Hell on Earth

The rubber floor of the raft had completely disintegrated. Douglas, Robin, and Lynn were already floating in the water. The decision had been made for them: the dinghy it was. But the dinghy was built for three people, and there were six of them. Douglas looked at his father, remembering what they had discussed. "Maybe there's not enough room for everybody," he thought. The idea of losing someone "never crossed my mind," he later recalled. They pulled the tiny boat alongside what remained of the raft, chucking overboard everything that might weigh them down—old turtle shells, even their life jackets. The twins went first, then the others, step by agonizing step. The dinghy lurched and pressed down into the water. Douglas and his father watched, fearful it would end in disaster. Then only Douglas and his dad remained. "You go next," his father said. Douglas hesitated. "You're coming, aren't you?" "I'll be right behind you." Douglas helped his father into the dinghy. Suddenly all six of them were aboard, still afloat. In silence, they watched the raft drift away. "We kept looking for it," Douglas said. "And then it was gone."

A New Home No Bigger Than a Bathtub