InsaneJournal

He kept staring at Mike’s boots.  It was a silly thing to be fixated on in all this, he knew, but the boots were there and Mike wasn’t.  Who was the luckier bloke than? 

It had been three days since Mike went overboard in the storm.  The fucking mast snapped like a toothpick and a rope recoil knocked his best friend to his doom.  James couldn’t swim.  Why had he never learned?  It hadn’t seemed terribly important before. 

Four days ago the world had been just fine.  After arranging for a fill in at his practice, James had flown to Florida for a much needed vacation with his best friend, whom had retired there.  James had been all for deep sea fishing on Mike’s sailing yacht, out for two days, back by next evening.  They even took the shaggy pony, Dopy, Mike had claimed was a dog with them.  The ‘Lady Luck’ was her name, and the irony wasn’t lost in retrospect.  They were four hours out when the engine died.  Mike hadn’t found anything wrong with it.  The compass was swinging wildly as well.  As they set up the sails to head them back the way they had come they’d both joked about the Bermuda Triangle.  Then the damn storm hit at midnight.

Dopey, the world’s most cowardly wolfhound, had hidden below decks in the head.   When the mast snapped and James was hanging on for dear life he hadn’t initially been aware of Mike being sent overboard.  Once he was, tossing the life preservers meant little, Mike was already beyond sight in the huge swelling waves.  With the broken mast dragging the already precarious ship, James had gone about cutting all the lines, untying what he could.  He didn’t want to be drug under.

In the morning he found that the yacht was taking on water.  A slow seep had produced two inches of water in the lowest points.  The salon and bedroom was a trashed mess from the storm, and Dopy had to be rescued from the head as a mattress blocked the door.

Now there was three feet of water below decks, and James had moved all the food and water he could to the covered helm.  The canned and dry goods, anyway.  Including the dog food.  He didn’t consider why he risked his own faster demise sharing water with a giant dog.  Maybe because some company in misery was better than none.

They were going down by inches.  Unless they came across rescue they’d last maybe another day, maybe two.

James tore his eyes away from Mike’s boots and regarded his furry companion.  Dopy looked back at him, panting in the heat. 

“The good news is, we won’t have to see which of us will have to eat the other first.  We’ll drown before than.” He reached over and scratched the dog’s scruff before reaching for a cigarette.  The four remaining cylinders of tobacco were strained and dried out after being soaked in the storm.  They tasted like shite, but they were better than nothing.  Soon even they’d be gone.

But considering he was already hallucinating the sun jumping all around, he needed what little sanity the nicotine could offer.

Dr. James Brighton hurt all over.  His bruises were fading, but his skin was dried out and little stinging cracks were appearing.  He wasted precious fresh water to sluice some of the salt off his skin the first morning after the storm.  But it hadn’t been a real shower, and while he stayed under the shelter of the open air helm’s roof, the sun and ocean breeze was slowly taking their toll.  Dopy’s fur looked a right mess, and the pads of his feet were starting to crack as well.  He’d lived in his bright orange life jacket since the storm, and managed to wrestle Dopy into his specialized canine version.  They were a sorry sight indeed.

“Now you, my friend, are the epitome of a salty dog.” James chuckled to himself. 

Dopy seemed to bark in response and James waved the dog down.  “You’ll just need to drink more if we talk.”

The dog ignored him and stood, barking over the rail, tail wagging rapidly.

“What? You see a dolphin, then?” James turned his head to look, his mismatched eyes taking in the view.  On the horizon was a ship.  A huge fucking ship.  A cruise ship, no doubt, but he’d never seen one like it.

It was too far out to see the yacht.  But James couldn’t bring himself to give up.  It seemed to be heading towards them.  He went to the emergency box and set up a flare.