USS Indianapolis: Disaster at Sea | Troubled Waters | 2
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This episode of Against the Odds contains depictions of violence. Please be advised. Lieutenant Commander Lewis Haynes stumbles through the officer's wardrobe of USS Indianapolis, looking for a way out. The air is so thick with smoke he can barely see, let alone breathe. His lungs are burning. He knows he needs to get outside, to the main deck, two feet above him. Down here, below deck, it seems like everything is on fire.

Only minutes ago, Haynes was in his quarters when he was awoken by two large explosions. He escaped his room and dodged fires to get here, to the wardroom, where he knows there's a ladder that leads topside. But he's disoriented, dizzy from smoke inhalation. He can't find it. He feels his way along a bulkhead and comes to a small, round opening. A porthole.

He sticks his head through it and takes a deep gulp of fresh air. And now, for the first time, he's able to see Indy's exterior. He looks down and sees a huge hole in the side of the ship. Debris pours out, mixed with a black liquid that he thinks must be the oil from the ship's engines. Something wet smacks him in the side of the head. A rope.

Haines realizes he can use it to pull himself up to the main deck. He grabs it and wriggles through the porthole, careful not to fall into the dark sea below. The rope chafes against his aching hands, which are covered in burns. But slowly, he hauls himself up the side of the ship to the deck. As he flops over the edge, he can't believe what he sees. The deck looks like a battlefield. Badly burned men lie everywhere.

many screaming in pain. Others walk around dazed, in shock, scorched uniforms hanging from them in tatters.

Haynes is Indy's chief physician, and his medical instincts kick in. He rushes up to the closest injured man he sees, but the man pushes Haynes away. He's delirious, screaming. Don't touch me! Don't touch me! Haynes backs off and goes to help the next man, but he has no medical supplies. Then he spots the ship's pharmacist carrying a first aid box. Give me that, quick!

Haynes rifles through the box until he finds a pack of morphine syringes. He goes up to a burn-covered man lying on the deck and holds up a syringe. The man gives a weak nod, and Haynes injects him with a painkiller. It won't do anything to treat his burns, but at least it will numb his pain.

Haynes does the same for more injured crewmen, injecting them with morphine until he's out of syringes. Then, he flags down a sailor rushing past. "Hey you, yeah, get me more supplies from the sickbay." The sailor looks back, shakes his head. "There ain't no sickbay left, Doc." Haynes tries to think, what are they supposed to do now? And then, the ship starts to lurch to one side. She tilts hard, and quickly.

Haines grabs a rail on the bulkhead closest to him to keep from falling. He looks back to the deck. The ship is listing over so fast that the injured men are sliding down the deck and tumbling over each other like rocks in a landslide. All he can do is watch and listen to their frightened, agonized screams as they fall into the ocean. Haines looks around.

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Progressive Casualty Insurance Company and Affiliates. Price and coverage match limited by state law. From Wondery, I'm Mike Corey, and this is Against the Odds. On July 30th, 1945, in the final days of the Second World War, the Navy cruiser USS Indianapolis was attacked by a Japanese submarine in the Philippine Sea.

The first torpedo hit the bow of the ship, killing 200 men immediately. Then a second torpedo struck just below the ship's fuel storage tanks, creating a massive fireball that swept through the lower decks. Twelve minutes later, just after midnight, Indy sank, taking about 300 of her nearly 1,200 officers and enlisted men down with her.

The survivors found themselves scattered in groups across several miles, being pulled even farther apart by the waves and ocean currents. They were lucky to escape the torpedo attack alive, but now stranded in the open ocean, hundreds of miles from the nearest land, they faced an even bigger test. This is Episode 2, Troubled Waters.

Captain Charles McVeigh clutches onto the lifelines that run along the edge of Indy's deck. The ship is now rolled onto her side and he has to climb through the lifelines and walk along her portside hull to get to where he's going. He's hoping to reach the radio room before Indy sinks to make sure a distress signal has gone out, but he's not sure if he can make it. The ship is going down fast.

