Bocas Town

"Rick" responded to Roselle’s warning and stroked for the depths of the bay. He could feel the concussion of the boat’s powerful motor and the impact of the shots fired into the water all around him.

His lungs were on fire from the deprivation of the precious air that he didn’t have time to inhale before Roselle’s warning. He desperately swam to reach the dimming light of day and surfaced with the speed of a champagne cork on New Year’s Day, gasping for breath, sucking torrents of dirty, oily water into his lungs. He gagged on the water, and vomited his last lizard dinner. The taste in his mouth, a mixture of raw reptile, oil and saltwater caused him to heave some more, draining him of what little strength he had left.. He felt the pain in his shoulder and thought to himself, I can’t panic. I just need to stay calm and try to avoid this boat until they give up attacking me. It will be my only hope in helping Roselle. But who are these people and how did they know we were here? Rick had an endless list of unanswered questions. But his number one priority was his instinct to survive. He and Roselle had both gone this far and he wasn’t going to allow his attackers to succeed at this point. Then the fiberglass panga swung around and made another menacing pass at the helpless and tired sailor. Two men were standing at the bow of the craft, firing semi-automatic pistols. The projectiles were striking all around the defenseless man when, finally, another bullet hit home, and Rick sank slowly beneath the surface. The side of the speeding panga struck him on the head, although he had ducked. Luckily, the craft’s spinning propeller didn’t fillet him into chum for the local fish. He couldn’t hear Roselle’s piercing cry of fear because he had lost consciousness and drifted down into the turbid depths of the coastal water.