Stranded

Chapter 3

The light was blinding my eyes as I coughed out the water in my lungs and mouth. My head ached, though I didn't remember hitting it. Around me was the cold, black waters of the Atlantic Ocean. Floating on top was debris from the plane. Sheets of metal, clothes, suitcases, bottles, seats, and people surrounded me. Most were struggling to stay afloat and bleeding into the water around them.

Only a few were treading water.

"I got one!" yelled someone right behind me to a man who was swimming and searching through the debris. "She looks ok."

I looked at him. He was bleeding slightly from his nose and there were cuts all over his face. His hair was wet and darkened by the water. Is this the man that pulled me up? How many are alive? How many are dead?

"I think I found a raft!" yelled the other man. A woman clung to a floating piece of debris and cried over the still body of a child. I twisted my head to look in the man's direction.

He did something with the raft and it inflated quickly. It was large and could easily fit at least five people. It was bright orange, easily viewable from the sky, especially against the dark-colored water.

"I'm Darren. We're going to need your help to gather any food or water you can find or anything else that could be useful," the man behind me explained. His voice was calm, unwavering. I'm not sure how he wasn't freaking out, but I nodded. I was able to swim just fine, but my head was still aching. At first, I couldn't bring my body to move after Darren left, but then I looked around me. There was lots of debris. All around me. It was everywhere. I don't know if it was adrenaline or just my fear driving me, but I began to sort through the debris while clinging to a piece of the plane. 

I found a few empty and full water bottles, a first aid kit, some peanut packets, and mostly a whole lot of metal and fabric. The screaming around me made it hard to focus on my task, but I did my best. 

"What do I do with this?" I yelled to Darren. My voice took me by surprise. It was raspy and quivering. 

"Throw it in the raft!" he yelled back. I swam my way through the freezing dark water of the Atlantic ocean toward the raft. A few yards beside me, a child, no older than 6 or 7, clung to a chair, shivering. His head was absolutely covered in blood. It took me a while, but then I saw it. 

His lower left arm was missing. I dropped everything I had carried and swum to him. As I got closer, I could see tears running down his blood-stained cheeks from his wide-open eyes. 

"Hi, honey," I said. He didn't look at me, he just kept staring in the distance. "What's your name?"

Nothing.

"I'm Aimee. I'm going to help you into that raft over there and then we'll take care of that arm of yours, okay?"

Nothing. I gently grasped his good arm and flung it over my shoulders. We swam over to the raft. His breathing was more like wheezing--shallow and loud. How was I going to help him?