Only Michal was not floundering about, for she desperately clutched the back emergency exit handle, fiercely determined to not let go. Once again she was highlighted—by the bright beams of a Mercedes falling right behind the bus. But this time, she didn’t cower from the light; instead, she sought out its glow as if it were a lighthouse. And she were the lost one following the luminous flare to safety.
Endings
A Friday morning in May 2009
Captain Luis and his men stood like dumb statues, their limbs rigid with shock. Their minds refused to believe what was before their eyes, so they merely stared—mouths gaping at the sight of the broken roadway perched precariously above and the spot where the car, van, and bus had simply disappeared into the gulping, angry gulf below. Pleading with God that no others would dive from the precipice.
Another crash of thunder resounded. A flash of light followed, highlighting the surreal terror before them. It was enough to startle the captain into action—paralysis followed by a sudden burst of energy. “I’m going to send out the Mayday,” Luis called out to his men. As he turned to run back to the pilothouse, he frantically shouted the command, “Jaurez! Everyone! I want every light we have pointed in the same direction. Where the vehicles went in—flood the entire area with light.”
Jaurez needed to yell back as the pouring rain was still pounding out a loud, steady drumbeat. “But Cap’n—there’s no way any of them—”
“Just do it, Jaurez. Now. I want the area thoroughly searched.”
Jaurez shook his head at the senseless exercise, but who was he to argue with the captain? If Captain Luis was assuaging his conscience, then so be it. He set to work, directing his men to fetch stowed search lights and lanterns, flashlights. Anything they could think of to light the area where the doomed had plunged off the bridge to their certain deaths in the water below.
Meanwhile, Captain Luis ran into the pilothouse and grabbed his radio. In a voice filled with stark terror, he shouted into the mike, “Mayday. Mayday. Coast Guard, we have a Mayday. Coast Guard, we have a Mayday.”
“Vessel calling Mayday. This is the United States Coast Guard, St. Petersburg, Florida.” The operator’s calm, measured answer was in juxtaposition to the captain’s utter panic. “What is your position and the nature of your distress?”
“This is a Mayday. The Skyway Bridge is down. Get emergency vessels out to the bridge. This is an emergency. Stop the traffic on the Skyway Bridge. The bridge is down. I repeat, the bridge is down!” As Luis spoke the horrendous truth of the accident, his voice broke. “We’ve got vehicles in the water. We’ll have more if the bridge traffic isn’t stopped immediately. We’re searching the water for survivors, but we’re disabled. Send vessels to assist.”
Overhead, miraculously, traffic had stopped. An alert driver noticed something was wrong, that the traffic ahead of him seemed to disappear. So he’d skidded to a stop on the slick pavement, accidentally—but fortunately—straddling and blocking both lanes of traffic. Managing to bring his large truck to a complete halt just a few feet before the pavement simply ended.
Those directly behind the truck braked quickly enough to keep from crashing into him, but several other vehicles behind them were unable to do so, causing a chain reaction. Though the drivers were angry about the damage to their vehicles and the delay, they had no idea of the tragedy they’d been spared.
Ignorant of this miracle above, Jaurez and his men repeatedly glanced up at the gaping hole. Solemnly crossing themselves, they prayed no more vehicles would plunge into the depths and turned their full attention toward those already in the water. Obediently following Captain Luis’s command, despite their conviction of its futility.
Finally, the weather began to calm, nature’s tantrum abating. The rain slowed to a drizzle, more annoying than dangerous. Despite the continued heavy cloud cover, the crew was encouraged to see more light in the east. The coming of dawn. Darkness had brought them destruction and death; they breathed a sigh of relief to see it diminish.
Morales, a seasoned member of the crew, leaned forward, straining to see into the water. He gave Jaurez a puzzled look, shaking his head in wonder. “It’s not possible …” he mumbled.
“What? What’s that?” Jaurez threw back at him, irritated.
“Did you hear—?”
A faint cry, carried on the sea breeze. Heartrending and plaintive.
“Mommy!”
