Margo dug for the remains of their flying wing. Not much was left. It would have to do. Margo loosened one of the broken PVC pipes and rigged a mast, using cables to tie it in place, then tied the remaining Filmar in place as a rude sail. Wind bellied it out. The raft still wallowed-but in a new direction. For a time, they made little headway. Then they left behind the influence of the Limpopo’s strong current and eddied slowly down the coastline, blown slightly shoreward by the wind hitting their sail.
Kynan poured river water through their filtration equipment and used the coleman stove to boil it. Margo was so thirsty she would cheerfully have drunk the ocean dry. He poured a cup and handed it to her. Margo sipped the hot water
And spat involuntarily.
Salty …
She stared in rising horror at the cup. She’d scooped up river water … . But she’d waited until they were almost in the mouth of the river to do it. The water she’d retrieved was brackish. And that water was all they had aboard.
She shut her eyes, wishing she could blot out the terrors closing in on her as easily as she did sight of the accusatory cup in her hand. Koot was dying, they were adrift at sea with no water and no food …
”Margo?”
She opened her eyes. Kynan’s brow had furrowed in the starlight “Water not good,” she said shakily. “Salt”
He frowned and tasted it, then spat. The furrows in his brow deepened. Between them, Koot moaned. Margo checked him and bit her lips. He was extremely weak. When she tried to move him, he vomited over the side, then soiled himself with uncontrollable diarrhea. His skin burned under her hand. Margo poured sea water over him in an effort to bring down his temperature. He moaned and shivered, then subsided into delirium.