Vanguard | Post-Apocalyptic YA

Part 35: Bugging Out

In hindsight, Nelly describing our hijacked sail boat as unconventional was understatement, but even 'piece of shit' would have been too kind. 

Honestly, I'm beginning to doubt that this thing was ever meant to be sailed at all. And if I'm right, we're absolutely, positively screwed. Because this scale replica might have held up crossing the inlet to the power plant, but we now need to cover almost one hundred nautical miles back to O-town on the open ocean. In the dark. And in gale force winds.

Oh, and did I mention it's also raining?

"Tighten that rigging!" Jed demands as he struggles with the helm to keep our position.

Cradling my injured shoulder from a spot huddled in the rear of the ship, I watch as Nelly wipes water off her face.

"Which one?" she yells above the crashing waves, wearily pointing to just one of the many ropes hanging from various points on the mast.

Gritting his teeth as he leans against the ship's wheel to steady it with his whole weight, Jed thrusts his chin forward, as if that's more precise. "That one. On the port side."

"I don't know what that means!" Nelly waves her hands in frustration as Ellen stumbles towards her from behind.

"Left," says my sister as she scoops a bucket full of seawater up from deck even as another wave splashes twice as much back with the ocean's next undulation.

Nelly teeters to the rigging on the right.

"Not your left, honey." Dad emerges from the storm as he too appears from the bow with a bucket. "The ship's left."

"Let me help," I offer, pushing myself up from my sitting position. But Dad points an authoritative finger at me.

"You, sit down!" he orders and I can see on his own tired, storm-battered face that he's not willing to take no for an answer. "The only thing you should be doing, Will, is staying out of the way and making sure that Darren doesn't lose consciousness."

I know he's right, but I still feel helpless. I'm used to being in the middle of the action, not on the sidelines. Especially when the whole reason I got hurt in the first place was because I was sitting in the path of a random bullet.

Like, how dumb is that? A few weeks ago, I didn't even know what a gun was and then now my left arm is currently useless because of one.

But I should be thankful. Dr. Scott has it worse.

Even though at first it looked like he was taking his injury at the hands of the Rovers well, his condition quickly deteriorated after we started sailing back towards home. And while I was able to get basic medical treatment with the supplies from the aquarium, all that is gone and he's slowly going septic.

"How you doing, Dr. Scott?" I ask the man slouched besides me.

Without opening his eyes, he takes a labored breath and grunts. "Okay. I'm okay."

That's a lie. The grayish pallor of his skin and the relentless shaking of his body from fever give away his true state. And I know, Nelly knows, and even Dr. Scott himself knows that if he doesn't get medical attention soon, he won't make it.

I gently pat him on the shoulder with my good hand and feign ignorance. "Great! You stay that way, you got it?"

My forced enthusiasm gets a small smile out of him and Dr. Scott nods. "Got it," he whispers before drooping his shoulders once more.