Jaurez jerked forward, extending his body toward the source of the sound. Called out over his shoulder, “Morales, did you hear that?”
A look of amazement moved over Morales’s features. His mouth dropped open. “I heard it. It can’t be—but it sounds like a child.”
“Stay right where you are, Morales,” Jaurez instructed. He was pumping adrenaline now, every fiber in his being intent on finding survivors. Clicking into emergency drill procedure, he barked out, “Don’t move your eyes from that spot—not even for a moment. Everyone—direct all the lights where the cry seems to be coming from. Where Morales is pointing. Anyone—John. Grab the life ring.”
Morales kept his eyes peeled, while John hurriedly brought the ring to Jaurez. The two of them checked the strength of the rope’s knot on the ring, tying the other end to a secure post on the Wilder Wanderer. “Is there anything—can you actually see anyone out there, Morales?”
“Mommy!” The mournful sound floated to them again, like a ghost gliding across the waves.
“Good Lord above,” Morales whispered, his voice choking with awe. “There. Over there.” Pointing, shouting, and nearly losing his balance in his excitement. “I see two—there’s two—no, I’m countin’ three heads bobbin’ in the water. Gimme the life ring. Gimme the ring!”
Jaurez mechanically handed the ring to him, his gaze focused on the jutting waves. Squinting, he asked, “Where? I can’t see a blamed thing out there but water. Morales, there’s no way that … God in heaven,” he suddenly muttered, crossing himself again. “If they’re not ghosts, then they’re angels sent by God. Get that life ring to ’em, Morales. Them poor souls. We gotta get ’em outta there, now.”
Regretfully, he tore his eyes away from the bobbing heads, barking out, “Whatever you do, don’t let them outta your sight. I’ll be right back—going to tell the captain. Tell him to alert the Coast Guard—we’ve got survivors.” Before hurrying off, he grabbed Morales’s arm, stared intently into his eyes. “God be with your throw, man.”
All the crewmen stood with Morales along the bow, their eyes going back and forth from Morales to the survivors who appeared so small and fragile in the vast waters. Pointing, shouting advice and directives to the man entrusted with the all-important throw. Morales took a deep breath, then tossed the ring. Only to watch the wind catch it, pulling it far right.
“Get it upwind of them, Morales,” a crewman offered, his tone like a reverent prayer. “If they’s to have a chance, you’ve gotta get it just so.”
Hand over hand on the rope, Morales frantically pulled the ring back to him. For a moment, he clutched it in his hands, lifted his eyes to heaven—offering a prayer. He drew back muscled arms and heaved it out over the waves. Only this time, he’d turned the direction of his body, pivoting left. The ring appeared to be in slow motion as they all watched it sail out and away from them. Miraculously, it landed a couple of feet upwind of the three. And they all watched breathlessly as a small hand reached out to grasp the ring, pulling it toward them.
They had it.
On deck, a raucous cheer went up. Jaurez and Captain Luis joined the jubilant crew, Luis shaking his head at the apparent miracle. “The Coast Guard’s on her way,” he said.
“Shouldn’t we launch the Wilder’s dinghy? Try to get to them?” Morales asked. “We can’t lose ’em now.” He didn’t take his eyes off the survivors, not even to acknowledge his captain’s presence.
&
nbsp; “There,” Captain Luis shouted, his extended arm pointing through the haze hovering over the water. A reverberating blast of a horn announced the arrival of the Coast Guard vessel, its bow coming into view from the opposite side of the bridge.
“This is the captain of the Coast Guard,” a voice called out through a loudspeaker. “We’re coming to get you. A crew is on its way now. Hold on.”
The crew quickly lowered the ship’s rescue boat and made their way toward the survivors. As they grew closer, they could hear a child’s voice, sobbing, nearly hysterical.
Finally pulling up next to them, they looked down to find two women and the child: a girl, her arms in a stranglehold around the neck of a woman with blood streaming from a gash on her forehead, and next to them, a younger woman. All three locked eyes onto the faces of their rescuers, blinking in shock, skin deathly white.
