It is like a rip current, some deep underwater force pulling them out of shore. When Lina takes a break from the electro-technical office, a room where she has completely sweat through her polo, she finds herself in the bridge, where Joy and Shelly are bent over maps.
Joy holds the walkie talkie in her hand tightly. She has her mass of curly hair tied up out of her face, but loose strands rain down on her. Her whole body is slick, and the sun is setting.
"Do you speak Montenegrin?" she looks at Lina, her deep skin remarkably pale.
Lina shakes her head.
Shelly sent Devon to look through the files, but they all doubt anyone speaks Montenegrin. Nobody besides Shelly even speaks Greek, which they started getting for a while, but now it is a language no one seems to understand.
"It means we are getting closer," Shelly's teeth are clenched tightly as she smiles, her eyes blinking too quickly.
"The compass has got to be broken," Joy goes over and taps it, trying to still the needle that is spilling out of control. "Maybe there is something in the water that is interfering?"
"We're shallow enough we can lay anchor," Lina says, her heart beating. "We still have internet access."
The three women do not speak a truth. No one can get to them without coordinates. Lina fiddles with her fingers behind her back. Nothing is working in the electro-technical room. Shelly gets up and grabs the night log from a shelf. She scans just to make sure. It's Lina's turn tonight.
It won't come to that. It won't.
~~~
The panic attack that ripped through August has since waned. Finn has a beer in his hand, lounging on deck as he takes a sip. He opened his first an hour ago, before the sun was setting. Now, no other boats are in sight, there is no land nearby, and they have been at sea twelve hours.
Ethan would ask if they think they are getting back, but August is on a deck chair with his eyes open, blankly staring at the violet hues of night. The boy can't handle it, but he is still here. Instead, he goes inside and brings out the dinner that Edwin prepared, which sits in the galley. On the next boat trip, he's going to miss the ease of carrying plates. His hands will grow calluses, thick and rough, and he pre-emptively misses his soft skin, like he missed Canada before catching his flight.
"Macaroni doesn't suit the weather," Finn takes a plate, nodding a quick thank you to Ethan. "You going to eat it, August?"
August splits himself from the lounge chair, lifting a hand over to grab the plate. The food looks good, it always looks good, and August wishes he had a better excuse not to eat it than the weather. As soon as he lifts his fork to his mouth his body takes over and he's scarfing down the entire plate, stomach aching for sustenance, for something to fill so it can churn itself down again.
"Hope Shelly gives us a full day off for this hassle," Finn says. "Maybe we can convince her to give us some of the good liquor tonight."
"You, you, you really w-w-want to drink?" August asks, mouth full but a hand covering it.
Finn shrugs, "my shoulders are tight. I need to loosen up."
Even though he brought up the food, Ethan isn't eating. It was a cold morning but the evening is somehow sweltering. He may not curl into a ball like August, but he feels it. The something amiss, the whispers of Vic and Bellamy everytime they collide in the hallway, and how they push their shoulders together as they rush to the next location.
