Undertow [part 1a]

[silentdescant]

Undertow

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12 November - Nearing port, storm fast on our tail. Skies are depressingly dark to the West, even at midday. Doubt we will reach land before it catches us tonight.

“Get up, get up!”

“Captain!”

“Look out!”

Frank couldn’t really hear over the sharp crackle of thunder. The thudding waves crashing against the hull only compounded and echoed in his head, and paired with the thick patter of rain on the deck, it was almost impossible to distinguish any sounds but that of water.

He looked around frantically, but the deck was largely empty. Cortez was holding tight to the mast, nearly thrown off his feet with each rock of the ship. Frank called to him.

“Cap’n!” Cortez shouted back, a low murmur beneath the cacophony of the storm. Frank let go of the rope keeping him upright and let himself fall. He slipped down the short stairs in a rush of water and stumbled to his feet again, grabbing for the railing.

When he was close enough, Cortez reached for him, stretching out to keep a good hold on the sturdy mast. His slippery fingers closed tightly around Frank’s wrist and he yanked Frank close. Frank wound his arm in one of the ropes and fisted his free hand in Cortez’s shirt.

“She’s not gonna hold, Cap’n,” Cortez shouted. “They’re already taking a beating below deck; the water’s comin’ in too strong!”

Frank twisted around to look at the bow of the ship. As he watched, a gigantic wave curved over and smashed into the starboard side of the ship, nearly pulling the bow underwater. Cortez fell against him and Frank’s feet slipped out from under him, until he was hanging by his left arm, still caught up in the ropes.

“Frank!” Cortez screamed. He yanked Frank up by his shirt and they slumped against the mast together. “She’s not gonna survive this, mate.”

“I know,” Frank admitted quietly, then repeated himself so Cortez could hear. They’d already lost a handful of their crew, thrown overboard by the violent storm. “We have to get the men off.”

At that moment, they heard a shout from below deck. “She’s going down!”

Five guys clambered up and spread out across the ship, grabbing for anything that could keep them steady. Frank looked around at their terrified, determined faces. None of them wanted to give up, he knew that with every ounce of his soul. Pencey was their ship, their home.

“Lifeboat! We gotta get off!” Frank found himself screaming. The ship was listing badly and Frank’s left hand was going numb. His sigh was waterlogged and he nearly choked on it.

His crew scrambled around, attempting and failing at organization, and tried to overturn the rowboat. Frank tugged at the ropes around his arm and worked to free himself from the tangle, but his fingers were cold and numb, and his sodden sleeve was caught in a knot. Cortez noticed him struggling and covered Frank’s hands with his own, somehow blessedly warm.

“Hold still,” he said loudly, and Frank braced himself against the sturdy mast. Cortez kept talking while he untangled the ropes. “Almost got it, Cap’n. Don’t fall. Ready?”

Frank nodded and quickly extracted his arm from the knotted rope. He shook it, trying to regain feeling in his fingers, but he was too cold and wet to even feel the pins and needles. Cortez patted him on the shoulder and went to help the rest of the crew.

Frank turned towards the cabin. It seemed such a long way off, across the whole deck, and with the way the ship was tossing, he wasn’t sure he could make it in one piece. Twisting the ring around his middle finger, he quickly listed the things he needed: Captain’s Log, book of maps, his father’s pocket watch. Frank took a step and immediately slipped sideways.

He kept falling until he crashed painfully into the side railing, and water sloshed over it as soon as he hit. When it finally dissipated, Frank was left coughing and spluttering, and lying in several inches of water. His shoulder smarted from banging into the wood, but he hauled himself to his feet and made his way across the deck, clenching numb fingers around the top of the rail.

He stared determinedly through the sheets of rain and crashing waves at the door to his quarters. The glass in the windows was broken, and there was water leaking from a crack in the door. Everything inside was probably a dead loss. The ship listed again, bow dipping low enough to sweep beneath the surface of the water, and Frank was nearly thrown off his feet again. He needed to see. He climbed up the smooth deck and leaped for the door.

As soon as the latch turned, the door swung Frank outward and a torrent of water streamed out around his knees. His clothes and books swept past him, and Frank fought his way against the current, wading inside.

“Captain!” came a shout from behind him. “The boat!”

His cabin was a depressing sight. The shelves were empty and the wood of the outer wall was splintering. All the windows were broken and rain streamed in unhindered. The pocket watch wasn’t hanging on the hook by Frank’s bunk, and it was pointless to search for it. None of the books could survive this much water, either. Frank turned around, bracing himself on the doorframe, and looked for his crew.

Cortez was shouting orders to the men, and Frank finally registered the splintered, broken pieces of the rowboat.

“Cortez!” he screamed. It took Cortez a moment to place the sound and search for him.

“Captain, there’s nothing left,” he shouted in reply. Frank let go of the doorframe and stumbled towards them. “The lower deck is completely underwater,” he continued.

Adams looked at him despairingly. “What do we do, Captain?”

Frank shook his head. “We have to bail. There’s nothing left here.”

Cortez reached for Frank and held him close. They swayed together as the ship rocked beneath their feet. “We can’t survive this,” he muttered harshly into Frank’s ear.

“We can’t survive staying on the ship,” Frank muttered back, just as urgently. “She’s going down fast. Get the men off while we still can.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Frank saw a familiar silver gleam skidding across the floor. He wrenched out of Cortez’s grasp and dove after it. Frank landed on his side, and his shoulder throbbed angrily at the abuse, but he ignored the pain and reached for the pocket watch, still sliding through the water.

“FRANK!” Cortez screamed, sounding absolutely panicked.

