We Float Upon a Painted Sea (25 page)

“And the food situation, what do you propose we do about that?”

“Where’s the fish you’ve been promising us? It’s that lure you’re using. It looks like something you’ve pulled out a plughole after taking a bath with a chimp. You’ll catch nowt with that.” Andrew smiled inwardly. He retrieved the lure and then let it sink again.

“You’re a fishing expert now are you? I’ve fished the river Tweed all my life, so I know what I’m doing.”

“I hope so Sherlock, I hope so.” Andrew froze. His face contorted in a joyful spasm that Bull had not yet witnessed. Andrew said,

“Oh, I don’t believe it. Yes, I think I’ve got one. I’ve hooked a fish!”

Bull edged closer. Andrew hauled in a small whiting. It slapped onto the floor of the raft, splashing the stagnant sump water in their faces.

Andrew tapped the fish twice on the head with the handle of his multi-tool and then hung his body outside the flap and gutted the fish. He rinsed it in sea water. When he returned Bull watched attentively as he sliced the fish, expertly filleting two slices. He chopped the fish on the side of the suitcase. Bull inspected it, saying,

“It’s just like sashimi but your presentation leaves a lot to be desired Sherlock. Where’s the seaweed, soy sauce and the sliced ginger? Have you even got any wasabi?” Bull tried to smile.

“Back home, we would coat this in oatmeal and fry it with a couple slices of smoked streaky bacon. Delicious.”

“Well, you imagine you’re back home on the banks of the Tweed, the weather here should help you with that, and I’ll visualise myself in Manchester, sitting by the window at Teppanyaki’s restaurant. Ok, I’ll go first?” Bull popped a piece of raw fish into his mouth and chewed. He grimaced.

“It’s not how I remembered but you can’t argue with the freshness.”

Andrew swallowed his piece whole.

Once more Andrew cast his line and caught another fish. A larger fish, Andrew said it was a pollock and again they had their fill of sashimi. Later that day, the rising and falling swells made fishing impossible and Andrew retreated to the far side of the raft. The wind strengthened and churned the surface of the sea. The motion of the raft made Bull’s stomach feel queasy. The colour drained from his face and he fell silent, fighting the urge to retch. Andrew’s complexion was also ashen white. Sea sickness and the effects of dehydration were taking control. Andrew zipped up the aperture
.
The raft rocked in the palpitating sea. Bull removed his flip-flops and studied his feet. The skin was wrinkled, blistered and bleeding. His legs felt a little warmer. He had slipped on a pair of woollen tights from the luggage, cutting off the ends so his feet could pass through. He shuddered at the grim image of his body being washed up on shore, dressed in old women’s clothing.

Later, when Andrew woke him, he complained that his back was stiff and his legs felt numb. The aperture was open, flapping in the wind and Andrew showed him the encroaching storm. They worked tenaciously in silence, bailing and re-inflating the raft. Under the canopy they were at least afforded some protection from the howling wind, but the raft writhed around in the swells like a fairground attraction. The smell from the gutted fish and Malcolm’s festering wounds hung heavy in the air. Finally Bull’s stomach could no longer resist the urge to heave. He moved towards the aperture, thrust his head outside the raft and vomited his lunch of raw fish back into the sea.

When Bull recovered from his bout of sickness, his attention was distracted by the damaged pontoon succumbing to the higher waves. Andrew bailed frantically and Bull examined the repairs, making some adjustments. He could hear the sound of escaping air. He thought of the external patch up, below the waterline and how it would be holding up to the buffeting waves.  With both hands raised to his mouth and pointing to the damaged pontoon, Bull said,

“Fuck me! Sea water is flooding through the gap under the canopy.” Andrew’s ears adjusted to the resonance of Bull’s alarming wail breaking the repetitive sound of the elements battering against the raft. Bull grasped the hand inflator. He ignored the anaesthetizing weakness in his arms and the nausea in his head, and began pumping air into the pontoon. Andrew was staring at Bull, detecting a glint of panic in his eyes, when a large wave pummelled them and casting all three men to the far side of the raft. Andrew sat him up against the damaged pontoon. The raft slumped to one side and more water flooded in. Bull was now distracted by the lifeless body of Malcolm.

