Regan Wolfrom - Catholic Guilt and the Joy of Hating Men

It was slamming against the side of the hull, the jagged aluminum mast stabbing back at us.

“We need to cut it free,” Darrel said.

“Then what?” Jon asked. “Don’t sailboats need sails to… you know, sail?”

“It’s not like we’re going to be able to fix the mast. And we’ll be in worse shape if that thing has its way with the hull or the rudder.”

“Look at you… pretending you know what the hell you’re doing.”

“Guys, please,” I said. “We’ll measure your dicks later. Let’s focus on the problem here, okay? How do we cut it loose?”

“With a knife,” Darrel said.

He already had one in his hand. He started on the rigging of the mainsail.

“Can I help?” I asked.

“Can you lower the mizzen?”

“Maybe.”

“The smaller sail.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

I’d watched Darrel fidget with the sails often enough, and he’d had me do it once on our way up to Haida Gwaii. I took a breath and tried to calm myself, to remember what he’d shown me.

Loosen the hallyards… watch the tiller… did I need to watch the tiller with the mizzen?

I didn’t think I could do it on my own.

“Steph!” Breccan yelled. “Watch out!”

I saw the little mast falling, coming right for me.

And that was it.

I woke up in the salon and found Breccan on the bunk, sitting right next to me. I could see from the look on her face that I hadn’t been dreaming.

“What’s happening?” I asked. “Is everything okay?”

“I… I don’t know,” she said. “Both masts are down and Darrel’s cut away the sails. God…”

“There’s a motor, though, right?”

“It’s not working. Darrel… he thinks the rigging’s clogged up the propeller.”

I didn’t want to ask, but I had to know. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” Breccan said again. “I’m not the person to ask.”

I checked myself out in the bathroom before I went up to the cockpit. There was a gash right across my forehead and up into my hair, with a reddened chunk of strawberry-blond hair and dried blood. They’d done very little to bandage me up, wrapping two quick layers of gauze over the cut. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know if they’d even bothered to clean the wound first.

Goddamn med students and their shoddy work.

I decided to deal with the mess later; I cared a little more about being stranded in the middle of the ocean. I climbed up to the cockpit, where Darrel and Jon were sitting, staring out to sea in opposite directions.

“So what’s the story?” I asked. “How boned are we?”

“To the power of fuck,” Jon said. “This idiot’s killed us, more or less.”

“Shut up,” Darrel said. “The last thing we need is a negative attitude.”

“Okay… that makes sense,” I said. “So you can give us something positive, right?”

“The radio antenna’s gone, but we have a handheld. With any luck we’ll raise someone in range.”

“When are you going to start on that?”

“I’ll try again in a few minutes.”

“No sails, no motor,” Jon said. “No one within radio range. Impeccably done, Darrel. Impeccably done.”

“You’re welcome to make a swim for it.”

“What about paddling or something?” I asked. “Or is that a stupid idea?”

“Not your best work,” Darrel said, bobbing his head.

“So it could be awhile before we reach anyone,” I said.

“It could take days.”

I heard my stomach grumble. It knew what was coming. “Rations.”

“Yep.”

“Okay then,” I said, trying to sound positive. “We can do this.”

I went back down to the bathroom to clean myself up. I was glad to have something to do, something to keep me from curling up in a ball and weeping.

I could see that Breccan was well on her way to that.

WEDNESDAY - Our Second Day Adrift

I WASwoken up by an argument, Darrel and Jon close to screaming at each other.

“You don’t know how to charge the damn batteries?” John asked. “It’s a little beyond your skillset?”

“I’m charging them now,” Darrel said. “I have a little more on my mind than that, thanks.”

“If you’d have been able to make contact with someone, we wouldn’t have to be worried about anything else. Another great job.”

“That’s enough, guys,” I said. “You don’t want to argue right through breakfast.” I got up and stumbled over to the galley.

The two of them kept going at it.

I pulled out a package of ready-to-eat oatmeal, and divided up into four bowls. I measured out what I felt would be just enough water into a coffee mug and put it in the microwave.

“We’re splitting one package?” Breccan asked as she hovered over me.

“One package,” I said.

“But… you said we’ll run out of water first. So why so harsh about the food rations?”

“If it rains we’ll buy ourselves a few more days with the water we collect,” I said. “It’d be silly to use up more food than we have to.”

“This is hell.” She was starting to tear up.

“I know,” I said. “But that’s what the rum is for.”

THURSDAY - Third Day Adrift

DARREL TRIEDto unclog the propellor again, diving down under the hull. He doesn’t have the equipment to breathe underwater so he didn’t get very far.

“It’s not going to work,” he said once he’d climbed out of the water. “It’s a mess down there.”

“It’s that or die out here,” Jon said from his roost along the starboard side of the cockpit. He hadn’t moved from there all day.

“Even if I could somehow unclog it, I’m not sure it even works anymore.”

“But you don’t know, do you?”

“No.”

“Then it’s simple. Keep trying.”

“I don’t see you down here helping.”

“I’m not the reason we’re stranded out here.”

“I can help,” I said, even though the thought of being under a boat hull terrified me.

“There’s no point,” Darrel said. “We’re not going anywhere. Our only hope is getting someone on the radio.”

We all looked over to Breccan, who was standing at the front of the ketch holding the handheld.

“Nothing,” she said. “I’m not sure this thing even works.”

“We should have made contact with someone by now,” Jon said. “It’s not like we’re trapped in the Bermuda Triangle.”

“The Bermuda Triangle’s one of the busiest shipping areas on Earth,” Darrel said.

“And you’re the biggest piece of garbage I’ve ever been stuck on a boat with.”

“I can take over with the radio,” I said.

Breccan nodded. I think she was glad to have a chance to get away from the cockpit.

I spent twenty minutes talking to no one on the handheld before Darrel told me to take a break. We’ve got plenty of diesel we no longer need for the dead engine, but I guess if we don’t get into the habit of conserving power we’ll run out sooner than we think.

I sat down beside him, on the opposite side from Jon, who was still staring out over the water.

“It’s getting cold,” I said to no one specific.

“Summer’s over,” Darrel said. “And we won’t be able to turn on the heater tonight.”

“That’s okay. Breccan and I have gotten used to not having air conditioning in our apartment. Frostbite’ll be a nice change of pace.”