Frank’s fingers closed around the thin chain just as a wall of water crashed down on top of him. Frank was flattened on his stomach against the deck, all the air pushed from his lungs, and then ripped violently away from the solid floor. His arms felt as if they were being torn from their sockets; the wave spun him head over heels and flung him against the mast.

Frank curled automatically around it, even winded as he was, and wove his hands into the ropes again so the water couldn’t pull him away. He opened his mouth expecting a rush of water, but the crushing wave was gone and Frank felt air on his cheek. He tossed his head to the side, shaking his hair from his face, and retched up the saltwater he’d swallowed in the initial torrent.

The pocket watch thudded gently against Frank’s collarbone, caught between his body and the mast. He tightened his fist around the chain. He pressed his cheek to the wet column of wood and looked around for Cortez and the others. Adams was the only person he could see.

Frank quickly disentangled himself from the ropes and made his way over to him. He found Cortez huddled against the side of the ship, partially shielded from an incoming wave.

“Cortez!” Frank shouted. “Cortez! Matt!”

“Frank, come on, we have to get off!” Cortez extended a hand to Frank and tugged him in. “We’re not gonna make it, Captain.”

“We gotta try. Better luck off the ship than on,” Frank replied, more for Adams’ sake than his or Cortez’s. Frank didn’t know where the other men had gone, but by the look on poor Adams’ face, he suspected it hadn’t been pretty. He looked back at Cortez and said, quietly, “Stay with him.”

“Don’t you dare give me that ‘going down with the ship’ bullshit, Frank Iero,” Cortez replied warningly.

“No,” Frank cried. “No, fuck no.” He reached out and grabbed Adams by the collar, reeling him into their little huddle. “We gotta stick together.”

“We gotta get off the ship,” Cortez added. “It’s about to capsize; she’s taking a real beating.”

“That last nearly did her in,” Adams said nervously. “What do we do, Captain?”

Frank looked around wildly, but visibility was down to a few feet, and there was nothing to orient himself with. “We were nearing land last time I checked the maps. Should be close now, if the storm is still pushing us. If we can keep ourselves afloat, I think we can make it.”

“Frank,” Cortez murmured. Frank felt his hot breath against the side of his neck. “The water’s rough out there.”

“I know,” Frank replied, twisting his hands in both men’s shirts to keep them close. “But it’s our only chance. Find something to keep you above water and jump.”

Adams nodded and Frank let him go. The young man was determined, yet obviously scared out of his mind, and Frank felt a sharp pang of regret, knowing that he probably just sent Adams to his death. He and Cortez watched as Adams found a plank of wood from the rowboat and leaped over the side of the ship. Cortez leaned up to see over the rail.

“There’s nothing else to do,” he said. “Don’t stay here, Frank; you fucking follow me over.”

“Only chance. Yeah. Go.”

Cortez scrambled for another piece of the rowboat, and just as he was about to throw himself overboard, he gave Frank a hard, calm look. “Come on, Captain.”

Frank pushed himself away from the rail and looked around for something to keep him afloat. A wave thudded against the hull, quickly followed by a loud crash of thunder, and the wood vibrated beneath their feet. There was a sickening crack, loud enough to echo above the storm, and Frank was thrown to the ground again.

He was disoriented for a moment, because the mast was swaying in a different direction than he could feel his own body moving. As soon as he realized what was happening, Frank jerked around and tried to find his friend.

“Matt! Matt!” he screamed. He could hear the groaning of the splintered wood as it fell, the deafening rumble of the ropes and canvas crashing down to the deck.

Another wave followed and the water didn’t disappear; the ship was sinking too low. The deck was flooded with almost two feet of foaming saltwater, and Frank could barely force his limbs through it.

Cortez was partially caught beneath one of the sails. Frank could see his muscles bunching as he pushed against the heavy, waterlogged fabric and tried to free himself.

“Matt! I’m coming!” he shouted, but Cortez didn’t hear him.

This close to the waterline, the waves were coming quickly and relentlessly. Something snapped and slammed into Frank’s back, and he fell face-first into the water. The water rolled over him, spinning him until he wasn’t sure which way was up, and Frank flailed his arms wildly for something to hold onto.

When he surfaced with a desperate gasp for air, he found a long piece of the mast, twice his height and nearly as big around as Frank himself. Frank wrapped both arms around it and clung on tightly as the water tossed it about like a cork. Across the deck, he saw Cortez’s hand splashing at the surface of the water.

“Matthew!” Frank cried. He let go of the mast with one hand, but his other, the one still clutching the chain of the pocket watch, was once again tangled in a mass of knotted ropes, and he couldn’t pull it free.

The water rolled him underwater and the wood held him there, and Frank couldn’t fight to the surface no matter how hard he struggled. He could feel the currents of the waves tugging him in five different directions at once, and then there was a sudden lurch that nearly made him sick. Gravity failed him and Frank kicked for the surface, but it wasn’t where he thought it was. The world felt tipped on its axis, and Frank, caught in his mast, was flipped and thrown around underwater. He was about to lose consciousness.

Finally, the water turned him upright again, and the mast popped up, breaking the surface of the water. Frank sucked in a huge breath that was mostly full of clean rainwater, and when he looked over his shoulder at his ship, he couldn’t find it.

She’d finally capsized, he eventually realized. Waves were still breaking against the hull, but she was sinking fast now. Frank hoped the piece of the mast that had him caught was no longer connected to the rest of the ship. There was nothing he could do if he was pulled underwater now.

Planks and boards from the broken hull knocked against each other around him, along with other debris from the ship. The storm tossed them all together, and Frank felt extremely exposed. He was just one small man in a raging sea of violent waves and dangerous wreckage.

It wasn’t long before one of the planks crashed against the mast he clung to, pinning him. He screamed, unheard by anything living, and when the wood knocked the back of his head, he welcomed the blackness.

