Page 65 of Goldilocks

Sam winced as the stinging became a throb. Blood dripped down his fingers, and Sam fought the urge to shake out his hand to flick off the liquid. “I’ve got disinfectant in my medkit. But – ah shit, Goldilocks, which way is that sinking boat? I’ll get us moving and tend them on the way.”

The gills at Goldilocks’s neck flared out in agitation. He looked as though he would object, but he caught himself. “That way.” He nodded toward the horizon. Goldilocks slipped overboard and then reached through the railing to grab the remains of the worm. “Disinfect,” he insisted.

Sam rushed to the wheel, putting the engine up to full, and took off in the direction Goldilocks had indicated. He flipped up a switch to hold a steady course and dug out his first aid kit, keeping an eye on the horizon. The coast was to his right, an irregular line of black mounds with the yellow glow of house lights dotted across the dark. To his left was the open ocean, no ships in sight.

Sam grabbed his medkit and used his elbow to hold it still while he worked the zip open. Blood fell in thick drops onto his desk, staining maps and notebooks. Worn wood and equipment. The already red cloth of his medkit dotted dark brown in spots. Sam grabbed the disinfectant and grabbed a spare cloth to lean over, attempting to minimise the mess. Sam opened up the disinfectant, hesitating as he uncapped it. Its chemical smell challenged the iron stench of blood. He held his breath. Poured.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing at the stinging pain. He sloshed the peroxide on his wrist to get it over with and grabbed out bandages. He didn’t skimp on his hand, packing the wound with gauze and securing it with a tight wrap. He quickly wrapped his wrist next. Both hands trembled as he leaned out the doorway, pain running through him in currents.

“Still this way?” Sam called.

Goldilocks’s tail flashed out of the water ahead, slightly to the right. Sam adjusted course until he was following Goldilocks exactly. A blinking red light a few feet above the water stood out against the darkness ahead. The red light became a shape, and as he got closer, he saw the sinking yacht was already half submerged. Sam turned on every outer light as he neared, and he recognised the sinking ship as it lit up. The blue sails blended perfectly with the ocean, almost entirely invisible where they sat in the water. The white hull glistened in the moonlight, but dark waves were quickly dulling that glow.

Fionn’s sailboat.

A man perched on the back half of the vessel that was still above water, waving his arms. Fionn. He stood in a white shirt and tan trousers, with no life jacket anywhere in sight.

Sam muttered a curse under his breath as he came abreast the sinking ship as near as he dared. He had to keep enough distance so that if it pitched suddenly to the side, the mast wouldn’t crack into his hull. Sam set his boat to hold position and kept the motor running. He rushed out, grabbing a life preserver.

“Come closer,” Fionn called. “I can’t jump from here.”

“You can swim, right?” Sam called. He tossed out the life preserver. “I can’t get any closer without risking this boat too. Jump in and grab that. I’ll pull you in.” He knew Fionn was a good swimmer, and the waters were calm. If it came to it, Goldilocks would intervene.

Fionn cursed colourfully and at length, but he didn’t fight Sam. He jumped overboard, resurfacing right next to the life preserver, and Sam pulled him in, annoyed when he saw that he’d wet the bandages on his hand. He’d re-wrap in a minute. Sam offered his hand when Fionn reached the hull and pulled him safely on deck.

“Is there anyone else on board? In the water?” Sam asked, examining the yacht. He frowned, puzzled, as he looked at the vessel. It was sinking straight down, tipping forward with its nose gone under the water, but it didn’t list to either side. There was no sign of it rolling. Sam scanned the water and saw the colourful outer layer of a life raft sinking into the depths next to the yacht.

“No,” Fionn panted. He bent over double, hands on his knees. “Just me.”

“I’m going to put some distance between us then.” Sam strode into the cabin and moved his boat back. He stared out, examining the yacht as they retreated, but it was too dark to see beneath the water. The yacht was sinking as if the hull had cracked right at the bottom. As if the water had flowed in evenly, so it went straight down rather than rolling onto either side.

“Did you run aground on something?” Sam asked. He killed the engine and dropped the anchor to hold them steady. “I know it’s not that deep here, but you should have had plenty of clearance at the bottom.”

“I don’t know,” Fionn said. His teeth chattered, and he stood rigidly still, not budging from his spot. Cold or shock?

“Come in here,” Sam ordered. He dug out a towel and offered it to Fionn. He then opened the chest with his bedding and grabbed one of the warmer blankets. “Here. Sit. Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Fionn snapped, his voice acidic.

Sam ignored the bite in his voice as he grabbed the radio. He called the coast guard, reporting the ship. “We’re about two kilometres east of Hook.” Sam could see the little island jutting up from the ocean in the distance. “Latitude is…” Sam squinted at the screen. “Seven-eight…” He blinked. “Three—”

“The hell are you talking about?” Fionn erupted, startling Sam into jumping. “Are you trying to send them to the Arctic?”

Yeah. Alright. The coordinates were obviously not seven-eight. It’s just that with the screen and the lighting, it was messing with Sam’s eyes. But he knew the first two numbers. “Sorry, I mean five-two.” Sam focused. “Point…three-three…”

Fionn stood and snatched the radio from Sam’s hand. “It’s not those either. Are you listening? Write this down.” Fionn called out the latitude and longitude, reading them from the screen without any difficulty. “No, there’s nobody in the water,” Fionn answered. “It’s my yacht. I didn’t get the chance to call it in. My radio wouldn’t work, and my damned life raft wouldn’t inflate either. No, don’t send out a helicopter. I’m fine. Right. Yeah, sitting tight.” Fionn thrust the radio back at Sam, clearly in a bad mood. He returned to his seat.

Sam replaced the radio in its spot.

“Your radio didn’t work?” Sam asked.

Fionn snapped. “I said that already!”

“And your life raft wouldn’t inflate?”

“Are your ears as fucked as your eyes? Is that it?”

Sam tilted back his head, but he didn’t let it sting. Tried not to, anyway. Fionn’s emotions were undoubtedly running high right now, from fright and fear as much as anything else. His boat was sinking, and until two minutes ago, he’d been in dark waters without a life raft, preserver, or anyone aware that he was in trouble and needed help. And as Sam thought about that, the sting eased.