The Unchosen Two
"She's got a soft spot for strays. Lost causes. Whaifs," the old man said as he drew a dull combat knife across silver-bristled hairs on his chin. "Me, myself," he spat, "I don't really care for 'em much. Ya see, Colfelt, I learned a long time ago that one stray turns into two strays, and two strays…Well, you get the idea. This boat isn't large enough for the three of us, let alone a stray."
"Up to me, I toss you right back in the drink that coughed you up. 'Cause those nasties, and beasties, and things that have legs where eyeholes should be, they aren't lookin' for three stiffs floatin' around in circles on a beat up tub in the middle of the Pacific. Uh-uh. Those nasties are lookin' for something else." His eyes grew wide. "They want the big score. Resistance fighters holed up in shithole stink cities and leftover rabble scratchin' out life in turd-filled bunkers."
It took Colfelt three delirium filled days to sort the relationship between the old man and the younger, but nearly as sun-soaked, woman.
They argued like married veterans, finished off each other's sentences, knew when enough grief was enough to mumble a grumble and walk away. It was the shape of their eyes that gave them sibling symmetry, and it was their eyes that gave them away. The old man's dark and clouded as his gruff persona, and the woman's an almost ethereal, translucent, aquamarine sheen.
The boy, a golden-haired tween, was easy. His personality held the gentle temperament of his mother and his presence the thinly disguised ire of his Uncle. Almost as though the old man grudged the boy the very salted air he breathed.
"Your Uncle's a bit…" The word asshole came to mind, but he didn't want to use profanity in front of the boy. Like it mattered. His Uncle exhaled expletives the way the elderly expelled farts. Uncontrollable farts. "Stern."
The boy shrugged. "He's always like that. You get used to it. My mother says he can't help himself. He used to be a soldier. A good one. She's got a picture of him. BSAA's finest. She showed it to me once." The boy leaned over a bucket of fish guts and whistled a whisper through a slight gap in his front teeth. "When he still had both…" He motioned to Colfelt's leg.
"Sean, you done cleanin' those fish?"
The boy's back snapped straight. "Yessir."
Stumpy, now there was a word Colfelt mused, appeared on deck. Captain Buzzkill. Commander Cussword. He was never far away, always within earshot. Military ready to stump over on his splintered, wooden peg and spoil a quiet moment, or remind you just how little you meant in the grand scheme of a world gone to shit.
"Let's have a look. Bone. Bone. Damn, more bone. You weren't paying attention." Stumpy shot Colfelt a narrow-eyed glance and shook his head, assigning him unspoken blame for the boy's lack of aptitude. "Take these below. Give 'em to your mother. Help her get 'em started."
"Yessir."
He watched the boy slip below deck and then turned his attention to Colfelt. "You got any questions, comments, words of wisdom for the boy, you direct them to me. Hard enough to keep him properly occupied without you causing him distraction."
"Just thought he might like someone to talk to."
"Talk is what his mother is for. She can smother him with all the girly, sentimental notions she wants. It makes her feel better sayin' em, and it helps him sleep better at night. But, during the day it's survival time, and the boy's on my dime. Survival, country boy, isn't a stroll down to the old pond, plop down a line, and hook a daydream. Survival is work, a lot of hard fucking work. Somebody has to do it. Me. The boy. His mother. And if you want a deck to sleep on you'll do it too. Soon as she says you're fit, soon as your fever breaks and that hole in your side's healed, you're going to have a choice to make. Play by my rules, do what I say, or gettin' tossed on the nearest shore, and playin' by the beasties rules." The old man stared out across the flat calm of the sea. "Like I said, anything you have to say to the boy, you say it to me."
"Alright, I will. You're too hard on him. He's a good kid."
"You're talkin' out your ass. You didn't know his father."
"You have some beef with the kid's dad, so you gotta take it out on him."
"You know what apple trees grow, Colfelt? Apples. Not oranges. Not pineapples. Not pears. His father was a worm-infested apple. Rotten to his maggoty core."
"Doesn't mean the boy will be."
"You got wax in your ears?"
###
"Here, drink this."
Colfelt gave the concoction a cursory whiff and wrinkled his nose.
"Drink it. You haven't eaten in days. Broth will do you good."
"I'll be honest, Ma'm, I'm not fond of fish."
She gently spread the folds of his shirt open to inspect the bandage duct-taped to his midsection. "I never thought I'd hear the day when I would be old enough to be called 'Ma'm'. My name is Claire. And men with no energy, and a hole in their side, don't have the luxury of being picky about how they fill their belly."
"You sound like stum-the old man."
"I should hope so. Nothing wrong with logical. Having sense. If you had any you'd stop fussing like a toddler and drink that."
She lifted the wad of padded rags and scrunched her nose.
"That bad, huh?"
"It's infected." She leaned back on her heels. "Damn."
"I'll take that as a yes."
"I thought we got all the metal. It was hard to tell. We hauled you from the wreckage at dusk, had to prod that wound with tweezers under candlelight. I thought we got it all. Damn."
They argued that night. Over him. Feral and wild. Colfelt felt the sting of their words as sharp as the sting in his side. He was a burden. A risk. A hazard. A casualty. Another human being. The woman wouldn't give him up, and the man more than willing to let him go.
'He needs antibiotics, or he is going to die.'
'Let him. One less ass to cover that I have to worry about. His medical condition is not our problem.'
'We can dock up the coast. Find a town. A pharmacy. A drug store.'
'Oh, oh, ok. Let's just dock. We'll just dock. Have you seen the coast? Those diseased bastards are crawling all over the beaches. They're sun bathing like crocodiles in the shallows.'
'Somewhere up north. Less populated. An isolated inlet.'
'And when we dock, what then? We just stroll ashore? Here we are? Make way for the Redfields? Have you lost your fucking mind?'
'I won't watch this man die.'
'Well goody for you, cause I've seen plenty—die! Dead! Cut down right in front of me. Those things, those animals, they're out there. Waiting. Waiting for some stupid son-of-a-bitch to do just what you're asking me to do. You're willing to risk me, yourself, hell, Sean, for someone you don't even know.'
'I know he's a human being. I know if we can't have room in our hearts to give to others in these times then what is the point of resistance. If we're going to act like selfish savages we may as well already be the monsters society has become.'
"He'll go," the boy said, propped up on his elbows. "He can't say no. My mother won't let him. He's stubborn, but he'll go."