Furious Fiction, September 2020
The White Wail
“Should be safe here,” Steve said to himself as he watched the receding coastline.
He switched his gaze to his companions, lounging with beers in hand. If any crew could be called motley…
“Uh, guys…”
Eddie looked up. “Yeah, bro?”
“One and a half metres?”
“Huh? Oh…” Eddie shifted his bean bag. He didn’t look too happy about it as it distanced him from Cassie, into whose pants he’d been trying to get for the last two months. Eddie and Cassie were Steve’s workmates. Steve had needed crew and didn’t have many options at short notice.
Cassie was oblivious to Steve’s directive, and to Eddie, as she sliced a lime for her Corona. She wore her entitlement the way a Scot wears a kilt-proudly and with zero self-consciousness.
Steve had the impression that Cassie was sceptical about the virus and flaunted her scepticism in ways subtle—’forgetting’ to socially distance—and flagrant—staying glued to sovereign citizen websites for hours. He’d only invited Cassie at Eddie’s urging.
That left best mate Trev. Trev looked up, eyebrows raised as if to say, “These two? Really?”
Steve went below to prepare a snack. Call it captain’s largesse; the hope was that others, Eddie and Cassie basically, would take the hint and pitch in during the four-day voyage. He removed the potato salad from the fridge, chopped chives and sprinkled them on top. Climbing the galley steps, he heard Cassie whine, “There’s no reception!”
“We’re a fair way from land here,” explained Steve. “Probably be patchy all the way up the coast.” Cassie flung herself into the bean bag, folding her arms crossly. What are you, six? Steve wondered.
Steve distributed the plates. Trev and Eddie tucked in appreciatively. Cassie took a forkful, chewed slowly, frowned, then took another mouthful.
“This doesn’t taste of anything,” she wailed.
Steve and Trev paused mid-mouthful and looked at each other. Cassie thrust the plate away.
“Are you feeling okay?” Steve asked. He hadn’t considered the possibility of a carrier on board.
“Yeah, “ responded Cassie belligerently. “Your food sucks.”
“Let me check your temperature.”
“No!! There’s nothing wrong with me!”
“Dude, “ interjected Eddie. “She said she’s fine.”
“Loss of taste is one of the symptoms of the virus. Cassie might need to self-isolate.”
Cassie exploded out of the bean bag. “The virus is bullshit! Just a trick to keep us prisoners of the state! Now I’m a prisoner on this stupid boat!” She stamped her foot and stormed below decks.
Eddie stood up to follow.
“Eddie, she could be infectious.”
Eddie was exasperated. “She’s fine. Now you’ve upset her. She’s right about the virus, you know.” He disappeared downstairs.
Trev chuckled. “He probably thinks this is his best chance to score, covid19 be damned.”
“Whaddaya think, Trev? Do we turn back?” Steve pictured his idyllic voyage of sun, sea and salt air turning into a mercy dash.
“Or do we turf ‘em overboard?” Steve laughed. Steve looked at him. “Jesus, you’re serious.”
“Be a shame not to use the lifebuoy.”
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