The Explorer's Apprentice

88:Fear

Alison Lovett
 
The tears in Alison’s eyes make the boatman in front of her a formless blob. Dark, menacing, un-human.

“Go back,” she says for the thousandth time. Her voice is weak from arguing, raw from screaming.

“No,” he replies, for the millionth time. His voice is weak too, but he remains stubborn.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”
She hates him. She’s never hated anyone before but she hates him now. She hates how he stands there with his oar under one arm, eyes glazed over with exhaustion, mumbling out that single syllable. She hates how he won’t even bother putting up a fight. Coward, she thinks, glaring daggers at him through her tears. You’re not a man, you’re a boy. You’re a cowardly boy wetting his pants and crying for mother on the inside because you won’t admit how scared you are. You won’t let a girl take over because you’re too scared. You won’t help people because you’re too scared.

“I’ll do anything.”

“No.”

Alison looks at the other passengers, blinking away the mist. They look with wide, fish-like expressions, staring from one to the other. She hates them too. Cowards. All of you. You can’t make a decision on your own without a leader. Spineless cream puffs.

She’s sick of it.

She pries the paddle from the hands of a sleeping oarsman. She bangs the shaft on the bottom of the creaking lifeboat so the boatman will look up. “What now, woman?”

“You see my feet?” she asks.

He looks down irritably. “Dammit, what about them?” And she swings the flat side of it hard against his head.

“Right. Now. Someone kindly get his face out of the water. Thank you.”

She tosses it to the nearest passenger, who misses the object inexpertly. The passengers of her lifeboat look up at her with terrified, rheumy eyes. But they’ll listen. She’s the leader now.

“Okay ladies, let’s row. On my count. One, two—”