rotted away
.
Donna, what happened to your beautiful legs
?
Death and decay, they rotted away
.
Donna, what happened to your beautiful golden arm
?
YOU’VE GOT IT
!
“Come on back into the lounge.”
“Our fish!” Cha-cha protested. “Officer Donna, it’s in there, eating up all the little babies!”
An image came queasily into Donna’s head. Yuck. She tugged on Kevin’s arm and said, “If you’re hurt, come with me. I’m going back to the lounge.” And sit down, goddamn it, and relax.
Kevin walked beside her. He reeked with the smell of dope and she flashed with anger. Christ, did the captain allow drugs on his ship, or was he so incompetent he didn’t know about them? She thought she heard a steady dripping on the deck—blood?—and hurried her pace. If Kevin was stoned, he might not realize it if he was seriously injured.
“It’s a sea monster!” Cha-cha shouted. “A damn sea monster!”
“Tried to take my fuckin’ finger off at the bone,” Kevin muttered.
There was a loud splash. The shark must have leapt back into the water.
And a funny, wet
plop
on the deck. Donna thought of the fish in the net, escaping the clutches of the “sea monster” only to suffocate on the deck.
“At the fuckin’ bone,” Kevin said, groaning.
She sighed. This had certainly turned into a fun evening.
She stepped over the hatch lip into the galley and shepherded Kevin to the sink. He’d wrapped his finger in the corner of his jeans jacket; the denim had soaked to red. Donna’s senses went on alert. With that much blood, it had to be more serious than she’d realized.
“C’mon,” she said, gesturing for him to unwrap it.
Slowly he obeyed, wincing as he undraped his hand. He drew the jacket away and showed her.
She inhaled sharply. On either side of his thumb, the flesh had been ripped away. A full inch of his first metacarpal gleamed like a piece of ivory; on the other side, the flesh between his thumb and forefinger was severed into two long, bleeding flaps.
Forcing herself to remain calm, she turned on the water and put his hand under it. He cried out.
“You going to faint?” she asked calmly. He shook his head.
“No.” Kevin’s face was papery white. Behind him, the fog tumbled into the galley, crawling up and over the lip and cascading along the floor. “Dr. John. Get Dr. John.”
She cupped some cold water and splashed it on the nape of his neck. “Hold on. I’ll be right back.”
She dashed out of the kitchen and through the lounge. Phil had his arms around Ruth as she sobbed against his chest.
“… pincers!” she said, catching her breath. “Sharp, and I stepped on it!”
Phil looked up with a puzzled expression on his face.
Donna said, “Kevin’s had an accident. Go to him.” Threw an expression of disgust at Elise, who was standing apart from her husband and Ruth, and hopped over the transom to the hall.
She popped on the door. He opened it at once, as if he were expecting her. Maybe he’d heard the shouting; if so, why hadn’t he come to check on it? “Yes?” he asked.
“Your turn.” She jerked her head. “You’ve got a chomped-up hand in the galley, and Ruth in hysterics in the lounge. The rules of triage say you should go to the galley first.”
“Okay. I’ll be right there.” He started to shut the door, but she stopped him.
“If you need me, send H.R.H. Elise for me. I’m falling-down tired.”
“Okay. Matt,” he said over his shoulder, “I need to …”
The rest of his sentence was lost to her in the foghorn. With a sigh, she lifted her hair off the back of her neck and continued down the hall. Ruth’s monster was there somewhere. She kicked the fog, trying to clear a view to the floor. Nothing. As she expected.
Feeling only slightly guilty about leaving all the mess to John, she flopped on the bed. Raised her leg and worked off the sneaker on her right foot with the toes of her left.
The foghorn bellowed.
And beneath it, a
roll,
.
Donna, what happened to your beautiful legs
?
Death and decay, they rotted away
.
Donna, what happened to your beautiful golden arm
?
YOU’VE GOT IT
!
“Come on back into the lounge.”
“Our fish!” Cha-cha protested. “Officer Donna, it’s in there, eating up all the little babies!”
An image came queasily into Donna’s head. Yuck. She tugged on Kevin’s arm and said, “If you’re hurt, come with me. I’m going back to the lounge.” And sit down, goddamn it, and relax.
Kevin walked beside her. He reeked with the smell of dope and she flashed with anger. Christ, did the captain allow drugs on his ship, or was he so incompetent he didn’t know about them? She thought she heard a steady dripping on the deck—blood?—and hurried her pace. If Kevin was stoned, he might not realize it if he was seriously injured.
“It’s a sea monster!” Cha-cha shouted. “A damn sea monster!”
“Tried to take my fuckin’ finger off at the bone,” Kevin muttered.
There was a loud splash. The shark must have leapt back into the water.
And a funny, wet
plop
on the deck. Donna thought of the fish in the net, escaping the clutches of the “sea monster” only to suffocate on the deck.
“At the fuckin’ bone,” Kevin said, groaning.
She sighed. This had certainly turned into a fun evening.
She stepped over the hatch lip into the galley and shepherded Kevin to the sink. He’d wrapped his finger in the corner of his jeans jacket; the denim had soaked to red. Donna’s senses went on alert. With that much blood, it had to be more serious than she’d realized.
“C’mon,” she said, gesturing for him to unwrap it.
Slowly he obeyed, wincing as he undraped his hand. He drew the jacket away and showed her.
She inhaled sharply. On either side of his thumb, the flesh had been ripped away. A full inch of his first metacarpal gleamed like a piece of ivory; on the other side, the flesh between his thumb and forefinger was severed into two long, bleeding flaps.
Forcing herself to remain calm, she turned on the water and put his hand under it. He cried out.
“You going to faint?” she asked calmly. He shook his head.
“No.” Kevin’s face was papery white. Behind him, the fog tumbled into the galley, crawling up and over the lip and cascading along the floor. “Dr. John. Get Dr. John.”
She cupped some cold water and splashed it on the nape of his neck. “Hold on. I’ll be right back.”
She dashed out of the kitchen and through the lounge. Phil had his arms around Ruth as she sobbed against his chest.
“… pincers!” she said, catching her breath. “Sharp, and I stepped on it!”
Phil looked up with a puzzled expression on his face.
Donna said, “Kevin’s had an accident. Go to him.” Threw an expression of disgust at Elise, who was standing apart from her husband and Ruth, and hopped over the transom to the hall.
She popped on the door. He opened it at once, as if he were expecting her. Maybe he’d heard the shouting; if so, why hadn’t he come to check on it? “Yes?” he asked.
“Your turn.” She jerked her head. “You’ve got a chomped-up hand in the galley, and Ruth in hysterics in the lounge. The rules of triage say you should go to the galley first.”
“Okay. I’ll be right there.” He started to shut the door, but she stopped him.
“If you need me, send H.R.H. Elise for me. I’m falling-down tired.”
“Okay. Matt,” he said over his shoulder, “I need to …”
The rest of his sentence was lost to her in the foghorn. With a sigh, she lifted her hair off the back of her neck and continued down the hall. Ruth’s monster was there somewhere. She kicked the fog, trying to clear a view to the floor. Nothing. As she expected.
Feeling only slightly guilty about leaving all the mess to John, she flopped on the bed. Raised her leg and worked off the sneaker on her right foot with the toes of her left.
The foghorn bellowed.
And beneath it, a
roll,
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