147
B I G WA T E R
I squint into the wind. On the horizon, far in the distance,
I see something white—bigger than a whitecap, smaller than
a ship. Maybe it’s a sail, but it could be something else. It’s too
far away to tell what it is or even if it’s headed in our direction.
But Daniel jumps to his feet. “We have to find a way
to attract their attention. We have to get them to see us.”
He looks around frantically. I stand up and do the same.
I’m not sure that moving quickly is going to change anything,
but I suppose it can’t hurt.
There’s nothing—no fire to send up smoke signals,
no flags to wave. There’s the oar back by the boat, Daniel’s
coat, some branches maybe. We can get some really big ones
in the woods near where we slept.
“The pillowcase!” I shout and run back up and over the
high point toward the cove. I slip on the wet rock and slide
down on my backside. I’m winded and bruised, my vision
blurry as I rise to standing, but there’s no time for worry.
I pick up the pillowcase, fold it over and wring out the water,
then wring it again. I wrap it over on itself and squeeze one
more time.
Daniel is half carrying, half dragging the oar toward
the top of the slope when I return. I help him get it the final
few feet to the high rock near the barrel. I’m weak and dizzy
again, my arms and legs sore. I have to place each foot care-
fully or I’m going to fall.
We pull the pillowcase over the oar and hoist it in the
air. Daniel waves it back and forth a few times. But the
whole thing is too heavy for him to do on his own. We wedge
one end in a small slit in the rock and stand on either side,
