Dead Sea

    Basil held the professor's legs while I held his free hand. He gritted his teeth and moaned as Mitch began working the hook free. More blood flowed. I looked away from it, glancing over at the fish. Incredibly, it was still flopping around on the deck. It almost seemed as if it were trying to reach Mitch, heaving itself toward him in a series of flips and leaps. Then I realized it was probably just trying to get back into the water. Basil turned to look at it as well, his grip on the professor momentarily forgotten. The professor's arm jerked and the hook tore free, taking a good chunk of his skin with it. The professor cried out and Mitch cursed Basil.

    "What the hell are you doing? I told you to hold him."

    "It's the tuna. Look at it. Damn thing's still alive."

    "Throw it back over the side," Mitch said. "That fish is more trouble than it's worth. Nobody is going to eat it with that sore on its tail anyway."

    Basil made a grab for the tuna with both hands. The fish was so slippery with blood that it slid from his grasp and fell back to the deck. Its mouth worked soundlessly. He picked it up again and dumped it over the side. The tuna splashed into the ocean and then vanished beneath the surface. Basil looked at his hands in disgust and held them up for us to see.

    "Gross. I got blood and scales all over me."

    "Go wash up," Mitch said. "And take the professor with you. Get him cleaned up. Find out from the chief if we've got any hydrogen peroxide or disinfectant onboard."

    "I'm sure we do," Basil said.

    I helped Professor Williams to his feet. "You okay to stand?"

    He nodded weakly. "Yes, I think so. I'll be fine now. Thank you both, gentlemen. You see, I was right. The two of you are the embodiments of the warrior and the hero."

    Mitch flexed his bicep and laughed. "That's us."

    The professor leaned on Basil for support and the two of them went below. Mitch and I fished for another hour, but didn't get any more bites. It was weird-as if the tuna had warned away all the other fish in the sea. Finally, we took count of our catch and decided that we had enough to last the crew till tomorrow. Then we dumped the bait bucket over the side. The chum floated atop the waves-a gory treat for any scavengers lurking below the surface. A few of the birds darted down to scoop entrails from the water. We stored the fishing gear and headed below deck to clean up. Both Mitch and I smelled like fish. I remember thinking at least we didn't have the tuna's blood all over our hands.

    "Is Mitch gonna be your new boyfriend?"

    I was stunned by the question, and I stared at Malik for a moment, trying to figure out if he was serious or just joking around. His expression was earnest.

    "No," I said. "I don't think Mitch is gay, Malik." Dinner had been over for several hours and the three of us were getting ready to turn in for the night. Mitch was off playing cards again with the guys in the engineering compartment. The ship was quiet, except for the occasional tick or groan from the pipes. Most of the crew had gone to bed. Both Basil and the professor had been absent from the galley during dinner. I'd gone to check on them before we ate. The professor said he wasn't feeling good-too much excitement for one day. His voice was tired. His hand was bandaged and doctored. Basil didn't answer when I knocked on the hatch to his berthing compartment. Curiosity got the best of me, and I opened the hatch and peeked inside. He was asleep and did not stir when I whispered his name. After dinner, Joan and Alicia had volunteered to take them each a plate of food and check in on them. We hadn't seen them since, but I assumed both men were okay. Otherwise, the women would have told us.

    "Okay" Malik said. "I just wondered. The two of you are friends. I wasn't sure if that meant you were boyfriends, too."

    "Gay men can be friends with other guys, Malik. That doesn't necessarily mean they're 'together.' I like Mitch, but not that way. He's a good guy, and he's helped us out quite a bit. We would have never gotten away from the dogs if it hadn't been for him."

    "1 like him, too," Malik said, closing his Walking Dead comic. I'd been right about that. He'd read it several times every night since I'd given it to him. "Both of you."

    Tasha looked up from a picture she was drawing with some pens and pencils that Carol had given to her.

    "Malik never knew our dad."

    "I did too."

    "No, you didn't. You said you can't remember him."

    "I do… a little bit. I think. Sometimes…"

    I sat down on the rack next to him. "It's okay if you don't. I don't remember my father. He left when I was still a baby."

    "Really? Our dad did the same thing. Momma said he was no good."