Catholic Guilt and the Joy of Hating Men Read online

  The Raven's Head DAGGER and the Custom of the Seas

  SUNDAY

  BRECCAN HATED the young boys of Skidegate most of all. I thought it was cute how awkward they were.

  A handful of the native kids circled us a few times while we were walking along the beach, their gaze squarely aimed at her see-through stockings and the ink-blot tattoos underneath.

  "Little perverts," she'd called them. She liked to forget that the way she dressed brought a similar response from most guys. It's probably the number one reason we'd been invited along on this trip in the first place.

  And the reason Breccan gets a lot of things in life...

  We left port just before lunch, since it makes sense to stock up on groceries at the Co-op and eat en route, rather than spend another meal at one of the handful of restaurants in Queen Charlotte City, which is about as much of a city as Darrel is a sailboat captain.

  That is to say, Darrel sucks at it. Or blows chunks, as we used to say in junior high.

  Darrel took us down the coast of Moresby Island and the smaller islands beside it, tracing in and out of the inlets in the rain and fog. Seeing that made everything else worth it. You forget about how much people can get on your nerves on a small boat when you're looking out at the edge of the world.

  We saw the sun come out just as we were thinking about dinner, so Jon and I made some sandwiches so we could go ashore for a final picnic in Haida Gwaii. Jon made a couple extra for himself, as usual; he's a big guy, and it's not all muscle.

  Darrel found our way to Hotspring Island, radioing the Watchmen for permission to drop in. They told us it had been pretty quiet for a weekend in late August, and invited us ashore.

  One of the Watchmen met us as we clambered onto the beach after anchoring offshore, dressed in a red rain jacket with a round hat made from tree bark. He looked a little younger than us, which surprised me, and to be honest I had trouble telling if he was anything other than just another white guy from Coquitlam or wherever.

  "Hello," the man said. "I'm Paul. S?nuu d?ng g?idang? How are you doing?"

  He seemed to be looking at me more than anyone else. I walked over and offered my hand. "Hi... I'm Steph. Thanks for letting us visit."

  "It's always good to have visitors in Xaadala Gwayee. Keeps me busy."

  "We brought a picnic," Breccan said. "Is that going to be a problem?"

  "That's fine," Paul said. "There's a great place up the trail I can show you."

  "You're coming with us?" Breccan was already going full on bitch mode. "We didn't pack enough sandwiches for you."

  "Breccan..." I said quietly, hoping she'd just stop talking.

  The Watchman didn't seem to be bothered by it. I guess Breccan is a certain type of girl we've all gotten used to. I've lived with her since we started at UBC; I don't notice it most of the time.

  "My mother grew up in Masset," Darrel said.

  "My family is from there," Paul said. "I live in Vancouver the rest of the year."

  "We're probably neighbours," I said. Then I felt a little stupid.

  He grinned. "Could be. Are you that girl in my building who sings 'Gagnam Style' in the shower each morning?"

  I laughed. "I have a few more songs on my playlist."

  He brought us up to an overlook with a small bench. It was hard for all four of us to even fit there, and Paul just stood to the side like he was part of the scenery.

  Breccan kept giving me weird looks while we ate, but without saying much I couldn't tell if she was creeped out by Paul's very existence or just creeped out that I was being nice to him.

  I didn't think there was anything creepy about him; after a week and a half with Darrel and Jon it was nice to meet a guy I didn't want to whack with a paddle.

  After we ate Paul led us back down to the changerooms, and then we showered and tried the hot spring pool by the beach. Breccan had snuck a flask into the water but I didn't feel right drinking from it. I wasn't surprised to find I was the only one who felt that way.

  It started to rain again.

  "Do they ever have a day without rain?" Breccan said.

  "It's part of the mystique," Jon said. "I feel like this is the perfect setting for some kind of fantasy epic. A Song of Fog and More Fog."

  "You're seriously the funniest virgin I've ever known," Darrel said.

  "I'll be glad to get home to sunny Vancouver," Breccan said. "It's like the Sahara compared to this place."

  "I like this place," I said, hoping that Paul was listening. I imagine that's part of the job of a watchman. "The Realm of Fairy is a strange shadow land, lying just beyond the fields we know."

  Breccan groaned. "Shit. You're getting poetic again."

  "And I'm not even drunk."

  "It's rainy here because Raven stole the sun," Darrel said. "That is the story."

  "That's not the story," Paul said, stepping towards the pool. "A chief was keeping the light in a treasure box, leaving the rest of the world in darkness. Raven tricked him by sneaking inside the chief's daughter and emerging as a baby."

  "Virgin birth," Jon said. "I read about that somewhere."

  Paul didn't acknowledge the interruption. "He grew into a small child, and begged his grandfather to let him see the light. The chief finally gave in and opened the box. He took out the light and threw it to his grandson, but Raven transformed into a bird once again and grabbed the ball of light with his beak. He flew up through the smokehole of the house and brought the light up to the sky, where it remains to this day. And scene."

  "You're telling us there's a sun somewhere up there?" Breccan said. "Sounds like your Raven Jesus didn't do that great of a job."

  "That's not funny, Breccan," I said.

  "It's a little funny," Darrel said. "Besides, I was the one who was telling the story in the first place."

  "Sorry," Paul said. "I get carried away sometimes."

  "I guess it's your job. Telling fairy tales to tourists." He gave a little nod, obviously impressed with himself.

  Paul shook his head but he didn't take the bait.

  I was feeling a little hot and a lot uncomfortable. I stood up from the pool.

  "Fun's over?" Darrel asked.

  I shrugged.

  Breccan followed me out of the pool, and we went together to get changed.

  Darrel and Jon were still in the pool when we returned.

  Paul had stepped back a little, and I could tell he didn't feel particularly wanted.

  "We took a vote," Jon said. "We're staying in this pool forever."

  "Sounds good," I said. I nodded to Paul. "Do you know how to sail a ketch?"

  "How do you think I got here?" he said. "Have you seen how much the ferry to the mainland costs?"

  "You sailed up from Vancouver, too, eh?" Darrel said. He sounded a little pissed off.

  "It's a pretty long trip by canoe."

  "Heh. I guess you've got plenty of time to sail in your line of work."

  "That's true. Mortgage brokers can get a lot of papers signed out on the water. You learn to compensate for all the rocking on the boat."

  "Mortgage broker. So you're like a bank teller?"

  "Pretty much," Paul said, unaffected. "I got my start as an ATM machine. The 24-hour shifts were murder."

  "I... I guess it's good that there are jobs for people who don't have degrees." He was flailing. He couldn't think of anything clever.

  I loved watching him squirm.

  "So didn't you say there's a village site on the island, Darrel?" Jon asked.

  "Yeah," Darrel said, sounding more than a little relieved at the well-timed change of subject.

  "Not much left," Paul replied. "I can show you guys if you want."

  "That would be great," I said. "Thank you."

  He smiled at me. "We don't know much about this village."

  "How can that be?" Breccan asked. "Don't you guys keep records?"

