We Float Upon a Painted Sea

In the morning, Andrew unzipped the aperture and gazed out. The world outside was Stygian. All around him, a grey malevolent sea. A bloated entity, he thought, lifting them up and down as it inhaled and exhaled. The wind whipped across the surface of the ocean teasing up white tipped waves which broke against the raft with malice. The squalled sheets of rain drove against the plastic canopy, filling the interior with the sound of rambunctious crackling. Andrew’s face was showered with cold sea spray and his guts heaved. He yearned for a hot cup of peppermint tea to settle his stomach and warm his insides, but instead he relieved his bowels while Bull slept. It had occurred to Andrew he hadn’t noticed Bull urinating since their first meeting. Andrew wondered if the man, underneath all the brashness, was indeed quite shy. He dismissed this notion and considered the yellow tinted liquid in the water bladder and then the stagnant water he was sitting in. He flicked an accusing gaze towards Bull’s sleeping form. Curiously, his companion had taken a do not disturb sign from the suitcase, and had hung it round his neck.

Later, when Bull woke, they finished the last of the prunes and the bannock cake for breakfast. Andrew fished for most of the day while Bull concerned himself with Malcolm’s deteriorating condition. He took the tubing from the rain catch and inserted it into the unconscious man’s oesophagus, forcing fresh water into his body. On closer inspection, Bull discovered the gash on his head was showing signs of infection. There were also other wounds to his ribcage and back which had previously gone undetected. Bull went back to bailing water and re-inflating the damaged pontoon. He complained to Andrew, stating,

“Malcolm’s wound is looking nasty. It’s getting septic. He needs antibiotics. He should be in a hospital by now, on a drip or whatever.” Andrew’s head was protruding out of the raft, hovering over the surface of the sea, like a predator waiting for the tell tale signs of its prey. He barked,

“We all desperately need rescued or none of us will survive long.”

“I think Malcolm’s need is more urgent.”

“We have more immediate concerns. Has it escaped your attention there’s some massive swells out there and some ugly dark clouds boiling above our heads. There’s a storm coming.” Bull pushed his head out of the aperture to take a look at the horizon. He said,

“We’ll get rescued. It’s just a matter of time. We have to wait it out.” Andrew sighed,

“There hasn’t been sight of land or a ship since we were capsized. We can’t go on, indefinitely floating adrift forever. If we are being dragged further out to sea then the Canadian coast will be the next stop. These rafts were built for short term survival. With the damage you have inflicted on it, I’d say we have a slim chance of surviving the elements.”

“We’ve survived this long so we must be doing something right. We have water and if we keep bailing and pumping air back into the raft, there’s no reason for us to sink. We’re cushdy.”

“Cushdy? I don’t call this cushdy, what ever that means. My skin is chaffing in this salt water, I have blisters on my backside and I’m famished. We’ve finished the last prunes and bannock cake.”

“My point is, we’re still alive and that’s what matters. We need to keep believing we can survive or what’s the point. We might as well end it now.”

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

“Where’s the fish you’ve been promising us? It’s your lure. 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. He said,

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

“In case you haven’t noticed, that’s not the Tweed out there.” Andrew froze. His eyes flickered and his face contorted in a joyful spasm Bull had not yet witnessed. Andrew yelped,

“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 eel. It slapped onto the floor of the raft, splashing the stagnant sump water in their faces. Andrew tapped it twice on the head with the handle of his multi-tool and then gutted and rinsed it in the sea. Bull watched attentively as he sliced the eel, expertly filleting two slices, using the suitcase as a chopping board. 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 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 and then cast his line back to the sea and within seconds had caught another fish. Andrew said it was a pollock and again they had their fill of sashimi.

Later in the 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 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. 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.They worked tenaciously in silence, bailing and re-inflating the pontoon. 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. He thought of the external patch up, below the waterline and how it would be holding up to the buffeting waves. He examined the repairs, making some adjustments but turning to Andrew and pointing to the damaged pontoon, he said,

“Sea water is flooding through the gap under the canopy.” Andrew’s ears adjusted to the resonance of Bull’s alarming cry, breaking through the repetitive roar of the storm. 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, casting all three men to the far side of the raft. The raft slumped to one side. Sea water flooded in. Andrew helped the lifeless body of Malcolm back up and tried to find a pulse on his neck until another large wave struck them. Andrew said,

“I’m not a doctor, but it’s not a good sign he hasn’t regained consciousness. As you said, he should be in a hospital. We can’t care for him here in an ocean desert, he’s too far gone. We might have to prepare for the prospect, 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 and stated,

“What happened to all your confidence and leadership qualities Sherlock?”

