Surviving Raine

by Savage, Shay

  I lifted the canopy up the rest of the way and squinted out over the sea. I wondered if a pair of Ray Bans was included in the survival kits. I shaded my eyes with my hand and scanned the horizon again.

  Nothing.

  I turned around quickly, making the raft rock a little. The girl scurried to the other side as I approached the sealed pouches near her. I continued on like she wasn’t even there. I found what I wanted – a pair of binoculars and one of three flares. They would show up better at night, that was for sure, but chances were the other lifeboats would be closer now than twelve hours later. They had outboard motors, where the raft only had a pair of oars which were almost totally fucking useless.

  I moved out towards the opening again and launched the first one. It was incredibly bright, even in the daylight, and I watched it rocket up three hundred meters before it started back down, glowing all the way. It went out right before it hit the water.

  I used the binoculars to see if I could see any sign of…well, of anything.

  Nothing.

  There weren’t even any cumulus clouds on the horizon, which would give me at least some sort of direction to head since clouds would normally form over land. The wind was sending the current south-southwest, which was not ideal. From where we were last on The Oblation, the closest land was southeast.

  “Fuck.”

  “What is it?”

  I felt all my muscles tense. This chick and all her stupid ass questions were going to drive me insane.

  “Well, let’s see,” I snarled, “I just realized I left my best pair of shoes in the closet back at home, and I really needed them for the mixer tonight. What the fuck do you think it is? Maybe a whole shitload of ocean and maybe a whole shitload of no land? You think that might be it?”

  “Why are you yelling at me?” she screamed and sobbed all at the same time.

  The girl just pulled up her legs and practically curled up into a ball. I hadn’t really meant to jump down her throat, but I had a problem with my temper. Once it got started, it was a while before it managed to run its course.

  “I’m a little fucking tense, all right?” I shouted at her. “My home just fucking sank, it’s about a hundred and ten degrees in here, and I’m fucking annoyed and wondering why I ever bothered pulling you out of the fucking water! Okay?”

  She raised her hand and ran it under one eye.

  I made her cry.

  Shit.

  I really didn’t mean to do that. I had to get myself under control. All the anger and tension was wasted energy, and wasted energy was wasted water and nutrients. I closed my eyes and tried to take some slow, calming breaths, but it just didn’t help. If slow, calming breaths were of any use, I would have quit smoking.

  “Holy fucking shit,” I grumbled as a thought hit me that probably saved her life and mine. I reached over and pulled open one of the pouches on my belt. Inside was a small plastic baggie with three cigarettes in it – the emergency stash. “Thank God.”

  I pulled one of them out and then carefully sealed the other two back up in the plastic. The lighter in my belt pouch was too wet and wouldn’t work, but there were waterproof matches in the survival gear. I lit the smoke and leaned back against the inside wall of the raft, closing my eyes and inhaling deeply. I took five long, deep drags before I opened my eyes again. She was staring at me with those big, beautiful eyes again, and it was making my cock twitch.

  Great – just what I needed.

  She looked away from me and was rocking back and forth, all fidgety. Watching her rock back and forth brought images to my head of ways I could make her rock back and forth.

  Smoking under survival circumstances was undoubtedly a bad idea, but I had to be able to get myself together enough to calm down and think straight, so it was better than doing nothing at this point.

  I took another long drag and blew the smoke out over the water. I tried to savor it, knowing I only had two of the damn things left. I could cope without the smokes if I had a bottle of something, but not having either was going to seriously suck.

  She was still wiggling around where she sat which was going to drive me over the edge.

  “What’s your problem?” I snapped again. I hadn’t really meant to, I was just tense and pissy. The smoke was helping, but what I really wanted was a drink. I didn’t suppose anyone packed any of those little tiny airplane-sized booze bottles in the survival kits.

  “I…um…” she stumbled over her words and looked away. Even under her tanned skin, I could see red creeping into her cheeks.

  “What?” I was annoyed now. If she was going to complain about my smoking, I was going to lose it.

  “I…have to go to the bathroom.”

  I laughed. I took one last long drag, getting it all the way up to the filter before I tossed the butt out onto the waves.

  “Then fucking go!”

  “Where?”

  “Didn’t you notice the en suite bath?” I laughed again and then took a smidgen of pity on her. “Over the side, where do you think?”

  “Well…how?”

  All right, she did have a point there. Or rather, she didn’t have a point. Or a pointer. I had to laugh again at my internal joke.

  “Just…I don’t know…hang your ass out over the edge. Or get in the water. Whatever.”

  “I’d have to take off my suit.”

  “So?”

  She blushed again.

  “What? You want me to hang out in the next room for a few minutes? I promise I won’t gawk at you.”

  She didn’t move. Well, actually, she was still fidgeting around; she just didn’t make a move to actually solve her dilemma. If she kept this up, she was going to pee in the fucking raft.

  “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve already checked you out front and back, had my mouth on yours, and my hand on your tit, so it’s not like…”

  She gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. I realized how what I had said sounded, considering she had been unconscious the entire time. I shook my head.

