The burden of command

The digital “Blip” of Paul’s mobile jolted Colin awake, “Low battery”. Again.

He sat up in the nose of the dinghy and looked around. The sun was close to setting, signalling an end to their third day in the tiny boat. As he did, he smelled something. It wasn’t the salty aroma of the ocean or the sweat and filth caking their bodies.

Food.

Looking to the stern, where Gary sat hunched, Colin rose and said aloud, “What’s that Gary?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. I can smell something.”

Paul woke. “What’s going on?”

“Bloody Gary down here has food.”

“Leave me alone,” pleaded the scrawny man at the back of the boat.

Colin rose and stumbled toward Gary. “If you’re hiding food, so help me I’ll kill you.”

Before the smaller man could move, Colin grabbed him by the throat. “What is it?”

As they grappled, a small object dropped over the side of the dinghy. They stopped and watched it bob in the ocean as it drifted away. “NO” shouted Gary, stretching to reach it.

“A bloody onion. You brought food with you and didn’t tell us? You bloody maggot.”

He stomped back to the bow, crushing the plastic case of the Lady GaGa CD they had attempted to use as a signal mirror underfoot. He picked up the .303 the captain used for shooting sharks. “That’s it. I’ve had enough of your shit.”

The rifle shot startled them all. Paul dropped to the sodden bottom of the boat, his hands shielding his head. Colin simply stood, the rifle gripped white knuckled in his hands and stared at Gary.

The small man slumped against the stern, blood pulsing from the hole in his chest. He gaped at Colin, then looked down at the spreading red stain on his sweat stained t-shirt. “You shot me”. Panting, he tried to rise.

Colin raised the rifle as though he intended to club the wounded man with the butt, but Paul grabbed his arm. “You shot him, man.”

He pushed past Colin as Gary collapsed face down in the dirty bilge water in the bottom of the boat. “He’s dead. You killed him.”

“I had to. He was hiding food.”

“It was a bloody onion, that’s all.”

“It was the principle of the thing. It was just an onion this time, but next time, who knows.”

“What?” Paul was incredulous, “Are you fucking crazy?

“No. He was stealing food. We have to have rules.” He sat down with the rifle across his knees, calm. “Someone has to take charge around here.”

Paul pulled Gary’s body upright. He pulled the box of “Redheads” from his pocket. It was red and sodden with the dead man’s blood. He dropped the matches on to the seat. “These probably won’t be any good now.” He wiped his fingers on his own shirt. “What now?”

“We hang tough and wait. Someone will find us before too long.”

“What about Gary? We can’t just leave him there.”

Colin simply sat in the bow of the dinghy, staring out over the ocean. He still held the .303 across his lap. “Toss him overboard.”

Paul hesitated. “But its Gary, he’s our mate.”

“Do it.”

“Colin, you’re losing it man.”

Colin stood up, raising the rifle. “I said do it.”

Paul held his hands up. “Ok. Ok.” He reached down and took hold of Gary’s body. A glint in the water at the bottom of the vessel caught his eye. The globe from the electric lamp fixed to the bow was lying broken in the damp. He reached down and picked it up. “No. You want to throw him overboard, you do it.”

“You bastard, you’re as bad as him.” Colin pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened. Perplexed, Colin looked down at the rifle as though seeing it for the first time. “Huh.”

Paul made an awkward dive across the bloody seat. He hit Colin in the body and knocked him back into the bow, but the bigger man did not drop. Instead, he pushed Paul back a step and smacked him in the face with the rifle butt.

Paul dropped to his knees in the gory bilge. Through sparkling lights, he looked up as Colin raised the rifle like an axe to strike again. Furious, he lunged upwards and struck the bigger man in the throat with a vicious uppercut. The broken light bulb in his hand sliced easily though Colin’s three day beard, burying the globe in his flesh, up to the metal thread.

The sudden pain and heat in his throat enraged Colin. With a coughing growl, he swung the rifle again. This time he connected, the butt striking Pauls neck with a satisfying cracking sound. The smaller man collapsed, his head thudding against the seat. Oblivious to the flood of thick blood in his mouth and over his chest, Colin roared and once more brought the butt of the rifle down on his unconscious friend’s head, snapping the wood. Paul shuddered once and was still.

Suddenly dizzy from his exertion, Colin sat down again with the bloody wreckage of the rifle across his lap. An increasing beating sound assailed his senses. “I hope that’s a navy chopper,” he whispered to himself. “At least they know how to follow instructions.”

As the pounding sensation began to subside, he closed his eyes to rest while he waited for rescue.