“Are you real?” the young woman asked.
“Ma’am, we’re from the Coast Guard. And I can assure you we’re quite real.”
The crew reached to pluck the child first, the woman she was clinging to eager to hand the little one up to the rescuers. Then they pulled the two women into the boat, giving special care to the one with the wound, and wrapped them all in heavy blankets.
The child scrambled away from her rescuer, flinging herself back onto the woman’s lap, desperate not to be separated from her. A kindly crew member wrapped a third blanket around them both, binding them together.
“What’s your name, little one?” he gently probed. “Can you tell us your name?”
Wet hair plastered to her small skull, lips blue and teeth chattering, she whispered, “Aubrey.”
He turned to the woman holding her with the same questioning look. One of the crew had already staunched the flow of blood; a bandage covered her wound. “And you are?”
“I’m Fran. Fran Thomason. My son. My husband. They’re still out there somewhere. You’ve got to—you are looking, aren’t you? Because they’re still out there, in that awful water. Please, you’ve got to find them.” She began sobbing, all the while hugging Aubrey to her. Needing to fill her empty arms. Charlie …
“Ma’am, I promise you. We will continue to search. And we will find any survivors. But just now we need to take care of you. Are you hurt anywhere else?” To Fran’s no he continued, “Are you sure there’s nothing else we need to attend to? On you or the child?” She shook her head again and closed her eyes. Grasping the little girl as tightly as the child grabbed onto her. He turned his attention to the other woman. “And you are?”
“Michal. Michal McHenry.”
The crew exchanged looks, a tacit agreement passing among them to wait, allow others to ask more questions later. When the survivors were carried and handed carefully up to others on the deck of the ship—the rescue crewmen shared the little they’d learned—the captain was eager to glean more information. News of the accident was now public, and he knew family and friends would be anxiously awaiting word of any survivors.
But first they needed emergency care, so Fran, Aubrey, and Michal were placed on stretchers—Fran and Aubrey sharing one, since no one cared to attempt separating the two—and carried to the ship’s medical quarters. Once they’d been thoroughly examined, the doctor rebandaged Fran’s head, the only wound of any significance in comparison to other minor scrapes and bruises. To the doctor’s complete astonishment, he found nothing of consequence on Aubrey and only deep bruises on Michal’s hands—nothing evidencing the disaster they’d just survived. Lastly, he started intravenous fluids for all three, though not without a pitiful cry from Aubrey at the prick of the needle. The doctor’s heart wrenched at the sound.
The ship’s personnel had already contended with Aubrey’s hysterical demands to not be separated from Fran during the time it took to get them into dry clothes, to complete their examinations, to begin their IVs. Not until she was allowed back on Fran’s lap did Aubrey begin to calm down, clutching Fran every bit as frantically as before. Finally, his ministrations to the two women complete and Aubrey’s cries reduced to an occasional hiccup, the doctor nodded toward his captain.
Kneeling down on one knee before them, Captain Howard removed his cap, revealing a downy ring of white hair. He had kindly light blue eyes and a friendly smile, both of which he used to great effect when needed. He asked Fran, “Mrs. Thomason, is it? And this is your daughter, Aubrey?”
“No. Actually, she’s—” Fran shook her head, and immediately winced at the sudden sharp pain from the gash on her forehead. One pain reminded her of the other, for Fran’s eyes filled with tears and she sobbed out, “She’s not my daughter. I honestly don’t know who she is … and I lost … have you found my husband? My son?” She looked from the captain to the doctor to the others in the room, eyes searching, questioning. “Please? You’ll keep looking?”
Softly, the captain answered, “Ma’am, we do have our crew continually on the watch for any other survivors. But we … we were amazed, really, to find you three. For the magnitude of the disaster …” He hung his head.
“So we’re the only survivors you’ve found?” Michal asked, incredulous.
“Yes,” Captain Howard said. “And quite honestly, your survival is nothing less than a miracle.”
Fran continued to weep, and the captain reached out to put a comforting hand on her shoulder.
