The sun was visible now, albeit through some residual haze, and the day was warming up. The sun was permeating the air more strongly by the minute. The waters of the bay would still be chilly, however. They always were.
After one more glance in every direction—including the woods behind him—to make sure there was no one around and no one approaching, Connor stripped off his clothes. He walked as quickly as his damaged ankle would permit toward the water, stopped when he was ankle-deep because the chilly water was momentarily forbidding, then strode forward till he was waist-deep in the bay. At that point he ducked down under the water till only his head remained above the surface. Then he brought his body to a horizontal position and began to swim.
Connor was a fairly strong swimmer. If not for leaving behind his clothes on the beach, he might have tried to swim to his cabin, but then he'd be naked when he came out of the bay, so that totally blew that idea out of the water. After swimming around for quite a few minutes, he saw a figure on the beach down near the cabins and, thinking someone might be walking in his direction, he decided it would be most prudent to get some clothes on, so he headed back to shore.
Once attired, he lay down on the sand and reveled in the warmth of the sun, fully brilliant now. Its rays permeated his body and soothed it. The figure he had noticed earlier seemed to be nearer now. Connor fantasized that it was Paul, that he would soon be standing over Connor's supine body, then plopping down onto the beach to lie there with him. Perhaps they would even enjoy each other's body right there on the beach….
But as the figure grew closer, Connor could make out with increasing certainty that the person was not Paul. Ah, well.
Deciding that he wasn't in the mood to talk to the approaching stranger, Connor got up from the sand, brushed himself off, and headed back along the shoreline to the cabins. As he passed the stranger, a middle-aged fellow with a grey beard, they exchanged "good mornings" and comments about the weather, but neither of the two men lingered. The bearded fellow continued his jaunt along the water's edge, and Connor started back toward the cabins.
By the time he reached his cabin, still favoring the one foot although the ankle's discomfort had eased up, his watch said it was twenty after eleven. He had been thinking of changing into his swim trunks and grabbing a beach towel and the sunscreen, but lunch would be served at noon. He had best postpone any further sunbathing and swimming till after lunch. For now he would grab a quick shower to get the sand off his body and out of his hair, then read till it was time to go and eat.
The cabin had a porch—all the cabins did—and Connor read out there till it was time for the midday meal. In the afternoon he followed through with his plan to return to the beachfront. The rest of the day passed quickly, and he noticed with relief that his ankle continued to hurt less and less as the day wore on.
He spotted Paul the next day. Connor had gone to the pier to fish and had caught and released five fish of varying species and sizes. He'd had enough and was heading back to his cabin when off in the distance, he saw a man he was reasonably sure was Paul. The man was walking with another fellow, tall, rangy, and bearded. They weren't holding hands, walking close to each other, or in any way being demonstrative or affectionate. Still, Connor was pretty sure that must be Patrick. Connor stared, willing Paul to turn around and notice him, but the effort failed. Paul never noticed him at all.
Disheartened, Connor returned to his cabin and lay down for a nap. He did not spot Paul at all for the remainder of the week.
*~*~*
The rest of the week passed enjoyably, with no further mishaps and no sign of Paul, and then it was Sunday, time to go home. Connor wondered if Paul—and Patrick—would be on the same ferry again. Would Paul be in the snack bar? Would he look for Connor? Or would Patrick be with him? Perhaps Paul had forgotten about Connor already. Then again, they hadn't ever talked about how long a vacation Paul and Patrick were taking. Maybe they were staying for two weeks. He might not be on the same boat at all.
The fog seemed thicker than ever as Connor navigated cautiously down to the ferry terminal. At the slip, Connor looked around for a van with a familiar-looking occupant, but he didn't see any sign of Paul. When the gate went up, the cars drove aboard the boat, and Connor took his place among them. The warning bell sounded and Connor knew the ferry was ready to leave the slip. The boat cast off its moorings and began the slow crossing to the other side of Oguncomquit Bay. Connor made his way to the snack bar and looked around for Paul, but he was nowhere to be seen.
Ah well—perhaps it was just as well. Connor knew he still had Paul's business card, but realistically what reason did he have for calling? He headed to the counter, ordered two pizza dogs and an orange soda, then found an empty table, of which there were several this time to choose from.