  His smile faded. "W
e lost a lot," he said. "The people who live in Haida Gwaii today are descendants of a handful of survivors. Smallpox, typhoid, measles..."

  "I'm sorry," I said.

  He nodded. "I'm just glad we're still here."

  A raven sounded out from above us, and I looked up to see it circling.

  "That's Edgar," Paul said. "He's kind of a big deal around here."

  That made me laugh. "How can you tell him from all the other ravens?" I asked.

  "He's huge. That's the easiest way to tell. That and he's alone."

  "I don't understand."

  "Edgar used to have a partner in crime almost as big. The guys named her Poesy. Like Edgar Allan..."

  "Cute. What happened to her?"

  "She disappeared over the winter. By the time we got here this season she was gone."

  "That's sad," I said.

  "We've all been hoping that he'll find a new favourite soon. But it hasn't happened yet."

  "It's just a bird," Darrel said.

  Jon laughed. "Yeah. Ravens are just crows with better PR."

  I closed my eyes for a brief second and envisioned the paddle. I could take them both out. With just one whack...

  Paul took us to where the village once stood, but there was really nothing there to see. He pointed out what was probably old house sites, but it was impossible to know how much of what he was saying was true and how much was just a guess.

  I didn't blame him for wanting to know more about the place. It's hard to imagine being in a place from your people that disappeared so completely that no one even knows its name.

  I asked as many questions as I could come up with; I know Darrel was interested in it, too, but he was too butthurt to let anyone know that.

  "I like to think that this village once belonged to the Children of Raven," Paul said. "But I've got nothing to back that up. You know... besides Edgar."

  "I'm pretty sure the clans lived together," Darrel said.

  "The moieties live together now, but in the beginning each lived apart. My clan is one of the Raven clans."

  "Good for you, Paul. Good for you."

  "Well I think it's pretty interesting," I said.

  "I think I'm gonna head back for another dip," Breccan said. "All this testosterone is making me dizzy."

  "Sounds like a plan," Jon said, with a yawn for good measure.

  She and Jon started back to the beach, and Darrel followed behind.

  "You're going, too?" Paul asked me.

  "I don't know," I said. "Got anything else to tell me?"

  "Not much about that village."

  "You can tell me about being a mortgage broker. Just... uh... try to make it dazzling."

  He laughed.

  I heard Edgar cawing overhead.

  "I'm sorry about before," I said.

  "What was before? Don't tell me you're the one who brought us syphilis."

  I hadn't expected that.

  "People don't really get what this nation is about," he said. "I'd say there's at least one guy every week who asks me about teepees."

  "Well, Darrel should know better."

  "He was trying to impress you." He paused and clicked his tongue. "Uh... I've been trying to impress you, too."

  "I'm easy to impress. I find common household implements to be fascinating."

  "If you like that, you'll love my take on reconveyance fees."

  Edgar cawed again.

  "He's pretty opinionated," I said, nodding upward.

  "He likes you."

  "Who doesn't? Obviously I remind him of one of his exes."

  Paul didn't laugh at that.

  I realized that I'd sounded a little bit like Breccan.

  "It's pretty cool that you're out here," I said to him. "Sometimes I wish I had more of a connection to my roots."

  "You're what, Scottish?" he asked.

  "You can tell?"

  "It's the freckles. Well, that and the patch on your backpack. Clan Munro. With a little eagle and everything."

  "You mean a ferocious eagle," I said. "A tear-your-entrails-from out-your-rear kind of eagle. And don't you forget it."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  I smiled and tapped my hand against his shoulder. "A raven and an eagle," I said. "So now do we fight or something?"

  "We're supposed to kiss."

  I could feel the blush. "Wow... you're, uh, forward."

  He was blushing, too. "Sorry. That's not what I meant. I mean... a member of a Raven clan was supposed to marry a member of an Eagle clan."

  "Oh, okay... now I don't think you're easy."

  "Thanks." He looked away. "Thanks for listening to me drone on about this place." He turned back to look right into my eyes, almost like he was forcing himself to do it. Not exactly a compliment.

  "It was nice," I said. "I liked it."

  "I really enjoyed this," he said. He seemed shy all of a sudden.

  I knew what to do. "We should meet up back in the city," I said. "You know... get to know the girl outside beyond the shower singalongs."

  He smiled. "I'd like that."

  I pulled out my phone and he gave me his number.

  "I won't have it back on until I get home," he said. "Cell phones aren't very Watchman-like."

  I nodded. "I should get back to the beach," I said.

  For a moment I thought he was going to kiss me. But it didn't happen. But that was okay; he gave my hand a little squeeze instead.

  And Edgar cawed. Like he'd been watching us.

  I guess he had been watching us.

  "Ravens are smarter than we give them credit for," Paul said. "They're really good at taking things that don't belong to them." He pointed up to the sky. "You stay away from this one, Edgar."

  "You're a little territorial," I said.

  "With Edgar I have to be. I had a friend drop off a huge bucket of fresh blackberries last week. They started disappearing and I blamed the other watchmen. Then one night I caught Edgar in the kitchen, eating away. He'd managed to figure out how to open the door of the cabin just so he could steal my berries."

  "That makes him smarter than most of my friends," I said.

  He smiled and gave my hand another squeeze.

  Paul walked me back to the beach and I dipped my legs in the pool, and after another twenty minutes or so I was back on board with Breccan and the guys. The sun was going to set soon, so we didn't go too much farther south before we found a place to anchor for the night.

  I fell asleep wondering if Paul would've seemed so interesting dressed in khakis and a pop out collar on Robson Street.

  MONDAY

  WE FINALLY said goodbye to Haida Gwaii just as the sun was setting on the Pacific; Darrel slowed us down to watch the orange and purple against the twin tree-wrapped crags of Cape St. James. I still don't think he's qualified to be a captain, but at least he knows how to appreciate the beauty in things.

  Once it was dark, Breccan and I sat down in the salon while Darrel and Jon stayed up in the cockpit. We'd finally run dry of Granville Island Lager, but Breccan had brought along some rum and Sprite and a little bottle of lime juice, and once we mixed in a tiny bit of toothpaste it didn't taste that far off from a mojito.

  Breccan was across from me, picking her teeth with one hand and spinning her empty glass around the white melamine table with the other.

  "I think Jon is learning to hate sailing," Breccan said.

  "Jon hated sailing before he'd climbed aboard," I said. "He's just here because you are."

  "That's... creepy?"

  "I'd call it romantic."

  Not that I wasn't glad he was hitting on her instead of me.

  Eleven days out of Horseshoe Bay, more than half that time locked together on a 41-foot ketch. And Jon still hadn't taken the hint.

  "I'm sure Jon's a great guy," Breccan said. "He's just not my kind of guy, you know?"

  "I know."

  "He's a clown.
I don't really want a clown. I want a guy who's like a man's man. Nice clothes... good body... so, not Jon."

  "Ouch."

  "I like what I like. Don't get all judgemental on me, Steph."

