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After a couple of hours kneeling on the pitching hull, their legs were racked with cramps. Still, they had not broken their pact. Neither would whine. And neither would let the other see that she was afraid.
In San Juan, Bill Butler was at his computer when he heard the news and began his series of fruitless calls. His stomach was tight. He pictured a capsized boat, the girls washed away. Even if they managed to stay with the boat, in 70-degree seas hypothermia could knock you unconscious in as little as three hours and kill you slowly. He stood on the balcony of his condo and looked out toward the Atlantic. They're just babies, he thought.
Emily watched something red float by. "Well," she said. "We lost our life raft, but we still have our Santa hat!" To keep their spirits up, they belted out a rock tune: "I'm at an all-time low," they hollered into the wind, "slightly bruised and broken ..." The VHF radio that Sarah had retrieved shorted out, and as the hours went on, their bravado began to break.
Three times during the night, giant waves washed Sarah off the hull. Each time, Emily pulled her back on. Shivering under the saturated sleeping bag, Sarah became overwhelmed with sadness: We're out here all alone, just a speck in the ocean. Mom and Dad won't know what happened to me.
On the other side of the boat, Emily was grimly silent. She had a death grip on the boat's throw line, but facing into the waves, her mouth filled with salt water with each surge, forcing her to swallow and choke.
Then, at dawn, she thought she saw a glimmer on the horizon. "It's a rescue boat!" she shouted. "They're coming to get us! Awesome!" But a few minutes later, the light was gone.
About 7 a.m., the women saw another glimmer, this one in the sky. As they watched, it grew bigger. They turned on their life jacket strobe lights and held the EPIRB high. It was the Coast Guard C-130 that had been flying a search pattern of intersecting triangles, scanning the black water with a night-vision scope. The plane dropped an orange flare, but no raft. What good was a flare? The plane crossed over them and flew off.
Was she hallucinating? Emily saw two tall, swaying masts rock up over the horizon. "Kessans," she said. "What kind of ship is that?" Sarah blinked through salt-crusted eyes. "It looks like a pirate ship."
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