McVeigh looks down and sees gunpowder cans and supply crates falling into the water, along with dead bodies. The bodies of his crew. McVeigh gave the order to abandon ship several minutes ago, but the message had to go out by word of mouth. Indy's power is out and the loudspeakers aren't working. He hopes word has spread and that anyone still alive is safely in the water, on rafts or in life jackets.

The entire ship shakes. McVeigh grabs the lifelines to keep him falling. He knows Indy could sink at any moment, but he's not ready to give up. Not yet. He still has to reach the radio room. McVeigh was raised on stories of proud Navy men who were never afraid to stare death in the face. They believed that a captain should always be the last man off a sinking ship. He wants to continue that tradition.

But then, a large wave crashes into him, tearing him away from the lifelines and throwing him into the water. For a second or two, he's completely submerged, not sure which way is up or down.

Finally, he gets his bearings and swims up to the surface. He gasps for oxygen and looks around. The surface of the water is slick and black. It's oil. It must have leaked from the ship. He feels it clinging to his hair and skin. He looks up and sees Indy's stern towering above him. Her massive propeller still turns slowly, silhouetted against the dark sky. Then, suddenly...

She begins to plunge straight down into the waves. McVeigh turns and swims away as fast as his tired arms will take him. He doesn't look back. His ship is about to disappear under the water, but he's not going down with her. Harpo Celaya treads water and calls out for his friend, Santos Pena. Santos! Santos! But no one answers back.

He and Santos had jumped into the water together just minutes ago, but as soon as Harpo landed in the water, he hit something hard. His legs still hurt from the impact. Now, as he floats there alone, he wonders if the something hard was Santos. Did he accidentally kill his friend? The thought is almost more than he can bear.

Then he looks up and sees something even more horrifying. It's the outline of Indy's stern sinking into the ocean. As the final inches of Indy glide into the water, huge bubbles start popping to the surface. The purple flinches as they burst, sounding gunshots. And then everything goes eerily quiet. All he can hear is the sound of water lapping against his own body.

The moon has come back out, and in its faint light, Harpo can just barely make out the shapes of debris floating past him. Supply crates, shoes, gas masks, but no people. For several minutes, it feels like Harpo is the sole survivor. Then, he sees something larger floating in the water. He swims over to it and sees that it's a corpse, bobbing limply in a life jacket.

Harpo wasn't able to find a jacket before he jumped. If he has any hope of surviving in the water, he'll need one. He swims up to the bottom and starts unhitching the life jacket. But then, the dead man opens his eyes. Get away from me! Get away! I'm sorry, but I don't have a life jacket. I need help. No! Get away! The half-dead man paddles away with his life jacket.

leaving Harpo alone again, floating in an endless, oil-slicked sea. Lewis Haynes rubs his face as he treads water, trying desperately to get the oil off. He knows that ingesting even a little can cause vomiting and dehydration. But the more he rubs, the more the burnt skin on his forehead blazes with pain. He can't believe how quickly it all happened. Just 15 minutes ago, he was fast asleep.

Now, Indy's gone and he's floating alone in the Pacific Ocean. Wearing only his underwear, he hears men yelling in the distance. Other survivors. He swims toward their voices. His eyes adjust to the darkness and soon, he sees the outlines of about 50 or so men. Like him, all the men are in the water. There isn't a life raft in sight. Some are wearing life jackets. Some aren't. They all look terrified.

Then, Haynes recognizes one of the men. It's Father Thomas Conway, the ship's Catholic priest, and his good friend. They grab hands, and Conway gestures at the others. Let's help these men out, Lou. Haynes checks in with the men, one at a time.

Are they injured? If so, where? A lot of them are retching from swallowing salt water, oil, or both. Some are vomiting so hard it's making them do somersaults in the water. The floating group is now much bigger and in the distance, Haynes hears a booming voice yelling out orders. He recognizes the voice. It's Captain Edward Park, part of the Marine Detachment onboard the ship. Stay together and form a circle.