  I heard Darrel calling down to us. "You'll want to see this," he said.

  Breccan and I headed up the stairs to the cockpit.

  "They'd better not be naked," I said.

  It was hard to see much up top, even with a half-moon reflecting on the waves.

  "Do you see them?" Darrel asked, pointing out into the black.

  "Man-eating squid?" I asked with a smirk.

  "Humpbacks. Four of five, I think."

  "Now they show up," Breccan said. "And in the middle of the night so we can barely make them out."

  I wasn't sure what she was whining about; last week we'd seen enough orcas in Johnstone Strait to fill an oil tanker.

  "Just listen," Darrel said. "And give your eyes some time to adjust to the dark."

  I could hear the splashes, whales on the water or whatever; for some reason I'd been expecting to hear some kind of whale song. That's stupid, I guess, since I was standing on a boat and not dunking my head in the Pacific Ocean.

  "I need another drink," Breccan said. She looked over at me like she expected me to make a similar pronouncement.

  I shrugged.

  She rolled her eyes and went down to the salon.

  "Is she drunk?" Darrel asked.

  "Nah," I said. "Just surly."

  "I should go check on her," Jon said.

  "I wouldn't. I don't think she's looking for a visit."

  He went down there anyway.

  For a minute I wanted to follow, to catch the evening's entertainment. But I knew it'd be better for Jon to have his balls handed to him in private.

  Not that he'd ever understand the goddamn message.

  "You see them, Steph?" Darrel asked.

  I remembered what I was doing. Whales.

  I could see them now, their sleek outlines cutting through the water. They seemed calmer than the orcas, like they had nothing to worry about.

  I guess they probably don't have to worry anymore. There are more Somali pirates than whalers on the ocean these days. Maybe the whales should be worried for us.

  "I could get used to this," Darrel said. He had a tone in his voice, that same one you hear when you're dumb enough to split off from your girlfriends at the bar.

  "I think I'm ready to be home," I said.

  "You didn't enjoy yourself?"

  "No, I did... I'm just... I don't know, homesick, maybe?"

  "Not me. I think I belong out here. It's probably because I grew up on the prairies."

  "So nowhere near the ocean... and that makes you love the ocean? I grew up nowhere near Alabama but that doesn't give me the urge to move there."

  "They say it's the big sky," he said. I'm not sure he'd even heard me. "There's something about that horizon that goes on forever... the possibilities."

  I could see his angle now; he was going for the sensitive poet/philosopher. Not a bad choice, but I wasn't about to hook up with anyone this far from dry land and a clear getaway.

  "I'm so glad you and Breccan decided to come with us," he said. "It's so much nicer to share this place with someone new."

  I heard the smash of a tail against the water.

  "Over there," Darrel said. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pointed me over to the left. "She has a calf with her, I think."

  "I see her," I said. And then I saw her baby, too. "It really is amazing."

  "It is."

  He leaned in and went for the kiss.

  I didn't pull away, but I didn't really participate. Naturally, he didn't stop at a peck and went full-on octopus. There was even a loud smack once he finally pulled out.

  "I like you, Steph," he said. He was breathing too quickly.

  "Listen, Darrel," I said, "I think we're better as friends."

  "Shit. Is this about that guy on Hotspring Island? Seriously?"

  "Yeah, okay. Let's talk about something a little less personal."

  He glared at me.

  "No way," I said. "Don't start with that crap. You don't get to invite people on a trip with you and then start acting like a dick."

  He laughed.

  "I'm serious," I said.

  "Okay... whatever. I thought you were into me. Mea culpa, Miss Munro."

  Even his apology was creeping me out. I decided to change the subject.

  "I've always wondered what it'd be like to sail around the world," I said.

  "I'm going to do it someday," he said. "Maybe solo." It sounded more like a boast than a life's ambition.

  "I guess that'd be something to experience. The open ocean, a big garbage patch right in the middle. Maybe we can swing by on our way back?"

  "Come on," he said, "we're nowhere near it. That's halfway to Hawaii. Good thing I'm the master and commander of this vessel."

  "Did you just say that with a straight face?"

  "Shut up," he said.

  "Well I still want to visit that big mound of trash. Obviously I mean Chilliwack."

  "All there is out here is miles and miles of ocean," Darrel said, ignoring me, apparently. "And maybe a few ghost ships."

  "Ghost ships?"

  "Swept out by the tsunami in Japan. The US Coast Guard sank one of them last year off the coast of Alaska. I'll bet there's still one or two of them out here somewhere."

  "I hope not," I said. "The last thing we need is for you to try and climb aboard some lost ship just to impress us."

  He grinned. "Would that work?"

  "Sure it'd work. As a friend."

  He nodded.

  He climbed down into the salon without saying goodnight.

  I decided to watch the whales a little longer.

  TUESDAY

  NO ONE was inside when I woke up; I'm surprised I slept in so late considering the noise up in the cockpit. I ran upstairs as arguing turned to yelling.

  "How the hell could you let this happen?" Jon asked, pointing a finger at Darrel. "Don't you have some kind of autopilot?"

  "There's an alarm system," Darrel said. "I guess it isn't working."

  "We're off-course, Steph," Breccan said, looking at me.

  Darrel shook his head. "It's not a big deal. I've already taken care of it. And we're making excellent time."

  It felt like we were moving more quickly. I looked up at the mainsail. It seemed to be rocking in the waves or the wind; it seemed less steady than I'd remember it being before.

  "Maybe we'll get to that garbage patch after all," I said.

  Darrel wasn't the only who glared at me that time.

  "Hold on," Jon said. He pointed out in front of us. "What is that?"

  I couldn't see anything.

  "There's something in the water," Jon said.

  "More whales?" Breccan asked.

  "There's nothing out there," Darrel said as he peered out over the water.

  "Just because you can't see it doesn't mean it isn't there," Jon said.

  "Don't start lecturing me, jackass."

  "I don't know which one of us is the bigger idiot. No, wait, I guess I am, for agreeing to go sailing in the middle of the Pacific Ocean with a guy who doesn't even know how to stay on course."

  "This isn't helping," I said. "Can you see anything, Breccan?"

  She shook her head.

  "Maybe it's just the sun reflecting on the water or something," I said.

  "It's there," Jon said. "Whatever it is we're about to run right into it."

  "Then it's too late to steer around it," Darrel said. "I guess we'll just have to ram it." He had a stupid grin on his face. I'm sure he was the only one who was finding it funny.

  Jon gripped the railing hard, and Breccan soon did the same. I almost grabbed it too, but I noticed Darrel watching me and I started to feel silly.

  The boat
kept sailing forward.

  There was no noise, no bump, no maritime disaster.

  After a minute or so Jon headed down to the salon.

  Breccan looked down the stairs.

  "You want to go down?" I asked.

  "Yeah," she said. "And I'll need backup."

  "We'll be downstairs," I said to Darrel. "Don't ram anything while we're gone."

  "I can't," he said. "You told me you wanted to just be friends."

  I think I let out a very loud groan at that.