***

When Frank next awoke, it was to a mouthful of water. He thrashed against the ropes, kicking his way to the surface, and gasped for air when he finally broke through. The seas had calmed, but the rain was still brutal, pounding down on his head and splashing up into his face. Frank could see the dark shapes of other large pieces of debris floating around him, bobbing in the water menacingly.

He didn’t fight to free himself from the log. If nothing else, it kept him somewhat afloat while he was unconscious. Frank twisted around as much as he could, trying to orient himself, but the clouds were still thick and covering the entire sky, and he was lost. The horizon was black, and he couldn’t tell where the clouds ended and the sea began.

The mast rolled him underwater again and Frank automatically closed his mouth on a shout. Saltwater still filled his nostrils and burned his open eyes, and he tried to pull away from the ropes. His sleeves were knotted tight in them, and the freezing saltwater was only hardening the knots. Frank beat his fists against the wood, but of course it didn’t help.

Finally, when black spots were encroaching on the edges of Frank’s vision, a current of water took hold of him and started to turn him upright. Frank’s lungs were burning for air; he couldn’t even summon the energy to do more than suck in large gulps of it as soon as he broke the surface.

Frank hung limp in the ropes for several minutes, letting his head loll against the wood, and tried to catch his breath without swallowing too much seawater, or the rainwater that dripped off his forehead. When he could eventually force his muscles to move, he kicked out at the water, splashing loudly enough to be heard over the drone of the rain, and plastered himself to the side of the mast. He hoped it would be easier to stay balanced.

Exhausted, Frank gave in to the tempting cry of sleep.

***

The next time he came to, the rain had stopped, but the waves were inexplicably more forceful. He was dunked underwater again, and when he came up spluttering, Frank realized why. In the darkness, he saw the faint outline of land.

From what he remembered of the maps and their heading before the storm hit, Frank guessed that he’d been drifting west. He didn’t remember any islands near the large ports, though, and what he could see didn’t look like mainland. The storm must have pushed him south along the coast, or maybe north, he wasn’t sure.

There wasn’t anything he could do to fight the current that was taking him towards land, no way for him to direct himself, so Frank just clung to the ropes and held on tight whenever the waves threw him into the water.

As he got closer to the island, he saw what was making the waves splash so much. The white sand that was nearly glowing in the darkness was cut off from the water by a line of large, craggy black rocks. They guarded the beach like battlements and the white foam from the waves only accentuated how unforgiving the sharp rocks would be when Frank inevitably hit them.

He shivered and clung to the piece of debris that held him, mentally preparing himself. The water tossed him violently as he neared the rocks, and it was a miracle he didn’t bash his head against them.

The rest of his body wasn’t so lucky; a wave crashed over him, pushing him well under, and a sharp rock gouged his thigh. Blood billowed out from the wound, staining the water. The salt immediately felt like fire in the torn flesh, and Frank opened his mouth to scream. He could taste his own diluted blood in the water that poured into his mouth. His hands jerked in their bonds, but as much as he struggled, he couldn’t relieve any of the pain.

He finally came up, coughing water, and the mast caught on one of the outcroppings and held fast. The waves slammed against Frank’s back, pressing him flat against the black rock and dousing him in foamy saltwater once again. He couldn’t move, and there was nothing he could do to avoid the thrashing. The water pushed the log up farther on the rock, until most of the waves only hit Frank up to his waist.

He was finally able to catch his breath, gritting his teeth whenever the brackish water slammed into his wound. His pants were ripped to shreds, and his shirt was hanging off his shoulders, also torn along his back, and several of the buttons had come loose. The destroyed fabric clung to his skin, plastered to him with the water, and sticky around his thigh. The continuous torrent of water kept washing away the blood, but Frank could feel the difference in the way the fabric stuck to him.

Frank quickly lost track of time; he wasn’t sure how long he was trapped on that rock with his hands bound to the mast and his leg stinging with fiery pain. The highest waves were lapping at his feet, occasionally splashing up to his knees-the tide was going out. He didn’t know how long his luck would last, though, and when he realized this was his chance, Frank turned his attention to the ropes around his forearms.

The knots were hardening, solidifying in the salty water, especially now that they were starting to dry out. The sleeves of his shirt had caught in the tangle, and Frank couldn’t rip the sturdy fabric free. A thinner mess of rope had wrapped around his right forearm, up to his elbow, and he could no longer feel the fingers of that hand.

He used his left hand work apart one of the knots. Frank felt so satisfied to have himself partially free that he had to flop over on his back and rest. He was exhausted. His right hand, he noticed, was still clenching tight around the chain of his pocket watch. He couldn’t even force his fingers to move and release it.

The blood soaking through his pants had turned sluggish and thick, and his entire leg ached. He took a deep breath and slowly, carefully peeled the ropes away from his arm. He was almost thankful that he’d been caught so tight; it was the only way he’d survived long enough to reach this island. Finally, the knot around his wrist loosened enough for Frank to yank his hand through the tight loop.

Blood rushed back into his fingertips and they stung and tingled painfully. He let go of the pocket watch automatically and his left hand was there to catch it. He looped the chain around his neck and shivered when the cold metal watch dropped and thudded against his breastbone.

His clothes were getting clammy in the cold night air, too. Frank looked up at the crest of the rock he was lying on. It seemed like such a long way to climb. But he knew that white sand lay just beyond it, and he had to get there before the chasing tide caught up with him and pulled him back into the ocean.

Frank reached up with his left hand and found a handhold that didn’t slice his palm open. His right hand was still mostly useless, as was his left leg, so hoisting himself up to the next outcropping was an agonizing struggle. The next two handholds were just as difficult, and Frank had to stop and rest for a moment before continuing.

