Saturday, January 6, 2018

B

oth oars suspended. The air around us was so thick that it could snap. George wrung his hands around his oar and Brett darted his gaze at me.

I squeezed my eyes shut. I thought I heard the faint crackles of insects. But it was something else. I listened hard, my attention suddenly misdirecting away from the oncoming duel. When I noticed Brett divert his eyes from me, I turned and looked up over George's head, expecting to find something more worthwhile and mysterious. Brett lowered his oar the moment George listened as well and dared to completely turn his back on Brett, to look for the source somewhere off in the distance. Craig, too, dismissed the rising tension and listened to the faint echoes across the foggy waters.

I turned my head, and my eyes opened wide.

There—in the distance—a mound of debris, a destroyed roof, and a house ripped from its foundation, floated in an overturned triangle along the water.

Calling out to us, in a group of three or four, was a family. A father, a mother, a son and a daughter. All waving and screaming.

"Help! Help!"

And then, the tension returned. As we all returned our eyes to the center of the boat. A decision had to be made.

Save the family?

Or save ourselves?