Park's a natural leader, and his commanding voice seems to focus the men. Soon he, Haynes, and Father Conway have organized the floating men into one great mass. Each man puts his arms through the life jacket of the man in front of him, so that the group forms a large ring. Then Park helps Haynes organize a second circle inside the larger one, where they bring the most severely injured men.

Haynes is impressed with Park's quick thinking. Staying in a circle will help keep them together and help them keep warm as the overnight temperature drops. And by connecting everyone, those without life jackets will find it easier to stay afloat. Haynes starts attending to the men in the inner circle. He estimates that there are now about 400 men altogether in their group.

all scared and shivering. Many of them are badly burned or wounded from the explosions and fires. They're lucky to have survived the sinking, but it'll take more than luck to survive out here in the middle of the ocean with no life rafts, no medical supplies, no food, and no water. An hour or so after watching Indy sink, Captain Charles McVeigh treads water alone in the darkness.

He strains to hear the calls of his crew, but all he hears is the sound of the wind and the ocean. He does some quick mental calculations. Indy was traveling at 17 knots when the torpedo struck her. The order to shut off the engines didn't go through, so she continued traveling forward, even assuming she slowed as she took on water. She probably covered at least three miles before she sank, maybe more.

The men who abandoned ship would be scattered across that entire route. Maybe some of them have found each other by now. Maybe others like him are alone. Suddenly, something bumps him squarely in the back. Is it a dead body or something worse? He turns and sees a large potato crate bobbing in the waves. He gets on top and straddles it. But then he sees something even bigger.

An empty life raft. He jumps off the crate and swims to the raft. There's actually two of them, one on top of the other. The crude gray vessels resemble rectangular canvas-wrapped donuts with floors made of thin strips of wood woven together in a lattice pattern. They're not at all dry or comfortable, but they offer some shelter from the waves. He climbs aboard to discover they're empty and damaged.

No men, no provisions, no paddles. But he doesn't care, for the first time since entering the water. He relaxes, listening to the waves bumping against the raft. It occurs to him that he might be Indy's sole survivor. The thought knocks the wind out of him. Could he really have lost not only his ship, but his entire crew? And then, in the distance, he hears something. Help! Help! Help!

Is anyone there? Hello? Hello! It's the captain! I'm here! Over the sound of the rolling ocean, it's hard to hear. But a few seconds later, he gets a response. Is that Captain McVeigh? Yes! Yes! Come this way!

He splashes his arms in the water, trying in vain to steer the life raft towards the voice. But after a few minutes, he sees them swimming towards him. Three crew members, two of them young sailors, are exhausted, barely able to keep their heads above the water. The third is one of Indy's longest tenured crewmen, the quartermaster, Vincent Allard.

Together, he and McVeigh separate the two rafts, then hoist the two half-conscious sailors into one of them. Allard joins McVeigh in the other, breathing hard from all the effort. Boy, am I glad to see you, sir. That makes two of us. Allard is uninjured, but the two enlisted men are in bad shape. They can't stop retching, probably from ingesting salt water and oil.

McVeigh and Allard lash the two rafts together to make sure they don't drift apart, but there's not much else they can do to help the six sailors. Hours pass, and the sun comes up, revealing an ocean slicked with oil and dotted with floating pieces of debris, but no other signs of life.

McVeigh scans the horizon, looking for more survivors. But the sea is choppy, and it's hard to see more than a few hundred yards through the swells. Finally, McVeigh spots another life raft. He gets their attention, and they paddle over. Five more survivors, bringing McVeigh's group to nine. They spend the rest of the morning looking for other survivors. But there's nothing. McVeigh turns to the others. "Is this all that's left of us?"

The men look at him, scared. McVeigh changes his tone. He needs to be strong for them. Don't worry, they'll come for us. McVeigh explains that Indy was expected in the Philippines on July 31st. Today is the 30th. Even if a distress signal didn't go out, Indy will be reported as missing a couple of days at the most. Rescue will come, they just have to wait.

McVeigh thinks he and his men can survive a few days in his rafts. As for the rest of his crew, all he can do is hope that there are other groups he can't see, and that they have rafts too. If they don't, and are floating in the open ocean, then for them, a rescue in two or three days might be too late.

