They would be arriving any day now. So far no freaky storms or sea critters had attacked the ship, a good sign that either Calypso had no knowledge of the journey or was unconcerned about their progress. With a short smack of his fist against the helm, and an abrupt laugh, Jack confidently looked out over the blue. His mood only lifted when the lookout in the crow's nest began cawing, figuratively. He squinted afar, searching for a glint of gold on the horizon. From his position, there was nothing. A group of men rushed to gather at the bow, nudging each other's' shoulders and staring hard into the distance. Everyone wanted a glimpse of land.
At present, Jack felt he deserved the first view, or rather the second after the watchmen. He justified this as one of the many perks of being captain and with that reasoning acted quick. He shot his hand blindly to the side, grabbing hold of the next passing tunic.
He reeled in a toothpick of a man. Hopping out of the way, Jack moved aside giving up position at the helm. When the stunned pirate just stared wide-eyed at him, he lifted the man's loose arms to the spokes of the wheel.
"Good….Ragetti, keep us right on course." He pointed forward. "Just follow the heads."
"Umm….Captain, am…I…where are you going?" He sputtered.
There was no reply. Jack was gone, distracted in navigating the web of ropes strewn about the lower deck. His thick brow's knitted and he muttered a few sailors' curses about the men who had dropped the ropes to run up front. It was a pity how hard it was to find a good crew. Dedication and attention, he mumbled. Men of those qualities would never have left their posts.
His mutterings followed him all the way up to the crow's nest, where they then retreated as he remembered his goal. The sighter quickly helped pull him through a square opening on the floor of the small platform, then moved back to give him space. Jack gave quick approval, and stopped, trailing off into silence.
His luck had been used up on….Pintel earlier. He couldn't remember the name of the familiar young lad. It did not matter though, for the kid did not seem to notice.
"It's there, sir!" He said, pointing at what indeed was a long thin shape interrupting the perfect line between sky and sea.
"Great lad."
At this point there wasn't much to make of the blurry feature, except that the greenish coloring meant vegetation. Distance could not be measured, not without knowing the approximate height of the land. If the territory were flat, he would estimate about four nautical miles; if it was a cliff slide, it could be ten. Distance hardly mattered though.
"It's whether or not that is the right land."
Reaching into the waving folds of shirt, he withdrew the compass he kept on an iron chain around his neck. It was an old dark brown wooden box, a bit larger than his palm, with rusty iron trimming, and cut off edges. A small buckle held it closed. Flicking up the buckle, the compass opened at the same instance, revealing its round face, and at the center, a small brass sundial. Colors on the edges blended into a murky brown, as the face swirled quickly.
The motion stopped, and small green and blue tick marks became apparent. So did an intricate fat red arrow. Jack grinned, seeing that the arrow directed slightly portside, but still in sight of the land.
Shutting the compass closed and returning it to his shirt, he spun back to the silent young boy.
"Yes, we appear to be in luck. Go on, tell Ragetti to steer us straight ahead."
With a sudden spring and hustle, the flustered kid was off the platform and down the netting.
Jack settled into the crow's nest now, happy to kick his feet over the edge and tuck his arms' behind his head. Normally, he would fall asleep in such a position, but not today. It wasn't the excitement of the journey that kept him awake, but the fact that he had already spent a majority of the morning secretly napping behind the water barrels in the cook's corner.
Time passed, slow or fast, he did not know or care. The men below never left the bow though, and the reward of their patience came. Jack watched with a better view as the far off blur became larger, more colorful, and distinct. The green color morphed into the canopy of tropical forest, with a golden sandy beach as long as his ship. A rather usual sight for a Caribbean Island.
At high tide, the ship anchored offshore, during the final hours of the sun. At this point Jack took back control of the helm, guiding the men to bring the Pearl in slow and cautious. Readings of the depths were checked every spare moment, until finally they discovered a steep underwater gradient. Jack called to drop the anchor when there were about twenty fathoms below the ocean surface, and the shore about twice as far ahead. The men were on him the instant the Peal was secured.
"OYE! Is there to be a shore party!?" Gibb's demanded, coming right alongside him.
His first did need to know the plan, the one flaw, because he hadn't yet worked that out for himself. As a general habit for using creative innovation, Jack inwardly loathed solid ideas. Plans and facts hindered him more than they offered aid. After running into unseen obstacles often enough, he never could learn the advantage of a fore developed strategy.
