Free Wild Jack by John Christopher

would have given us some idea of the direction in which we were drifting, but in this featureless seascape we could equally be heading north toward England or south back to France. Also, and I began to fear it more and more, we could be on course for nothing but the immense emptiness of the western ocean. Kelly’s Florida lay that way, but I doubted if he would have any enthusiasm for trying to get home by such a route.
    Sunyo said little. Kelly and I had spells of talking,more often wrangling, intermingled with periods of gloomy silence. Apart from hunger and thirst, there was tiredness; despite the discomfort, I found myself dozing off, waking with a start to the wretchedness of my surroundings. As the day wore on, the gray of sky deepened. Night fell and it turned black, pitch black, with no trace of moonlight.
    I slept and woke and slept again. I had disjointed dreams that were more like nightmares, but there was one that was different. I was in my speedboat on the river, and Miranda was there, too. I started telling her what had happened since I saw her—about being sent to the island and escaping by boat—and it was all in the past and exciting to talk about. She listened, with her blond hair tossed over one shoulder. I was pleased to have her to myself, then realized, as one does in a dream, that this wasn’t true because Gary was there as well. I told him what I thought of him, and since that did not seem to be enough, I also hit him. We flailed at each other on the deck of the speedboat, and the next moment I was in the water.
    I woke up feeling wetness and thought the dream had become reality. But the wetness was of stingingdrops on my face and hands. I realized it was raining.
    I called to the others and they answered. After that, I was too concerned with trying to catch the rain. I cupped my hands against my cheeks, collecting rain drops and licking them up. No orange juice could have tasted so good.
    The rain lasted about half an hour, long enough to take the edge off our thirst but not to quench it. The wind had risen with the rain, and more and more waves were slopping over the gunnels. Water pooled round my feet; not much yet, but it would increase. The threat of swamping began to loom again.
    It would not have been so bad if we had had something to bail with. But there were too many ifs. If we had brought a supply of drinking water, if we had raided the cook house for food, if Kelly had taken my advice to hide Sunyo in a cave rather than embark on this crack-brained voyage. . . . Indignation rose once more, but I reminded myself of another if. I had clambered on board of my own volition; I could not blame anyone else for that.
    We tried to bail out water with our hands, though with no apparent effect. I felt sick andcold—the blankets lay soaked in the well of the boat—and tired to the point of being dazed. The night seemed interminable, the battering of wind and waves unending. At least things could scarcely get worse, I thought, when with a sharp cracking sound the mast broke off near its foot and fell to one side, taking the furled sail with it.
    The mast dipped into the water and dragged the boat over. We were shipping seas fast and had no option but to get rid of it, so we struggled to untie and loose the ropes. At last we had the mast free and could cast it adrift. We were safe from immediate capsizing, but the water was round our ankles. We set to work bailing again furiously.
    Gradually the sky lightened into the dawn of our second day at sea, still with no sight of land anywhere. I looked at Sunyo, huddled in the stern, and Kelly, lying in several inches of water in the well. They didn’t make a pretty sight, but I knew I must look no better. I saw, too, the broken stump of the mast. Even if land had been in sight, how could we get to it with neither sail nor oars? We were at the mercy of wind and tide.
    There could be only one end: if not death bydrowning, then