His head was pounding, and beneath the ache of exhaustion, Frank recognized the shaky, weak feeling in his body as a sign that he wasn’t dealing well with the blood loss and the cold. He determinedly reached for the next ledge of the rock, and when he pulled himself up, he was shocked to find that he’d reached the top of the wall.

The wind battered him from multiple directions, now that his torso was above the rock’s protection, but Frank could see the white beach and the dark abyss of a forest beyond it, and to the left, he found that the rocks eventually tapered off and left the shore calm.

The sky was tinged with grey, and there were a few stars visible above the trees. The heavy clouds were finally dissipating, and Frank suspected morning wasn’t long off. It took long, tedious minutes to drag his injured leg over the rock, and another several to find a safe path down to the sand. Frank eventually just let himself fall; it was painful and he scraped arms and legs wherever his clothes were torn, but he was down, collapsing face-first into the fine sand in a surprisingly short time.

Frank had the presence of mind to peel away the tatters of fabric from his wound, to give himself a fighting chance against infection. The blood had already dried in some places, and it hurt to rip the threads from wherever they were glued to his flesh. He fell backwards onto the sand again, clutching his thigh, and screamed. The rock had punctured his leg deeply, and he felt sick to look at the ripped skin, the gouged, red muscle beneath it.

The pain finally ebbed again, retreating into the back of his mind, and Frank took several deep breaths. The sky had lightened more, and he could clearly make out the outline of the trees. He tried to remember which direction the calm beach had been. He would head in that direction.

Once he could bring himself to move.

Frank shifted his leg, turned his body so that he wouldn’t get too much sand in the wound, and closed his eyes. In the morning, he would stand up and start walking. In the morning.

***

When Frank woke up, the sun was bright and beating down on his shoulders. His clothes were still wet and gritty with sand, but his hair had dried, fluffy and tangled from the salt water, and the wind was blowing it against his eyelids. Frank scrubbed at his face, tucking his hair behind his ears, and opened his eyes.

Though the sun was hot on his exposed skin, everywhere his clothes touched his body, Frank was cold. He sat up and hugged himself tightly. The wind pulled at his clothes, slapping the torn edges against him. He needed to move.

It took considerable effort to push himself to his feet, especially using only the soft sand for balance. He couldn’t bring himself to look down at his leg, but he brushed his hand over the edges of the wound. The blood felt mostly dried. Maybe once his shirt dried completely and he could shake the dirt and sand out of it, he could use it as a bandage. He couldn’t imagine packing sand into his flesh with the fabric as it was, wet and cold. It was a sure way to get the wound infected, probably bad enough to kill him.

Frank turned to the left. From this vantage point, he couldn’t see very far along the beach, but he thought this was the way he’d decided to go. He took a few staggering steps forward. It was hard to balance on the sand, and there was nothing to hold onto.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. The horizon looked hazy. He just needed to keep walking.

***

What felt like hours later, Frank saw what appeared to be a house in the distance, set back on firmer land, close to the tree line. He felt shaky, though; he hadn’t had any food or fresh water in God knew how long, and the harsh sun and biting cold were competing for dominance in their game of torture. He suspected it was just a mirage, but he aimed for it anyway.

As he neared it, the house became clearer. He eventually got close enough to see a man on a ladder outside. The house was small, and there was a hole in the roof. The man was bundled up in a sweater and thick trousers, and a tight knit cap over his hair. His back was to Frank, and he was working on fixing the roof.

Frank took several quick steps closer and fell to his knees. The image before him seemed too good to be true.

“Help,” he said. His voice was rough from disuse, ragged from swallowing so much salt water and coughing it up. “Help me,” he added. It sounded quiet to his own ears.

Frank fell forward onto his hands and dragged himself forward a little more. He clutched at the sand, feeling it sift between his fingers. “Help me!” he shouted. It left him breathless, and Frank collapsed to the ground, gasping for a full breath of air.

In his blurry periphery, he saw the man on the ladder turn around. There was an indecipherable sound, and the man finally came to the ground. He rushed toward Frank, and Frank closed his eyes.

***

Frank next came to when the man was laying him down on a low cot. Frank’s eyes fluttered open; he was inside the small house, and there was sunlight streaming in through the ragged hole in the roof. There was also a brick fireplace, and the man pushed the cot towards it, jostling Frank a little when it jerked to a stop.

“Are you awake? Are you okay, mister?” the man asked quickly, when he’d noticed Frank’s eyes were open. “What’s your name?”

“Iero,” Frank replied. “Frank. Captain. The storm…”

“Shh, shh, shh,” the man replied, pressing his palm to Frank’s forehead. “You’ll be okay, Frank. Let me see to your leg. Don’t try to talk now.”

Frank kept his eyes open while the man peeled off what was left of Frank’s trousers, lifting them carefully away from the deep cut on his thigh. He even managed to stay upright as his shirt was pulled over his head. The man laid him back down on the cot with the gentle command to rest, and then he got to his feet and disappeared. Frank drifted into an exhausted sleep before the man returned.

***

He awoke naked beneath a knitted blanket, and a fire was blazing to his left. Frank turned his head to see it. There was a brick fireplace, which jogged his memory slightly. His pocket watch was resting on its coiled chain on the floor beside the cot, and Frank reached out from under the blanket to pick it up. The metal was warm to the touch. He lifted his head a few inches and looped the chain around his neck again.

When he shifted beneath the blanket, Frank felt the rough edges of a bandage around his injured thigh. Memories of the man carrying him inside and laying him down flooded back and Frank looked around for him wildly.

“Hello?” The house wasn’t all that big, and Frank could see that he was alone. He pushed himself up to his elbows. “Hello?” he asked again, in a louder voice.

