It's nearing dusk, and yet Farah's still weeping in my arms. A too-massive shock for such a little child.

Sherif's dead face haunts me every moment. In the beginning, it was the scariest sight in my life. But when I imagine it could be Dad's face instead, it makes me mad. I'm mad at those frickin' aliens. I'm mad at myself.

My mouth is so dry, and my empty stomach growls. I guess she feels the same, but the poor girl only whimpers 'Dad.' Time to finish what he father has started. The sun will fell soon.

"Farah," I say in low voice. "Are you thirsty?"

She nods silently.

"Me too," I continue. "I'm sure you understand that I must go down to bring us water, right?"

"Are you leaving me alone?"

"I'll be back, I promise."

"You told me you would bring Dad back, and you didn't."

"Not this time, Farah." I hold her shoulders. "Trust me." I see doubt and fear in her eyes as I leave her, but I have no choice. This is what I must do for both of us to survive.

It's my third dive into water today, but I feel calmer this time. I'm not going underwater because I'm afraid of dehydration or starvation until death. I'm diving because I've sworn that Farah will survive.

Sherif's face doesn't annoy me anymore as I pass by him in his sunken flat. The way I found him above the fridge a few hours ago makes me guess how he died. Most probably, the fridge was flipped, with its door facing the floor, and Sherif must have exhausted himself while overturning it.

Hopefully, his sacrifice won't go in vain.

As I open the miraculously intact fridge, I grab two bottles of water. There's nothing edible I can plunder. Scanning the kitchen quickly before I leave, I spot three tins on the floor. Without checking their labels, I push them into my jeans pockets. Most probably, they're tuna tins—I hope.

I swim the same way back to the stairwell. My head hits something as I surface. It's the same floating door whose owner is someone dead from either the first or the second floor.

I feel better while I'm returning upstairs to Farah. This time, I kept my promise to her. Her eyes widen in astonishment when I step into the roof, as if she didn't believe I would come back. She hurries to me and snatches one of the two bottles from my hand. "Hey! Hey! Slow down." I grin to her, but she ignores me, gulping water from the bottle.

"Don't finish it all," I say. "We still have a long journey ahead."

"What journey?" she asks.

"Tomorrow morning we leave this place to find somewhere safer than here."

"But we're safe on the roof."

"Look." I empty my pockets. "This is all our food. And the bottle in your hand is half the water we have. What will we do when we run out of food?"

"I don't know." She shakes her head.

"You see? That's why we should leave as soon as possible."

"But how are we going to leave? The sea is everywhere."

"I've found a very small boat for us." I glance at the shovel. "And its oar."

*  *  *

Today, I'm going to beat my personal top score in stupidity.

My untrained biceps scream as I haul the floating door from water. Farah follows me as I drag it into the vacant apartment above—its floor is still wet from the tsunami wave slap.

"This is no boat," Farah notes, carrying the two water bottles.

"This is better than swimming." I place the door at the edge of a window that has no glasses.

"I'm not coming." Farah shakes her head.

"The sea is calm," I reassure her, heading to the apartment doorstep where I left the shovel—the oar.

"Why don't we just wait for help?" she asks.

"Because help is not coming." I put the shovel on the door.

"Why? The police must help us."

"The police don't know about our problem," I let out a breath of air. "That's why we're going to them to tell them what happened."

"I'm so scared," she whimpers.

I carefully push the door from the window. Now it's in the water, but I'm still holding it. "Come on, Farah. We must do this together." I motion her toward the door. As she approaches in hesitation, I give her my hand. She holds it, mounting the back of the floating door.

"Don't let me go," she cries.

"I'm not going anywhere without you." I slowly crouch next to her. She screams when the door wobbles.

"Listen," I say. "Keep yourself low, don't make sudden moves and everything is going to be alright."

She grovels on the door, her left hand clutching my jeans. "Much better," I note, moving my buttocks to the center of our boat. Holding the heavy shovel with both hands, I realize that rowing with it is much harder than I thought. Anyway, I keep my movements as smooth as possible to maintain our balance, and also not to get easily exhausted.

Farah's fingernails are almost piercing into my skin through the jeans. I'm not less nervous than her as we gradually get further from the tall white building. It's not the sea surrounding us that makes me nervous. It's me trying to master the art of rowing...with a shovel.

According to my common-sense-clock, we are half an hour after sunrise, which is like 6 A.M. We still have a long day of rowing ahead of us. I understand now why in historical movies they chain and whip the oarsmen. The white block is still standing tall behind us—bearing in mind that half of it is submerged—yet my arms call for a break. Maybe I should row for fifteen minutes and rest for another fifteen. This will give us around six to seven hours of rowing in daylight; around four kilometers before nightfall—if my calculations are correct. Shit! We are not going where with this pace. I'd rather row for thirty minutes and rest for fifteen. This will give us around...damn! My mind is too muddled to do the math. Anyway, I've started a one-way ride. The only valid conclusion for the time being is: keep moving.