He caught Gibb's stern questioning eye; his mate's doubt growing with each passing second.
Since when had Gibb's become so bold? His ego sure was growing with his rank, or perhaps, Jack had simply underestimated him.
"Right….Well." Jack dallied, sifting out his compass for the next step of advice.
"Jack, it'll be dark soon, and it's best we not scour the foreign land then." Gibb's warned, and moved in closer. Jack saw his head bend, and heard his voice turn to a harsh whisper. "What's the compass read. Are they here now?"
"Aye." He saw the knowing nod, as Gibbs peered down on the bright red arrow, pointing portside, but still toward the beach. This was the island, Jack was sure.
"We'll go in the morning." Jack finally said, taking Gibb's advice without admitting so. He glanced over the quiet shores, grimacing as he traced the trunks of the dark forest behind. Natives, strange creatures, voodoo; he couldn't count on coming upon no fowl forces in that ominous lair. "For now, we'll find five motley bodies to join us."
"Should I line up the men?"
"Nay." And with that, Jack moved forward, grabbing hold of the first sturdy man he saw. "We already have our first!"
He was large in width but of average height, with a scraggly brown stubble like patchwork across his pudgy chin and cheeks. Against this bulge though, Jack saw that he had well-built muscle in his arms and legs. His nickname, Squid, was well earned just by his appearance.
"Cap'in!" Said the startled man, standing straight with composure. Jack grinned.
Gibb's relented, and Jack led him around the levels. It took no less than a quarter of an hour to assemble the rest. For the shore party he chose Pete, just so he could hear Gibb's name the sighter from above. Next came Shaken hand Mort, a short man with a full braided beard and who constantly was fidgeting. Jack also took, Mr. Cotton, the only mute shipman Jack had ever met, and whom used a parrot to speak. Upon requesting Mr. Cotton, Jack denied the parrot, reasoning that Mr. Cotton was only useful in this mission for his quietness. It was a spiteful move, his own joke to see the birdman and bird separated. Of course, he didn't miss Gibb's open disproval and grinned doubly large at that. The fifth member did not need to be picked or located. Jack trusted and was not displeased to find Wills already with the others below deck.
They were ready to proceed.
"Gibb's, tell em' 'bout the selkies now. And don't dawdle." Jack ordered, as he stood in front of four bewildered faces. To give an emphasis of hurry, he clapped Gibbs on the back, giving the heavy slug and strong push forward.
"Wha…." Gibb's began swinging back at him. Prepared for the refusal, Jack raised a brow and tilted his noggin toward the gathering. He hoped his mate knew him well enough to read the message: 'As First Mate it's your duty.' Also, Gibb's was the master of nearly all tales. Of anyone, he would know the most about selkies.
There was a stern furrow of the brow before Gibb's turned back to the table.
"SELKIES." Gibb's began, casting the word over their heads like an enchantment. The already silent room, grew deathly still. Six pairs of eyes stared eagerly at the gray man, ready to listen to another long winded and dramatic fishwife's tale.
"Maiden's that wear seals' fur to disguise themselves and swim in the oceans. The first was found by a lonesome fisherman. Mesmerized by their voices, he found them in their naked forms dancing along the sands. Having just lost his own love to illness, he decided to steal one of the maidens' for himself and grabbed up the finest fur coat that had been shed onto the rocks.
"The selkies fled at his presence, grabbing their skins and running into the waves; all except one creature whom could not find her own skin. She cried upon seeing the grey speckled coat in the hands of the fisherman, and begged he return it. The fisherman declined at first o' course, and offered to take her in. He was tired and only wanted compa'ny. But the maiden gave him her own bargain. She promised the fisherman the secrets to finding his lost wife. Knowing the Selkies to be forever fair and wise, the fisherman gave in, the trade was made. The selkie disappeared, but a year later he once more held his beloved wife."
"Ow did ee' find er?" The shifty voice of Pete asked. Pete had leaned forward, with glassy eyes.
"Arrgh, that's not important." Gibbs quickly spat.
"So are the selkies dangerous?"
"No. But they be cunning, and nimble. Won't be easy to steal a fur; their eyes be always on the skins, and they flee at first scent of flesh."
"How do we catch one then?"
