12 Days of Fiction 2018, Day Nine
Interlude.
How long had the storm lasted? He didn’t know. It seemed to him like weeks, but his rational mind insisted it cannot have been more than a couple of days. It mattered little, since they had been fighting it from the start.
There’s something malignant at work here, he found himself thinking, as he kept an expert eye on the sails. He hoped the fury of the storm wouldn’t tear the masts off, but he couldn’t be sure. He was constantly watching the cloth, yet they were so tired already. He had never lived through anything like that blizzard in all his years of sailing.
Their situation was desperate: the clocks had broken and the compass had gone mad, so they didn’t know how long, how much or in which direction the gale had been taking them. They had already lost Furlong and Gilchrist, who had fallen overboard, and they hadn’t been able to do anything about it.
Tied to the mizzenmast, he saw Halfpenny try to secure a barrel. Or maybe he wanted to loosen it so it would just be sent away. A wave twice as tall as the ship itself appeared out of nowhere and crashed against the deck, swiping Halfpenny off. He saw Halfpenny’s line and rushed to it; he pulled and pulled, but he immediately realized something was wrong: there was no weight attached to the rope, as he confirmed when the end of the rope slithered up on board.
He thought he heard Halfpenny’s screams for help, rushed to the gunwale and froze.
Halfpenny was nowhere in sight, but an immense white wall, the largest wave he had ever seen or even heard talk about, was rushing in. A cold fear grabbed his heart. Acting faster than ever, he checked the barrel was not full, untied his line from the mast, and tied it to the barrel.
The wave hit and everything went blank.
****
Hunger. All he could feel was the hunger, overpowering everything, even before he was fully conscious. Then the cold hit him.
He opened his eyes. He had been washed ashore on a beach, the barrel still attached to his line. Mechanically he started untying himself, feeling his stomach growl and his parched mouth ask for water. Mere meters beyond, the landscape was white on black, snow on rock and trees. A tiny sun shone bright overheard, misted out by the cold.
Where was he? He took a look around. He was surrounded by wreckage. So it had happened. He was alone: no ship, no companions.
Water first: he quenched his thirst with some clean snow, but it left him so cold inside that it almost burned his entrails. How was that possible?
He needed food, but wherever he was, it was in the dead of winter. What an appropriate name. The wind howled, and he shivered in the chill as he thought he perceived the screech of some wild animal mixed in. He searched for his knife and found it in its holster, securely fastened to his calf. He took it out: the blade glistened in the sun.
With his knife in his hand, he felt reassured.
****
How long? How long had it been?
Hunger, famine, starvation. How could he be still alive in this godforsaken forest? He should have died, either starved to death or frozen cold.
Yet here he was.
And all he felt was hunger.
He heard them before he saw them, close nearby, and approached, slowly, silently in the snow, pushed by a strength he shouldn’t have had, spurred by the greed and the need and the craving. Hunters, possibly. Two. Natives. Must have drunk from the creek beside then and now were talking softly to each other. Which tribe, he didn’t know and he didn’t care. They carried pouches that must be overflowing with food, and wore heavy coats of fur.
Brandishing his knife, leaping in the air, he attacked.
With his two enemies down, he opened the pouches, and found nothing but seal skins, bottles of oil and several other trinkets. They must have had horses nearby with their food. Or their village or encampment was nearby.
He listened. He smelled. He gazed.
Nothing. Nothing.
He yowled, not realizing he already sounded more like an animal than a human. The wind screeched back with glee.
He stared at the hunters, and didn’t see bodies.
He saw food.
He finally smiled, his parched lips cracking as he lurched. His lust for the tender meat and the warm blood would be satisfied.
Only, he would never be satiated. Not ever again.
