Below
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The water was deep.
Miguel couldn’t see the ocean around him in the moonless night. But he knew it was very deep underneath the boat. The lights of shore had vanished behind them many hours ago.
The long, narrow panga rode over the dark swells faster than a man could sprint. Seeing anything in the water would be impossible, even in the daylight. Yet Miguel again peered over the side of the boat. He was certain that beneath the frothy chop dancing on the dark surface were thousands of feet of nothingness.
He turned away to avoid the cold spray that rhythmically slapped the hull and slid back down out of the wind. Huddled against his brother in the bottom of the weathered panga, he tried to make out the faces of the fifteen or so other men in the darkness. All were older than him. He could only see their silhouettes, crammed together and rocking with the swells as the boat rose and fell. Like him, these men headed to an uncertain future wearing cheap T-shirts, Windbreakers, faded jeans. Like him, they carried all their money inside plastic bags zipped into pockets or stuffed into small daypacks containing the few other prized possessions they owned. Almost everyone wore a crucifix around his neck.