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Head over to Symbiotica.com and use code "Odds" for 20% off and free shipping on your subscription order. Harpo Salaya has been treading water alone for hours. He still doesn't have a life jacket, and he's growing more exhausted by the minute. He's not sure how much longer he can keep his head above the water. Suddenly, he sees salvation, a life raft, and it's not far away. He takes a breath and starts swimming.

As he gets closer, Harpo sees two sailors on the raft. They look like they're asleep, but as they hear Harpo splashing towards them, they slowly turn to watch as he swims up. "Thank God I found you guys!" But just as he starts to lift himself into the raft, one of the men pushes him back into the water. "Get the hell off!" Harpo quickly resurfaces, confused.

It's not a huge raft, but there's clearly room for several more people. Maybe the man's in shock. He swims around to the other side of the raft and tries again, but now the other man lunges at him, grabbing his shoulders. "Get off! The raft will sink with three people!" "But I don't have a life jacket! Please!" The man ignores Harpo's cries and pushes his head underwater.

Harpo squirms and tries desperately to escape the man's grip, but the sailor on the raft holds him down like he's trying to drown him. Harpo feels his muscles burning as he flails. He's running out of oxygen. Finally, Harpo manages to squirm away and resurface.

He sucks in air, stunned at what just happened. He thought that in a crisis like this, the crew of the Indy would try to help each other. Instead, it seems like every man for himself. Harpo scans the water for other rafts, but sees nothing. He waits a few minutes, then quietly makes his way back to the life raft, hoping the other sailors won't hear him. He has nowhere else to go.

He sees a rope trailing off the raft into the water and grabs hold of it. He takes a breath. He might not be on the raft, but at least the rope will help him stay afloat. He just hopes the crazed men on the raft don't spot him and try to kill him again. Dr. Lewis Haynes slaps the sailor's cupped hands away from his mouth. The young man keeps trying to drink salt water. He gives Haynes a pleading look.

But I'm thirsty. I know you are. But the salt water, it'll kill you. Haines has spent the whole night swimming from man to man, checking their burns and other ailments. The group around him, in their concentric circles, is still together and alive. But they can't be drinking salt water if they want to stay that way. As the sun rises, Haines allows himself a smile. They've survived the night.

Things looked literally and figuratively dark for a while, but he expects the sun will help cheer everyone up. As the sun gets higher, its rays bounce off the water. Like hundreds of little mirrors, the rippling surfaces of the ocean reflect the light back up into Haines' eyes. It's blinding and painful. Soon he hears other men moaning all around him. "I can't see. It hurts to blink."

Haynes realizes it's not the sun alone that's hurting them. The oil and salt water are causing their eyes to swell. Every time they blink, it feels like sandpaper rubbing against their eyeballs. The combination of that and the harsh sunlight could blind them. Everyone, cover your eyes. Use whatever you have. Do it now! Haynes rips at the shirt of the nearest fully-closed survivor, tearing off strips of fabric.

Others follow his lead, and within minutes, all the men have turned whatever cloth they can find into blindfolds. Just before Haynes puts on his own blindfold, he looks at the survivors around him. They look like they're facing a firing squad. He hopes it's not a fitting image. It's midday, and Captain McVeigh is taking inventory of his group's supplies.

Quartermaster Vincent Allard lists out all the items they've discovered, either on the rafts or floating in the sea. Two paddles, one flare pistol, a dozen flares, a large sheet of canvas. Another sailor opens up their latest prize, a can of emergency rations that just drifted past.

The other sailors crowd around eagerly as he counts out his contents. Okay, look, there's 10 cans of Spam, malted milk tablets, and 12 tins of biscuits.

The sailors start salivating over the idea of a meal, but McVeigh stops them. They need to ration out their supplies. They've been in the water for about 12 hours, and it might be far longer than that before help arrives. Just as McVeigh is deciding how to parcel out the food, he hears a noise. It's a plane. The men look up, squinting to see where it is.

