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clothing optional. The survivors looked like losers in a strip-poker tournament. Whatever the calamity, it happened at night, and fast. No one had time for decency. One woman wore a sport bra and yoga pants like she worked out in her sleep. A cotton nightgown clung to the diminutive body of the second. Boxer shorts and socks covered Carter. Only Howie wore clothing and shoes as he’d passed out fully clothed with a photo of Barbara on his chest.
    “I’m Lauren,” said the first woman, a brunette who looked like she could have swum laps around the lifeboat without tiring.
    “I’m Emily,” said the tiny blonde beside her. Emily pointedly drew out a bottle of hand sanitizer after she shook his hand. It was attached to her wrist by a thin rubber chord. She slept with a bottle of hand sanitizer. She almost found out if cleanliness is next to godliness. 
    The sound of retching brought their attention to the rear of the lifeboat. Another man lay there with his head dangling over the side, grasping the bulwark with white knuckles. He only nodded their way, absorbed in keeping the contents of his stomach from erupting, again.
    “That’s Max,” said Emily. “He’s a dentist. He sat at my table last night with his wife and daughter.” She paused. The wife and daughter were not in the boat.
    Clearly, Max suffered from something other than sea sickness. He continued to puke over the side, and a nutty smell indicated he’d evacuated in the other direction as well. Sweat slicked his face, matting his hair. He lay half over the edge of the boat, like a woodland animal obsessed with its own reflection.
    “Norovirus.” Carter nodded knowingly. “Cruise ship virus. Must have picked it up at dinner last night.”
    Emily skittered backward, bumping up against Howie who took up the entire front end of the craft. “Is it contagious?” Instinctively, she shook out a dollop of hand sanitizer and rubbed furiously.
    “No. You have to ingest it. And that smell isn’t from something I would eat.”
    Max’s dry heaving interrupted them. They stared in horror, as if they had invited the Red Death into the relative safety of their confined world.
    “He ate the fish last night,” Emily piped up. “Did anyone else eat the fish?” They all shook their heads in tandem.
    “Anyone have any water?” Mason asked. They repeated the movement. The White Hairs remained silent. Turning to the one at the stern, he tossed his hand as if holding a cup, the universal sign for water.
    Carter snorted. “They don’t speak. That doesn’t mean they’re deaf.”
    “Do they speak English?” Mason asked. “This guy needs to keep hydrated or he’s going to die.”
    Howie just stared on in helplessness. Amazing, to be surrounded by nothing but water, yet Max could die from dehydration. Despair left the boat silent but for the steady dipping of the paddles and the low suffering noises emitted by the sick man.
    Mason turned and spoke to all of them. “There are six of us in this boat. We’re a crew now. Let’s make a pledge, right here, right now, that we’ll look out for one another. No matter what happens. Give me your oath.” He held out his hand. Howie and Lauren took it right away. Carter hesitated and then joined in.
    Emily added hers to the pile as if they all had cooties. “Even Max?” she asked.
    “Even Max.”
    Howie saw half a dozen more boats peppered across the water. At least two others buoyed survivors, but the rest were busy collecting… trash.  They used long poles to pick up junk out of the water, particularly plastic bags. Anything plastic went on-board along with anything clear - glass bottles, plastic bottles, pieces of translucent fiberglass.
    Hard-core environmentalists? National sea park stewards?
    But where did they come from? He stretched his neck searching for land but saw none.
    "Hey, Moron! Sit down! You don't want to capsize us!" Carter shouted.
    No land. Anywhere.
     
    The boats completed their search of the