station, explaining how rough a trip the motor lifeboat experienced.
The initial search by the boat brought no luck in the battering seas.
“They were looking out the window and a good percentage of the time they were just looking at water moving past them,” Captain Close said of the motor lifeboat. “When they got back, the boat was okay, but the crew was shot. They were in the bag. We had to send them home, probably with a couple Nuprin and an ice pack or two.”
By 9:24 in the morning, a second C-130 turboprop had still not been launched, apparently delayed by the weather. “Our command is very unhappy with the response time,” said a dispatch from an impatient Coast Guard official.
The initial three-hour helicopter search for the missing boat and boaters also proved futile.
It was dawn now on March 1, very overcast. There were only two of us
now. I sat on the hull, and Will was to my left, standing on the swim platform or a trim tab. I had lost two friends, NFL players, guys who seemed indestructible. If we were to have any hope for ourselves, it would come now with sunrise. In daylight, the searchers should have an easier time seeing us. We watched the waves form in the distance. They were consistent ten-footers, choppy. But at least we were able to see what was coming at us.
A white mist surrounded us, and it started to rain—it was pouring. But in a way that was okay. I turned my head up and opened my mouth to get some fresh water. I kept my mouth open thirty seconds at a time. I tasted salt and grittiness from my teeth. I felt like they were filing down from chattering all the time.
At this point, we had been in the water about fifteen hours. We had been awake more than a full day. I was starving and thirsty. My mouth was nasty, dry. I was nauseous. I felt my stomach. I felt thin already. I weighed 240, and was in great shape, but I could tell I was getting thinner. I had thrown up breakfast the day before when I got seasick. I couldn’t hold anything down after that. The last real meal I ate, Will’s mother’s pasta recipe, had been on Friday night, about thirty-six hours ago.
By eight in the morning we had been thrown off the boat a couple times. I was getting plowed. My body would go flying off, a complete 360. My legs would slam against the motor, and my back would pound against the hull.
Will and I decided to position ourselves on the hull. I straddled the motor, and he bear-hugged me from behind. It was like we were riding a Jet Ski, but there was nothing for him to hold on to but me. When we’d get thrown off, we’d climb back on and switch positions. The person in the front did 99 percent of the work, holding on to the motor and gripping with his feet. Soon I was in excruciating pain. A wave would come from behind and nail us and we would rocket forward, more than 450 pounds between us, and my balls would slam against the motor. They were the hardest hits I had taken, way harder than on a football field. It happened so many times, over and over. We would pound against the motor and I would feel a sharp pain in my crotch, then a nauseous feeling, like I wanted to vomit.
Not Without Hope Page 8