Jack's eyes widened, and he suddenly thrust himself forward against the table. His fist smacked hard, spewing a loud thud from the soggy boards. It was enough to swivel the company's heads away from the frozen Gibb's and to himself. He paused, taking in the multitude of bewildered gazes, and trying to muster as much of a wicked smirk as he could into his own face.
What to say? He couldn't think of anything, his brilliance not under enough pressure or inspired to pull through. But his men would be discouraged if forced to wait until tomorrow to learn the currently nonexistent plan and details. Opening his mouth and raising a wagging finger to stall, Jack noted the annoyance in Wills. The young man had crossed his arms, and rolled his eyes. A stance that blatantly stated the cocky lad doubted him, of course. That was it. The surly boy gave the spark that Jack needed to set his mind awhirl.
"Gather round men, this be a tricky business." He said with a grin, and pulled them in close.
They greeted the morning sliver of sun, facing backward to the shore and heaving strong wooden oars against the rippling violet ocean. A narrow gold road, with comb like teeth along both sides raced across the water's surface toward him, coming closer and closer as the sliver of light stealthily rose into a full disk. Patches of pale lavender mist wavered above, below, in front and behind, giving the presence that the sky had fallen. All was silent, except for the slow steady rhythms of the thick oars, a distant crash of small waves, and a just as far swish of leaves.
Wills spared a glance at Sparrow at the rear of the dinghy. For once, the Captain looked serious: his mouth a firm line, his shoulders straight, a hand firmly planted on his knee. In the other palm, rested the treasured compass. Jack checked it in an organized pattern between his looks at the men and shore. Gibbs and Cotton sat before him, the two oldest and greyest of the party, Pete and Shaken Hand in the next row, and grudgingly, Squid with himself. Will's would have much preferred Pete as a seat mate, but that, like everything else about this trip, was his misfortune. At his feet was a small triangular piece of driftwood with a handle attached to one side, and a thin slice of a hollowed dowel about half an arm's length and a coin's size in diameter.
Suddenly, Captain Sparrow put up a palm. Everyone held their oars firm against the water, preventing any forward movement of the dinghy. In the dull birthing sun, clouded by the last shade of night and shadows of the fog, the boat stilled. All eyes, turned on Wills as he handed his oar over to Squid, who took it all too eagerly.
His stomach sank as he looked down upon the two tools for his role, and wondered again why he even agreed in the first place. At that back of his throat, the muscles tensed, and he swallowed hard. What if he refused now? Would one of the other men take up the duty? What if he spoke against the plan? If the selkies were so wise, wouldn't they see right through the deception and drown him?
A new pressure suddenly settled onto his forehead; Sparrow was watching him. Wills had become distinctly aware of that penetrating gaze, and more so felt it than actually saw it. The hard stare inspired him and a steely determination wound its way into battle with his nerves.
No, he repeated to himself, he could not withdraw, could not show cowardice in front of the man he aspired to outdo. Sparrow had pulled off far crazier stunts, and would have picked up the gear and slipped into the water without a second thought. If Sparrow would do it, then he could do it too.
It's for father, he told himself, and that thought strengthened his resolve. The whole trip was his own mission, and so it only was fitting that he take on the hard jobs, the most dangerous jobs, the jobs unpleasant for any other crew. Right now, he was going to prove his courage for the first time since he departed from home and his mother. There would be greater challenges ahead, and if he couldn't handle even a little swim, how would he ever face the future? Besides, if he didn't take action now, the voyage would never make it to those challenges. They needed a selkie to reveal the secret weakness of Calypso, and wouldn't catch one if the seal maidens all fled quickly to the waters. The small party counted on him to delay the creatures and Sparrow insisted this was the best way.
Clinging tightly onto the slippery bits of bravery, Wills forced his hand down to the two wooden items, grabbed them, then shuffled to maneuver his feet over the boat's side. He didn't look up, fearing that he may fail to continue if he lost concentration. Forgetting Sparrow, the crew, the selkies, and even his father, Wills looked at the water below his dangling feet and imagined sliding into it without a splash. He forced his mind to stay on objective, pushing back any creeping hesitancies about the feel or any sea critters below. Over the edge, and in; he just needed to take the first step.
He went. Shocking himself, when his arms pushed off from the seat sending his lower body over the side. The rest occurred as one motion, of which Wills had faint awareness. His feet submerged into wet warmth that quickly traveled up his legs to grabbed hold of his cotton pants and shirt. One of his arms hooked fast onto the edge of the boat to prevent him from sinking too quickly, while the other brought his tools to float steadily on the surface. Wills realized, with trepidation and relief that he was now in the ocean, the first step was over.
