Finally

Part 26: Floating

The long drift.

It's been at least a week on this raft.

Three days of food and small sips of water.

Four days of nothing but the wind pushing us along the salty waves.

Our improvised sunshade has been wonderful.

Truly the best idea we've had.

The basin...not so much.

It broke the first time Cassian tried to use it and though I would have been angry if it happened to me...I laughed so hard when that shit fell right back into his pants.

He spent the rest of that day with his pants outside the boat in the water and a huge scowl on his red face.

But now—day 14 a drift- I don't find anything funny or amusing.

I find myself feeling heavier just simply laying on the cool raft bottom.

Cassian also seems lost an excessive weight.

I don't think he's moved in at least two or three hours.

His wounds look horrible. Black greenish spots speckle his skin where he was stung and bit. His head wound from the initial shipwreck is also dark and infected looking. I have nothing to cure him. I have no way to removing the infection.

The only thing I can do is pray someone finds us soon.

"Do...do you thi...think..." He quietly begins, his voice weak and cracking. "Do you think we're...we're...d...done?"

"No...I think we're close to finding someone. I think they're close by." Hope.

I guess all I can do for him is give him hope.

"N...nice...t...try..."

"We are. Just around the bend."

"O...Kay...Pocahontas..." Cracking up ever so slightly, he holds himself around the middle as his stomach must churn and flip- making him nauseous.

"Don't you dare throw up in here. Haha- I am not cleaning it."

"P...pussy." He chuckles just a tad once more and then squeezes his eyes tightly shut.

"Are you really gonna be sick?" I ask and he nods a few times before trying to sit up and lean over the edge of the raft. Crawling over to him, I help hold him up over the side as he becomes sick. He tosses what he barely has and it soon leaves him dry heaving in pain. Crawling to the bag, I grab a water bottle that is halfway full and hand it to him. "Small sips okay?"

Sitting back on his bottom, he does as suggested and I sit halfway between the middle and my original spot. The water bounces and tosses us gently from side to side and front and back as the afternoon sun scorches the exposed edges of the raft.

Why haven't we found a boat yet?

Why haven't we seen any plans?

Two weeks with nothing but open water and the occasional school of fish or dolphin.

"Wha...what do you th...ink they're...do...ing...now?" He asks tiredly.

"I don't know. Laughing...watching tv...working... better shit than this." I say morosely.

"Th...think they...they no...tice our silence?"

"Maybe...Or maybe they just think we're busy." That is the worst feeling ever.

To think that our friends and families won't reach out because they feel we're busy.

How long will they go before they try to get ahold of us?