Dead Sea

    Malik began sharpening the end of the broom handle, turning it into a makeshift spear. He didn't speak, just focused intently on the job at hand. I watched him in silent admiration. It was no wonder the kid had stayed alive this long. He had heart and then some. I wasn't his father, but I felt an immense swell of pride anyway. I thought back to when I'd first met them-just a few days ago, but it seemed like a lifetime. I ain 't no punk, Malik had said while sizing me up. I'm hardcore, G. You try messing with my sister and I'll mess you up instead. I'd laughed at the time, despite the sincerity and ferocity in his voice. Now, there was no doubt left in my mind that he could have followed through on the threat. Malik was a child of this new world-the perfect inheritor. He had an innate survival instinct. He didn't ask why. He just did.

    One of the crates we'd rescued contained oranges-a leftover from our ill-fated supply raid on the rescue station. They'd been fresh then, stored in a walk-in cooler, and hadn't gone bad while on the Spratling. Carol handed them out. Runkle declined with a grunt. Another crate contained maritime museum tour brochures for the Spratling. Chief Maxey solemnly kept one of the brochures, folding it up and stuffing it into his pocket, and then tossed the rest back over the side. Every few minutes, he'd glance back at the spot where the Spratling had been and sigh, but the ship was gone. The ocean's surface was unmarred again, except for the rough surf. There were no bursting bubbles or swirling whirlpools. Even the oil fires were gone, dissipated by the current. With the fires extinguished, the darkness seemed to press closer, as if trying to swallow the lifeboat.

    'I'm cold. Tasha complained. Her teeth chattered.

    "We all are, sweetie," Carol said, pulling her closer.

    Malik jabbed the air with his spear and seemed satisfied with it. He sat it down and peeled his orange.

    The wind howled around us as we continued on into the night. It felt like cold razors on our skin. Waves continued swamping the lifeboat. I focused my attention on rowing. My shoulders and chest began to ache. Chief Maxey was obviously having trouble, too. His breath grew short and I noticed him struggling just to raise the oar. He kept rubbing his chest muscles, wincing with pain.

    "Hey Runkle," I said. "How about taking over for the chief for a little while?"

    Runkle didn't respond, didn't move. Just sat there, slumped over.

    "Yo, Runkle! Wake up, man."

    "It's okay," Chief Maxey said. "I'll be fine. Arthritis is just acting up a bit."

    "Ain't no reason why you can't act as lookout and let him row for a little while."

    I leaned forward and tapped Runkle on the shoulder. He slowly raised his head and turned around, staring at me with empty eyes. His peacoat was soaking wet, and the pistol was still clutched in his fingers. I glanced down at it, and then noticed the dark stain on the coat-a red splotch at his waist, barely visible in the darkness. My eyes widened.

    "Hey man, are you hurt?"

    "Leave me… alone," Runkle slurred, his head drooping down again. "Just… row the fucking boat."

    "Dude," I said. "You're injured. There's blood on your coat. What the hell happened?"

    "Injured?" Chief Maxey pulled in his oar and slid toward us. "Let us see, Runkle. How bad is it?"

    "It's not my blood," he said, pulling the coat tighter. "Just some… of Murphy. I g-got it on me when I… s-shot him."

    "Bullshit," I insisted. "I saw you after that and there wasn't any blood on you then. Now let us help you."

    Runkle's head snapped up, his eyes suddenly alert. He shoved the gun in my face.

    "Sit the fuck d-down and… leave me alone. I t-told you… it's nothing."

    Suddenly, I understood. He'd been acting weird ever since I'd encountered him on the ship during our hunt for the professor. He'd lied about the coat. Told me he was wearing it because of the storm. Instead, he'd been wearing it to hide his wound.

    "You got bit, didn't you, Runkle? Murphy bit you before you shot him, and you've been hiding it all this time."

    He sneered. "You're… c-crazy, Lamar. If I'd been… b-bitten, wouldn't I be d-dead by now?"

    "You ain't looking too healthy. All the signs are there, now that you mention it. You're slurring your words. You're weak. Admit it, Runkle. You were bitten and you've been trying to hide it."

    Chief Maxey put his hand on Runkle's shoulder. "Everything will be okay, Mr. Runkle. Just let us help you."