It felt like that step had taken him hours, but it really must have only been a minute or so. For now he chanced to glance over the others, and saw their faces remained just as expectant and firm as before. None looked irritated by the delay he thought to have caused. On the other hand, they could have all felt sympathetic, despite being pirates. He dared not study their faces longer, in case the urge to climb back in came about. Sparrow was still watching him, and Wills found a bit of pride knowing he had not faltered completely in front of the Captain. Prepared to keep showing Sparrow his strength, he gave the man a firm nod, and released his last lifeline, pushing off and away from the dinghy's edge at the same time.
Treading water, Wills moved his arms smoothly, avoiding any violent splashes. The boat didn't wait, but was off as soon as he was out of the oar's mighty reach, rowing calmly to the shore fifty or so feet away. That he would be in sight of the men at all times was a greater relief than he could imagine, though he wasn't quite sure how they could get to him in time if he needed help. Especially, if dangers came from creatures, in such case he would be on his own.
This was the fear. Mr. Gibbs had claimed the selkies weren't violent, but he could have mixed stories or come about plainly incorrect information. Also, Sparrow's thoughts, though they had to be true for the plan to work, depended on such a risk. Sparrow surmised that if selkies were seals, they should fear sharks, and made it Wills' role to play the lurking beast to keep the selkies from fleeing to the deeps. He couldn't help but wonder though, if any real sharks were around or hiding below.
He gripped harder onto the handle of his triangular fake fin.
Or what other things live here? He didn't know these waters and beaches. In case of danger, Wills kept a knife at his waist, but slowed by the weight of the ocean and against something possibly twice his size or greater, it seemed useless. Would he be quick enough to draw it? If not, then the blade did him little good.
Despite the warm waters, his arms began to slightly tremble. It took a great effort, and constant reminders of 'do it for father', to bring himself back to task.
One eye, he kept on the water around him, the other he used to scour the foggy beach. His views came and went, in between the rolling clouds. The crew was sneaking onto the sands now, their features miniaturized and blurred slightly in the distance. Sparrow began to lead them Westward on the strip of sands. The pale golden road traveled as far as his eyes could see, and looked deserted, causing him a glum mood. Wills expected this, they wouldn't be able to just row in where the selkies were lounging. He hoped the seal maidens weren't too far off though, for the thought of spending the whole day in the water unsettled him.
With a heavy sigh and perhaps the most courage he had yet, Wills began to slowly swim, keeping his distance and position directly out from the party. It was difficult at first, trying to maintain their pace, while keeping the fake fin and dowel in hand. He hadn't often swam with only one arm to stroke. After about hundred motions though, he felt to have a better hang of it. His other anxieties remained manageable for the most part, spiking now and then when the mist blinded his view.
They were about three hundred feet or so along, when a sharp pain suddenly hit Will's leg. He panicked, as his muscle agonizingly clenched to the brink of ripping, and thrashed the limb only to feel further intense stabs all along his shin. His hand grabbed at the knife, and he flipped onto his back, prepared for the worst. But, his breath released upon discovering an apple sized gooey blob floating right behind him. It idly moved with the currents, a translucent turquoise head swaying without one direction. Wills withdrew his hand from his weapon, as he scolded himself.
A jellyfish. Heu should have known from the feel of the first sting, and not kicked back into its tentacles. That he had been so thoughtless was a sign nerves were getting the better of him. Wills sighed with frustration, disappointed to have been riled and tricked by such a puny thing. He had hoped to have more wits than that, and cringed thinking about what Sparrow would have thought of him. Definitely, he was not going to make that mistake again.
He returned his gaze back to the beach, only to have realized that the crew had disappeared. Where? He wondered.
Searching down ahead, Wills came upon a sight that stopped all thoughts in an instant. His mouth parted to allow more air to feed his exhilarated heart. There they were. Six seal maidens, holding arms and gliding round and round in a circle. They danced elegantly, taking their steps all at the same time, their shape never wobbling or tottering. Like a heavenly light, the morning sun broke through the gray and streamed down upon them. It reflected and glistened on their skins, giving the circle the appearance of an aureate halo or crown.