Finally, McVeigh spots it. It looks like a twin-engine bomber. One of theirs. He yells out to the men. Splash in the water! Try to get their attention! The men punch and kick the water around the rafts as hard as they can. While they splash, McVeigh uses a mirror to try and signal a plane. He doubts that it's a rescue plane, and the odds of actually seeing them are slim. But they have nothing to lose. Plus, he likes that this gives his men some hope.

After a few minutes, the plane disappears. The men sink back, their places in the life raft. It's okay. That bomber wasn't meant for us. That doesn't seem to make them feel better. So he tries again. Guys, help is on the way, okay? Let's stay positive. Now, why don't we divide up today's rations? Each man gets a sliver of Spam, two malted milk tablets, and two biscuits.

McVeigh saves his ration for last and takes the same amount as everyone else. As he chews on his tiny meal, McVeigh looks out at the water. By his reckoning, the food will last about 10 days. But they have a bigger problem. They still don't have any drinking water, and if they can't find some, or figure out a way to catch rainwater, they won't make it 10 days. Lewis Haynes floats in the water in front of a young sailor,

The man is shivering. He's been vomiting almost non-stop. His pupils are dilated. Haines curses, hating that he can't do more for him. How do you treat a patient when you're floating in the middle of an ocean with no medical kit? I know it's hard, but you need to try and fight the nausea. Vomiting burns up energy, and you need to conserve what you've got.

He knows the advice is futile, but there is some good news. The sun is setting and the men can take off their blindfolds. A cool breeze already sweeps across the sea. Still, with night comes more danger. Rough seas, cooler temperatures. There's a good chance some of the men will die of dehydration or hypothermia before the morning comes.

He swims over to two sailors, holding up a severely injured man. Haynes can barely recognize him as Gunnery Officer Stanley Lipski, one of his best friends on the ship. He's hard to look at, his arms are charred to the bone, and his eyes look like they've been cooked in their sockets. Haynes knows he can't do anything for him, but he tries to reassure him anyway. "Hey, Stan, it's Lew Haynes. I'm here to help you, okay?"

Haynes thinks he sees the trace of a smile on Lipski's scorched mouth, but it's hard to tell. I'm dying, Lou. Haynes knows he's right, but doesn't say so. Tell my wife I love her and she should marry again. Haynes has seen a lot of death in the Navy, but seeing Lipski like this is almost too much to bear. Yeah, I will. I will, Stan.

Haynes stays with Lipski and asks the two sailors to keep lifting his arms above the water to reduce his discomfort. Lipski's a tough customer. He hangs on for several more hours, and then, just like that, he takes one final breath and stops. Haynes feels numb. There was nothing he could do, but it still stinks.

He cuts off Lipski's life jacket and lets his friend's body slowly sink into the water. He watches him fall down, down, down until he's gone. Nearby, a sailor speaks up. The Lord is my shepherd. Then, Father Conway joins in. I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.

And soon, a dozen men are reciting the 23rd Psalm together. He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul. He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness, for his name's sake. Haynes listens to the words, and he looks down to where Stanley Lipsky had been only moments ago. And then he joins in. Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.

Haines feels the power of the words. He recites the prayer for himself and everyone else still alive. They'll need it tonight. It's late evening on July 30th, and Harpo Salaya is still holding onto the rope attached to the life raft.

Every muscle aches, but he refuses to let go. The raft Harpa was holding onto has been joined by three other rafts. Between them, they're carrying about 40 men. There's also four floater nets in the water and another hundred or so men are holding onto those or drifting alongside them. The ragtag armada is spread out over a few hundred yards. Some of the new arrivals are in really bad shape

and a lot of the men are trying to climb into the rafts or onto the floater nets. The nets don't provide any protection from the ocean, but at least they relieve the men without life jackets from treading water. But even injured men are getting turned back, much like Harpo was earlier. There's just not enough room for everyone, and the men lucky enough to have safe spots aren't willing to give them up.

The waves pick up and Harpo sees some of the men drifting away. People are yelling out to them, urging them to swim back, but the stragglers are too weak. One by one, they start disappearing behind the swells. An officer swims over to the raft Harpo was clinging to. Harpo overhears him pleading with the man who tried to drown him last night.