He had just taken a bite of his first pizza dog when he heard a familiar voice. "Connor! There you are!" Looking up quickly, he saw Paul bounding over to him, his face swathed in a wide smile. Connor looked around but didn't see anyone who seemed to be with him. Connor gestured to a chair, and Paul sat down. "I was hoping I'd run into you!" he enthused, clasping Connor's free hand between both of his. He squeezed tight before letting go and sitting back in his chair to smile at Connor.
Warmth and excitement flooded Connor's body.
"You want one of these pizza dogs?" Connor offered, thrusting one at Paul.
"Don't you want it?"
"I can get another one."
"Let me get up and get one for myself. I want some coffee anyhow." Paul stood up, and Connor returned the pizza dog to his tray. A few minutes later, Paul was back with a pizza dog, a small bag of flavored potato chips, and a cup of coffee.
"So, how was your vacation?" Connor asked.
"Fine. And yours?"
"Except for twisting my ankle in the woods, it was good, and fortunately I got over the injury quickly."
"What happened?" Paul asked. Connor related the story of his hike and mishap.
"You're lucky nothing worse happened!" Paul exclaimed. "You could have broken a leg or something. How would you ever have gotten help?"
"I don't know. It's a scary thought. Fortunately I didn't have to find out."
"Migawd!" Paul exclaimed again, wiping his forehead with his hand.
"Well, I guess it's back to the real world and work tomorrow," Connor said, quickly changing the subject. He didn't want to dwell on the what-ifs of having a broken leg in the middle of the woods with no way to call for help.
Paul sighed heavily. "I guess so," he said.
"I enjoy my job, but I admit I wouldn't mind if the vacation had lasted longer," Connor said. "The island is quiet, as I guess you found out, but quiet can be pleasant too."
"Yes," Paul agreed. "It's kinda relaxing. It's a change from the hustle and bustle of the city."
"Do you think you'll come back next year?" Connor asked.
I hope I don't have to wait that long to see you,
he mentally added. Besides, what were the odds they'd book for the same week again?
"Who can plan a year ahead?" Paul answered.
Just then there was a tremendous jolt to the ferry, accompanied by a horrifying crunching sound. Paul looked at Connor, his eyes wide with fear. "What was
that?
" he asked.
"I don't know, but it didn't sound good or feel good."
The ferry's horn started blowing
Ahh-ooh. Ahh-ooh. Ahh-ooh. Ahh-ooh.
Then a metallic voice announced over the loudspeaker system, "All passengers proceed quickly to the aft deck and put on life preservers. The rear of the ship. Now!"
The boat was starting to tilt. Was the ferry going to go down?
"Let's go," Paul said urgently, taking Connor by the hand and pulling him up from his seat. Connor still had one pizza dog uneaten in front of him. He pulled the aluminum foil wrapping around it, pinched the aluminum to seal it, and thrust it into his pocket. He could hardly believe the ferry was sinking. When things had settled back down, he would take the pizza dog out of his pocket and eat it. There was no sense in wasting good food. Besides, he was still hungry.
It seemed the boat
was
sinking. The passengers were crowding the aft deck urgently reaching for the lifejackets that the crew members were handing out, and in fact some of the people had already jumped overboard. The ship's list to one side was getting more pronounced, and Connor's heart rate speeded up considerably as he contemplated the prospect of jumping off the ferry and into the fog-shrouded waters that surrounded it.
Were they anywhere near land? He couldn't tell. The fog was so thick that visibility was near zero. Surely they were nowhere near the mainland yet, but Ogumconquit Bay was studded with numerous smaller islands besides the larger one he'd just been vacationing on.
There was much jostling and shoving in the throng of people crowding toward the six crew members who were handing out life jackets. Understandably, everyone wanted to be sure they got a life jacket before the boat went down—or possibly the supply ran out. People jostled Connor, trying to wedge in ahead of him, and he fought to maintain his position. He was
not
going to lose out on getting a life jacket if by any chance the supply was short, or if the boat went down quickly. It seemed to be listing more and more pronouncedly, and Connor's heart raced.
