James Moriarty - Tempestuous Tides

Chapter 3 - Sailors

The wind was blowing through their hair, the forceful blows sending them back against the railings of the boat. Many wondered if this was how they would die. Gales blew against them, rough seas crippling their bodies, whiplashing them against the back with the disgusting violence brought against them so suddenly.

Inside of the ship, the captain handled the helm, trying to get through the onslaught of waves beating them down. Each howl of the wind told them they were never going to make it through the strong winds. For the past half an hour, they had been battling this beast without a moment to breathe, even for a second.

"Captain!" one of the sailors ran into the helm, his hands gripping the walls so tightly, they looked like they would crack. After being out there, he had grown used to gripping so harshly, so painfully. "The nets will not come back up, Andy told me to get you, you need to see this."

"You take the wheel for a while then, I will go and have a look,"

He took to the helm, watching on as the Captain took his yellow, reflective jacket over his shoulders, zipping it up. Just as he turned to leave, his crewman grabbed his arm, gripping it so hard it threatened to cut off the circulation.

"Bring a harpoon."

Without any questioning, he took the harpoon hung up on the rack. Now, there were only two of the three left on the rack.

Placing his hands back onto the controls, he gently took away the jacket, removing the out garment so as to look at his arm. When it peeled away from his drenched pocket, he took the first aid kit from the top of the ship to get a bandage.

Outside, he heard the crew screaming. For some reason, he could not tell whether it was the fact they were in a horrendous storm, or something else. Putting the ship at a full speed, he drove against the waves as best as he could with one hand, whilst opening the medical box with the other.

Rolling up the sleeve of his t-shirt, he took his eyes downward to a bloody massacre of his arm. Adrenaline was running through his body. A powerful drug that makes you not feel even the most painful of injuries. It was rancorous revenge on his arm, straining back the skin into shreds. Whatever had clung onto him in the darkness had some sort of evil vendetta against him. Something he had never dreamed of happening at sea.

If only he had seen what it was.

"Captain!" someone else came in, giving him deja vu as he watched his crewmate grip the wall. "Harpoon... missing... where is it?"

"The captain took it," he bandaged up his arm quickly, not wanting anyone else to see the mark he was bearing on his own, he knew he would get it patched up when he got back, he was used to injuries. "What were you after?"

"I needed to talk to him,"

"Because you have been bitten on your arm too, what did you see?" he turned his dark eyes around to see what he was thinking.

After asking that question, he felt the coldness hitting him, the cold emptiness with having a lot less blood in his body. Bleeding out like he had been having taken its toll, and now he was beginning to relax, he felt the direct impacts fault his imperfect body.

Outside, on the deck of the boat, many more of the men were battling against the storm still. Nothing was going to end the turmoil they were going through, and the dire situation they were being forced into facing. Trapped behind the bars of an escape room, not knowing how to solve the problem or begin to exceed their own limits.

Something beyond the imagination of an unbeliever.

Every wave they went over seemed like a hill that turns your stomach, making you sick. More often than not, the men were hurling their breakfast and lunch over the edge. Yet, soon enough, there would be nothing left to hurl in their bodies, leaving them fairly ill.