You call nonetheless; you wouldn’t risk falling a second time.

The summer Caribbean sun is hitting you hard and dehydration isn’t far away. The first sound passing your lips is a strangled grunt.

You swallow the thick saliva covering the interior of your cheeks and give it a second try. It is better this time. You wait for a moment, no answer.

You call again, still no answer. How is it possible? The boat is supposed to have at least two thousand passengers. You fall back in the lifeboat and consider your options again when suddenly in the distance you hear voices. A group of passengers appear turning around a corner a bit further. You yell again, they see you and lazily come towards you. Two men catch the edge of the lifeboat closing the gap between the hull of the boat and the little skiff you are in. The two girls accompanying them help you back on the cruise ship. You sit on the hot metallic floor. The acrobatics have reawakened the pain in your arm, you make a face.

“Are you all right?” the first girl asks.

She is a tall brunette with a ponytail holding her hair high over her head. The second girl standing behind her is a reasonably chubby blonde with an insolent nose. The men are interchangeable blond athletes with glistening pecs and arms the size of a small tree. They are all wearing tiny swimsuits and carrying large white towels with the logo of the Caron on it.

You tell them your story. The ponytailed girl offers to take you to the infirmary. The chubby blonde and the two guys seem displeased, better things to do probably.