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Isabel hit the water and sank into the warm Gulf Stream. It was pitch-black all around her, and the ocean was alive. Not alive with fish—alive like the ocean was a living creature itself. It churned and roiled and roared with bubbles and foam. It beat at her, pushing her and pulling her like a cat playing with the mouse it was about to eat.
Isabel fought her way back to the surface and gasped for air.
“Isabel!” her mother shrieked, her arms stretching out for her. But there was no way her mother could reach her. The boat was already so far away! Isabel panicked. How was it so far away already?
“We have to get the boat turned!” Isabel heard Luis cry. “If we don’t meet the waves head on, they’ll roll us over!”
“Dad!” Iván yelled.
Isabel spun in the water, and a wave slammed into her, filling her mouth and nose with salty water and sweeping her under again. The wave passed and she broke the surface, gagging and choking, but she was already
moving toward the place where she had seen Señor Castillo’s head before it went under.
Her hand struck something in the dark water, and Isabel recoiled until she realized it was Señor Castillo. The sea was tossing him around, but he wasn’t moving on his own, wasn’t fighting to get back out of the water. Isabel took in as much air as she could and dove down beneath an oncoming wave. She found Señor Castillo’s body in the dark, wrapped her arms around him, and kicked as hard as she could for the surface. The ocean fought her, sweeping her legs out from under her and spinning her all around, but Isabel kicked, kicked, kicked until her lungs were about to burst, and at last she exploded up into the cold air, gasping.
“There! There they are!” Iván cried.
Isabel couldn’t even think about searching for the boat. Her only focus was keeping Señor Castillo’s head above water while gasping for quick breaths before each wave crashed over them.
But the waves seemed to be diminishing. Still perilous, but not as high or fast. Isabel began to sense the sea’s rhythm, its soothing, rhythmic lullaby, making it easier to close her eyes, stop kicking, and cease fighting the water. She was utterly exhausted, so incredibly tired …
Then Iván appeared in the water with them, wrapping his arms around her as if they were back in their village, playing in the waves at the beach.
“Here! Here! They’re here!” Iván shouted. Their boat was now alongside them, and Isabel’s head bumped against its side as a wave surged over her. Hands pulled Señor Castillo from her, and soon they lifted her onto the boat’s edge. She splashed down into the half-meter of water inside the boat, away from the relentless waves, and collapsed into her mother’s arms.
“Rudi! Rudi! Oh, God,” Señora Castillo cried, clutching her husband’s hand. Señor Castillo lay unconscious on one of the benches, while Luis and Papi had him propped up. Isabel’s grandfather was working furiously to pump water from his stomach. Seawater bubbled from Señor Castillo’s mouth, and suddenly he lurched, coughing and gasping. Lito, Papi, and Luis helped him onto his side, and he expelled the rest of the seawater he had swallowed.
“Rudi—Rudi!” Señora Castillo said. She wrapped him in her arms and sobbed, and then everything was quiet and still, but for the gentle lapping of the sea against the side of the boat and the sloshing of water inside it.
The tanker had passed.
Amara stood at the back of the boat, keeping the rudder straight against the waves. But the engine was dead again. Like everything else, it had been swamped.
Señora Castillo reached for Isabel’s hand and squeezed it. “Thank you, Isabel.”
Isabel nodded, but it came out more like a shudder. She was freezing cold and soaked from head to toe, but at least she was back in her mother’s arms. Mami hugged her close and Isabel shivered.
“We need to get the water out of the bottom of the boat,” Papi said. It was strange to Isabel to hear her father talk about something so normal, so practical, when Señor Castillo had almost drowned and the boat had almost rolled over and sunk. But he was right.
“And get the engine running again,” Iván said.
“The water first,” Lito agreed, and together they gathered up bottles and jugs and began the tedious work of filling them and pouring the seawater back into the ocean. Isabel stayed buried in her mother’s arms, still exhausted, and no one made her get up.
“Where’s the box with the medicine in it?” Luis asked.
There weren’t too many places it could be in the small boat, and they quickly decided it must have fallen overboard in the confusion. Gone were their aspirin and bandages, and Señor Castillo was still dazed and weak.
It was bad, but if they got the boat bailed out and if they got the engine running and if they got back on track with the sun tomorrow and if they didn’t run into any more tankers, they could make it to the States without needing the medicine or matches.
If, if, if.
They bailed water the rest of the night, taking turns dozing in the uncomfortable, crowded little boat. Isabel didn’t even realize she’d fallen asleep until she jerked awake from a nightmare about a giant monster coming for her out of the dark sea. She cried out, looking this way and that, but there was nothing but blue-black water and gray skies tinged with the red of the sun all around them for miles and miles and miles. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths, trying to calm down.
The boat rocked again, and Amara struggled to keep the rudder steady. She had taken over as pilot while Señor Castillo recovered, but they still hadn’t gotten the motor running again. The Gulf Stream would carry them north, toward Florida, but they would need the engine to reach the shore.
Isabel’s mother leaned over the side of the boat and threw up into the sea. When she slid back down inside, she looked green. The boat was rocking so much now Isabel couldn’t sit on the bench without holding on. The waves were growing higher and higher.
“What is it?” Iván said sleepily. “Another tanker?”
“No. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning,” Lito said, looking up into the red-tinged clouds. “A storm is coming.”
