42. Refitting
Chapter 42
Refitting
Dante
W hen I hear the thundering footsteps of idiots, I know they’re on their way back to the raft. As heavenly as it is to hold her, touch her... I need to slow things down, anyway. I’m not letting my first time with Haley be when they’re bringing their own chaotic energy here.
Haley freezes. I give her another quick kiss before I roll from her sweet embrace. “Don’t move.” But I know she will. I know whatever bedraggled condition either of them are in, she’ll be upset. It’s one of the reasons I still have my dick in my pants. It’s the reason I haven’t unwrapped Sassy like the amazing Christmas present she is. Fuck, I can barely move.
Easton pulls the flap back, and it practically flies off the side of the raft.
“What the hell?” I shout. “Calm yourself the shit down.” Then I see past Golden Boy. Calvin is carrying Zane on his back. There’s a trail of red blood mixing with rain flowing down Calvin’s leg. And it’s not the giant’s blood. Calvin tosses Zane’s shoe to the right of the raft entrance.
“Get out of the way.” Easton pushes past me.
“Zane?” Haley’s voice rises.
“These fuckers tried to cut off my foot.” Zane growls, his arm clenched tight about Calvin’s neck.
“He’s exaggerating,” Easton retorts.
“Piss off.” Zane slides off Calvin’s back and hops on one foot, then dives into the raft. “Shift over, you bloody idiot.”
Haley’s by my side. And the second Calvin and Easton see her, their shoulders drop like they’ve been caught by the police. “Oh Zane. What the heck?”
“How can I help?” With Haley at the entrance too, it’s become a bottleneck. Zane’s foot is wrapped up with Calvin’s shirt and some rag I’ve never seen before. He rolls onto his side.
Zane smiles at Haley through gritted teeth. “It’s fine, Little Bird. It doesn’t really hurt that much at all. I’m just going to get the sand out of it. And maybe use one of the sterile wipes if everyone thinks that’s okay?”
“Is that okay? Of course it’s okay.” She gasps. “How did this happen? Did they do this on...?” Haley’s mouth hangs open.
Zane grabs the knob of her knee. “No. Haley. They’re shitheads but not... well, I don’t know. They’re reckless, but there was no mal-intent. I grabbed a tarp out of Calvin’s hands, and the bloody machete fell on my foot.”
I want to chime in with my two cents that the testosterone-filled balloons masquerading as men are going to be our doom. But I’ve got the sense to know that now isn’t the right time to bring it up.
“How bad is it?” Haley turns to Easton, who is still standing in the rain.
“It’s not too bad. Infection will be the worst thing to worry about. And tetanus.”
“To work on the ship, you have to be current with that and all your shots.” I glance at him. Am I grateful for what he did for me while we were on the ocean? Sure. But I’ve got my level certifications, including medical. Two years ago, I just didn’t feel like cooking. I thought about moving to being a captain. I took shit tons of classes only to realize I was bored with the boat I was on, not being a chef.
Easton still isn’t in the raft. “Let me in.”
I move over, and Easton brings his wet ass into the raft. Calvin glares at me but doesn’t make his way in even when there is room.
Haley spreads the towel out underneath Zane’s foot.
“Maybe we shouldn’t use the towel. I might get blood on it.”
“It will wash off.” Haley smooths the towel and takes Zane’s hand while Easton unwraps the bandage around Zane’s foot. I brace myself for something extreme, but when Easton pulls back the cloth, it’s not bad. Deep. But not bad.
“It’s dark in here. Can we use a minute of the flashlight?” Easton asks.
This is exactly why we haven’t been using the light. I find it in the pocket by the flap and take it out of one of our precious plastic bags. I glance outside. Calvin has the rain shelter for the fire set, reinforced with a small tarp. And he’s crouching next to it tending to the smallest of glowing embers.
“Once the fire is going, I’m going to use the new pot to get some water boiling,” Calvin announces.
“Good.” I glare at him. Between the wind and the rain, I don’t know how he thinks he’s going to get it going. But whatever. He needs to get his shit together. If anything is going to kill us, it’s going to be splintered morale. I know it. Shit, everyone here knows it. But I’ve had enough of him for one day, and I wasn’t even on their expedition to the fishing boat. “The pan is under the mat.” I point it out to him. There are two big water jugs lying next to the fire pit that I hadn’t noticed before.
“Thanks, but I’ve got another one.” He points with a stick next to his leg. It’s part of a cast iron dutch oven. The half with the handle. It’s the most glorious thing I’ve ever seen. I’ll be able to make almost anything now.
“Where’s the flashlight?” Easton demands.
I ignore the tone. “Here.” I turn it on and shine it on Zane’s foot. The puncture wound is a stark, jagged tear against his dark skin, about two inches long, with inflamed edges hinting at a deep, angry red beneath. Beads of blood seep slowly from the wound. Zane’s skin is peppered with white sand.
“You doing okay?” Haley holds his hand with her free one. Zane is slow to turn to her.
“Fucking sand is everywhere.” Easton brushes at Zane’s skin. “How’s this feel?” He pushes a few inches around the outside of the wound.
“It doesn’t feel good, but I’ve had worse.” Zane nods at Haley.
“Right.” Haley has her arm around his shoulder. “You’re doing amazing.”
Zane has his head turned to her and his bright smile shining. “I’m tough, you know.”
“So tough.”
“I think I’m going to barf.” I wiggle my eyebrows at Zane.
“Right, well, that’s nothing we haven’t already seen.” He laughs. And I don’t care if I’m the butt of the joke if it makes him feel better.
I keep the light steady. “Okay. What do you think of your patient here, Golden Boy?”
“I wish I had more than one of these fucking sterile wipes.” He’s used two so far. There’s a half dozen more. A bottle of alcohol would help.