Andrew’s mood plunged to new depths as he mused on their chances of survival. He tried to block out the contemplation of the raft being torn apart by the waves, 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 sitting too heavily in the water! We’ve got too much ballast!”

“So 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 nodded towards 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 and they can heal him.”

“Great plan, but what are we going to do about the here and now? We’re sinking.”

“He’s only a little fella. How much can he weigh us down? We can keep 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.”

“There’s hope, but it’s a forlorn hope without professional medical help. He could even be beyond the point of no return. I failed to detect a pulse. He might even be dead already. We’ve done our best for him. I’m not saying we should throw him overboard right now. All I’m saying is the time may come when we have to consider letting him go as an option. 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 foil blanket like a petulant school boy. Sheet lightning flashed above their heads, the ultraviolet discharge filtering through the canopy and illuminating the half-light. This was followed by the predictable sound of rumbling thunder, rolling and clapping until the circle was completed by the next electrostatic pulse. The wind howled around them. A blitz of hailstones bombarded the canopy. They felt under attack. 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 and most poorly written book I have ever read, he thought.

Wave after wave slammed into them. 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 was collecting with 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, draining what was left of their resolve. Bull coughed violently then rubbed his hands together to regain some warmth and muscle movement. He pumped the inflator with new vigour. Malcolm was still lying slumped over after the last big wave hit. 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 Malcolm’s shoulder and whispered in his ear,

“I’ll look after this for you.” 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 undamaged pontoons as they rose and fell in the sea swells. The raft writhed around in the swells like a fairground attraction. Malcolm’s body was in freefall. The two other men looked on, powerless to help.

Finally the damaged 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 at 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. 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. It’s a bloody boat!” Bull, still struck down with deep foreboding, moved towards the aperture. His eyes narrowed. At first all he could see was the black pulsing ocean and then, from between the swells, he saw the beacon flashing in the distance. Soon, the unmistakable 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 head but all expressions of emotion were put on hold. Chilling sea water poured into the raft and lapped around their waists. Andrew said,

“I’ll swim out to the lifeboat and get them to pick you and Malcolm up.” Andrew noticed a distant look in Bull’s eyes. Bull edged his body towards the aperture. Andrew screamed,

“What are you doing? Didn’t you hear what I said? Are you mad?” Bull said,

“I’m sorry,” Like a sea lion, he dropped into the ocean 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 taking his seat amongst fellow survivors. There were no signs of life. He edged round to the main cabin and located the escape hatch door. He went inside. He stopped to catch his breath and appreciate the respite from the remorseless wind and 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. He located him after the next flash of lightning. He was treading water one hundred feet from 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. 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 strength to save himself and Bull.

In due course, Andrew managed to get within touching distance of the lifeboat. Another flash of lightning ripped across the sky. The unequivocal roar of thunder. Bull’s eyes were open.

“Have you the strength to hold onto this warp?” shouted Andrew. Bull nodded his head wearily. Andrew hauled himself aboard the lifeboat and located the windlass. He jumped back into the sea and tied the rope round Bull’s chest and then returned to the deck of the lifeboat. He cranked the handle of the windlass and dragged Bull’s body up and over the gunnels. Andrew untied him and then pushed him through the hatch door. Bull fell unceremoniously to the floor and Andrew stood on the deck, gazing out to sea. The raft had vanished. He returned inside and secured the hatch door. He limped to the wheelhouse, believing if he could start the engine, he might be able to search for Malcolm. The ignition turned over but the engine was dead. Bull wheezed,

“What about Malcolm?”

“If you want to go back and get him, be my guest,” replied Andrew. By midnight, the storm had faded. They sat in silence, staring through a porthole, into the darkness. Sea water drained from Bull’s hair, congregated with his tears and as one, ran like tributaries down his harrowed face.