The Stranger in the Lifeboat

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Sea
My dear Annabelle. It’s been days since I last wrote you. A weakness has
taken hold of my body and my soul. I can barely lift pen to paper. So much
has happened, some of which I still cannot accept.
By our nineteenth day, hunger and thirst had completely overtaken us.
We’d eaten every part of the bird that was edible. Geri balled up some of the
flesh in an attempt at fishing. She fashioned a hook from a small wing bone
and dropped the line in the water. As exhausted as we were, we pulled
ourselves over to watch.
Then Yannis yelled, “Look!” In the distance, gray clouds were packed
together, with a funnel-shaped darkness dropping to the sea.
“Rain,” Geri rasped, her voice thin from dehydration. We perked up at the
idea of fresh water. But the wind began gusting wildly. The waves increased.
We rose and fell and rose and fell, the raft floor slapping with each new
bump.
“Grab on to something,” Yannis yelled. Geri, the Lord, and I hooked our
arms around the safety rope. Lambert ducked under the canopy, as did Nina,
Alice, and Jean Philippe. The raft bounced like an amusement park ride. We
had not been this tossed since the night the Galaxy sank. The skies darkened.
We rose sharply. I saw Geri staring over my shoulder. Her eyes widened.
“Hang on, Benji!” she yelled.
I spun in time to see a giant wave opening wide behind us, like the
yawning mouth of a water beast. We were sucked up into it and tilted to the
edge of flipping. Then an avalanche of white water crashed overhead, and I
gripped the rope for dear life. Through the bubbly rush I saw a body shoot
out from the canopy and wash over the side.
“Nina!” I heard Yannis yell. A second passed. Two. Three. We flattened
out. I heard Nina’s voice against the surf, screaming for help. Where was
she?