90 Miles to Freedom by K. C. Hilton

it.
     
    *  *  *
     
    Evening
     
    I thought I saw something like a raft in the distance today. Maybe it was someone else leaving Cuba. I listened for voices but heard nothing. I know I need medical help, but I kept quiet. Maybe I only saw a creature of the water. Maybe my fears are playing tricks on me. I would not doubt that. I am exhausted and starving and my body has been devastated by the sun and rain and cold.
    There is no light tonight. The moon and stars are obscured behind the clouds that have hung over me all day. It’s darker than dark can possibly be. The only light that I see is the lightning in the distance, and that is getting closer.
    Heavy rain has been steady most of the day. I am freezing cold and shaking so much it’s making my teeth chatter. I am soaked through. There is no point in my crying. If I cried the tears wouldn’t be seen because of the rain streaming down my face. I am so dehydrated I might not be able to produce tears anyway.
    The giant waves are like a most horrible ride. Up the wave and down the wave, making me sick. I grip the raft, trying to keep my balance, trying to hang on after the rainwater has made the raft slick. Some waves are taller than the tallest building I have ever seen. It’s an amazing sight, but it’s also scary. No boat will be on the water in this storm. There is no chance of a rescue tonight. I feel very small out on this water. I am unprotected and at the mercy of this fierce storm.
    The longer I am out here, the more horror stories I recall of people whose journeys to America did not end well. I had always thought the stories could have been lies made up by the government to scare people so they wouldn’t leave. I’m not sure anymore.
    Over the noise of the storm I can barely hear myself weeping, though I can’t tell if the water on my face is from tears or rain. I will cling to my miserable little raft this entire night, riding the ever-growing waves, praying it does not flip me. I am holding on for my life. I cannot let go.
    The only things that keep my mind alive are the dreams I carry. I dream of the day when I am allowed to earn a decent living, when I am able to provide for my family in a respectable way. I dream of buying more food than what is allocated to us so that we will not worry about our next meal. We will eat eggs and bacon for breakfast every morning. We will eat meat every day. And we will have fresh bread with every meal.
    We will buy a home which the government will not own. We will buy as many seeds as we want and have our own garden. My wife has always wanted a garden, but we could never get permission to buy seeds. It is sad because in Cuba only farmers that are overseen by the government can buy seeds to grow vegetables. And they are only allowed to grow so much. The lands have gone to waste.
    Tomorrow is day number four. If my calculations are correct I should find land or at least be found by Americans tomorrow. If only I can live that long.
     
     

Chapter 22
     
    May 2011
     
    One year. It was hard to believe it had been one year since George and Betty had died.
    It had also been just over a year since he had heard from Adelio. He had heard nothing from his friend. Adelio had not even contacted him through an online listing, which had been their normal routine.
    Collin finished unpacking the boxes and put the contents in appropriate places around on the yacht.
    One year. So much could happen in one year.
    When his parents had been killed, he had not been able to confide in his friend. Surely Adelio would have had some comforting words for Collin since he had lost both of his parents as well. That would have been worse in a way, he admitted, because Adelio’s parents had died when he was younger. He’d had to provide for himself from a very young age.
    For the thousandth time, Collin checked the online listings. Nothing. He felt helpless and frustrated. All he could do was hope Adelio was okay. He had seemed so frightened the