“I don’t think he’s going to make it,” he said. Andrew tried to find a pulse on Malcolm’s neck, but abandoned his attempts when another large wave struck the raft. He shook his mournfully and said,

“I’m not a doctor, but it’s not a good sign that he hasn’t regained consciousness. As you said before, he should be in a hospital. We can’t care for him out here in an ocean desert, he’s too far gone. We might have to prepare for the prospect, that he might not be with us when we get rescued.” Bull looked at Malcolm with a heavy sinking feeling in his heart. He shook his head erratically and stated,

“What happened to all your confidence and leadership qualities Sherlock? Have they deserted you when we need them most?”

Andrew’s mood plunged as he mused on their chances of survival. He tried to block out the contemplation of the raft being torn apart by the elements, treading water and finally succumbing to the sucking vastness of the ocean. He held his hands aloft and yelled,

“I’m doing the best I can with limited resources! We’re in a damaged raft, taking in sea water and being battered by a storm! We’re too heavily in the water! We’ve got too much ballast onboard!”

“So you’re saying we need to jettison the case? Let’s do it. We’ve used practically everything in it anyway.”

“I’m not talking about the luggage. We need to consider other options.” Andrew raised his eyebrows and looked at Malcolm. Bull, his voice full of emotion, whimpered,

“What, are you saying? That we should just let him die? Look at all this rain? We’ve got drinking water to last for weeks now. You’ve been catching fish, so we have food. We must hit land sometime or come across a shipping lane. We could get him to a hospital then.”

“That would be a great plan, but what are we going to do about the here and now. We’re sinking or has that escaped your attention?”

“He’s only a little fella. How much can he be weighing us down? We can keep this bucket afloat if we keep trying. You can’t tell me there’s no hope, because I won’t give up on him, not until the last moment.”

“He’s probably beyond the point of no return. I couldn’t even feel a pulse for goodness sake, so he might even be dead. We’ve done our best for him, and without any professional medical help. I’m not saying we should throw him overboard right now. All I’m saying is that the time may come when we might have to. Stark choices have to be made in situations like this. It’s a case of sacrificing the few for the greater good.” Bull turned away in disgust. He adjusted his fur coat like a petulant school boy.

Sheet lightning flashed above their heads, the ultraviolet discharge filtering through the canopy and illuminating the gloom of the raft. This was followed by the predictable sound of rumbling thunder, and then another electrostatic pulse accompanied by a new clapping roll. The wind howled around the raft, violently shaking the canopy. Amazingly, a blitz of hailstones bombarded the canopy. They felt the powers of nature converging upon them. Bull looked around for his woollen bobble hat. It was floating in the expanding water at his feet with Lisa Formby’s diary, the ink running on the saturated pages. Dullest, poorly written book I have ever read anyway, he thought.

Wave after wave slammed into the raft. Bull stuck his head outside the aperture. A black wall of rain moved towards them and shut out what was left of the residual light. Bull wanted to zip the aperture up but he needed it open to dispose of the water he collected in the bailer. The darkness was nearly complete apart from the intermittent channels of fork lightning flashing like electrostatic veins, pulsing against the black aura. Through the canopy they could witness the natural spectacle. It unsettled them both. Bull coughed violently then rubbed his hands together to regain some warmth and muscle movement. He pumped the inflator with new resolve until he looked towards Malcolm who had slumped over after the last big wave. The strap of his bag had risen up and twisted around his neck. Bull leaned over and pulled him back to a sitting position. He removed his bag from over his shoulder. He whispered in his ear,

“I’ll look after this for you Malcolm.” The intenseness of the waves made bailing impossible. They would spill most of the collected water before they reached the aperture. Finally, they zipped up the aperture and sat back and contemplated riding out the storm, hoping the raft would stand up to the punishment being meted out by the weather. They held onto the wall of the raft as it rose and fell in the sea swells. Malcolm’s body was in freefall. The other two men looked on, powerless to help.

