The Boating Accident

Going In

Had Luis lost passengers before? This could not be good.

"Maybe he went down; I'll check the cabin," Justin said. Holding on as Bambino thrashed, he opened the hatch and peered in. "Yo, Hector?!" he called, securing the door behind him as the fierce wind fought to slam it. Justin disappeared down the ladder.

In a few minutes he popped back up.

"Is he there?!" Carley yelled.

"No answer and no sign of him." Justin looked stunned.

We all called, like Hector was a dog who hadn't come home for supper. "Hector?"

"He-ctor!"

"Heeector?"

"Hector, where are ya buddy?"

"You don't think he was thrown overboard?" Justin asked the question we all were thinking.

"Naw, no way," Dad said. "We would have seen him. I mean, he was sitting right there in the middle."

"Yeah, he's an experienced race reporter. I'm sure he knows how to avoid getting knocked overboard." Riley said.

"Then where the hell is he?!" Luis asked. Sweat covered his face and a puddle had formed on his T-shirt.

We scanned the water for any sign of Hector. Every lick of wave looked like a tan hat, every buoy a floating body. The slippery silver thing, whatever it was, had vanished.

Dad pulled Hector's backpack from under the reporter's shady perch. The binoculars were in it.

I could see guilt eating Luis like a shark and I'd bet he'd never dealt with this kind of carnage on a tour before. An accident and a missing passenger.

Luis worked the wobbling Bambino through the crowd and back to the scene of the accident. We shouted to nearby vessels and asked if anyone had seen him.

No one had. And they were busy with news that the race had been called off, so most of the boats started heading back to the bay. Royal Flush was nowhere in sight.

Luis called in Man Overboard on his radio while Carley and Justin hoisted a yellow and red flag.

We waited. A couple captains stuck around in the storm to help with the search. Nothing surfaced in the three hundred and sixty degrees of Black Abyss.

The sea was still rocking like a twerking diva, and I'd waiting as long as possible, but I had to go. "I'm going down to use the head," I told Riley.

"Well then. Sounds like a personal problem."

"The head is the bathroom on a boat."

"You crazy?" The wind jerked us back and forth like back-up dancers.

Not only did I have to go, there was the matter of the lovely gift from Mother Nature to deal with. I'd put if off as long as possible but a change was way past due. I focused on my task. Get in, get out.

Holding on to whatever surface would keep me upright, I opened the hatch to the cabin. Sad pastries were everywhere, like an animal had shaken the box in its teeth and then changed its mind about devouring the exploded contents. Climbing awkwardly down the ladder, my stomach flipped. The tiny head was just a few feet away. My claustrophobia kicked in just thinking of closing that door behind me.

Get in, get out.

My stomach thrashed like a heavy-duty wash cycle as the door slapped behind me. I locked it and lifted the lid of the toilet, but just peeing was a challenge. The sink next to me rolled tauntingly. I had to hold on to the counter to keep from slamming into the hard plastic shower. Chills covered me. I broke a sweat as the walls closed in. I focused on my daunting task to keep from freaking out, or puking. The bloody tampon swung and hit the floor, but I had to let it go not to drop the fresh one.

Pulling my shorts back up was a challenge. I grabbed some toilet paper and reached for the gory cylinder but it had rolled under the cabinet. The floor looked like a murder scene and the thrashing room was caving in on me-and my stomach.

It was too late. I puked my guts, missing the toilet by inches, and slammed my head into the counter. Spots swung before my eyes along with the floor. I raised myself to the sink, grabbed some paper and cleaned up as best I could before catching a moving shot of my face in the mirror. Blood trickled from my eyebrow. When I crashed into the wall again, I decided to pump the flusher and get the hell out.

I flung the door open and ran into the open space of the cabin. But a jolt knocked me down. I rolled just like my tampon had. Pushing my hands down to brace myself, I spied something wedged among all the ropes and gear in the storage nook.

A tan hat.

A/N: Our three hour tour has turned into quite the fiasco.

Shout out: Thanks to all the great comments, I've simplified the crew in the first chapter to break down like good ole' Gilligan's Island. Sadly, Drake wasn't pulling his weight and was put to rest. Votes are requested in lieu of flowers.

I've dedicated the second chapter to @StevenOConnor whose work, Beneath the Surface, is an authentic and emotional story about a boy suffering from an incurable disease who runs away to the magical world beyond his garden. I'm enjoying each vivid chapter so much.