Four men. Three inner tubes.
Ninety miles of open ocean.
One prayer changed everything.
"Fatherland or Death."
In 1970s Cuba, under Castro's iron grip, four young men lived in a country where the walls had ears, the ocean was a prison fence, and the word freedom could get you killed.
Rafael, Flaco, Pepe, and Hector grew up together in a Havana where propaganda billboards towered over crumbling colonial buildings, where ration books replaced groceries, and where the sea — visible from nearly everywhere on the island — whispered of another world just ninety miles north.
In a cramped apartment with the windows shut and voices low, Rafael made the decision. They would build a raft in secret. They would launch at night. They would cross the Florida Strait — ninety miles of open ocean patrolled by Cuban military, infested with sharks, and cursed by the Gulf Stream's deadly crosscurrents.
"The penalty for attempting to leave was prison. The penalty for staying was a lifetime of it."
They had three truck inner tubes, rope, a few wooden planks, and a bedsheet for a sail. That was it. That was the plan.
Under the cover of a moonless night, they carried the raft through the trees to the shoreline. Waist-deep in warm black surf, they pushed it into the waves. Behind them, a military searchlight swept the coast. Ahead, lightning flickered on the horizon.
Rafael looked back toward Cuba one last time. Then he climbed onto three inner tubes lashed together with rope, and pushed off into the darkness.
By dawn, Cuba had vanished behind them. In every direction — only water. The raft drifted at the mercy of currents that pulled them east toward the Bermuda Triangle instead of north toward Florida. The sun was merciless. They had no shade, almost no water, and no way to steer.
On the second day, they saw the shadow. A tiger shark — longer than their raft — circled beneath them in slow, patient loops. Their legs dangled inches from the water. No one moved. No one spoke. For hours, it circled.
Then the storm came. Waves the height of buildings crashed over them. Lightning turned the sky white. They tied themselves to the raft with rope and held on. One inner tube started leaking. The wooden platform cracked. They were swallowing seawater. One man lost consciousness.
By the third day, they were dying. Dehydrated. Delirious. Sunburned beyond recognition. One man lay face-down and hadn't moved in hours. The raft was falling apart. The ocean was flat and grey and endless, and no one was coming.
Rafael had never been a religious man. He practiced Santeria like everyone else in his neighborhood, but he had never once prayed to Jesus. Never saw the point. Never believed.
"But when you are dying — when there is nothing left — you find out what you actually believe."
Rafael got on his knees on a raft made of inner tubes in the middle of the Caribbean Sea. He put his hands together. And for the first time in his life — he prayed.
What happened next was documented.
The photographs still exist.
The United States Coast Guard Cutter Diligence appeared on the horizon like a ghost. A white hull with a red racing stripe. An American flag. The men on the raft couldn't believe it was real.
They were pulled from the water one by one. Three of the men scrambled for the ladder immediately. Rafael didn't. He stayed on his knees on the sinking raft, face turned toward the sky, weeping — thanking the God he had just met.
Ninety Miles moves between the harrowing 1970s ocean crossing and the present day, where Rafael's daughter Camila — a sharp, driven college student — interviews her father for a class project. What starts as a school assignment becomes something she can't outrun.
One prayer, spoken in desperation on a raft in the middle of the ocean, echoes across decades — and changes two lives.
NINETY MILES is a feature film in active development.
Written & produced by Priscilla Pruitt.
Select materials are available to verified producers, development executives, and industry professionals by request.