Wills swam closer for a better look, awed by their beauty and grace. The women were short and full bodied, with soft and smooth curves; there was not a single edge on them, in their joints, hips, or chins. And he was certain about this, because the women wore no clothes. They were as naked as on the day of their birth.
It was the first time he had ever seen a woman's body, and the stark scene had piqued something within him for which he felt deeply ashamed. He warned himself to remain focused, keep to the mission, and ignore the instincts, but nonetheless found his eyes roaming curiously. Up and down their button noses, into the hollow necks, over the breasts, and the small curve below their navels, he gulped and studied. However, the more he looked, the less he saw them as human forms.
They all had long sandy hair, wild manes of small curling waves covering their backsides like capes. Their skins had the shine of silk cloth, of a dull brown or darker grey. In each countenance, there was a widening of features: large dark eyes set far apart, heavy cheeks, and thick coral red lips. Every feature about the women could be described by one word: full; and if a second word was used: soft. They danced to the rolling waves, containing a song which only they could hear. A white foam of water bashed onto the shore, to which they raised their hands in a tribal prayer, and bowed as the water swished and was pulled back into the sea. Just above them, kept safely away from the reaching waves were six dark grey pelts, tossed about the beach as though the women had shed them with haste.
Wills' grasp on the fin tightened, and he tore his eyes away to look back to the tree line. Somewhere in the waxy green bushes were the men, probably watching the selkies with similar astonishment. They had to have seen the pelts too, and realized the tree line was about four times the distance to them than to the women. His mind frowned at the challenge, especially considering the lithe way the selkies moved. It wouldn't be easy, but Sparrow and the crew had to try. He needed to give them as much an advantage as he could.
He held the fin up, so that it was firmly above the surface, but the handle below, raised the dowel and brought it down with a firm SPLASH! As the dowel submerged so did he, quickly maneuvering the piece to function as a snorkel.
That was the last glimpse he had of the maidens dancing. He didn't know if the sound was enough to draw their attention, or if the maidens actually believed the triangular wood was a shark fin. All he could do was play the role, and wait.
Underwater and swimming around to make the guise more realistic, Wills was first aware of how quiet it was. Below about four fathoms he could see the steep sandy slope of the ocean floor, diving deeper, continuing into the blackness in one direction, the gradient and depth decreasing to shore level in the other. His next observation was a flickering haze of a cloud in front. He considered it to be a trick of the blurry underwater vision, but the murky cloud was too distinct from the rest of the water. A school of guppies, he thought, and hoped they would swim right around him. He kept alert for signs from the beach, but did not let the cloud slip from his mind.
The haze drew closer, drifting slowly and morphing continuously. It had almost reached him when it began to disperse; or rather it seemed to disperse like an approaching fog bank. Wills made out pale turquoise tinges to it.
A bloom of jellyfish! He had to get out of the water.
Just then, there was a thud and splash behind him near the shore. Another before he had time turn around. Two human sized dark grey shapes jolted across the floor underneath him, disappearing into the depths. Startled he let go of the fin. A third splash and a grey shape shot past him faster than he could blink. This one swam at the surface, until coming upon jellyfish, and then dove straight down. A fourth figure followed on the same path, but the hole downward had closed. It, or rather she, turned from the cloud, speeding right back at him. Wills didn't know what to do. He was too slow in the water compared to this creature.
She narrowly missed him, swerving in her path to pass by his left arm. He felt the water stream with her, but not the silky coat just an inch away.
As the selkie disappeared like the others, once more, Wills was alone in the quiet. Four splashes, he recounted. Two were missing. Had the men on shore succeeded? Did the two selkies not get to their furs?
A needle jabbed into the tip of his index finger, causing his arm to retract as bubbles spewed from his mouth. There was no time to think about the missing selkies; a good portion of the jellyfish bloom had floated in. He tried to move forward, but received two more stings to his arm and hip. He gasped wondering just how many there were between him and the shore. It was like ten hot needles were shoving deeper into his skin in the hit areas; the muscles tightening. He felt panic swell within him.
'Get out!' The thought repeated frantically across his mind.
Wills shot upward, breaking the surface, and taking a long gulp of air. He let the snorkel go, no longer requiring it, and focused on the swim to shore. With a constricting clench of his gut, he measured the distance to the beach. It wasn't going to be easy. It was no ease either to see the other men standing there safely. Sparrow though, he saw with some relief had his head turned in his direction.
