We were treated to fair weather the last few days, but a low-pressure system crept in today and shows no sign of stopping. Massive waves stacked so close together while we were working, staying upright was a challenge on the slippery deck, and thirty-foot rogue waves pummeled us at random.
Morale is at an all-time low. We’re all stuck in our heads, quiet on deck. I don’t know what memories haunt the others, but saying goodbye to Seb and starting the actual work of crab fishingdredged up memories I tried to forget. The rough seas haven’t helped.
The sorting table is back in working order, but I dread sorting, and we all avoid standing at the side that nearly killed Cole. The crane triggers me too. I can’t stop thinking about it hauling me out of the water, leaving Seb behind to die.
Cole’s been a hypervigilant asshole. Every time a wave sweeps the deck, he barks at us to pay attention. As if we weren’t already.
Rogue waves are difficult to predict, and the visibility has been terrible. As a captain, you try to do the best you can, warning the crew so they can hide or grab onto something, but sometimes you’re taken by surprise. And sometimes the crew can’t get out of the way in time.
Getting clobbered by a wave isn’t a personal failure, but trust Cole to find a way to blame himself and take it out on us.
When Alejo rolled his ankle, Cole actually berated him. That’s not how things work on theBriar Anteros.Javi offered to man the wheel so Cole could take a break, which went over so well Cole accused us all of insubordination.
I know he’s hurting, but I’m losing patience. He’s already hurt me in so many ways. Kicking me out, packing up my stuff, abandoning Finn. Inviting me to be vulnerable, then leaving after I confessed Seb died because of me was the final straw. I trusted him, and he didn’t support me. He said nothing.
I don’t have a husband. I haven’t for a while. There isn’t a place on this boat far enough away from him.
“Sleeping Beauty, this is Super Fathom, you got me?”
I snatch the mic like a lifeline, grateful for the distraction. “Cute call sign, Kent.”
“You think? I’m trying it out.”
“Yeah. Clark Kent? I get it. Where are you guys headed?”
Kent and crew started two hundred miles away from our grounds, at their own unofficial territory, and are working their way up to join us. We usually work together for a string or two, funneling crab between our traps. It’s another ritual.
My phone lights up.
Kent
Dad and LJ are planning to test Cole’s boundaries, see how much they can get away with.
“Wow,” I say on the radio and laugh.
Morgan
I thought they’d at least wait a season. What with Seb, and all.
Thanks for the intel. I’m not worried about it though. They can have our table scraps.
Kent
Never underestimate rednecks with meth-fueled engineering and no morals.
Morgan
True, but we have Cole and Lawrence.
Fights over fishing territory don’t happen often, and today’s sabotage shenanigans are nothing like the cocaine-fueled sea wars of the past. I’m not going to stir shit by telling Cole, but if he finds out, I won’t interfere. He needs to show the fleet they can’t fuck with him, and the crew could use the pick-me-up of a group project.
My phone rings.
“How’s Cole doing?” Kent asks. “Lawrence told me things are pretty strained all around.”
“Yeah.” I massage my forehead. “Maybe we need a new face to balance us out or something.”
He laughs.