We need to do something, Lieutenant. You're the senior officer. But the lieutenant ignores the other officer and stays huddled in his raft. Then, from elsewhere in the group, Harpo hears someone else yelling orders. All right, listen. Off the rafts unless you're injured. Everyone else can hang on to the sides. Anyone without a life jacket, go for the next. It's a young crew chief.

A rank far below Lieutenant, but his voice is powerful and everyone listens. Soon, some men on the rafts are actually clearing space for their injured comrades. The semblance of order lifts Harpo's spirits. Maybe they can all work together as a group now. He's about to start swimming towards one of the nets to see if the other men will let him on when something big crushes past his leg in the water. His body tenses up. What the hell was that?

He scans the water around him, but whatever it was, he's gone. And then, Harpo hears a loud splash about 200 feet away. He sees a man thrashing in the water. Before he goes under, he manages to scream out one word. "Shark!" Harpo doesn't want to look down. Now he knows what bumped against him, and he knows there are more of them down there, just below his dangling legs.

Harpo closes his eyes. He doesn't want to look. He can't bear to look. But he can hear. All around him, more men are screaming as the sharks come for them.

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The sun is starting to go down, and it's becoming clear that they're about to spend another night in the middle of the ocean. Smith sighs and turns to the buddy huddled next to him. I was only 17 when I enlisted. You know what my daddy said when he signed my Navy application? What, Smitty? He said, I'm signing your death warrant. Smith's buddy cracks up, and Smith does too. They could both use a little gallows humor right about now.

All afternoon, they could see the sharks circling in the crystal blue water beneath their net. Now, it's too dark to see into the water, but Smith knows they're still there. He figures he and the other men on the net are safe for now. The water is still full of corpses, and he's seen several of the sharks feasting on them. As long as they have that easy food source, they're unlikely to attack the living.

But just as he's thinking this, he feels something ram him from below. He's thrown off the net and instantly pulled under. It's a shark, a big one. Its teeth are sinking into his left hand. As the shark pulls him deeper, a single primal thought shrieks in Smith's head. I'm about to be eaten alive. The shark snaps its head back and forth, like it's trying to pull Smith's arm out of its socket.

The rush of pain is beyond anything he's ever experienced. He pushes at the shark's snout with his other hand, but it's no use. The shark is too strong, and he's bleeding out, getting weaker by the second. Then, his hand slips on the shark's skin, and he feels his middle finger hit something soft. An eye, maybe. He jabs it, and suddenly, the shark lets go.

Smith swims frantically to the surface, afraid that the shark will come back to finish the job. He looks at his hand. It's bloody and shredded, but it's still there. He swims back to the floater net where he'd been sitting before the attack, looking for his buddy, but he can't find him. Instead, a group of sailors on the net push and kick at him, their faces filled with panic. "No, no! Get away! Get away!"

Smith realizes they're afraid the shark will follow his bloody hand back to the net, but he won't be denied. He's full of adrenaline from surviving the attack. He storms onto the net, climbing over men's bodies, and ends up in the middle, where he thinks he'll be safe. But suddenly, a man pulls out a knife and slashes at him. Smith throws up his arms to protect himself. The man has a look of absolute determination on his face. Determination to kill Smith.

Smith pushes him away, then bulldozes back with a mob of deranged men. He slides back into the water, holding his mangled hand over his head. For now, he figures he'll take his chances with the sharks. Several hundred yards away, Harpo Salaya clings to the rope that tethers him to a life rack and listens to the unearthly screams and panic splashes of someone else fighting for his life.

He shivers and wonders how many more shark attacks he'll hear tonight and whether he'll be next. Captain McVeigh is awakened by the sound of men screaming. It's their second night in the water and he's exhausted. He needs sleep, but clearly it's not meant to be. He sits up in the life raft he's still sharing with Quartermaster Allard and tries to figure out where the screams are coming from.