There was a clatter outside, and a moment later, the blonde, red-cheeked man from before burst in through the door.

“You’re awake!” he said triumphantly. He yanked off his work gloves and knitted hat, and moved to kneel by Frank’s cot.

“Who are you? Where am I?” Frank asked nervously. He couldn’t help but flinch away from the man’s touch.

“My name is Robert Bryar. Bob. You’re in my house,” Robert-Bob-replied gently. “You should drink something; you’re dehydrated.”

A tin cup of water appeared out of nowhere and Bob held it up to Frank’s lips, urging him to drink. Frank obediently tilted his head back and he lifted his own hand to Bob’s wrist, to steady the cup. When the fresh, clean water touched his tongue, Frank realized how thirsty he really was. He gulped down the water, swallowing quickly, and Bob didn’t take away the cup until it was empty.

Frank let out a breath and gasped for air when he finished. Bob set the cup down and pressed the back of his hand to Frank’s forehead.

“I think you still have a fever. How do you feel?”

“Better,” Frank answered truthfully. “Thank you.”

Bob sat back on his heels, his hands in his lap. “Frank. What happened?”

Frank closed his eyes. He could still feel the comforting heat on his eyelids, flickering warmth radiating from the fire. He lifted the blanket up to his shoulders. “My ship was damaged in the storm,” he began cautiously. “We were taking on water, and the hull was splintering. The waves were too much for her.

“I don’t know how long it took to reach the shore. A day? Were there any other survivors?” Frank hesitated. “Were there other bodies?”

“I haven’t seen anything,” Bob answered apologetically. “At least, not on my beach. Where did you wash up? You walked here, right?”

Frank sighed sadly and eased himself back down to the thin pillow. Staring at the ceiling, he said, “There were rocks covering the shore, and white sand beyond them. Trees farther back. The rocks were tall, and sharp, and that’s how I cut my leg. I climbed over and walked here, along the beach.”

Bob looked shocked at Frank’s answer. “Tall, black rocks?” he asked, and Frank nodded. “That’s halfway across the island, to the east.”

“The others would probably wash up there,” Frank mused. “Maybe they already have. You have to take me there.”

“No, Frank-No.” He reached up and felt Frank’s forehead again. “You’re still feverish, and you’re hurt and dehydrated, and you’re exhausted-walking back there would only-”

“I have to know,” Frank interjected passionately. “They’re my crew, and I sent them to their deaths. If there’s even a chance one of them survived… I have to know.”

“No, Frank,” Bob replied, more forcefully. “I can’t let you injure yourself further.”

Frank reached out and grabbed a handful of Bob’s heavy jacket. He used it to pull himself upright again, and pointedly ignored the rush of dizziness that made him sway a little. “You don’t understand,” Frank said slowly. “I’m the captain. Those men were my responsibility. They trusted me.”

“There’s nothing you can do for them,” Bob whispered. “You can’t even take care of yourself right now. Just rest, please, and heal.”

Frank sighed and Bob lowered him back down. Frank grudgingly admitted to himself that he was grateful for Bob’s strong, gentle hands and his warm blankets. Moving made him dizzy again, and he closed his eyes for a moment.

“If you promise not to move from this bed,” Bob murmured, his voice close to Frank’s ear, “then I’ll go out to that beach and search.”

Frank’s eyes flew open. Bob’s hair was hanging over his forehead, and his blue eyes were sad, apologetic. “You must stay here. I’ll go for you.”

“Yes, please,” Frank whispered back. “I shan’t move, I promise.”

“I’ll let you know of anything I find,” Bob assured him. “Are you hungry?” Frank shook his head; he still felt queasy from being storm-tossed and feverish. Bob merely shrugged and said that he’d make something in case Frank got hungry later.

He gave Frank another cupful of water and held it until Frank drained the entire thing, and then made him a plate of crackers and cheese. He put a large jug of water on the floor beside the cot, as well as the tin cup. Then he tucked the blanket around Frank’s shoulders and brushed his hair off his forehead affectionately.

“I’ll stay out there a few hours, then come back and check on you,” Bob said. “It might rain tonight, but the roof should hold, this time.”

Frank followed Bob’s gaze up to the newly patched hole, and he smiled. “Thank you,” he said.

“I hope I find them,” Bob replied.

Frank watched Bob bundle up in his coat and hat, foregoing the gloves, and only closed his eyes again when Bob’s footsteps had gotten too far away to hear.

***

Frank was back in the ocean, with the water tugging at his legs. His left arm was pinned to the mast, ropes tight around his wrist and in his clenched fist, and he stretched his body out as far as he could, reaching for Matt’s hand.

Frank could see his face just beneath the surface. Matt had his eyes open, and he was watching Frank. His eyes were pleading. His hand slapped the rippled surface of the water frantically, aiming for Frank’s hand and missing.

Frank watched him struggle against the heavy canvas that held him under. He yanked at his arm, but the ropes held him steady. Matt strained, opening his mouth to release a stream of air bubbles, and his fingertips skimmed Frank’s palm. Frank felt the quick, fleeting press of warmth even through the bone-chillingly cold seawater and freezing wind and rain.

Matt’s hand slipped out of Frank’s grasp, away, and fell beneath the water. Frank shouted for him, but Matt’s eyes were closed, and of course he couldn’t hear through the water. Frank stretched himself enough that his arm felt like it was being wrenched from its socket, but he ignored the pain. He clawed at the water. Matt was just under the surface. His hand floated there, just out of Frank’s reach.

“Matt!” Frank screamed. “Matthew!”

Frank kept splashing at the water, and his face was wet even though it was no longer raining. Tears soaked the collar of his shirt, and it felt warm, different from the cold that encased his legs.

