16. Nick #2
It hits me harder as time passes—maybe an hour, maybe more—how much all of these guys have come to mean to me. I’m colder than I’ve ever been, too weak to move, and we could all die at any moment, but somehow, the worst night of all our lives is bearable because of who I have to endure it with.
They’ve managed to throw out hope like a secondary lifeline, just as vital as our survival suits.
But none of them ever should’ve had to bear this. I should’ve been able to keep them safe.
“I wish none of you were here with me right now.” My voice trembles from the cold and the wet. “But whatever happens… I want you to know that being your captain has been the greatest pride of my life.”
“D-don’t do that, Nicky.” Seth grabs my hand, thick with two layers. All the other pieces of my life are now lost at sea, but I still have on the gloves he got me beneath the built-in mitts of the survival suit. “Don’t t-t-talk like we’re not g-getting out of here.”
His shivering is getting worse. It hasn’t escaped my awareness that, of all of us, he spent by far the most time in the thirty-degree water.
And for hours before we all abandoned ship, he was the only one on deck who never took a break.
Who stood out there chiseling ice and supporting our crew.
Leading by example, by being the foundation that holds everyone else up.
I curl closer. Conserving my energy by not speaking in hopes that I can produce more heat instead, and give it to him. As far as I’m concerned, he can have it all.
Logically, I know that’s not how it works. But just in case, I stay still and I count the swells for a long while. I count them until they slow. Until they seem almost gentle.
A generous word for what we’re riding out, but all I know is that more time passes between the next swoop of my stomach. More gaps breathe between the patter of raindrops hitting the canopy.
“I’m gonna have a cheeseburger when we get out of here.
A big, fat, greasy one. With all the toppings, and extra cheddar, slathered in mayo.
And a side of onion rings,” Perry says. It sounds so good, I almost hate him for it.
“Maybe we’ll go to that diner where Erin and I had our first date.
We were seventeen, and I knew I was gonna marry her.
You know that? Told her I loved her after two weeks.
She’s the coolest person I’ve ever fucking known. ”
The melancholy of his tone grips something in the back of my throat and squeezes.
“I’m gonna build her that She Shed I owe her. I should’ve started on it over the summer anyway. We never needed to make a bet. I just want her to be happy. I always just… wanna be with her.”
“You will be,” Orlov says. I’m glad he does, because the words are on the tip of my tongue, but I’ve never made a promise I haven’t kept.
“I’m gonna hug her. Kiss her. Hold her. Tell her I love her. That’s the first thing I’m gonna do,” Perry says. In the drawn-out pause that follows, all I hear through the thunder is, If we get out of this alive. “What about you guys? What are you doing when we get out of here?”
“I dunno, your plan sounds pretty good,” Jorgensen says, his tired voice muffled by fabric. “I’m also gonna get a cheeseburger and kiss your wife. I’ll probably beat you to it, too. My leg isn’t broken.”
“Fuck you, you little shit.” Perry chuckles.
“Erin’s hot,” Jorgensen doubles down. “Outta your league.”
“And way outta yours.”
Seth makes a faint sound. A laugh, maybe. But the only reason I know it is because I’m right beside him. Engrossed in the sluggish rhythm of his breathing.
“I am going to ask Anna to move in with me,” Orlov says lowly.
“I have kept so much distance with her. Expecting her to get sick of being alone while I work. Expecting her to leave. But she has been there for me, almost two years. She has never pulled away. I should not push her away. Made me think of it, this trip. Sometimes it can be... good. Trusting people. The right people.”
“And you, Seth?” Perry asks as the conversation lulls once more.
The only thing more terrifying than Seth trembling as intensely as he was is the fact that now he’s not. He’s practically still. Each inhale and exhale further apart.
Fresh as it is, my mind goes straight to the widening gap of the Suoja’s recovery time as ice accumulated.
“Seth?” I repeat.
The conversation dies. Our last vestiges of levity snuffed out.
“Mmm,” he hums lowly. Like the soft groans he sometimes makes in his sleep.
“Seth, are you awake?”
“Mmhmm.”
“What day is it.”
“‘S… November.”
