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As despair threatens to settle in like a heavy fog, a distant speck on the horizon catches Astro's eye. I look up to see what he’s staring at and squint against the blinding sun, my heart racing as the speck grows larger, gradually taking shape as a large fishing boat cuts through the shimmering waves.
"It's a boat!" Astro exclaimed, his voice tinged with disbelief and relief.
Hope surges through us like a sudden gust of wind. We scramble to our feet, waving frantically, shouting hoarsely, our voices cracking with emotion after days of strained silence.
Sure enough, a commercial fishing boat emerges from the haze, growing larger with each passing second. Relief floods through me like a wave breaking on the shore.
The fishing boat draws nearer, its crew shouting back to us, their voices carrying over the water like a lifeline. Hands reach out, strong and sure, to pull us aboard. Astro goes first, and then we hand him Eve.
We all feel a rush of gratitude as we step onto the sturdy deck, the hardwood beneath our feet a welcome change from the swaying uncertainty of our own vessel.
"Thank you," Foster manages to say, grasping the hand of the fisherman who pulled us to safety.
He nods, a grizzled smile spreading across his weathered face. "Good, good," he replies, and we realize he may not understand English very well. His eyes, though, reflect the depths of our shared relief.
One of the other fishermen approaches, offering Eve a bottle of water. Her hands tremble as she reaches for it, but Astro intercepts, taking it from the fisherman with a nod of thanks. He drinks from it first, swallows, and then, satisfied, hands it to Eve. It’s not about being greedy. He's testing it—ensuring it's safe. Eve would bring in an excellent price in the trafficking world. In moments like these, trust is a luxury we can’t afford with strangers; we can only rely on each other.
As the fishing boat turns away from our damaged vessel, I look back at what was nearly our tomb. There are places I wouldn’t mind dying in, but that isn’t one of them. The image of our small, battered boat against the vast ocean is a stark reminder of how close we came to being lost forever.
The sun sets in a blaze of orange and gold, casting a warm, serene glow over the ocean that had threatened to swallow us whole. The colors reflect off the waves, making the water look almost welcoming, a stark contrast to the peril it held. We are battered and exhausted, but we are alive.
The fishermen, kind-eyed and weathered by years at sea, hand us towels and whatever spare clothes they have. The rough fabric feels like luxury against our salt-crusted skin. For now, they leave us be, likely understanding that we need a moment to process our survival. I’m sure the captain has already radioed in our rescue, though we haven’t yet told him who we are.
We huddle together, feeling a cautious hope. Our silence is heavy with unspoken thoughts about what comes next. We’ll probably meet with some sea patrollers before we reach land and will have to explain everything—our plane crash, the island, the days drifting aimlessly over the ocean, the sheer luck of our rescue.
I imagine the headline: "Five College Students and Their Teacher Disappear in the Indian Ocean." Our ghostly disappearance must have made international news and despite all the rescue efforts money could buy, they never found us.
I revert to my usual quiet self, leaning back against the hull of the fishing boat, the rough wood pressing into my back, a comforting contrast to the uncertainty that has consumed us. The relief of our rescue washes over me like a cool breeze, but a part of me remains tense, wary of our future.
Is this it for us, then? I look at each weary face, but my gaze stops at the blonde beauty before me. Eve seems a lot better now that she's rehydrated; hercheeks are regaining some color, and her eyes are less haunted. But that's not my concern.
Eve will revert back to Evelyn Winters, Manhattan’s society girl, if her parents get their way.
But hell will freeze over if she thinks I'm going to just let her go. And I'm pretty sure the other four won't let her either. She's a wildcat, always was and always will be. She can be whatever the fuck she wants, but we’ll all somehow make sure we’re right there with her. Society girl, socialite, charity balls, museum fundraiser. I don’t give a shite as long as she and that pussy of hers remain our property.
Her resilience and spirit kept us going, making us believe we could survive. Even now, in the midst of relief, there's a fire in her eyes that refuses to be extinguished. That fire, that wildness, is what draws us all to her, what binds our group together.
We’ve been through hell and back, and we’ve come out the other side. The thought of losing her, of watching her be molded back into the polished, controlled Evelyn Winters, fills me with a dread deeper than the ocean we just escaped. She deserves to be who she is, wild and free, unbound by the expectations of others. I know she’ll fight it too, she doesn’t want that life anymore.
I glance at Foster, Astro, Zane, and Byron, all of them as weary and relieved as I am. They share my sentiment, and I can see it in their eyes and in the set of their jaws. We’re more than just survivors now; we’re a family forged in adversity.
Eve catches my eye, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. She knows what I’m thinking, and she silently agrees. No one’s going to put out her fire. Not if we have anything to say about it.
An older, weathered man approaches us, his face lined with years of sun and sea. He takes in the sight of the six of us, huddled together, battered but alive. I assume he's the captain.
"I'll have to log this with the local authorities," he says in almost perfect English.
"Which local authorities?" Foster asks, his tone cautious.
"Galle," the captain replies. Seeing our confused expressions, he adds, "Sri Lanka."
"Fucking hell, how did we end up there?" Zane asks, voicing the question on all our minds. We all turn to look at Byron.
"Hey, we drifted for twenty-four hours without navigation," Byron replies defensively. "We could have gone anywhere."
"You didn’t even know where we were to begin with," Astro retorts, his frustration bubbling to the surface.
"Look," Eve interjects before an argument can start, "it could have been worse. We could have ended up on that island, you know, the one where foreigners are not welcome and savages live."