As Frank stared, Matt opened his eyes again. The skin surrounding his eyes was tinged blue with the freezing cold, as were his lips, and his eyes were cloudy and bloodshot. His dark hair wafted in front of his face and Frank screamed for him again.

“Matthew! No!” he cried, still jerking against his bonds. “No, please!”

Matt moved his hand so that it was just beneath Frank’s in the water, and every time Frank stretched to touch him, Matt pulled his hand back, keeping at least an inch of clear water between them.

He was teasing Frank.

He was smiling, but it didn’t look natural. His blue lips were stretched tight over his teeth; it was more of a grimace than a smile. But he stared at Frank and taunted him by getting closer, closer, closer, and then yanking himself away.

“Stop this! Stop!” Frank screamed. A sudden wave appeared out of nowhere and crashed over Frank’s head. He shook water out of his eyes and grabbed for Matt again. He didn’t want him to be washed away by the current. But Matt was floating away, his hands skimming the surface but his face underwater, and Frank couldn’t reach. He watched the sea carry him farther and farther away.

“Matthew!” Frank cried.

“What is it? What’s wrong? Frank?” came a voice Frank didn’t recognize, and there were hands on his arms. Untangling him? He could move again. His hair stuck to his forehead and Frank felt the wetness on his cheeks-that was real. He could feel it. It must have been real.

Frank opened his eyes. There was a fire still glowing brightly to his left, and a man’s body blocking most of the light but seemingly none of the heat. Frank’s body felt soaked, and he realized it was, but not with seawater, with sweat.

“Frank? What happened? Are you okay?” the man-Bob, it was Bob, Frank remembered now-asked in a concerned voice.

“I couldn’t reach him,” Frank cried. The tears were still flowing freely from his eyes, and he didn’t even attempt to stop them. The pillow beneath his head was damp. “I tried. I honestly did. He kept pulling away.”

“What happened, Frank?” Bob asked again. He reached up and stroked the stringy hair off Frank’s forehead. “Can you tell me?”

“I couldn’t reach him,” Frank repeated, his voice breaking over the words. “I couldn’t. I tried. I couldn’t reach.”

“What couldn’t you reach?”

“Matt-My first mate. My-My friend. Matt. Matthew,” Frank moaned. He turned onto his side, his back to Bob and the fireplace, and rubbed his face against the clammy pillowcase. “I couldn’t save him.”

Bob rested his hand briefly on Frank’s shoulder. He squeezed once, and then Frank heard him stand up and retreat.

He returned a few minutes later with a cool, damp cloth, which he placed gently across Frank’s forehead. Frank choked on his tears and sucked in a huge breath of air, attempting to calm himself down. He wiped the cloth over his eyes, and the cool fabric felt amazing on his puffy eyelids. He rolled over onto his back, and Bob helped him arrange the cloth over the top half of his face. Frank took several deep breaths.

“There was nothing you could have done,” Bob said softly. He gave Frank another comforting squeeze on the shoulder. “Rest, now. Your fever’s breaking, so you’ll finally be able to rest.”

***

Frank felt like he’d slept for a very long time, well over a day, when he next woke, but Bob informed him gently that it had only been a few hours. Frank pushed himself up enough to see the ocean out the window several feet away from his cot. The sky was clear and cloudless, and the ocean-from what he could make out-seemed calm. Frank felt the pull deep in his chest to be out there, experiencing it firsthand.

A chill swept over him and he shivered. Bob lifted a blanket up around his shoulders. Frank twisted as much as was comfortable and stared up at Bob’s face, his smooth, almost blank expression. He was holding himself carefully, Frank could tell; he was hiding something.

“What did you find?” Frank asked. His voice was a steady as he could manage, but it still sounded weak to his own ears.

“Nothing,” Bob replied sympathetically. He laid his hand on Frank’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “There was nothing, not even driftwood.”

Frank didn’t want to say that there was still time for things-for his crew-to wash up, because he knew how unlikely it was. The bodies had sunk by now, as had the ship, and if anything was still bobbing at the surface, it had been carried far away from this little island. Frank swallowed around the painful lump in his throat and nodded.

“I’m sorry, Frank,” Bob added, and Frank knew he was sincere.

“They’re better off at sea than buried in the ground,” Frank murmured. It was the truth; Frank felt like the odd one out. He didn’t want to be left on land, stranded, away from his home, his ship. He didn’t want to be the one left alive.

Frank shifted his good leg so that his bare foot touched the cold wood floor.

“What are you doing?” Bob asked, his voice tight and tense.

“Standing up.”

“You shouldn’t-”

“Don’t,” Frank broke in sternly. He moved his hands slowly along the bandage the covered his thigh, testing it, trying to gauge his own strength, and then curled his fingers determinedly beneath his leg to drag it off the cot. There was less pain than he expected when his foot hit the floor; everywhere from his knee down felt like pins and needles, and he could only feel a dull throb in his thigh.

“Frank,” Bob began cautiously. “I really don’t think…”

Frank ignored him. He flexed his toes on the floor and pushed himself to his feet, unbothered by the blankets falling from around his waist and shoulders. There was a rush of cold air on his naked skin and Frank swayed forward, unbalanced.

The dull ache sharpened to a fiery pain when Frank tried to move his injured leg. It collapsed beneath him and Frank felt almost as if he were standing on the deck of a rocking ship again. The floor pitched under his feet and he saw it rushing up to meet him. It came as a complete surprise, too; Frank was genuinely unprepared for falling to the ground, in a way he hadn’t been since he first stepped onto the Pencey and found his sea legs.

