I’d been working the Bluevale ferry since High School. That early June morning in ’84 seemed like a hundred others: peach red skies mingling with gentle mists rising from the warming waters of Lake Carina.
As we waited patiently dockside, the Genevieve reversed into her berth. Twenty-Eight on board, according to the dispatcher over at Greenhill Point.
Behind the lowering ramp, the expected human wave failed to surge forward. Confused faces ran aboard to search the seemingly deserted vessel. Entering the wheelhouse I paused as the radio crackled and fizzed with interference; froze as woven into the static, echoed faint, pitiful cries of ‘Mayday‘.
These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.