Borealis(9)

5


Charlie gathered dry towels from the pantry while Joe boiled water on the petrol stove in the galley. There were only a few towels, which Charlie stacked under one arm. There were warm, clean clothes on his bunk—fresh socks, sweats, a hoodie—so he jogged down the narrow corridor that led to the tiny compartment he shared with Joe and Sammy.

Sammy was in the room, sitting on the edge of his own bunk. His presence startled Charlie, who paused briefly before setting the towels down on Joe’s bunk.

“Nice work out there, kiddo.”

Sammy nodded.

Charlie grabbed a laundry bag and stuffed it with two pairs of clean socks, a pair of LSU sweatpants and a sweatshirt with a drawstring hood. He balled the towels up too, and squeezed them into the bag.

Before leaving, he turned back to Sammy. “You okay?”

The kid sat on the edge of his cot, a runnel of snot leaking from one nostril, his legs bouncing up and down like pistons. He had his hands folded together between his knees. At the sound of Charlie’s voice, the greenhorn lowered his head and refused to look Charlie in the eye.

“Sammy,” he said.

“Who,” the kid began. He swallowed what appeared to be a hard lump of spit then continued. “Who do you think she is?”

“I have no idea. What’s the matter with you?”

“You picked her up.” Sammy turned to him. His eyes were haunted, frightened. “You feel anything funny?”

“Like what?”

Sammy opened his mouth as if to speak but no words came out. Instead, he merely shook his head and turned his face away. His legs, those twin engines, were going a mile a minute now.

Charlie left, hurrying back down the corridor toward the captain’s quarters. Mike’s cabin door was cracked halfway, allowed Charlie to see movement on the other side. He knocked once then eased the door open.

The girl sat on Mike’s cot, the towel around her shoulders already soaking wet and dripping water onto the floor. She looked up at him as he entered. Her face was expressionless. Curls of dark hair hung down over her face.

Mike was digging through an old footlocker, presumably for more towels or warm clothes, while McEwan leaned against one wall, his big arms folded across his chest.

“Here,” Charlie said, tossing the laundry sack at McEwan. “Clean clothes and towels.”

Mike stood with a groan and intercepted the sack from McEwan. Undoing the drawstring, Mike emptied the contents beside the girl on the cot. Taking one of the towels, he unfolded it and draped it down over the girl’s head.

“You speak English, honey?” McEwan said.

The girl was busy watching Mike; she didn’t look in McEwan’s direction.

“?Habla ingles?” McEwan grunted. He thumbed his nose then, with a kiss-my-ass grin, looked at Charlie. “You win the prize for best catch of the day, Mears.”

He was about to say something when the cabin door swung in and slammed against his back. Joe’s head poked through the opened, wincing. “Shit, Charlie, sorry about that.” He was holding a steaming mug of tea wrapped in a dishtowel with both hands.

Mike bent down to eye level with the girl. “What’s your name, honey?”

Her dark, oil-spot eyes flitted from Mike to McEwan…then Joe, Charlie, and back to Mike.

“Can you talk?” Mike tried again. “Can you tell us your name?”

She looked away again, only this time at the fresh clothes spread out on the cot.

“She wants to get dressed,” Joe said, setting the mug of tea down on Mike’s footlocker. “Why don’t we step out for a couple seconds, give her some privacy?”

Mike sighed. He clapped both hands on his workpants then stood with his trademark grunt. “You’re right, Dynamo.” He nodded toward the door. “Everybody out.”

They gathered in the galley where Bryan was already pouring shots of vodka. He passed them out as the others filed into the room and slid around the table. Holding one extra shot, Bryan frowned and said, “Where’s the kid?”

“In his room,” Charlie said.

Bryan leaned out into the corridor and shouted, “Hey, Walper, get your CPR-pumpin’ hands in here!” Claiming his own seat in the booth around the table, Bryan knocked back both his and Sammy’s vodka and grimaced. “You see that kid out there? His first time out and he’s saving people’s lives and shit.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Joe said.

Pouring himself another shot, Bryan said, “Conclusions about what?”

“About what constitutes being a person.”

Everyone looked at Joe. McEwan said, “The hell you talkin’ about?”

“Did you see her in there?” Joe was running one finger around the rim of his own shot glass. “It’s f*cking January and we’re how many nautical miles off the coast of f*cking Alaska? And she’s out runnin’ around naked as a jaybird. Fellas, she ain’t even shivering in there. Not to mention the fact that she’s simply f*cking alive to begin with…”

“So what is she?” McEwan said. “Let’s hear your theory, Einstein.”

Joe cracked an awkward grin. His eyes looked aloof, delirious. “Fuck should I know? She could be a mermaid, a ghost, a f*cking vampire. I don’t know. All I know is there’s no rational explanation for what she’s—”