Finally, the pontoon started to collapse. The sea gushed through the gap under the canopy and swirled round their legs. Bull tried to snatch the hand inflator as it flew by him, but a mountainous wave struck the raft and lifted it onto its side. Bull crashed into Malcolm and both men came toppling down on top of Andrew. Bull’s foot caught Andrew in the face as he fell. A painful scream cut through the noise of the storm. Bull crawled towards Andrew who was looking out of the aperture and into the darkness. Andrew, still rubbing his jaw, turned his head. His face was gaunt but there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes. He pointed towards the sea and yelled,

“I thought I saw something flashing through the canopy.”

“It will be the lightning.”

“No, not lightning. A pulsing yellow light. Like a beacon.”

“You probably imagined it. You’ve been seeing a lot of imaginary things of late. We’re in the middle of nowhere. It’s pointless. You were right. We don’t stand a chance. The raft is disintegrating. I’m sorry. It was my fault. I damaged it.”

Andrew’s voice became excited. He yelled through the roaring wind, “Just look man! Look! I can see something. Something over there. An object, floating in the sea. I can see something in the water. It looks like a boat. It is. It’s a bloody boat!”

Bull, still struck down with deep foreboding, moved towards the aperture. His eyes narrowed. At first he couldn’t see anything but the black pulsing ocean and then, from between the swells, he saw the beacon flashing in the distance. Soon the unmistakeable shape of a lifeboat came into view, appearing and then disappearing in the floundering sea. It appeared to be coming towards them. Bull felt like embracing Andrew and kissing his balding head but all expressions of emotion were put on hold when the chilling sea water poured into the raft and lapped around their waists. Bull put on the life jacket that he had brought from the Andrea Starlight. Andrew said,

“I’ll swim out to the lifeboat and get them to pick you and Malcolm up.” Bull nodded his head in agreement but Andrew noticed a despairing look in his eyes as he edged his body towards the aperture.

“What are you doing? Didn’t you hear what I said? Are you mad?” Bull pushed by Andrew. He said, “I’m sorry,” and like a sea lion, he dropped into the sea and was gone.

Andrew, looking out from the aperture, tried to follow his path but failed to see him through the sea spray. There is no time to prepare, he thought. He took one last look back at Malcolm and then hurled himself forward. He fought off the bitter cold which engulfed his body, but he managed to resurface and locate the lifeboat. Andrew swam until he was upon it. He raised his head over the gunnels and pulled his body onto the deck. His legs felt weak and unsteady from days of inactivity. He held on to the grab rails and looked through a port hole, half expecting to see Bull. There were no signs of life. He edged his way round to the main cabin and located the escape hatch door. He went inside. No signs of life. He stopped to catch his breath and appreciate the respite from the remorseless wind and iced rain. He located a food ration box, cracked opened a high energy drink and gulped it down. He found a lifejacket and put it on.

When he re-emerged from inside the boat, he peered out to the sea. Apart from the faint light from the boat’s beacon, he faced a wall of blackness. Andrew surveyed the seascape for the raft to use as a reference point. From there he hoped to detect Bull. Eventually, he located him after the next flash of lightning. He was treading water halfway between the raft and the lifeboat. Andrew launched himself back into the water. He swam until he was at Bull’s side, and then caught him around the chest. He cursed Bull’s stupidity and began the process of dragging his body in the direction of the lifeboat. He kicked hard and pushed forcefully against the sea. Andrew’s face was twisted with fatigue, and then a moment of despair descended upon him. The lifeboat was gone. Desperately, he looked for the old raft, it would be better than treading water until hypothermia took them, but he saw only bulging swells. He was overwhelmed by an urge to close his eyes and yield to his fate, but another flash of lightning elucidated the gloom. Through blearing eyes, stinging with salt water, the lifeboat appeared for a fleeting moment. He located the beacon and instantly recommenced with his swim, using the last of his resolve to safe himself and Bull.