  “I didn’t mean…ah, fuck.” I grabbed my shirt and flopped down on my back, covering my whole face up with the garment. I lay there for a moment but didn’t hear her moving at all, so I yelled at her again. “Get on with it!”

  She moved. I could hear her shuffle over to the front of the raft and then move around in one place, presumably taking off her shorts and her bathing suit.

  “If you are going to get in the water, put the life preserver around your waist first and hold on to the fucking ladder. I don’t want to have to dive in after your ass again.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Um…where is it?”

  “Right outside the opening – on the left.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Whatever.”

  I listened to her move around a bit more and then felt her move closer to the opening and off to the side. There was a soft splash, and a minute later I heard her pulling herself back up onto the raft.

  “There’s something similar to a towel over there,” I said, flinging my arm out in the direction of the back of the raft and waving my hand around. “Make sure you dry off the floor, too.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Whatever.”

  I listened to her move around some more, getting pretty fed up with just lying there, baking, with my fucking shirt over my head.

  “Are you done yet?”

  “Almost,” she said quietly. Her voice still sounded scratchy. “Okay, I’m done.”

  I grabbed the shirt off my face and sat up, looking over at her. She was adjusting the straps on her suit and still blushing.

  “Do you know why my…um…throat hurts?”

  “Yeah,” I said. I didn’t elaborate. After a minute she finally asked.

  “Why does my throat hurt?”

  “Because you inhaled a shitload of salt water,” I stated. “It fucks up your throat and your vocal cords. Give it a day; it’ll be better.”

  “Th
ank you,” she said, again.

  “Whatever,” I replied, again.

  I shoved my hand down into the sealed up container for rations and pulled out a carb bar. I tore it in half and threw one of the pieces at her.

  “Eat it,” I instructed. “You can have the other half in six hours.”

  “Six hours?” she repeated.

  “Are you a fucking recorder? Yes, six hours.”

  I knew I was being a bastard, but my brain was working overtime trying to figure out what our best course of action might be. Having her here made it ten times more difficult. If it was just me, I was pretty sure I would be fine. There was plenty of food and water for just me. I could fish, I could take care of myself, and I could stay alive under pretty extreme circumstances. Having her here with me just…complicated everything.

  I was used to death match. Last man standing. Every man for himself. You didn’t help anyone else because everyone else was going to stab you in the back the first chance they got. The primitive part of my brain kept telling me to chuck her overboard because her survival might cost me my own.

  But I couldn’t do that. I mean, she was just a tiny little girl. Not a child, obviously, but she was just so small and she looked freaking helpless. I had to stop myself from wanting to hold her and comfort her again, and maybe fuck her to make her forget about the horrible situation she was in. Yeah, I definitely wanted to do that.

  Toss her overboard or stick my tongue down her throat? I couldn’t decide and it fucking ticked me off.

  “Come here,” I told her, trying to keep myself from sounding too pissed off. I wasn’t sure if it worked or anything, but she did scoot a little closer. “You need water so you can digest what you ate.”

  “I am thirsty,” she admitted.

  I measured out about a half cup and held it out towards her. When she reached for it, I held it back to my chest and out of her reach.

  “Listen first,” I said, narrowing my eyes at her. “Lick your lips and then take a small mouthful of water. Swish it around in your mouth, gargle with it, and then swallow. Then lick your lips again. Keep doing that until it’s gone. Got it?”

  She nodded, and I handed her the cup, watching her closely. She did as I had told her and then handed the cup back to me.

  “Put this on your lips, too,” I told her, handing her a tube of ChapStick from the survival kit.

  “What’s this for?”

  “Helps keep in moisture,” I said. “It also helps with sunburn. Stay the fuck out of the direct sunlight, got it? As tiny as you are, sunburn would probably kill you.”

  “I don’t burn easily,” she smirked.

  I glared at her.

  “You aren’t used to being in the direct sunlight combined with the reflection off the water without protection of any kind for an indeterminate amount of time. Everyone burns eventually.”

  She wiped the tube across her lips and handed it back to me. I sealed it back up and put it away.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Daniel,” I said automatically. I didn’t even think about it anymore when someone asked. After four years, giving my fake name was as natural as my first name had been.

  “I’m Raine,” she said. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

  “Whatever.” I tried not to laugh at the name. Aside from being about as pretentious as I might have expected, the fact that it was a weather pattern, not a name, was fucking hysterical.

  “You could say ‘you’re welcome,’ you know.”

  “I haven’t saved you yet,” I told her. “You might hate me for not letting you drown. At least it would be over then. Drowning is quick at least. Dying of dehydration while you’re starving, too? That sucks.”

  Now why the fuck did I go and say that? I might as well go into a little detail about exactly what dying of dehydration entails. I didn’t look up because I might have made her start crying again.

  “You don’t think we’ll be found?” Her voice was quiet, but at least it was steady.

  “Hard to say,” I answered noncommittally. “If we find one of the other lifeboats, we’ll probably be all right.”

