into the light

She hauled on the door handle, crying so hard she could hardly breathe. The hull lurched onto its side, and she fell, pulling herself upright and tugging at the door again. There was no movement there at all.
‘Brodie!’ She screamed, over and over again, but he was gone. He must be on the surface by now. The ship lurched further on its side, until it was almost horizontal, and she began kicking the door. Brodie would call the Coastguard, she told herself. He would call for help and it would be here very soon. The ship had not yet sunk, or the sea would already be in this room. Someone would come and free the door and let her out.
She worked her way frantically around the tiny cabin, searching hopelessly for another way out, returning again and again to her old friend the door, pleading with it to open, screaming and pounding, sobbing uncontrollably. The boat gave another lurch, and the old weathered timbers screamed as they twisted. There was the sound of cracking and splintering. She tried to stay on her feet, listening; was someone there trying to rescue her? Was that the Coastguard?
Oh please oh please oh please…
And then she saw the water trickling in through the cracks round the door. With a frantic scream she launched at it again, pulling on the handle until the screws began to rise, while all the time the sea slid across the carpet, damp fingers stroking the deep pile. She felt her ears pop. They were sinking fast. Where was Brodie? He would bring help. There was still time. Her heart thrashed against her ribs.
The yacht sighed and groaned as the sea juggled with it. She moved back to lean against the wall, as the pressure outside increased, and water began to spray into the room through the narrow gaps. Lungs gasping, throat aching, she touched the soft varnished mahogany walls and realised she was going to die.

She had never been the sort to think too much about the Big Questions; why are we here? what does it all mean? Is there anything else? She had read somewhere that people facing death often saw a great light at the end of a dark tunnel; that they felt the presence of what they perceived as God. Now, surely was the time to start thinking about what she believed in, yet all she could think of was that she was more alone than she had ever been. There was just her and the hysterical panic and the tortured dying boat and the alien sea. The door began to buckle, groaning and whimpering, while the sea sprayed in, and the freezing water lapped at her feet.

And all at once a great calm descended.
She was going to die, and in a way it was a relief. There was no need to worry now about whether she’d get the promotion, or whether Brodie would ever want to settle down and have a family, or how she was ever going to clear her credit cards. She was going to die, and although she had had no children, had made no impressive mark on the world, it didn’t matter. No one would remember her name, but that was all right. It was the way of things. She was going to die, and as the door began to scream in agony, she realised she was smiling. There was no light at the end of the tunnel, no one to welcome her to paradise. There was just her. Through a veil of peace and stillness, the door exploded, bringing with it baulks of timber and broken metal, and the sea, which leapt joyfully into the cabin. Her eyes and ears and mouth filled with the icy, salty water, but there was no panic now, only calm. She looked at the ruined cabin in the pale glass-light of the sea, and slowly swam to the broken door. The boat was quiet now, as the water stole all sound. She followed the pale light up through the great hole in the hull, and saw the ruined mast still hanging on to the deck, like a limb not quite severed. A small shoal of silver fish swam past, and now she could hear the muted roar of the waves far above. Although her lungs were bursting, she felt no urgency to go there. There was no frantic thrashing for the surface. She even looked back as the remains of her beautiful yacht slid into the darkness.

Her head broke the surface, and the spray from a wave hit her hard in the face. She took a harsh breath into her salt-scarred lungs and returned to the world of pain. Someone was screaming, and she realised it was her.
The storm was moving off, and overhead the rolling clouds of grey-purple and charcoal scowled at her. The waves pushed and pulled at her like unruly children, the wind froze her waterlogged hair, and she struggled to breathe as the sea constantly slapped her face. It would be so easy just to return below, where all was calm, but somehow she knew that was no longer an option, that she had already made her choice. She tried to look around, but the waves chased each other to reach her, humping up before her so she could not see. So much for Brodie and the Coastguard, she thought, and realised with a start that she was thinking again; that the other person, the calm one who had been in the boat, was gone.

She thought again about dying, about how ironic this was; escaping from the locked cabin, only to die amidst the waves. There was no other boat. There was no Coastguard. If Brodie had somehow escaped on the dinghy, he had not called for help first. Then again, perhaps he hadn’t escaped at all. She found she didn’t really care.
Then she saw it; a thin beam of light, like tamed lightning. Above the rushing argument of sea she thought she could hear a deep thrumming. The light held a lateral line as it moved across the waves, and now she could hear the beating of rotors. Up there in the grey somewhere was a helicopter, and she had a sudden image of what it would see in the light beam; a white fleck amongst a million others, a single, barely discordant wave. She remembered she was wearing a red T-shirt, and holding her breath, she pulled it over her head. The light came closer, and she swam nearer. The sea saw what she was doing and pushed against her, freezing her fingers so they could no longer feel the fabric between them, making her shiver so hard she could barely breathe. The light was almost there, almost there, and she forced her feelingless limbs on. Then she was beneath it, and she gazed up into the white light-
She was six years old, on the school stage. The lights were blinding. She was transfixed and terrified. There were too many people. She waved her red shirt to ward them off.
I’m losing it, she thought, I don’t want to die!
The helicopter blades moved closer, and the waves cowered in submission. She was so cold. So cold... The white light was relentless, and she dreamed she was inside a refrigerator. She had to open the door-
Suddenly, she was flying, the sound of the moving water still filling her ears despite the thrashing blades above. The grey waves were sucking at her feet. They don’t want me to go, she thought, looking back.
I don’t want to go.
That was all she remembered.

*

The sun was setting over the islands, the autumn shadows long and thoughtful. She sat on the jetty, knees under her chin, watching the clouds lit up from below. The sea was quiet, had been quiet ever since she had left it, as if it mourned the loss of her. She did not feel sorry for it; after all, it had taken Brodie, and her ship.
Brodie had not stopped to call the Coastguard from the flailing yacht. Instead he had dropped into the dinghy and called for help for himself from his mobile phone. The helicopter had not known she was missing. When it found her, it was looking for Brodie.

She watched the polished waves rolling gently in and thought about life and death, who, like all brothers and sisters, fought incessantly and stole from each other. She thought about God, and the light at the end of the tunnel, and Brodie, who had said he would always look after her, and the deep part of herself that had been the one to take on that task. She thought about the peace and calm that had come upon her, a feeling that signified not certainty, nor resignation, but simply her last chance. And it was right, she knew. There was no light at the end of the tunnel, no spiritual illumination, no connecting with a higher force. It was simply a survival trait learned long ago in the playground of evolution, where every child was selfish with his sweets. Stay calm and survive. She laughed then, through a throat still painful. It made everything easier to understand, even Brodie’s treachery. We are human, she realised, and we will do anything to survive. We make things up to hide that truth, to take away the loneliness, but at the end of the day, we are still just human.
The sun sank gently below the horizon. She smiled, and glanced across at the harbour, where her new yacht was silhouetted in the sunset.