  Breccan and I were at the table again, fidgeting and not really talking, while Jon had put himself in exile on a bunk, reading a magazine.

  We all heard the sounds; a crack followed by a thump and a splash, and the feel of the boat being jerked a little to the left.

  "What was that?" Breccan asked.

  I didn't have an answer.

  The three of us climbed up to the cockpit.

  The main mast had snapped in half. The mainsail and rigging were being pulled towards the water, where the top half of the mast was bobbing as it dragged.

  It was slamming against the side of the hull, the jagged aluminum mast stabbing back at us.

  "We need to cut it free," Darrel said.

  "Then what?" Jon asked. "Don't sailboats need sails to... you know, sail?"

  "It's not like we're going to be able to fix the mast. And we'll be in worse shape if that thing has its way with the hull or the rudder."

  "Look at you... pretending you know what the hell you're doing."

  "Guys, please," I said. "We'll measure your dicks later. Let's focus on the problem here, okay? How do we cut it loose?"

  "With a knife," Darrel said.

  He already had one in his hand. He started on the rigging of the mainsail.

  "Can I help?" I asked.

  "Can you lower the mizzen?"

  "Maybe."

  "The smaller sail."

  "Yeah, I got that."

  I'd watched Darrel fidget with the sails often enough, and he'd had me do it once on our way up to Haida Gwaii. I took a breath and tried to calm myself, to remember what he'd shown me.

  Loosen the hallyards... watch the tiller... did I need to watch the tiller with the mizzen?

  I didn't think I could do it on my own.

  "Steph!" Breccan yelled. "Watch out!"

  I saw the little mast falling, coming right for me.

  And that was it.

  I woke up in the salon and found Breccan on the bunk, sitting right next to me. I could see from the look on her face that I hadn't been dreaming.

  "What's happening?" I asked. "Is everything okay?"

  "I... I don't know," she said. "Both masts are down and Darrel's cut away the sails. God..."

  "There's a motor, though, right?"

  "It's not working. Darrel... he thinks the rigging's clogged up the propeller."

  I didn't want to ask, but I had to know. "What does that mean?"

  "I don't know," Breccan said again. "I'm not the person to ask."

  I checked myself out in the bathroom before I went up to the cockpit. There was a gash right across my forehead and up into my hair, with a reddened chunk of strawberry-blond hair and dried blood. They'd done very little to bandage me up, wrapping two quick layers of gauze over the cut. I wasn't sure I wanted to know if they'd even bothered to clean the wound first.

  Goddamn med students and their shoddy work.

  I decided to deal with the mess later; I cared a little more about being stranded in the middle of the ocean. I climbed up to the cockpit, where Darrel and Jon were sitting, staring out to sea in opposite directions.

  "So what's the story?" I asked. "How boned are we?"

  "To the power of fuck," Jon said. "This idiot's killed us, more or less."

  "Shut up," Darrel said. "The last thing we need is a negative attitude."

  "Okay... that makes sense," I said. "So you can give us something positive, right?"

  "The radio antenna's gone, but we have a handheld. With any luck we'll raise someone in range."

  "When are you going to start on that?"

  "I'll try again in a few minutes."

  "No sails, no motor," Jon said. "No one within radio range. Impeccably done, Darrel. Impeccably done."

  "You're welcome to make a swim for it."

  "What about paddling or something?" I asked. "Or is that a stupid idea?"

  "Not your best work," Darrel said, bobbing his head.

  "So it could be awhile before we reach anyone," I said.

  "It could take days."

  I heard my stomach grumble. It knew what was coming. "Rations."

  "Yep."

  "Okay then," I said, trying to sound positive. "We can do this."

  I went back down to the bathroom to clean myself up. I was glad to have something to do, something to keep me from curling up in a ball and weeping.

  I could see that Breccan was well on her way to that.

  WEDNESDAY - Our Second Day Adrift

  I WAS woken up by an argument, Darrel and Jon close to screaming at each other.

  "You don't know how to charge the damn batteries?" John asked. "It's a little beyond your skillset?"

  "I'm charging them now," Darrel said. "I have a little more on my mind than that, thanks."

  "If you'd have been able to make contact with someone, we wouldn't have to be worried about anything else. Another great job."

  "That's enough, guys," I said. "You don't want to argue right through breakfast." I got up and stumbled over to the galley.

  The two of them kept going at it.

  I pulled out a package of ready-to-eat oatmeal, and divided up into four bowls. I measured out what I felt would be just enough water into a coffee mug and put it in the microwave.

  "We're splitting one package?" Breccan asked as she hovered over me.

  "One package," I said.

  "But... you said we'll run out of water first. So why so harsh about the food rations?"

  "If it rains we'll buy ourselves a few more days with the water we collect," I said. "It'd be silly to use up more food than we have to."

  "This is hell." She was starting to tear up.

  "I know," I said. "But that's what the rum is for."

  THURSDAY - Third Day Adrift

  DARREL TRIED to unclog the propellor again, diving down under the hull. He doesn't have the equipment to breathe underwater so he didn't get very far.

  "It's not going to work," he said once he'd climbed out of the water. "It's a mess down there."

  "It's that or die out here," Jon said from his roost along the starboard side of the cockpit. He hadn't moved from there all day.

  "Even if I could somehow unclog it, I'm not sure it even works anymore."

  "But you don't know, do you?"

  "No."

  "Then it's simple. Keep trying."

  "I don't see you down here helping."

  "I'm not the reason we're stranded out here."

  "I can help," I said, even though the thought of being under a boat hull terrified me.

  "There's no point," Darrel said. "We're not going anywhere. Our only hope is getting someone on the radio."

  We all looked over to Breccan, who was standing at the front of the ketch holding the handheld.

  "Nothing," she said. "I'm not sure this thing even works."

  "We should have made contact with someone by now," Jon said. "It's not like we're trapped in the Bermuda Triangle."

  "The Bermuda Triangle's one of the busiest shipping areas on Earth," Darrel said.

  "And you're the biggest piece of garbage I've ever been stuck on a boat with."

  "I can take over with the radio," I said.

  Breccan nodded. I think she was glad to have a chance to get away from the cockpit.

  I spent twenty minutes talking to no one on the handheld before Darrel told me to take a break. We've got plenty of diesel we
no longer need for the dead engine, but I guess if we don't get into the habit of conserving power we'll run out sooner than we think.

  I sat down beside him, on the opposite side from Jon, who was still staring out over the water.

  "It's getting cold," I said to no one specific.

  "Summer's over," Darrel said. "And we won't be able to turn on the heater tonight."

  "That's okay. Breccan and I have gotten used to not having air conditioning in our apartment. Frostbite'll be a nice change of pace."

  He smiled at me.

  I felt bad for Darrel. He'd wanted to show off to a few classmates, maybe trick me into bed with him, and now he had to sit around feeling guilty. He was not the first person to get in way over his head. It's like those people that get lost in Death Valley, getting their car stuck in the middle of the desert. They wanted to go on a nice little adventure with their kids and their GPS unit, but then all of a sudden they were on their way to dying of thirst.