It's right under us! It's the two young sailors and the raft next to theirs. McVeigh looks into the water, and even in the darkness, you can see it right away. The same 12-foot shark that's been circling their group all day. Its white dorsal fin catches the moonlight as it pokes up out of the water, just inches away from their rafts. McVeigh tries to reassure the young sailors.

Don't worry, he can't get us as long as we stay in the rafts. But he doesn't quite believe it. The wood lattice bottoms of their rafts aren't exactly sturdy. A shark that big could easily ram a raft from below and knock its occupants into the water. Next to him, Allard watches the shark, looking more annoyed than frightened. Then he calls out to one of the other sailors. Hey, hand me a paddle.

He starts pounding the water with the paddle. McVeigh grabs another paddle and joins in. But the shark keeps circling. So, they decide to try another approach. This time, they wait for the shark to swim past. Then, swing directly at it. McVeigh feels his paddle make contact with the top of the shark. But it doesn't seem to do any good. The creature keeps swimming. Keeps circling.

It's a standoff. McVeigh hands his paddle off to a younger sailor and settles back down into the raft to try and get some sleep. But even though he's exhausted, he can't keep his eyes closed. He keeps thinking about that shark, circling and circling, waiting for its chance to draw blood. Lewis Haynes swims out to check on two survivors who have drifted away from the rest of his group.

Every stroke makes him nervous, afraid that it might bring back the sharks. He looks up at the bright blue sky. It's mid-morning on July 31st. He estimates that of the 400 men in his group, about 50 of them died overnight. Some were ripped apart by sharks. Others succumbed to their injuries from the torpedo attack. And some died from dehydration and exhaustion.

As more and more of the men have perished, the concentric circles he and Marine Captain Edward Park put in place yesterday have begun to break apart. It's getting harder for Haynes to swim out to check on the most distant stragglers, like the two he's paddling towards now. He's running out of energy, finding it harder to keep his legs kicking. But he can't stop now. He wants to save as many of these men as he can. He owes it to guys like Stanley Lipski, the ones who didn't make it.

Finally, Haynes approaches the two men. One is shivering and looks like he's about to pass out, while the other is hunched over a few yards away, sleeping as he gently rocks in the water. "Hey, are you okay?" The shivering man's face is pure terror. "Are they back? They haven't come back, have they?" "The sharks are gone. Are you hurt? Please, please don't let them come back. Please don't let them come back." Haynes doesn't know what to say.

There's nothing he can do about the sharks. "Is your friend okay?" "Huh? Over there. Can you wake him up?" The shivering man paddles over and gives the sleeping sailor a gentle push on the shoulder. The sailor's body tips over like a toy, revealing that everything below his chest is gone, devoured by sharks. The shivering man screams. Haynes looks away, unable to speak. He looks up at the sky, then to the horizon,

No sign of rescue planes or ships. They're going to be here for a while longer. But how much longer? It's true the sharks are gone. For now, they seem to be most active at night. But Haines isn't sure these men can survive another night like the last one. If they aren't rescued soon, whoever finds them won't be pulling survivors out of the water. They'll be pulling out bodies.

This is episode two of our four-part series, USS Indianapolis, Disaster at Sea. A quick note about our scenes. In most cases, we can't exactly know what was said, but everything is based on historical research. If you'd like to learn more about this event, we highly recommend the book Indianapolis by Lynn Vincent and Sarah Vladek. I'm your host, Mike Corey. Anthony DelCole wrote this episode. Our editor is Sean Raviv.

I'm Dan Taberski. In 2011, something strange began to happen at the high school in Leroy, New York. I was like at my locker and she came up to me and she was like stuttering super bad. I'm like, stop f***ing around. She's like...

I can't. A mystery illness, bizarre symptoms, and spreading fast. It's like doubling and tripling, and it's all these girls. With a diagnosis the state tried to keep on the down low. Everybody thought I was holding something back. Well, you were holding something back intentionally. Yeah, well, yeah. Yeah.

Is this the largest mass hysteria since The Witches of Salem? Or is it something else entirely? A new limited series from Wondery and Pineapple Street Studios, Hysterical.

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