Page 106 of Adrift

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.

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