A/N: I love the movie Poseidon and I have a multi-chapter fic started, but I have no idea if it'll ever get put up. So I wrote this one-shot, sort of Conor's thoughts during the very end of the movie, floating in the raft.
Conor James hugged his mother tightly, huddling against her in the raft as it drifted on the open sea. The tossing waves and salty splatter would have made him nauseous if he weren't so relieved and yet so terrified. Somewhere below, way, way down on the ocean floor, the wreckage of the Poseidon rested. Conor tried not to think about all the dead bodies in the ship and around it. Tried not to imagine the ghostly pale faces of people he'd known before the rogue wave, and those few he'd met afterwards.
Conor glanced around at the other survivors. Besides his mother, he'd met all of them less than twelve hours before, and yet he felt closer to them than to anyone else in the world at the present moment. They had been through it all, just like him, and here they were, the lucky – or unlucky – alive.
Jennifer Ramsey clung to her fiancée, Christian, much as Conor was holding on to his mother. Her eyes were closed and she appeared asleep, but Conor knew better. Jen had been surprisingly strong for the past hour or so, shedding few tears over the death of her father at the very end of their escape from the boat. Conor knew her father was responsible for getting them out, but he also knew Mr. Ramsey had been one of the only people Jen had left in the world, and now he was gone, leaving her with Chris. Chris's eyes were open, but he was gazing up into the sky, his face red in the reflection of the flare.
The flare. Dylan Johns sent it up what seemed like a lifetime ago, and yet so far help was nowhere to be seen. Dylan rested on the other side of Maggie, propped up against the raft's side. He alone appeared alert to his surroundings. He glanced over and met Conor's gaze, offering a small, quick smile before returning his eyes to the sky. Conor felt secure with Dylan present, because without him they would never have even left the ballroom and would have died without a fight. His courage was what saved them all in the end. Not to mention he saved Conor when the boy was separated from the group.
The eldest and final survivor, Richard Nelson, breathed deeply on the opposite end of the raft. Conor didn't really know much about him, except that he was alone and sad. Whereas Conor had his mother, Jen and Christian had each other, and Dylan was a natural loner, Nelson had no true companion; perhaps that was why he had grown close to Elena before the young woman died tragically. She was alone, too. Nelson hadn't said much since their leap from the ship's propellers, but then, none of them had. Now the older man's eyes were closed and his face was upturned to the heavens. From what Conor had seen, Nelson seemed kind, and he wished there was something he could to comfort the man. But he never wanted to leave the safety of his mother's arms again, and certainly not at the current moment.
For a time, the raft drifted gently on the water. The silence was profound; everyone lost in his or her own thoughts and the water deathly still. The flare blazed overhead. Conor was tired, wet, hungry, and cold. Like the other five, his gaze was now locked on the sky, eyes searching for some sign of rescue. Nothing.
And then –
A distant roar came out of nowhere, filling the air. Conor straightened and pulled free of his mother's grasp. The others sat up slowly. And then a chopper came into view overhead, its blades hitting the air with sharp thunks. A second helicopter emerged from the dark as well. Both had spotlights, which danced over the water as they searched for signs of life.
Conor scrambled onto his knees and began shouting, his hoarse voice leaping through the air. He waved his arms wildly, joined by his companions as they struggled to be noticed. A blinding light washed over them and stayed. They were found.