  “Where are they?”

  I looked over at her and raised my eyebrows.

  “Are you fucking serious?” I asked her. “Have you ever heard the phrase ‘there aren’t any stupid questions?’”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, there are. That was one of them.”

  I drank a mouthful of water, and we sat in silence for a while. Looking out the opening at the dark blue water, I was still really agitated. Our only real hope was someone seeing the flare and getting to us before we drifted too far. I reopened the survival kit and verified all the contents again.

  “What happened to your head?”

  “I got knocked around on the ship a bit,” I said. I had forgotten about the cut over my eye, and now that she brought it up, it started hurting. “Actually, I’m gonna need your help with it.”

  “With what?” She sounded all nervous.

  “I need you to stitch it up,” I said bluntly.

  “You need me to what?” she gasped, panic in her voice.

  “I need stitches,” I reiterated. “Considering keeping me alive is the only thing that’s going to save your ass, I think you might want to do it.”

  “I’m not a doctor.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I responded. I took the mini suture kit out along with some more gauze and an alcohol wipe. “You’re a girl, so you ought to be able to do a simple fucking stitch. In and out, just like getting fucked.”

  I was again amazed at how well her blush showed up at the top of her cheeks. It wasn’t exactly red, but her tanned skin deepened significantly in color. Her big, beautiful eyes went wide, much to the chagrin of my cock. Just what I needed, to get a hard on from a chick putting fucking stitches in my head.

  “I don’t know if I can do that,” she said softly. “I tend to get a little sick at the sight of blood.”

  I looked at her in sheer disbelief. She was squeamish, which was not what I needed, and I simply didn’t have time for that bullshit.

  “You are going to have to get over that,” I told her. “Get over it right now, because if you puke, you’re going to lose fluids. If you lose fluids, you’re going to die.”

  “You’re scaring me, you know.”

  “Just stating the facts,” I retorted. “Now get over here and stitch me up.”

  I wasn’t going to give her any time to think about it. I needed it done now before it started to fucking bleed again. She took a deep breath, like she was trying to prepare herself, and then came over close to me. I tied the end of the suture thread in a knot and then handed her both the thread and the surgical needle. I took the bloody gauze off my forehead and she gasped, holding her hand over her mouth.

  “Don’t even fucking think about it,” I growled, staring her in the eye. She looked into my eyes for a moment and then nodded her head slowly. “Just put it out of your mind. You’re playing seamstress on one of your dolls, okay?”

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  I sat cross-legged in front of her while she got up on her knees to reach my head. Even then she was just barely tall enough. I took a couple of deep breaths myself, mentally preparing for the pain and trying to not be too obvious about staring at the milk mounds right in front of my face. I could only see the tops of them, but her tits looked pretty fucking perfect.

  She stabbed into my skin and I tried to force myself not to flinch. It didn’t work completely but definitely got my mind off her boobs.

  “Ow!”

  “I’m sorry!” she cried.

  “Just get on with it,” I snarled.

  She stabbed into my skin two more times before the raft hit a large wave and threw her into my lap with the needle nearly drilling a hole into my skull.

  “Fucking hell!” I screamed, shoving her off of me. She was so light, I tossed her into the other side of the raft where she bounced against
the fabric wall.

  “I’m sorry!” she screamed again.

  “Holy shit, bitch!” I yelled. “You could have taken my fucking eye out!”

  “I couldn’t help it!” she cried out. “I didn’t mean to!”

  I spent a few seconds collecting myself. I knew she didn’t mean to, and sitting up on her knees like that wasn’t easy in a rocking raft. I groaned, rubbed the new spot of blood off my head, and lay down on my back. I looked to the other side of the raft where she was cringing from me.

  “Fucking try again,” I demanded.

  “No,” she said. “You aren’t going to call me names and then expect me to help you.”

  “Maybe you didn’t hear me,” I growled. “My being alive is in your best interest. Helping me is just like saving yourself.”

  “You aren’t going to die from a wound that small.” She scowled back at me. “I’m not that gullible.”

  “I don’t give a shit if you are gullible or not,” I said. “Back in your little mansion at home, this cut isn’t dangerous. Out here without antibiotics available, it could be my death sentence. You want to risk my life and yours?”

  She sat for a minute just looking at me, probably trying to decide if I was lying to her or not. I took a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself back down, but it was too fucking hot to relax, and my head really ached now. Finally, she moved back over to me tentatively, like I was going to fucking bite her or something. She managed to finish after about four more stitches.

  “I need something to cut the end of the thread.”

  “I got it,” I said, pulling my jackknife out of its home in my belt. I reached up, felt for the thread, and quickly cut off the end. I kissed the flat part of the blade before sheathing it again.

  “Why did you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Um…kiss the knife?”

  “It’s my lucky knife,” I mumbled.

  “Why is it lucky?”

  I sighed. This was shit I really didn’t want to discuss. Maybe if I gave her a little taste, she’d get the idea and stop asking.