Regan Wolfrom - Catholic Guilt and the Joy of Hating Men

I climbed up into the cold and wet air. He was pointing up at the sky, toward the sun.

“I saw a raven,” he said.

“A raven? Out here?”

“We must be near land, right? It’s not like ravens are sea birds.”

I thought of Edgar, and of Paul. I thought of the beautiful island from what might be my last day on dry land. Ravens need the land, too.

“You’re right,” I said, almost with a smile. “We must be near something.”

“Binoculars.”

“There’s a pair in the salon.”

“I can go.” He put his hand on my shoulder, as though we were friends again.

He climbed down the steps.

I waited up top and wished I hadn’t. We’d all planned for the rain, but I don’t think any of us had expected so much cold.

Jon came back up with the binoculars, and started looking out toward the East. He moved his head from side to side in a wide arc.

“I can’t see anything,” he said.

I held out my hand and he passed them over to me. I took my own look and saw nothing but the ocean. I couldn’t see Vancouver Island. I couldn’t see anything but the waves. If we were drifting towards the coast it felt like we should have been seeing something.

But what about the raven?

I looked up in the sky, and soon I found it, circling us like Edgar had circled us on Hotspring Island. The raven looked just like him, but since all ravens do, that didn’t really tell me anything.

I remember reading that some seabirds fly out to see when it’s time to die. I wonder if lonely Edgar came out here to end it all.

“I knew it,” Darrel said. I hadn’t noticed him climbing out to the cockpit. “We’ll make it to land. We just need to hold on.”

“We should try the handheld again,” Jon said. “Maybe we’re close enough to raise someone.”

“Good idea.”

Seeing them cooperating made me think the world must be coming to an end.

“The handheld’s still down in the salon,” I said. “I’ll grab it. Don’t kill each other, alright.”

They both grinned. It was the kind of optimism that just had to be foolish.

I climbed down to the salon and grabbed the handheld off the table.

I looked over to the bunk where Breccan was hiding. She was still lying under the sheet.

“I think we’re going to be okay,” I said.

She didn’t answer.

“Did you hear me, Breccan? Everything is going to be alright.”

I walked over to the bunk.

“Come on… it’s okay. Come out of there.”

I gently pulled back the cover.

Breccan’s blood had started to pool on the plastic mattress. She’d slit her wrists, an ornate Haida dagger with the head of a raven laying beside her.

“Oh my god,” I mouthed. I’m not sure I said it.

I ran to the galley and grabbed the first aid kit. I was in shock but I knew I’d found her in time.

Breccan would be alive for a few more days, at least.

Darrel and Jon came down and found us not long after I’d bandaged her up. I’d just been about to clean up some if the blood when Darrel gently pushed me aside.

And then he started to lick up the blood.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked.

“We shouldn’t waste it,” he said. “Her blood can help keep us alive a little longer.”

“That’s fucking sick,” Jon said. “You can’t just drink a person’s blood.”

“So we should die of thirst instead? It’s just going to dry up. That won’t do Breccan any good, either.”

“I’m not going to drink it,” I said. “But there’s no real reason for me to try and stop you.”

Darrel went back to licking and Jon turned away.

I watched, not because I wanted to see it, but because I wanted to make sure Breccan was okay. She hadn’t woken up, but she was breathing well. She’d definitely be the weakest now, but that was probably always the way of it. I’ve known for a few days now that Breccan is the least likely to make it home.

I started to feel sick.

I’m not feeling optimistic anymore.

TUESDAY - Eight Days Adrift

I TOOKBreccan’s dagger away from her and hid it in storage. I spent all night awake beside her, waiting for her to wake up but relieved that she was still sleeping.

Darrel and Jon had taken turns on the handheld, up in the cockpit. Each one of them would join me when they weren’t on shift, but none of us had much to say.

It was hard to talk as it was.

I did ask both of them if they’d known about the dagger, and only Jon admitted that he did, that he’d been with her when she bought it from a guy we’d met at Sandspit.

“I don’t think that’s a cheap copy,” I told him. “That looks authentic.”

“It wasn’t cheap,” Jon said.

“That’s not okay. That dagger isn’t something that’s supposed to be taken off the islands. That’s exactly what Watchmen like Paul are there to prevent.”

“Are you really worried about a stupid knife when we’re a day away from passing out from thirst?”

“It’s a good distraction.”

“Distraction?”

“If I’m pissed off at Breccan I won’t be so angry at myself for letting this happen.”

I knew I was being silly, that it wasn’t really my fault. I guess I was fishing for some kind of reassurance.

“You won’t let it happen again,” Jon said. “That’ll have to be good enough.”

He walked over to the table and sat down, thumbing through the charts.

“Ouch,” I said.

“I’m not your therapist, Steph. So unless you’re about to give me a blow job… just leave me alone. I’m tired of your shit.”

“What?”

“I… just… don’t… care. Get it?”

“Fuck you.”

He stood up from the table and faced me. He undid his pants and pulled them down. He still had his boxer shorts; I prayed he’d keep them on.

“We’re going to die,” he said. “I really don’t care what you think of me.”

“What are you doing?”

“What do you think?”

“Don’t you dare touch me.”

“I don’t care who I touch. Well, not Darrel.”

He started towards me.

I moved away.

He climbed onto Breccan’s bunk.

My first thought was to call for Darrel. But I didn’t. As much as they’d fought, Darrel and Jon were friends. And Breccan and I were just the two girls who’d came along for the trip and shot them both down.

I didn’t think I could trust him to help me.

I grabbed at Jon, trying to pull him off of her. He slapped me hard against my temple and I fell back against the cabin wall.

I pulled at him again.

He struck me harder, right across my face.

I could feel my nose bleeding.

I ran to galley and pulled out the cast iron pan.

I swung it at his head.

He groaned and turned to look at me.

He climbed off the bunk.

I held the pan up beside my head.

“I’ll hit you again,” I said.

He stumbled toward me, waving his arms like an angry bear. “You crazy bitch! You could have killed me.”

He grabbed my arm and the pan, trying to wrestle the weapon away from me.

I sent my knee up at his groin.

He dropped to the floor of the cabin.

I was tempted to hit him with the pan again.

“What the hell?” I heard Darrel say. “What the fuck did you just do, Steph?”

I kept a hold on the pan as I backed away from Jon. “He attacked her,” I said. “He was going to rape her.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

Darrel shook his head. “I can’t believe that.”