Concerned about Fran’s reaction, the doctor intervened, cautioning, “Only a couple more questions at most, sir. I’m concerned she might have a concussion. And rather than do X-rays here, I think it best to wait and have them done ashore. At the hospital.”
The captain nodded in agreement. “Just one more thing.” Smiling, he peered into Aubrey’s face and reached out to run a hand gently down her head, over the tangled mass of curls. “You’re Aubrey, right?”
“Uh-huh.” Never taking wary eyes off him. Nor relaxing her hold on Fran in the slightest.
“What’s your last name, sweetheart? Do you know that?”
Insulted, she curtly replied, “’Course I do. It’s Roberts.”
Captain Howard replied in an “A-ha” tone. “So you’re Aubrey Roberts. Am I right?”
Aubrey nodded her head yes. After acknowledging her response with a complimentary “Good,” the captain glanced back over at the doctor, his mouth set in a grim line and a crease between his brows. “Hmm. The crew from the freighter indicated she was crying out, ‘Mommy.’” He scratched his head, fluffing the ring of white. “None of this adds up.”
“The angel tooked my mommy. And Rabbit,” Aubrey interjected, exasperated. “I cried—” Aubrey paused a moment, shaking the curls, “—the angel said it was okay to cry. But then he tooked me to her,” pointing a finger toward Fran’s chest. “’Cause she has Mommy’s eyes.” Aubrey snuggled against Fran, a look of self-satisfaction blanketing her features.
“Oh. Well, then.” Baffled, eyebrows raised and eyes wide, Captain Howard looked to Fran and then Michal for a plausible translation of Aubrey’s story. But the expressions on both their faces showed they were equally nonplussed. Fran, wiping at her nose with a tissue, shook her head again—recalling too late the consequence would be pain. “Ouch. I’m sorry, I don’t …” She put a hand to her head, gingerly feeling the bandage there. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what she’s talking about because frankly, I can’t remember anything.”
“Not unexpected with a concussion,” the doctor interjected.
And then nearly in complete unison, they all turned to Michal.
But Michal shook her head too, shrugging. “I remember hanging onto the latch of the escape door at the back of the bus.”
“That explains the bruises on your hands.”
“You were on that bus?” the captain asked, incredulously.
“Yes, in the very back. And I must’ve … must’ve gotten the door open, I guess? Hon
estly, like Fran, I also don’t remember anything after clutching onto that handle. It’s a total blank.”
The doctor signaled for the captain to wrap up the questioning, but before he could stand, Michal grabbed his arm. “My aunt. Would you please call my aunt? Sarah McHenry. She lives in Fort Myers, but I don’t know her phone number.”
“Don’t worry about a thing, miss. We’ll find out and contact her straight away. For all three of you, we’ll locate family and make those calls as soon as possible.”
Glancing toward Aubrey, he noted her eyes fluttering closed. Michal was also fighting sleep, and Fran looked as though she could drop off at any moment. Captain Howard knelt there, spellbound, simply watching them. Thinking to himself, These are miracles indeed. Two women and a small child. How on earth did they … how could they possibly …?
He waited to make sure his charges were resting comfortably. Listened for the soft sounds of sleep, and left them to the doctor’s care.
Several hours later, Fran woke. Allowing her gaze to wander, she realized she was in a hospital room. After taking in the metal cart at the foot of her bed and the IV still embedded in her arm, she turned to her left. A man and a teenage girl sat in chairs by the window.
The man glanced up, noted Fran had awakened, and instantly stood. “Colleen, go get the nurse, will you?” Fran watched her leave the room and then shifted her gaze back to the man—now standing next to her. “I’m Bill. And you’re Fran? You’re certainly due an explanation why I’m here in your room, first of all.” He gestured toward Aubrey, who was still sound asleep and cuddled next to Fran, her fists tightly clutching Fran’s gown. “Aubrey’s my daughter. And at this point, she clearly doesn’t intend to let go of you.” He smiled, revealing a devotion to the little girl and a boyish charm in his grin.
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