Paul kept peering around, and Connor was sure he was looking for Patrick, but it seemed he didn't see him among the crowd. Connor didn't look around. To begin with, he still didn't know what Patrick looked like, and besides, he was focused single-mindedly on getting to the front of the crowd and not letting other passengers usurp his place in the group as it moved toward the life jackets.
At length Connor and Paul found themselves at the front of the surging throng, and each quickly secured a life jacket for himself and put it on. The crew members were urging the passengers to jump now, jump clear of the boat and swim away, before the ferry went down. Connor hesitated for a moment, staring toward the fog-obscured waters, wondering how they might be rescued, and remembering how cold the bay's waters were. The boat lurched, and now the deck was at even more of an angle. Connor and Paul took each other's hand and, with one last look at each other, leaped overboard, swimming out into the fog and the unknown.
They had to let go of each other's hand in order to swim, but they kept up a conversation in order to know where each other was. Otherwise it would have been too easy to lose each other in the fog. They swam strongly, quickly, urgently away, so they wouldn't be pulled under when it finally went down. When they were a safe distance from the sinking ferry, they agreed to tread water rather than continue to swim pointlessly, not knowing in which direction to head. "When the fog lifts, we'll see if we're near any land," Connor suggested, and Paul agreed that was a reasonable plan of action.
"I wonder if I'll ever see my home again," Paul mused.
"Don't talk like that. We'll get rescued," Connor answered with more conviction in his voice than he truly felt. "I'm sure the ferry sent out a distress call. The shore patrol will be combing the waters looking to pick up us survivors."
"They'll never find us in this fog."
"You know the fog will lift. It always burns off by mid-morning."
Suddenly a large piece of wood drifted toward them. Connor wondered if it had come from the ferry. Had the boat gone under? Had it broken up before it did? Well, no matter—wherever the wood had come from, it was a godsend. It would give them additional buoyancy beyond what the life jackets afforded them. "Let's grab on to that wood," he suggested, and he and Paul swam toward the wood and then grabbed on to it. Having no sense of whether they were near land, they let the currents of the bay take them where they would, drifting aimlessly.
Occasionally they heard chatter and even shouts that presumably came from other passengers who were adrift in the water, but the fog shrouded them from sight, and after a while they didn't even hear any further voices. Experimentally Paul called out, "Hello out there. Helloooooo? Can anyone hear me?" but nobody answered.
Paul wore a waterproof watch, and at ten-thirty he commented that the fog ought to have lifted by now.
"It's dissipating," Connor said. "Look. Over there. You can see farther than before. There's some more wood floating."
Paul peered around. "What's that?" he asked, nodding his head in the direction of a barely discernible blob.
"Dunno," Connor answered, "but we ought to be able to make it out soon."
Indeed the shape's form became clearer and clearer as the fog thinned out. "It's an island!" Paul exulted. "Let's swim for it!"
"Hold onto the wood and kick," Connor suggested. They each held on to one end of the large piece of wood and propelled themselves toward the island, which wasn't too awfully far in the distance. Eventually they reached the shore. The island was quite small and definitely uninhabited, but it afforded them some dry land to rest on while hoping for a rescue.
"Do you think anyone will find us here?" Paul woorried aloud.
"There are quite a few islands in the bay," Connor answered. "I'd think the shore patrol would check them out." His voice wavered. He was speaking with more conviction than he truly felt.
*~*~*
They made a circuit of the small island to see if there were any other survivors from the capsized ferry, but it seemed the pair had the island to themselves. They did find several wild blackberry bushes, and they ate some of the berries, noting there was a plentiful supply. Connor ruefully remembered the pizza dog he had stuffed in his pocket. Surely it was waterlogged and no longer edible.
He knew the water would also have ruined his cell phone, and Paul's as well. They had no way to call for help. They would have to hope the shore patrol found them.
"I'm scared," Paul admitted. Connor wrapped his arms around him. "They'll find us. They'll surely go out looking for survivors. They'll find us." He rubbed slow circles on Paul's back and took great pleasure from feeling Paul's body next to his. Paul's muscles were taut, and Connor tried to relax him by kneading his shoulders.