Bob’s arms wrapped firmly around Frank’s torso, holding him tightly and slowing his fall. He sat down on the floor with Frank half-reclining in his lap and his cheek pressed to Frank’s hair. “Not yet. Please, just wait.”

Frank had never been seriously injured before in his life. The crew on his ship had been generally healthy and sturdy men, bouncing back from illnesses and working through minor aches and pains. The worst Frank had ever had was a few broken toes, and that hadn’t stopped him from limping around on deck and performing his duties as best he could. Frank didn’t know how to deal with the uselessness of lying around and waiting to heal.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” he whispered under his breath. His men were dead, Matt was dead. Frank knew that the moment he gave the order to abandon ship. He shouldn’t have kept trying; there was nothing of his life left.

Bob rose stiffly to his knees, dragging Frank with him, and hefted Frank back onto the cot. Frank neither helped nor hindered his efforts, and eventually Bob had him covered in the blankets again and had the fire roaring and chasing away the chill that had settled in Frank’s bones.

“Give yourself time, Frank,” Bob said gently. “Time to grieve, time to heal. Time to think. I know it’s hard, and I know it hurts to just wait, but you need time.”

Bob pressed down on Frank’s shoulder-not because Frank had moved at all, because he hadn’t, but as a gesture of comfort, or understanding. It still felt to Frank like a command to stay still, and he didn’t like it.

“I’m going to the mainland tomorrow,” Bob said. “I don’t think you should be moved, but I could bring a doctor back with me.”

“No,” Frank replied shortly. “Don’t trouble yourself.”

“Is there anyone I should notify? Perhaps your parents, or your wife-”

“No.” Frank looked up at the window, but from the low vantage point on the cot he could only see the sky. “There’s no one.”

***

Bob left in the early morning, leaving Frank with a jug of water and a cup, a plate of crackers and other small snacks, and a newspaper from several weeks ago, which was apparently the most recent paper Bob owned. He said he’d be gone most of the day.

As much as he wanted to leave the cot, Frank wasn’t stupid enough-or masochistic enough-to try and walk again, and he couldn’t see anything good about merely collapsing to the floor. So Frank propped himself up with the pillow and the second blanket and tried to concentrate on reading.

There was nothing that kept Frank’s mind busy enough for him to ignore the heartache and homesickness, and eventually Frank gave up and stared out the window instead. From this position, he could see the horizon, the blurry, grey area between the sky and the sea where they blended together out of his sight.

He stared until his back started to protest sitting upright and the sun had shifted completely, beginning to shine through the window, and the patches of sunlight crept slowly across the floor towards Frank.

He heard Bob approaching outside in the late afternoon. The gentle splashes of Bob’s little boat interrupted the steady rhythm of the ocean, and then Frank heard Bob’s feet pounding on the dock and crunching up through the sand towards the door.

“You’re awake,” Bob said when he entered. His cheeks were red from the cold and the wind, and his flyaway blonde hair was barely contained by his hat. He carried two large paper bags to the table and then went out to the boat for more. It took five trips for Bob to get all the groceries in, and Frank felt useless and guilty about not being able to help.

Bob assured him that he didn’t mind; he was used to doing everything alone. Frank watched as he divvied up the supplies into two piles and carefully restocked the bags when he finished.

“What are those for, then?” Frank asked, noticing duplicate items going back into the paper sacks.

“The Ways,” Bob replied.

“What? Who?” Frank asked. Bob’s casual tone invited Frank’s questions, and Frank was a slave to his curiosity.

“Mr. Way and his family live here. I ferry them to and from the mainland, or bring visitors over.”

“And no one else lives here?” Frank asked.

“The Ways like their privacy. They’re a strange family, and I mean that in the nicest way,” Bob assured him. “Gerard and his wife are artists. They’re… eccentric, and considerably wealthy. From what I’ve seen of the brother, he’s a crazy of a different sort. He visits quite often, what with Miss Lindsey’s new baby.”

“Oh,” Frank said quietly.

“They’re all nice people, very nice people,” Bob continued. “I’m lucky to have the opportunity to live here, with them.”

Bob turned away from Frank to put away some of his own groceries. Frank considered the small house, and Bob’s little boat and dock outside, and the way he’d been fixing the roof from the storm. “Doesn’t it get lonely?” he asked after a moment.

“I like the quiet,” Bob replied. “I maintain my connections with people on the mainland, still. And Miss Lindsey will insist I stay for dinner when I deliver their groceries tonight. I don’t think-”

“You should,” Frank broke in. “I don’t need constant supervision.”

“You can’t walk, Frank,” Bob said plainly.

“I’ve managed by myself all day,” Frank replied stiffly. “I can be by myself for an evening.”

Bob dug into one of the bags and pulled out a glass bottle with some sort of cloudy, thick liquid inside. He circled around the table and crouched down beside Frank’s cot. “I saw a doctor, told him about the condition of your leg as well as I could remember, and he recommended bed-rest and gave me this, for the pain.”

“I’m not in pain.”

“Don’t lie, Frank. I know it hurts whenever you move, whenever you think about it. You don’t have to lie to me.”

Bob pressed the bottle into Frank’s hand and returned to the table to put the rest of the groceries away. Frank waited until Bob had his back turned before yanking at the cap of the bottle with shaking fingers. He felt it working almost instantly; the cool, foul-tasting liquid slithered down his throat and felt like it was coating everything inside him that hurt with a thin, impenetrable film.

“Doesn’t it get lonely, out at sea?” Bob asked.

“No,” Frank answered immediately, though that wasn’t strictly true. There were times when Frank and his men missed being on land-usually during harsh storms or hot, dry days in the dead of summer-and of course fights broke out on occasion, but never anything serious. They were a family.