“That’s not a day, Seth.”
No response.
“That’s not a day.”
I turn him over. It’s impossible to tell if it’s the low light playing tricks on me, but I swear his face looks blueish. I pull him chest to chest, trying to figure out if there’s a way to get him inside my damn suit with me.
“Seth.” I stroke his cheek until his eyelids flutter open. “You told me not to talk negative, so I’m not going to. Instead I’ll tell you, right now, that you have to get out of here. Okay? I’m not making it out of here without you.”
“Mm’kay,” he says. I can’t be sure he heard a single word I said.
I’ve never truly known fear before this night. Not a fear of death. Strangely, that’s been the easiest thing to accept. Not fear from the storm. Weather, I know how to prepare for. I know protocol.
Abandoning the Suoja was an easy decision, as much as it broke my heart. I had to give my crew the best chance of survival, and that was to get off of the boat. End of story.
But right now, the only thing I am is scared. It makes up my entire being.
“Don’t leave me, Rit,” I beg, gathering him in my arms and rubbing him, trying to generate some heat with friction. I hold him against my chest, whispering in his ear. “You can’t fucking leave me. Okay?”
He doesn’t respond. His body’s only focus is on keeping him alive.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Instead of measuring time in swells, it now passes in breaths. As long as he’s still breathing, I haven’t lost anything at all.
“I love you,” I whisper. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
Please.
I don’t know if I’m begging aloud or in my head. If I’m begging Seth to hold on or begging the storm to stop.
But I keep begging. I beg with each exhale that his lungs will inflate again. I beg with each heartbeat that the next one comes soon. I beg with every swell beneath the life raft, every splash of water from the sea and the sky, that the storm calms.
I beg until I hear the distant drum of helicopter blades, chopping through the outer bands of the storm. And even then, I don’t allow myself to believe it’s anything other than a figment of my imagination until I unzip the canopy and look up.
The sky has begun to lighten. Whether from the storm receding, or dawn impending, I’m not sure. I’d have a better shot throwing a dart and hitting the bullseye drunk and blindfolded than I would of guessing what time it is.
I shake Seth’s shoulders, trying to prop him up with me. “We’re getting out of here. Do you hear me?”
He doesn’t answer. Is he nodding, or is he nuzzling against me?
Hurry. God, please hurry.
The Coast Guard lower a radio.
I get up on my knees, swinging my arms until I make contact and pulling it down to speak into the mic.
“Coast Guard, Coast Guard, Captain Lundvall.”
“Lundvall speaking,” I say immediately.
“Any losses or injuries?”
“No losses.” Yet. Please fucking hurry. “One crew member with a broken leg. Another hypothermic.”
“Copy. Hang tight, we’re coming to get you out.”
It feels like it takes just as long for the rescue swimmer to reach us as it did for the helicopter to be dispatched.
By the time the rescuer arrives, I’ve already been holding up Seth’s listless weight for minutes.
Waiting for the first chance to thrust him toward the promise of warmth and emergency care.
The worst part isn’t letting go of Seth, or watching the man try to talk his mostly-unconscious form through getting into the cage.
It’s the waiting afterward. Not knowing if he’s okay up there, if help arrived in time.
Perry goes up next, with extra precautions taken not to aggravate his leg. Then Jorgensen. Then Orlov.
I feel lighter when I’m the last man left in the raft. It’s been such a blur, I’ve already forgotten the panicked way I told the rescue swimmer to leave me behind. Just leave me if it’ll make a difference for Seth.
As long as I know I’m coming back to him, I can stay out here until they make sure he’s safe. But of course, my pleas were ignored.
“Rit will be okay, Captain,” Orlov told me before he went up. “He is strong.”
And that’s the last truth I cling to while I wait. While I scramble into the cage and get hoisted into the air, swinging back and forth in the wind.
He is strong. He’s my strength, too.
There’s an empty spot beside Seth when I crawl into the cargo area. My knees find it first, and the rest of me collapses into a heap beside his sleeping body, bundled in multiple layers of crinkly metallic emergency blankets.
He’s going to be okay. He’s strong.
It’s the truth. It has to be.