5

Drowning

In the morning, I’m more tired than when I went to bed. Nightmares can do that to you.

I check every window. There’s no sign of anyone. I go down to the shore. There are no boats. I go back and warm up another can of beans. You could get bored of beans.

Then I walk the island again, looking for a way to get off.

At last, at long last, I see a boat off in the distance. It’s a fisherman, checking his pots, by the look of it. I wave. I shout. I jump up and down and scream. But he never once looks my way. Never hears me, over the sound of his engine. And then he’s gone, damn it!

I keep walking, keep looking. And then I spot it! The kayak! It washed up back on the far side of the island! My luck’s turning, huh?

It’s wedged between some rocks. There’s a great gash down one side, but I can’t see any water inside, so I suppose it’s OK.

I drag it off the rocks. I check to see if there’s any more damage. A few bumps and bashes, but nothing too bad by the look of it. Now all I need is a paddle.

Before I go looking, I remember about the tide. So I haul the thing up onto the grass, well past the seaweed line. High tide line, that’s what it’s called. See, I’m not a complete twit.

I don’t know if the water level’s going up or down, mind you – how are you supposed to tell? But I’m not taking any risks. Not this time.

So where am I going to find a paddle? I go back to the slipway and look around. There’s a knackered old rowing boat. All rotten and full of holes. No way that’s going anywhere!

There’s a hut. I can’t get inside. Outside, round the back, I find an oar. One oar. It’s got a nasty-looking crack in it, and I know it’s meant for a rowing boat, but it’s my best bet.

I grab it and head for the kayak. I launch myself into the water and start paddling.

It’s useless. The oar’s too big, too heavy. I’m trying to swap sides every stroke, like you’re supposed to. But by the time I get the great lumbering thing back in, the tide’s spun me round.

The current’s pulling me out into deep water – which is what I wanted, I suppose. But there’s no way I can control it. And the kayak’s filling up with water, way faster than it did before. If I don’t do something quick, I’m in real trouble.

I let go of the stupid oar. It’s useless anyway. I try to paddle with my hands, back to shore. But the sea’s too strong. The boat’s too heavy. The current’s pulling me out, always out, into deeper and deeper water.

And the waves. They’re really bad on this side of the island. I suppose it’s not sheltered, like it was before. It’s the open sea here. The wide open ocean, with bigger winds, bigger waves…

There’s only one thing to do. I’ve no choice. I wriggle up, get my legs out, and tip myself over the side.

Deep down, under the water. Under the water, deep down.

And then I’m on the surface again, gasping for breath. Somehow the kayak’s still there, next to me. I grab hold of it, sucking in air. But blimey, the water’s freezing!

I edge round to the back of the kayak and kick out, trying to push the thing back to shore. If I hang onto it, I’ll stay afloat. If I get it back to the island I can try again. Find a better paddle…

But no. It’s not going to work. The current’s too strong – it’s taking us further and further out. The island’s slipping away. I don’t know if I can swim that far.

Again, I’ve no choice. I push off from the boat and start swimming. But the current’s crazy. With every pull I make back towards the island, I can feel the tide fighting me. Forcing me further from the shore.

It’s me against the full force of the sea. I fight it. I fight it. I swim. I swim.

After a while I’m not even sure where I am any more. What direction I’m going in, forward or back. I’m losing confidence. Losing strength.

But while I still have power in my arms, power in my legs, I keep going. There’s no alternative.

Well, there is one alternative. But I’m not going there. I’ve too much to live for…

My knee! I’ve just whacked it on some freaking great rock!

And then I realise, hey! That means I’ve made it to shore! I’ve done it!

I’m clean out of breath, though. I’ve swallowed a load of water, the gravel’s sliding away under me, and the waves are sucking me back in.

I slip and go under. I drag myself up. My knees rip on the stones. I thump into another rock. But I will not give up. I am the one and only Ben Hastings, and I will NEVER give up!

I haul myself up on the shore, retching, gasping for breath. I’ve lost the oar. I’ve lost the stupid kayak again. I’m half dead, three-quarters frozen. But at least I’m alive.