Wills was about to call out for help, when some bit of reasoning came through to him. But it was not a comforting awareness, for he realized that the boat was far off down the beach, and the men couldn't come into the water without risking themselves. Safety was in his sights, and yet still far out of his reach. He was alone in the water, and surrounded by jellyfish.
He drew another hard breath and hissed as a tentacle drifted into his leg. The thread flitting across his skin, a streak of pain trailing behind. However, Wills had overcome the initial shock with the prior stings, and found strength now to resist thrashing at the jolt. He let ocean sweep the tentacle away, glad to have not accidently jerked further into the creature's poisonous arms.
That sting finally broke clarity on his situation: no time remained to wait for the best solution or help to come. Every second, the tide carried more of the squishy heads between him and the land, lessening his chance of escape before being stung unconscious. Either here or swimming hard toward the shore, the fiery tentacles would be all over him. With that realization, all hesitancy dissolved to be succeeded by the urge to fight. He wasn't going to just freeze and let creatures wrap around him. At the least, he had to make it halfway toward the shore. Bending his head back to the surface and raising his legs to complete a dead man's float, Wills prepared for the race.
One arm took a stroke, coming through the water fast and clean, and his legs kicked. No stings so far.
The second stroke wasn't so lucky, as he felt the brush across his arm like a whip. Wills held fast against the injury, forcing both arms to continue their windmill motions and his legs to maintain rhythm. There was nothing else he could do to diminish the pain, once on the shore he could pause. Four more strikes: one on his knee, one on his leg near the other tender spot, one brushed his cheek, and one his hand. Wills kept pushing, gasping as each came, but holding steady with his pace. He stroked a good ways more, with few stings. The jellyfish were thinning, he thought excitedly. He was just past the halfway point too. There was a small sting to an arm, and he optimistically considered if that would be the last one. His heart began to lighten, his lips curled slightly, and Wills stroked powerfully forward.
And his whole upper body propelled, barging straight through a pocket of squishy heads and strings.
Instantly, everything went numb.
All feeling left, as his mind separated from his body. There was excruciating pain; Wills knew this but, had no such experience. He was motionless and sinking, tentacles tangling around his face and arms. Water had come rushing into his lungs, heavy and suffocating, but he wasn't coughing. Nothing was responding. His body rolled, falling gently further down. He fell from the cloud, spit down from the masses of pale turquoise hovering at the surface, dragging a few wisps that had ensnared around his indexes and partially stuffed into his clothes.
The pain never came, and like a statue he settled into the sandy floor. Terror gripped him; he was going to drown. He'd been under nearly thirty seconds, how much longer until he blacked out? Fight, Wills encouraged the word to his limbs, but no matter his desire, all his muscles remained rigid like stone. He tried harder, hoping to just move his face from its wide blank expression, and failed again. Ten feet below, the stark knowledge that he was coming to an end plagued him. He hadn't even found out how to free his father; had failed pathetically on the one thing he sought. The idea of abandoning his parents in this world troubled him deeply, and incited one last effort to swim; the strongest effort he had. By will of heart, his fingers clenched, and arm bent.
Thrill rushed through him, he could move!
The small flicks of his arms weren't enough though. He soon realized that the strength to swim far exceeded the slight motion he produced, and with a full minute, maybe two, having passed he was rapidly losing strength. Under the numbed state, he had hardly realized that his vision was blurring more than normal. The key indicator was the exhaustion settling in, his head steering toward a daze. He fought to keep focus, until his vision started to darken beyond his control. Time was up, he couldn't expect to stay alive underwater forever.
But, a new shape shot into view above, right above, in line of his sight. A human head and short scruff of grey beard on a tough wrinkled face. Gibbs, Wills recognized, the first mate swimming sloppily downward, reaching for a cuff of Wills' sleeve. Gibb's hand took the sleeve, unfortunately catching an entangled tentacle as well. He withdrew immediately at the shock, but in a second returned, taking hold once again. The arm became a tether.
Gibbs dragged Wills along the ocean bottom, the old pirate's form even worse form than his usual slow and clumsy swimming capabilities, but making headway nonetheless. The new excitement in Wills kept him awake to the point where the water became too shallow and Gibbs promptly hauled his body up into crashing waves. He blacked out as they both collapsed into dry sand.