  Five days ago my shoes and socks were soaked from stepping in a puddle on Spirit Lake Trail. Now I'm as thirsty as I can ever remember being.

  If it doesn't rain soon we'll die the same way they die in Death Valley. We're surrounded by water we shouldn't drink, our bodies slowly shutting down from thirst.

  It might be better to drown myself first.

  FRIDAY - Four Days Adrift

  I DON'T know if the radio's broken. I don't think there's any way to know for sure.

  But I do know that we've been trying to get help on it for four days now, and we've gotten nowhere.

  SUNDAY - Six Days Adrift

  DARREL TOLD us a story today about a motorcycle that had washed up inside a shipping container on Graham Island; he says that the currents are bringing everything from Japan to the West Coast, so it's only a matter of time before we wash up back along the BC shore.

  I've taken the lead with the rationing. We'll have enough food for six more days if we stretch it out as much as I've planned, but that isn't the worst of our problems. We don't have enough water to make it that long.

  There's a rule we all know, not from being pre-med but from watching a lot of cable TV. It's 3-3-3: three minutes without air, three days without water, three weeks without food. We'll be out of water by tomorrow.

  MONDAY - Seven Days Adrift

  I WOKE up late and found that the water wasn't the only thing gone. Someone had taken the rations out, and there was no way for me to know whether they'd eaten all of them or just hidden them somewhere on the boat.

  I didn't have the energy to tear the place apart. And I didn't know who'd done it.

  "You've fucking killed us," Breccan said to Darrel over a lunch of nothing. We were all in the salon hiding from the chill outside.

  "We're not dead yet," he said.

  "Well you've stranded us and stolen all of the rations," Jon said. "So you're doing a good job of it so far."

  "Nice try. I'm not the one who took the rations. I'm not stupid enough to eat all of our food in one sitting. I only know one person on board who's dumb and fat enough to do that, Jon."

  They were looking at each other the way you'd expect two guys to look at each other a couple seconds before they beat each other half to death, but they were both too exhausted to do more than stare.

  That was a clue in itself, really.

  "One of us took the rations," I said. "There aren't any raccoons on board. And I know it wasn't me."

  "We don't know it wasn't you," Breccan said.

  "Are you kidding me?"

  "I'm just saying. There's no proof."

  "I was asleep."

  "How do we know you didn't wake up in the middle of the night to steal them? Maybe that's why you slept in."

  "There's no way Steph did it," Darrel said.

  "You wanting to fuck her isn't proof that she's innocent," Breccan said with a smirk.

  I decided that I had enough energy to handle that. "You're a real bitch, Breccan," I said. "Just shut up while the grownups talk, okay?" I leaned across the table towards her, trying to show her just how ready I was to slap her upside her head.

  "Don't talk to her like that," Jon said, doing his best white knight impression.

  "Or what?"

  "I'm serious."

  "Everyone needs to shut up," Darrel said. "We're not getting anywhere with this."

  "That's because you stole the rations," Jon said. "So just admit it so I can start kicking your ass."

  "The toothpaste," I said. "I put it with the rations."

  "So what?" Jon said.

  "No one's brushing their teeth these days. I'll bet whoever took the rations smells like the rations."

  "That's a good point," Darrel said.

  "Let's smell your breath, then," Jon said.

  Darrel leaned over and blew a gust of air across the table. It smelt of rot. Considering the situation, I was glad he stank. It's pretty bad form for the captain to eat up all the food.

  "I haven't eaten since yesterday," he said.

  "That doesn't mean you didn't take the rations," Jon said. He huffed over at Darrel, then turned and gave the same huff to me. The same bad smell.

  "You're both clean," I said. "You know, like, figuratively."

  "So it's a stupid idea," Breccan said.

  "Your turn, Breccan," Darrel said.

  "This is ridiculous."

  Darrel leaned in towards her. "Come on."

  She gave out a little puff.

  I could smell it from across the table.

  "Toothpaste," I said. "So you thought you'd cover up the smell of the food with something else that's gone missing?"

  "I was hungry," she said. "Gawd."

  "Are you fucking serious?" Darrel said. "You really did eat all of the rations?"

  She nodded.

  "Even the fucking oatmeal powder?"

  She nodded again.

  The way that Darrel looked at her made me wonder if he was about to hit her. But he sighed and turned to face me.

  "We've got a problem," he said.

  "We're out of food," I said.

  "No. She's the problem."

  "Oh. So we should eat her."

  "This isn't funny," Jon said.

  "It kinda is," I said. "The damage is done. She ate the food. So let's figure out what to do next."

  "That's not good enough," Darrel said.

  "What's not good enough? You want to give her a spanking?"

  "We're all going to die anyway," Breccan said. "What does it matter?"

  She had a point.

  "Let's just try to cool down," I said. "Let's take a break here, and maybe we'll come up with something after some time apart."

  "Fuck this shit," Jon said. He climbed up to the cockpit, preferring to freeze rather than stay with us. He'd always liked Breccan, and now he knew her well enough not to.

  "We still have to deal with her," Darrel said.

  "Just drop it," I told him. "There's no point."

  "I'm sorry," Breccan said.

  I didn't answer. I didn't know what to tell her.

  She laid down in one of the bunks and covered her head with a blanket.

  I stayed at the table, as did Darrel, but I think we were both trying not to notice each other.

  The food isn't really the problem. We need rain. Rain by Wednesday, Thursday at the very latest. And then, if we're lucky enough to get the water... then we'll need food.

  I know we could last a few weeks in theory on water alone, but there's no way that would work in real life. The only person on this boat who doesn't have a mortal enemy is me... at least I don't know of anyone who wants me dead. And we won't make it to the end of the week without eating; someone is going to lose control.

  Hell... it could even be me.

  I heard Jon call down from the cockpit. He was calling for me.

  I climbed up into the cold and wet air. He was pointing up at the sky, toward the su
n.

  "I saw a raven," he said.

  "A raven? Out here?"

  "We must be near land, right? It's not like ravens are sea birds."

  I thought of Edgar, and of Paul. I thought of the beautiful island from what might be my last day on dry land. Ravens need the land, too.

  "You're right," I said, almost with a smile. "We must be near something."

  "Binoculars."

  "There's a pair in the salon."

  "I can go." He put his hand on my shoulder, as though we were friends again.

  He climbed down the steps.

  I waited up top and wished I hadn't. We'd all planned for the rain, but I don't think any of us had expected so much cold.

  Jon came back up with the binoculars, and started looking out toward the East. He moved his head from side to side in a wide arc.

  "I can't see anything," he said.

  I held out my hand and he passed them over to me. I took my own look and saw nothing but the ocean. I couldn't see Vancouver Island. I couldn't see anything but the waves. If we were drifting towards the coast it felt like we should have been seeing something.

  But what about the raven?

  I looked up in the sky, and soon I found it, circling us like Edgar had circled us on Hotspring Island. The raven looked just like him, but since all ravens do, that didn't really tell me anything.

