Borealis(10)

Mike held up one finger. He turned to Bryan. “Flip on and see if you can get Saint Paul on the radio. Find out if there’s been any distress calls from ships within the past twenty-four.”

Bryan saluted and jumped out of the booth. His heavy footfalls were heard tromping the steps up to the pilothouse.

They drank their shots and Mike passed around the bottle for refills.

Charlie rubbed two thick fingers across his furrowed brow. “You think she was on a ship that went down?”

Mike shrugged. “It’s possible.”

“Fuck,” McEwan countered. “We would have heard the distress call come over the line too.”

“Hell,” Mike said, “for all we know, she could have fallen off a goddamn cruise ship. I’m just covering all the bases.”

“Do you think—” Charlie began then cut himself off. When Mike prompted him to continue he said, “Do you think there could be more people out there?”

There was silence around the table as this notion sank in.

“Nothing we can do about it now,” Mike said. He sounded dejected, worn out, beaten. “Unless we hear something specific from Saint Paul dispatch, I ain’t risking running this boat into a ’berg searching for people who ain’t there.” He rubbed his weary face with his big hands. “We’ll decide when to head back tomorrow morning when—”

“Whoa,” McEwan said, holding up one hand. “Head back? What the hell, Mike?”

“What’s wrong?”

McEwan coughed up a strangled little chortle. “You’re kidding, right?” He leaned closer toward Mike across the tabletop. Charlie could smell the dried perspiration on his skin, mingling with the odor of the codfish used for baiting the pots. “You were out there today, weren’t you? We keep this up for the rest of the week we’re liable to pull fifty thousand pounds before the next snowfall.” He shook his burly head. “No. No f*cking way, Mike. We killed a whole week out here, catching nothing but runny noses at your direction and we’ve got the chance to make up for lost time. We hit the motherload today, man. Think about it.”

“But what about the girl?” Charlie offered before Mike could come to his own defense.

McEwan rolled one massive shoulder. “What about her? Keep her nice and warm, give her a few paperback Westerns to read, and we drop her off on Sheriff Lapatu’s doorstep the second we get back.”

“And what if she freaks out?” Mike said. “What if she has a goddamn seizure or a heart attack or f*cking dies out here, Billy?”

“If she didn’t die up there on the f*cking deck twenty minutes ago, then I think she’s out of the woods. I get your concern, Mike. This is your boat and everything on it—every person—is your responsibility. I get that. But I ain’t gonna let you cash in for no goddamn reason.”

Charlie opened his mouth to speak but Joe cut him off, quick to the punch.

“He’s got a point,” Joe said, though unable to meet Charlie’s eyes. As if he owed some explanation, he added, “Got mouths to feed, Charlie. Sorry, Mike.”

Bryan came bounding back down the pilothouse stairs and into the galley, a grim look on his face.

Mike turned to him. “Well?”

“Well, you’re not gonna believe it but the f*cking radio’s down.” He tossed both hands up in mock surrender. “So’s the GPS.”

Mike sat forward. “What?”

“It’s juiced,” said Bryan. “I mean, it’s getting power. It’s just not turning on. I rebooted the whole console but it ain’t working.”

“Christ.” Mike sank back in his seat. “I’d say we check the generators but if the board’s getting power…I mean, the f*cking lights come on and everything?”

“Lights, meters, gauges, you name it. No GPS screen and no radio signal. Power light comes on but I can’t locate a channel.”

Mike rubbed at his face and stared at the shot of vodka that stood before him on the table. Disgusted, he slid the shot over to McEwan. Through his fingers, Mike said, “Let’s drop console power for the night. We’ll reboot in the morning and deal with it then. It’s been a long day. Any other suggestions?”

There was a resounding grunt of approval from the others.

“All right,” Mike said, standing up. “I’ll go down and double-check the generators. Last thing I want is all the power to cut out. Lose heat. I think—”

The girl appeared in the doorway. She was swimming in an oversized sweatshirt and baggy sweatpants, her tiny feet bound in two pairs of socks. Though still damp, her long dark hair had begun to dry in silken, raven-colored waves around her face.

The men stared at her, speechless.

“Do you have any food?” she said, startling them all.

No one moved.

“I’m hungry,” she said, and this time Bryan snapped into action, climbing over the booth and pulling open cupboards.

The girl eased herself down into Bryan’s seat while everyone else slid over to make room for her in the booth. Mike put his hands on his hips and looked like he wanted to laugh.

“You can talk, huh?” Mike said. “How come you wouldn’t talk to us before?”

“I didn’t know what to say,” said the girl.