"I want to go back," Farah weeps.

I keep rowing without answering her. Going back to her block is what I want too, but I remind myself that staying there is only an option to die

You're escaping from death by dehydration to death by drowning.

*  *  *

From the beginning, I knew it was a stupid idea.

But when night falls, I realize that I didn't give this idea its right estimate of stupidity.

It's true this is not my first dark night. But I spent the previous two in concrete buildings; not on a piece of wood floating on a hissing sea in a dark world.

"Hold me tight, Farah." I try to sound confident, but my nervous voice betrays me. As the sea shakes our boat, I recite all the verses I remember from the Quran, groveling with Farah in my arms to make sure she's still there. I can hardly see her face under moonlight, but I can imagine from her wet cheeks and pounding heart.

"I don't want to die." She weeps.

"It's going to be alright." My voice trembles. "The sun will rise soon."

*  *  *

The sun rises, but not soon as I promised her.

"I'm sorry, I lost the water bottles." She chews her lower lip.

"And I lost the shovel," I sigh as I raise my head. "But I still have two tuna tins in my pockets."

I gaze at the horizon, wondering where this sea ends. I have no idea how far we have gone, and in which direction. We may stay on this door until we die of thirst before we see dry land.

"What are you doing?" Farah asks as I get myself into the water.

I should have done this from the beginning. While pushing the door with both arms, I kick with both legs in opposite movements; one leg kicks upward while the other kicks downward, and vice versa. We are heading south faster than yesterday, I presume.

"Where are we now?" she asks me this question every time I rest my legs, leaning to the door carrying her. As this is my fifth break today, this is the fifth time I hear this question. In the four previous times, my reply was always 'en route'. Perhaps she needs to hear the truth.

"I don't know," I answer impassively.

"How don't you know?" She raises her eyebrows. Her shocked look kills me.

"I mean I don't know the name of this exact location of the sea," I say. "But don't worry. We're going in the right direction; south."

"How do you know the right direction? The sea looks the same everywhere."

"Good question." Yeah right, but not the right time for a science lesson. "From the sun."

"Then, what you do at night when the sun is not there in the sky?"

The night. I don't want to think about it now. "At night, we don't go anywhere," I sigh. We just pray we will survive to the next sunrise, I want to say.

"Are we going to spend another night in the sea?"

"We'll know, Farah. Just don't think about it from now."

"I hate night. I was so scared," she mumbles.

"It's too hot today. I think the sea will be calm tonight." I don't know. It's just a white lie. "Now, let's keep moving."

To me, the fear of another night ride is a more powerful motive than the hope of finding land. The conversation I've just had with Farah makes me kick stronger.

"Boat!" Farah cries, pointing behind me.

Without thinking twice, I turn as I hear the word. Yes, the girl is not imagining things. That floating object is a boat. A BOAT!

"HEY!" I holler as I never hollered before. Farah joins me and screeches with her little voice.

Damn! Is someone steering that thing? Or is it just drifting out to sea?

"HEY!" I holler again. "OVER HERE!"

I'm not hallucinating, am I? Someone is waving to me from that boat.

"Thank God. Thank God. Thank God," I mutter. It's the brightest moment in my last seventy-two hours. "We're saved, Farah." I turn to her. For the first time, I spy a flicker of a smile on her face.

The small boat with two oars approaches us with two people on board; a grey-bearded man and a girl of my age. I push our door slowly until it touches the boat. The man—who seems to be a villager—reaches for Farah's hand first before he pulls me from the sea.

"You and your little sister were destined to live, son," the man says as I sit next to him. "Actually, I was heading back home as I believed I wouldn't find any more survivors other than this girl. Can you imagine? Ten boats from our village have been looking for survivors since yesterday. I hope they rescue more people."

"I hope so." I mean every word. "Can, please, we return to Alexandria? I need to find my family."

"This means another night in the sea. I need to bring more drinking water from home first," he replies.

"I'll do whatever you want. Just take me there," I beg him.

"You're insulting me, son." The villager frowns. "Do you think I'm expecting anything in return from you? It's not like this at all."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"Don't say anything." He looks upset. "You'd better have some rest until we return. I assume you've been in the sea for quite some time."

I bit my lower lip, thinking of how I can resolve this misunderstanding. I hear Farah, who's sitting behind me, tells the other girl her name. "And you?" Farah asks her.

"My name is Shakinaz."

I'm sure I look too awkward when I turn my head sharply to the girl, my eyes widened. "Your name is Shakinaz, you said?" I ask.

The girl jerks her head backward. "Yes?"

Her name is Shakinaz. And she is not bad looking at all. I can't help laughing. Now? Why now? I will never understand destiny's arrangements.

"Do you have a problem with my name?" she asks, her delicate eyebrows drawn together.

"Not at all." I shake my head with a grin on my face. "On the contrary, I believe it's an interesting name. No, a unique name."

She stares at me as if she's watching a maniac right now.

"It's Persian, right?"

THE END