  I remember reading that some seabirds fly out to see when it's time to die. I wonder if lonely Edgar came out here to end it all.

  "I knew it," Darrel said. I hadn't noticed him climbing out to the cockpit. "We'll make it to land. We just need to hold on."

  "We should try the handheld again," Jon said. "Maybe we're close enough to raise someone."

  "Good idea."

  Seeing them cooperating made me think the world must be coming to an end.

  "The handheld's still down in the salon," I said. "I'll grab it. Don't kill each other, alright."

  They both grinned. It was the kind of optimism that just had to be foolish.

  I climbed down to the salon and grabbed the handheld off the table.

  I looked over to the bunk where Breccan was hiding. She was still lying under the sheet.

  "I think we're going to be okay," I said.

  She didn't answer.

  "Did you hear me, Breccan? Everything is going to be alright."

  I walked over to the bunk.

  "Come on... it's okay. Come out of there."

  I gently pulled back the cover.

  Breccan's blood had started to pool on the plastic mattress. She'd slit her wrists, an ornate Haida dagger with the head of a raven laying beside her.

  "Oh my god," I mouthed. I'm not sure I said it.

  I ran to the galley and grabbed the first aid kit. I was in shock but I knew I'd found her in time.

  Breccan would be alive for a few more days, at least.

  Darrel and Jon came down and found us not long after I'd bandaged her up. I'd just been about to clean up some if the blood when Darrel gently pushed me aside.

  And then he started to lick up the blood.

  "What the hell are you doing?" I asked.

  "We shouldn't waste it," he said. "Her blood can help keep us alive a little longer."

  "That's fucking sick," Jon said. "You can't just drink a person's blood."

  "So we should die of thirst instead? It's just going to dry up. That won't do Breccan any good, either."

  "I'm not going to drink it," I said. "But there's no real reason for me to try and stop you."

  Darrel went back to licking and Jon turned away.

  I watched, not because I wanted to see it, but because I wanted to make sure Breccan was okay. She hadn't woken up, but she was breathing well. She'd definitely be the weakest now, but that was probably always the way of it. I've known for a few days now that Breccan is the least likely to make it home.

  I started to feel sick.

  I'm not feeling optimistic anymore.

  TUESDAY - Eight Days Adrift

  I TOOK Breccan's dagger away from her and hid it in storage. I spent all night awake beside her, waiting for her to wake up but relieved that she was still sleeping.

  Darrel and Jon had taken turns on the handheld, up in the cockpit. Each one of them would join me when they weren't on shift, but none of us had much to say.

  It was hard to talk as it was.

  I did ask both of them if they'd known about the dagger, and only Jon admitted that he did, that he'd been with her when she bought it from a guy we'd met at Sandspit.

  "I don't think that's a cheap copy," I told him. "That looks authentic."

  "It wasn't cheap," Jon said.

  "That's not okay. That dagger isn't something that's supposed to be taken off the islands. That's exactly what Watchmen like Paul are there to prevent."

  "Are you really worried about a stupid knife when we're a day away from passing out from thirst?"

  "It's a good distraction."

  "Distraction?"

  "If I'm pissed off at Breccan I won't be so angry at myself for letting this happen."

  I knew I was being silly, that it wasn't really my fault. I guess I was fishing for some kind of reassurance.

  "You won't let it happen again," Jon said. "That'll have to be good enough."

  He walked over to the table and sat down, thumbing through the charts.

  "Ouch," I said.

  "I'm not your therapist, Steph. So unless you're about to give me a blow job... just leave me alone. I'm tired of your shit."

  "What?"

  "I... just... don't... care. Get it?"

  "Fuck you."

  He stood up from the table and faced me. He undid his pants and pulled them down. He still had his boxer shorts; I prayed he'd keep them on.

  "We're going to die," he said. "I really don't care what you think of me."

  "What are you doing?"

  "What do you think?"

  "Don't you dare touch me."

  "I don't care who I touch. Well, not Darrel."

  He started towards me.

  I moved away.

  He climbed onto Breccan's bunk.

  My first thought was to call for Darrel. But I didn't. As much as they'd fought, Darrel and Jon were friends. And Breccan and I were just the two girls who'd came along for the trip and shot them both down.

  I didn't think I could trust him to help me.

  I grabbed at Jon, trying to pull him off of her. He slapped me hard against my temple and I fell back against the cabin wall.

  I pulled at him again.

  He struck me harder, right across my face.

  I could feel my nose bleeding.

  I ran to galley and pulled out the cast iron pan.

  I swung it at his head.

  He groaned and turned to look at me.

  He climbed off the bunk.

  I held the pan up beside my head.

  "I'll hit you again," I said.

  He stumbled toward me, waving his arms like an angry bear. "You crazy bitch! You could have killed me."

  He grabbed my arm and the pan, trying to wrestle the weapon away from me.

  I sent my knee up at his groin.

  He dropped to the floor of the cabin.

  I was tempted to hit him with the pan again.

  "What the hell?" I heard Darrel say. "What the fuck did you just do, Steph?"

  I kept a hold on the pan as I backed away from Jon. "He attacked her," I said. "He was going to rape her."

  "Seriously?"

  "Yeah."

  Darrel shook his head. "I can't believe that."

  Jon slowly stood up. "She's full of shit," he said.

  Darrel reached for the pan.

  I let him take it. I didn't know what else to do.

  "What did you do, Jon?" he asked.

  "What do you mean?" Jon said.

  "Well you must have done something here. Steph'
s nose is bleeding and I can almost see bits of that tiny lizard brain of yours."

  "She just lost it on me."

  "Come on. Just tell me the truth, man."

  "She blames herself... you know, for Breccan trying to off herself and everything. Steph's losing her mind. She just flipped out on me."

  "So you were sitting around with no pants on and Steph just decided to try and kill you?"

  "I don't know why... she just went at me."

  "You know that isn't true," I said to Darrel. "You know I wouldn't just attack someone with a cast iron pan."

  "I know," Darrel said. "And now we have another problem to deal with."

  "Whatever man," Jon said. "You want to take this bitch's word over mine, that's fine. Just both of you stay clear of me, alright?"

  "Alright," Darrel said.

  Jon put on his pants and his raincoat and climbed back up to the cockpit.

  I stumbled over to my bunk and collapsed. I didn't bother trying to clean up my face, and to Darrel's credit, he didn't try to lick the blood out of my nostrils.

  He sat down beside Breccan, still gripping the bloody pan.

  "Things are falling apart," he said.

  "They're long past falling apart," I replied.

  He tried to hide it, but I could tell he was crying.

  WEDNESDAY - Nine Days Adrift

  NO RAIN again. There's no bright side left.

  We left one of the rainiest places on earth and now it feels like we're in a desert. It's warmer today, so I dragged a finally-awake Breccan up for some fresh air. She was dressed in a long-sleeve shirt, which covered up her bandages nicely; I didn't want her to think about the scars she'd be left with.