Frank had known most of the men since he was a child and the Pencey was his father’s ship, and they were his father’s crew. He’d even grown up with some of their sons, like he had with Matt. They were all a family.

“We loved it, out there. We all did.”

“Your friend,” Bob added softly.

“We grew up together,” Frank explained. “We grew up on the Pencey, surrounded by my father’s crew, wrecking havoc on port cities we visited. It’s the only life I know.”

“I really am sorry, Frank.”

“Just go,” Frank said, looking down at his lap, where he was still clutching the glass bottle. “Spend time with your family.”

“They’re not-”

“They’re all you’ve got, right?” Bob’s silence was enough of an answer. “Then they are,” Frank said simply.

Frank ate a little of the food Bob handed him, but the medicine made him sleepy, and though he heard Bob putting on his coat and scarf, and then gathering the Ways’ groceries, he didn’t bother to open his eyes. After Bob left, the waves lapping the shore lulled Frank fully to sleep.

***

Frank continued drinking the awful-tasting medicine, and he eventually got into the habit of sleeping all night and staying awake during most of the day. Bob mostly puttered around the house, making meals for them or fixing things that needed to be fixed, like the chair with a shaky leg. He talked to Frank, sometimes, but they didn’t mention the storm anymore, and Bob didn’t press him for any more information.

After several days, Bob deemed Frank well enough to walk around on his own. He’d been changing the bandages on Frank’s thigh almost every day, and blood was no longer soaking through the white gauze. Frank still couldn’t bring himself to look at the wound. He turned his face away whenever Bob unwrapped it, and Bob gave him vague updates, saying that the worst of it, the deepest part of the gash, was slowly knitting itself back together.

Bob also gave him a set of clothes to wear, since Frank’s own were so shredded and bloodstained that they were no longer wearable. Bob’s trousers were too big and too long, but Frank appreciated the larger size when Bob helped him pull the thick fabric up over the bandage. They had to roll the cuffs up three times so they wouldn’t drag on the floor. The shirt was similarly too big for Frank, but he let the sleeves hang over his hands and bundled up in the extra fabric.

Under Bob’s supervision, Frank took his first limping steps towards one of the windows without help, and sat down on the low cabinet that doubled as a window seat. This window faced the shore, and Frank could see the mainland, hazy in the distance.

The water was calmer between the two stretches of land than Frank knew it would be out on the open sea. The waves lapped at the beach, gently rocking Bob’s little boat. The skies were overcast and Frank could sense another storm on the way. He glanced across the room, through the window that faced the west, and saw the clouds get darker in the distance.

“Can you take me out there?” he asked in a low voice.

“Out where?”

“To the beach with the rocks. I need to see it.”

“It’s too far for you to walk,” Bob hedged. “There’s nothing there, not even the wood from your ship.”

“But I still need to see it with my own eyes,” Frank insisted.

“Not until you’re healed, and you can take a step without flinching,” Bob replied sternly.

Bob did take him out to the dock, though. Frank sat down against one of the posts with both legs stretched out in front of him and looked out at the mouth of the channel, where the whitecaps were more violent. Bob sat with him and didn’t speak.

“We tried to get to the port before the storm caught up with us,” Frank finally murmured, to break the silence. Bob didn’t answer, and Frank waited for the muted creak of the boat before continuing. “But it was too fast, and the waves were too high. We took on so much water, just in the first few minutes. In my life, I’ve never seen a more violent storm.”

Frank remembered the rain vividly, how he was dry one minute and soaked to the skin the next. His boots had sloshed through inches of water only a short time after the torrent had begun. Then the waves had started crashing over the side and onto the deck.

“Pencey was an old ship,” Frank explained. “She wasn’t designed to handle that abuse. The lower decks filled quickly, and we kept getting pounded by the waves. There was nothing I could do.”

The words sounded hollow to Frank’s ears, a cliché platitude that he didn’t truly believe. There must have been something he could have done. If he’d just saved one person, if he’d saved Matt…

“There’s another storm brewing,” Bob said, tilting his face up towards the cloudy sky. Frank nodded in agreement. “Not as bad, probably.”

“Hopefully,” Frank replied.

Frank looked to the west. In the distance, Frank noticed the heavy column of rain stretching down towards the horizon and he shivered. It was coming.

“It’s too cold out here,” Bob said decisively. “Let’s get back inside. I’ll make us tea or hot chocolate or something.”

Frank huddled into Bob’s scarf and wrapped the tail around both his hands like a muff. He let Bob pull him to his feet and leaned on him as they walked up the boardwalk and back to the house.

He pulled a chair over to the window once they were inside, and Bob dragged the other one over as well, so they could watch the storm approach. Frank was transfixed by the wall of rain as it crept over the water and finally hit the beach.

When the heavy rain started hitting the newly-repaired roof of Bob’s house, Frank flinched in surprise, even though he knew it was coming, even though he was watching it happen. The sound of the rain pounding on the roof was no longer soothing, as it once had been for Frank. It made him antsy, and made him want to hide from it.

Bob took the mug out of Frank’s shaking hands, though it was still mostly full, and set it carefully on the table. Then he returned to Frank’s side and put an arm over Frank’s shoulders. He didn’t need to say anything for the gesture to be understood as comforting. Frank stared out the window. He couldn’t even see the end of Bob’s dock anymore, the visibility was so poor.

Bob slid his other arm beneath Frank’s knees and lifted him up off the chair. Frank didn’t even bother to protest as Bob carried him over to the cot and laid him down carefully.

“Don’t obsess over it,” he said. “It’s just rain.”

He tossed another log onto the fire and prodded it back into a full roar, so the heat would counteract the cold wind that shook the house. Frank stared at the flames and tried to make the rain fade into white noise in the back of his mind.

***

[part 1b]