The Mariner

“No! Because we’re not meant to!” The Mariner glared at McConnell, who defiantly returned the challenge. “I don’t recall you complaining when you joined us!”

“I joined because I wasn’t going to allow a young girl to go sailing with a self-confessed monster!”

The truth hurt. Yet it felt more comfortable to hear than McConnell’s idealistic blather about Jesus Haych Christ. Hate was easier to process than hope.

“Do you think they’d let me live if I went back?”

“If I put in a word for you, sure.”

The Mariner’s stern expression burst as he laughed, placing a hand upon McConnell’s shoulder. Bemused, the reverend’s anger easily faded.

“And that was so effective with Diane! No, no. Your days of vouching for me are over.”

“Arthur,” McConnell said softly, still pressing his agenda. “Grace can’t live like this, she needs a stable environment. Visiting a zoo she used to be fond of is one thing, but… just what are we doing now?”

And his doubt was valid. The Mariner was uncertain, and there was nothing he could do to hide that fact. With no answers to offer, he turned again to the sea, closing his eyes and embracing the internal dark. The Mariner enjoyed the void. No more voices, no more confrontations, no more pestering, just a blank slate and the sounds of the waves gently breaking against the hull.

“Help!”

Nothing but the waves, damnit!

“Please! Help!”

Shit.

“I think there’s someone down there!”

When the Mariner opened his eyes he saw McConnell running up and down the deck, looking into the water like a terrier that had spotted a rat.

“Arthur, there’s a man in the water!”

“Probably a Mindless.” He warily drew his gun and followed McConnell’s frantic pointing. “Or a trick,” he added remembering the eels.

“Please help!”

And indeed there was a man, frantically splashing and spluttering as he rose and fell with the waves.

“Hold on,” McConnell yelled. “We’ll get you out!”

“Didn’t you hear me?” the Mariner snapped. “It’s probably a trick. We should go below deck and wait until it’s gone.”

The look he got in return once again reminded the Mariner just how far apart the two men’s ethical systems were. McConnell was a compassionate man, someone whose instinct was always towards the benefit of others. What did that make him? “That’s a man down there, not an ‘it’! Help me haul him up.”

McConnell grabbed one of many ropes strewn about the deck and threw it into the water. After much tugging and splashing, the man finally managed to grasp it.

“Hold on tight, we’ve got you!” McConnell shouted, as the two men strained to lift the stranded survivor out the ocean below.

McConnell’s shouting had roused the others to witness the commotion.

“What’s going on?” Grace was the first to ask.

“Oh, just another guest. The more the merrier!” The Mariner’s shrill sarcasm was lost on the passengers (though he’d prefer the description ‘intruders’) as they ran as one to peer down.

“If you’re going to watch, you can join in!” McConnell said, appealing through gritted teeth. Grace, for all the help her small arms could offer, immediately seized a section of rope and began grunting with the exertion, more as a theatrical display of solidarity than proper assistance.

“I wish I could dear boy,” Cedrick apologised, keeping his eyes cast down to the soaked sailor being drawn up. “Sadly my zombie bite prohibits physical exertion. Still, he’s almost upon us, heave ho!”

And finally the three pulled the sailor the final few feet and he plopped wetly upon the deck, gasping for breath.

“Thankyou… thankyou… thankyou,” he muttered over and over between clogged gasps.

“I’ll get him some water,” McConnell said, heading for their meagre supplies.

Always careful, the Mariner pointed his Mauser at the soaked fellow. The young man was in his late-twenties and dressed in a drenched black suit, not much of a threat, but the Mariner was determined not to be made a fool of. “Who are you and where did you come from? Answer quickly or I’ll toss you back in. Make a move towards any one of us and I’ll shoot.”

“Arthur!” Grace gasped at his ruthless warning, but he continued regardless, ignoring the girl’s pleas.

“Water,” the man rasped. “Please, water!”

“You think I’m going to share my water with a passenger I can easily dispose of? I barely want to share it with this lot, let alone someone who could be a Mindless. Or an eel.” The Mariner could feel the others pondering the insanity of his words. “Just get talking!”

“Please! Please don’t put me back!”

“How long were you down there?”

“Since yesterday,” he gasped.

“How?” the Mariner demanded.

“My ship, it got taken over. I managed to jump overboard before they could get me. I drifted all night trying to stay afloat. I thought I would drown! Lost at sea all night, total blackness since—”

“Yeah yeah yeah!” the Mariner urgently interrupted. Who remembered the stars and who didn’t? Who would face the same fate as Pryce at their mention? “Who took over your ship? Pirates?”