  As soon as Jon saw us he looked down at his feet. I couldn't tell if it was regret or disgust.

  "You should go down to the salon," Darrel told him.

  "It's okay," I said. "We can all sit up here today... make the best of it." It felt unnecessary to hate a dying man when you're on your own deathbed.

  Darrel shook his head. "I don't think so. Jon and I will go down to the salon. You girls enjoy the weather."

  "Yeah... alright," Jon said.

  He and Darrel went down into the cabin while Breccan and I sat in the cockpit.

  "I don't know why you stopped me," Breccan said. "I made my choice."

  "It wasn't a good choice," I said.

  "You took it away from me. That wasn't up to you."

  I took her hand. "There's still hope, Breccan. Until the last minute there's hope. You just need to hold on."

  She sighed. "I don't want to hold on. I'm tired."

  "I don't want to lose you," I said. "Stick through this with me, okay?"

  "I don't think I can."

  "I'm not going to accept that."

  She turned away and stared out at the sea.

  I heard Edgar caw to us. I assume it was to us, just as I assumed the raven was Edgar, because we were all there was out there to hear him.

  "That crazy bird," I said. "I think he followed us from Hotspring Island."

  "That's stupid. No bird is going to follow a sailboat for a week and a half to the middle of nowhere."

  "I don't know what else could be happening," I said. "There's no land in sight."

  "Then I guess Edgar is just as stupid as we are," Breccan said. I think she had the slightest smile on her face, and it made me feel a little bit better.

  "Are you cold?" I asked her.

  "Yeah... it's not as nice out here as it first seemed."

  "I know."

  We helped each other down the stairs to the salon, both of us leaning on the other; I wasn't as healthy as I wanted to pretend I was, and Breccan wasn't the total weakling she wanted to be.

  We reached the cabin to find Darrel sitting at the table, flipping through the same charts I'd seen Jon playing with before.

  I didn't see Jon anywhere, though; I'd never thought of him as the type to hide under a blanket.

  "Where's Jon?" Breccan asked.

  "He's taking a nap," Darrel said, pressing his index finger to his nose. "Don't wake him."

  "That's not really a big concern for me," I said.

  "I found something," Darrel said. "You girls are going to want to kiss me."

  He reached down by his feet and I started to panic. He pulled out a box of crackers.

  "You're shitting me," I said, breathing out heavily.

  "They fell behind the drawer. They're stale, crushed, and half gone, but they're food."

  "We need to count them out and ration them," I said.

  Darrel grinned. "Live a little, Steph."

  Breccan didn't pause. She rushed over to the table and started eating.

  Darrel stood up and gave her room, like he was worried she'd chew his arm off.

  He walked over to me like he was expecting a hug.

  "She's going to eat all of it," I said.

  "That's fine," he said.

  He reached behind me, grabbing a roll of duct tape off the counter; I hadn't noticed it there.

  He grabbed my neck and pushed me down.

  I lost my balance and fell to my knees. I tried to get up and away, but he already had his boot against my left ankle, twisting it in and against the floor.

  "Breccan," I called out. "Help me out here."

  She didn't answer.

  He forced my hands behind my back.

  "Breccan!"

  Still nothing. I could see her watching, her mouth stuffed full with stale crackers.

  She kept chewing.

  He had my wrists bound quickly, and he bound my ankles the same way. The pain in my ankle was intense, but felt more like a sprain than a break.

  He then taped my wrists and ankles together, making me feel like a pig at a luau. Luckily we were fresh out of apples for my mouth, and Breccan was doing her best to eliminate the crackers.

  "Are you going to do anything to help me, Breccan?" I asked.

  "I can't help you," she said. "There's no point."

  "No point? What is wrong with you?"

  "Maybe she knows that I'm trying to save you," Darrel said.

  "Save me? From what? Blood circulation?"

  "From yourself." He walked over to the table. "All done the crackers?"

  Breccan nodded.

  "Go lay down in your bunk," he said.

  She didn't say anything else; she just stood up from the dinette and walked over to her bunk.

  "There's still blood on it," she said.

  "That doesn't matter."

  She climbed into bed.

  Darrel began to wrap the duct tape around her body, strapping her to the bunk.

  "Please don't," she said.

  "I have to," he said, like a parent explaining bedtime to a toddler.

  "Okay."

  I watched him finish taping her, unsure of the point. There was no reason to restrain us; all we'd been doing was waiting to die.

  "Don't worry," he said to me. "It'll be okay."

  "There's no way you can expect me to trust you," I said.

  "I don't need you to trust me."

  He walked over to a Jon-sized lump on another bunk. He peeled back the blanket.

  Jon was taped up, too, but it didn't look like he was conscious; I wasn't even sure he was still alive. His hair, face and neck were covered in blood. His mouth was stuffed with a rag that was held in with tape.

  "Jon's probably got six or seven litres of blood," Darrel said. "You and I can sustain ourselves for maybe a week on that."

  "That's sick."

  "Breccan's only got three or four litres."

  I looked over to her. She didn't say a word.

  "You need to do it, Steph," he said. "You won't survive otherwise."

  "I'm not going to be an accomplice to murder."

  "It's not murder. It's the custom of the sea."

  "You're insane."

  "I found out
my best friend is a piece of shit wannabe rapist. As if there's any reason for him to outlive the rest of us. And your roommate here decided to eat all our rations, and then when I came up with one last box of stale crackers, she ate every last one without thinking for one second of sharing it. So I taped her down on her bunk. Come on, Steph... she didn't do a single thing to stop me. She knows she deserves to die."

  "Breccan," I said. "Say something, dammit. At least tell him you don't want him to drain your blood out like you're a fucking side of beef."

  "I don't care anymore," she said.

  "I'll keep trying the handheld," Darrel said. "If we can raise someone in time we can all make it out of here in one piece." He started to chuckle. "Well maybe not all in one piece."

  He walked back over to me.

  I turned away.

  "Where's that raven-head dagger?" he asked me.

  "What are you going to do?"

  "Just tell me where it is. Your ankle hasn't broken yet, has it?"

  "It's in the storage bin," I said. "At the bottom."

  He walked over and dug through the storage compartment. Soon he had the knife in his hand and he was making his way back over to Jon.

  "What are you going to do to him?" I asked.

  "I'm hungry, Steph... aren't you?"

  "Don't do it, Darrel. There's no way you can justify it."

  He took the blade and sliced into Jon's thigh.

  Jon's eyes shot open and he began to scream. It was muffled by the rag but was still the loudest scream I'd ever heard. He kicked against the tape, and Darrel paused a moment to grab the cast iron pan and slam it again Jon's forehead.

  "Anesthesia," Darrel said.

  He carved out a chunk of flesh and muscle.

  "At least we still have enough fuel to fry it," he said.

  He took it to the kitchen along with the bloodied fry pan and started to cook his meal.

  I was horrified.

  I was pretty close to vomiting.

  But then the smell of the frying meat started filling the cabin, and I couldn't help but let it waft into my nostrils. It wasn't Jon; it was meat. And I was hungry.