“There was a bottle on board the ship.” Zane’s voice cracks.
“There was everything on the ship,” Easton says.
Zane shakes his head like Easton’s nuts. “No. The derelict. I grabbed it. It’s in the orange case.”
Easton nods. “We picked it up and brought it back.”
“Hey Calvin.” I poke my head out of the raft. “Golden Boy says there is an orange box out there?”
He lifts a few mats, and beneath it is a box. And I’m shocked the fire is already going a lot better. “Not bad.” I open the case, and nestled next to an unlabeled bottle is a roll of bandages. They’re wrapped in a yellowed, thin, crackling cellophane. I hold them up to Calvin. The raft medicine kit had bandages, but they used them on my head. They are rinsed and dried, but no way are they sterile. Then again, I’m not sure bandages from nineteen-whenever-these-were-made are sterile now.
He nods.
“How about these?” I hold them up and toss them to Easton when he puts his hand out.
“It’s better than the barely washed ones.” Easton hands them to Haley, who delicately unwraps them.
I screw off the cap of the bottle. And give it a gentle whiff. It’s hooch of some sort. I take a second whiff.
“Don’t drink it. You don’t know what it is.” Haley’s holding the bandage loosely in her palm.
“I’m no spirits sommelier, but I’ve tried a lot. This is some sort of rice whiskey. The box has Thai writing on it. So it might be Mekhong Whiskey.”
“No fucking way you could know that.” Easton scowls.
I hold the side of the box. “Yeah, it says right here, ‘Easton Rockwell is an asswipe, who is the only person who doesn’t know that Thai writing has more fucking curves than a lot of other Asian scripts.’” I take a small swig from the bottle. “It’s rice whiskey. It will work for his foot.” I hold in a cough; the shit is strong.
Golden Boy has his face twisted up, but he takes the bottle. “Ready?”
I move to the other side of Zane and hold his hand.
“Yeah.”
“It’s going to sting.”
“No bloody shit.” Zane squeezes my hand hard enough I’m wondering if he’s planning on giving birth. My sister didn’t even cut off the blood vessels in my hand when she gave birth to twins. With ten hours of labor and then a C-section.
Fuck, I’ve done a really good job of thinking only of myself and not my sister. She’s got to be flipping out. She always thought something like this could happen. How many times did I tell her that I was more likely to die in a car accident? I’m betting that the entire crew has told their families the same thing. Damn, the whiskey better kill every last germ in that wound.
Easton holds it over the top of the gaping hole. “You’re sure that’s what it is?”
“Haaaa.” I breathe on him.
He coughs. “Right. Smells like my grandfather.” Easton raises his eyebrows at Zane.
“Do it,” Zane says through gritted teeth.
Easton pours like a spendthrift barkeep. It drips out of the bottle. Zane’s nose twitches. The amber liquid pools in the wound, and Zane’s grip on my hand turns my fingers white. “You good, man?”
He wordlessly nods.
Easton caps the bottle and covers the wound with one of the last gauze pads we have left; then he wraps it with the bandage from the derelict ship.
“It’s not great, but it’s clean.” Easton nods. The bandage’s stretched-out edges make Zane’s foot appear like it’s wearing an odd paper flower.
“Let’s get you comfortable.” Haley moves a cushion over for his head. “Maybe you should move to the other side of the raft. It’s drier over there.” Haley glances at me and Easton for support.
“Sure. Let’s get you to the other side, big man,” I say, and Zane mercifully lets go of my hand. I can’t help but shake it out. Easton tries to help, but Zane pushes him away.
“I’ve got it. I’m not unconscious.” He shimmies over to the other side of the raft, holding his bandaged leg up. Haley takes a long time over there, doing I don’t know what. Fluffing his nonexistent pillows. But I don’t care. What I care about is turning my attention to Easton and Calvin. I could just leave it alone. I could just let things alone. Only not this time. This isn’t a passenger who says they’re allergic to onions because they think they don’t like them. No. They’re going to take us all down. These two asses need to get it together. Or we could just let them beat the shit out of each other. Take a Darwinian approach: let the stupid show itself out.
“Let me get you the bowl of dinner Dante made. It’s really good. He made, well, found salt!” Haley’s deference tactics might not work, but I can tell he appreciates them.
He takes a bite. “It’s good, Dante. But blimey, I’m really feeling it today.”
A nod, a “You’re welcome,” and I turn back to Easton.
His eyes flare. “I’m going to go help Calvin with the fire. See if we can get some of the other bandages sanitary.”
I nod. I don’t need him to give me a play-by-play. But that happens with narcissists who didn’t get enough attention as a child. I should know—I am one.
He slides out of the raft, leaving a trail of sand behind him. Zane, even with an injury, managed to bring less in.
I lie by the door flap, using my arm as a pillow. I fully expect that my solo Haley time is over. But a few minutes later, Zane gives her his empty bowl. Then she’s lying next to me, snuggled into my side.
“Hey.” I smile. “How is he doing?”
Zane has his eyes closed already. It won’t be long before he’s asleep. Crashing adrenaline will do that to you. I’m still coming back from smacking my head during the evacuation. Something still isn’t right. Every once in a while when I turn, it’s like I’m on a damn rollercoaster.
Haley closes her eyes. The raft wiggles. Behind the flap, I’m expecting to see Easton, but it’s Calvin.
My gut tenses. “Did you and Easton work things out?”
“No.” He turns, lifting his feet to clean them.
“Then stay outside until you do.”
It’s getting dark, but the narrowing of his eyes isn’t hard to pick out. He nods, turns, and leaves.
“Dante!” Haley lifts her head.
“They’re behaving like animals. They can sleep outside.”