  And I knew that Darrel wasn't planning on giving me a choice.

  When it was ready I didn't fight him. I took the meat and the blood.

  For the first time in a week, I didn't feel hungry.

  "You can't keep me taped up like this," I said.

  "I can trust you?" he asked.

  "I don't know." I was being honest.

  He walked over with the raven-headed dagger.

  I started to cry.

  He cut the tape from my wrists and ankles.

  "I'm going to try trusting you," he said. "During the day. You understand that I'll have to restrain you at night."

  "I know."

  "Everything will be okay, Stephanie." He kissed me on the forehead.

  I couldn't stop crying.

  SUNDAY - Thirteen Days Adrift

  I THINK Jon died today. I'm not sure because he hadn't regained consciousness in at least twenty four hours, but I'd been too frightened of the truth and of Darrel to check his vitals.

  This morning Darrel took the dagger and started carving more flesh from Jon's body.

  I couldn't watch. I couldn't be in the same general area.

  I decided to climb up to the cockpit.

  "No," Darrel said. "You're not going up there by yourself."

  "What am I going to do? Wave down a passing seagull?"

  "Something stupid. Just stay here. I'm going to need your help in a minute."

  "No. I can't watch this."

  "Out of sight, out of mind, eh? You need to know where your dinner comes from."

  "You're disgusting."

  "Just sit down at the table and wait."

  I did what he told me, clamping my hands over my ears and closing my eyes. I thought about home, not the crummy one bedroom in Burnaby I somehow managed to share with Breccan, but to the beige split-level where my parents still lived, built into the hill over Abbotsford. And I thought of the street sweepers, how they used to turn around in the middle of the street because of some imaginary boundary that it took far too long for the politicians to erase. I never thought that there'd be something comfort in thinking about the municipal clusterfucks of the Lower Mainland.

  "Grab him by the feet," Darrel said. "Help me carry him up to the cockpit."

  He'd wrapped Jon's body in the blanket, like a shroud, but there was no concealing the smell or the blood and who the fuck knows what else, dripping onto the floor like a Jackson Pollock.

  I did what he told me.

  We carried Jon up to the cockpit. We lifted him over the side and I watched him fall into the water.

  Darrel hadn't bothered to weigh the body down. His former best friend bobbed in the water like a department store mannequin.

  I said a prayer for Jon and for Breccan, because I knew she'd be next. Darrel had been feeding her the smallest amount of meat and blood, just enough to keep her breathing.

  I wanted to stop him from cutting into her.

  But I didn't want to die.

  Darrel doesn't bother pretending that the handheld works anymore. He's never come out and told me, but I know that it never did. Sometimes I wonder if part of him had wanted things to end up this way.

  I want to kill him.

  During the day we act like everything's fine, because I don't think either of us wants to admit that eventually there will only be a place for one survivor.

  Darrel keeps the raven-headed dagger strapped to his belt. He doesn't trust me at all.

  At night he still tapes me up, wrists and ankles and Hawaiian roast pig. He tapes me and then he spoons me, as though we're an old married couple laying together, cuddling and relaxing and digesting our travel companions.

  Edgar still circles; I'm not sure what he finds to eat in the middle of nowhere. I wonder sometimes why he's still waiting around, if he wants to stick it out to see how it all ends.

  Darrel doesn't know how it's going to end. He doesn't realize that he'll be the next to go.

  TUESDAY - Fifteen Days Adrift

  BRECCAN WILL be dead soon. I guess for her that's good news, but I know it means that time is running out for Darrel and me.

  He keeps the kitchen knives locked up in his toolbox, and I don't have much of a shot going at him with a fork. In the end I think it will have to be the cast iron pan.

  I'm worried that I won't hit him hard enough the first time.

  "I think I'm falling for you," Darrel said as we sat together at the dinette after the meal.

  "I guess that'll make me extra delicious," I said.

  "I've been thinking about that."

  "I'll bet."

  "It can't be much longer now. We'll reach the coast soon."

  "Sure we will."

  "I think we should make a deal, Steph."

  "Suicide pact? I don't think it's possible to eat each other to death."

  "I'm serious," he said with a frown. "We're both doctors... or close enough."

  "I don't think we'd have much of a shot at a medical license now."

  "What if we amputated our legs, one piece at a time? We start with one foot each, and move up from there."

  "That's the stupidest thing you've ever said."

  "Harsh."

  "I'm not interested in playing doctor with you," I said. "Just kill me and get it over with, Sparky."

  "I don't want to lose you."

  "Sorry, Darrel. I'm on the menu now."

  "I don't need your permission," he said. "I can just restrain you and do whatever I think is right."

  "That's true. A maniac's gotta do what he's gotta do. But let's do one thing before you start slicing and dicing."

  "What?"

  "Fuck me, Darrel."

  "That's not funny."

  "I'm not joking. I haven't had sex in three months. Even if
I make it out of here my prospects are going to nose dive what with one leg being shorter than the other."

  "This is a trick."

  "Tape me up for it if you want," I said. "Maybe I'm into that... it doesn't matter. Just fuck me, alright?"

  He nodded. He walked over to grab the roll of duct tape, moving a little slower with the change in blood flow.

  It was my only chance.

  I ran over to the kitchen and grabbed the pan. I swung it at his head.

  He swerved out of the way and grabbed my arm.

  He punched me in the neck.

  For a moment I couldn't breathe.

  He had my wrists taped in front of me before I could even think of fighting back.

  He dragged me over to the bunk.

  "Three months," he said. "That's not that long."

  "You've won," I said. "Please don't."

  "You started this."

  I heard the door of the cabin open, followed by the flutter of wings.

  Edgar let out a shrill cry.

  And then I heard Darrel scream. For almost a minute. Until he stopped.

  Edgar perched on the railing of the bunk and stared at me.

  I looked over to Darrel and saw where the raven had pecked, into Darrel's eye socket and deeper still.

  I think Edgar was smiling at me.

  After I'd gotten out of the tape, I climbed up to the cockpit. Edgar circled around me just like before.

  I looked out to the East with the binoculars. There was still nothing in sight.

  I turned and looked to the West.

  And I saw a ship.

  Adrift.

  I'd inflated the lifeboat and grabbed the paddle and the first aid kit. With my lifevest on and a prayer said to whoever's out there, I climbed in and set off towards the ghost ship.

  From what I could see from the deck of the ketch, it was a small Japanese fishing boat, probably about as small as you'd expect to see in the ocean.

  I didn't know why I was going there.

  It was possible that there was water and food still on board, or even a radio.

  I didn't know for sure.

  But somehow I knew I'd be alright.

  I knew because Edgar was with me, following my little orange raft on its trip across the water.

  I knew he wouldn't rest until he'd brought me back to Haida Gwaii, maybe to return the raven-headed dagger, maybe to see Paul again. Or maybe just to be his new Poesy.

  I'll go back to Haida Gwaii and Hotspring Island, as soon as I'm able.

  I think I owe him that.