didn’t make any sense to me, either.
I was certain if I moved I was going to puke. I was reasonably sure if I did not move I was also going to puke. The only real question was whether or not I could make it to the raft entrance and get it opened before whatever was in my stomach decided to come out.
I moved as quickly as my shaking limbs would allow. Thankfully, even with the shaking, I did get the damn thing open and the flap pulled back. The heated sea wind hit my face, and the fresh air calmed my stomach for about thirty seconds.
Those thirty seconds were followed by the most violent vomiting I had ever experienced.
I rocked back and forth on my knees, heaving what little had been in my stomach into the sea. After a dozen retches I was only dry-heaving, which I always thought was worse than actual puking. It wouldn’t stop, and my stomach muscles were aching even more.
My hands were shaking so bad, I was having a hard time just keeping myself perched on the edge of the raft without just tossing myself overboard. I could feel my heart beating so hard in my chest, I wouldn’t have been totally shocked to see it come bursting right out of my skin. Sweat began to pour down the back of my neck, which just had to fucking stop because I was going to get dehydrated enough as it was. I gripped the hem of my shirt and pulled it off.
“Daniel?”
I felt a soft hand touch the top of my shoulder, and I immediately pulled away from the sensation.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” I screamed, not even knowing why. At the very least, I was already hypersensitive all over. Even the feeling of my knees against the bottom of the raft was pissing me off. The last thing I needed was her hands on me, trying to give me some kind of fucking comfort.
I would have yelled a few other choice words at her, but my body starting heaving again instead. It felt like it went on forever, but eventually it stopped long enough for me to drop down to my side and curl up in a ball for a while. My head began throbbing again, and my heart was still beating rapidly.
I was using up a lot of energy which I really couldn’t afford. There was nothing I could do to stop it unless there was a distiller in the survival kit. I’d have to make sure to add one of those for next time. I had a brief image of John Paul right after we bought the lifeboats for The Oblation . He packed a bottle of rum in with the rations. If I had gotten to one of the fucking lifeboats, I’d have some goddamn alcohol.
“Holy fucking shit!” I yelled out, beating my hand against the flexible side of the raft, which was wholly unsatisfying. I kept cursing and ignoring whatever the fuck Raine was trying to say to me. I was yelling too loud to actually hear her over myself. I felt her fingers against my arm again, and I shoved her.
“I told you not to fucking touch me! How fucking stupid are you that you can’t follow the most basic instructions?”
I heard a sharp intake of breath and didn’t care how fucking shocked she might have been.
“Should have fucking let you drown!”
My hands covered my face, and I tried to rub my fingers into my eyes. They itched. Actually, my whole face itched, and I scratched at the thickening beard on my cheeks. My ears itched, too. So did my arms. My hands were all sweaty, and when I tried to scratch at my arms, the sweat clung to my skin and just made me itch more.
“Daniel, stop,” I heard Raine say. Something was wrong with her voice – she sounded strange. I felt her hand on top of mine as she tried to pry my fingers off of my skin. I shoved her away. “You’re going to make yourself bleed.”
“I’ve bled before,” I barked. “What fucking difference does it make?”
I looked down at my arms and saw the long red streaks I had made on them with my fingernails. Shit. I couldn’t think about it for too long, though, because I was suddenly retching over the
I was certain if I moved I was going to puke. I was reasonably sure if I did not move I was also going to puke. The only real question was whether or not I could make it to the raft entrance and get it opened before whatever was in my stomach decided to come out.
I moved as quickly as my shaking limbs would allow. Thankfully, even with the shaking, I did get the damn thing open and the flap pulled back. The heated sea wind hit my face, and the fresh air calmed my stomach for about thirty seconds.
Those thirty seconds were followed by the most violent vomiting I had ever experienced.
I rocked back and forth on my knees, heaving what little had been in my stomach into the sea. After a dozen retches I was only dry-heaving, which I always thought was worse than actual puking. It wouldn’t stop, and my stomach muscles were aching even more.
My hands were shaking so bad, I was having a hard time just keeping myself perched on the edge of the raft without just tossing myself overboard. I could feel my heart beating so hard in my chest, I wouldn’t have been totally shocked to see it come bursting right out of my skin. Sweat began to pour down the back of my neck, which just had to fucking stop because I was going to get dehydrated enough as it was. I gripped the hem of my shirt and pulled it off.
“Daniel?”
I felt a soft hand touch the top of my shoulder, and I immediately pulled away from the sensation.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” I screamed, not even knowing why. At the very least, I was already hypersensitive all over. Even the feeling of my knees against the bottom of the raft was pissing me off. The last thing I needed was her hands on me, trying to give me some kind of fucking comfort.
I would have yelled a few other choice words at her, but my body starting heaving again instead. It felt like it went on forever, but eventually it stopped long enough for me to drop down to my side and curl up in a ball for a while. My head began throbbing again, and my heart was still beating rapidly.
I was using up a lot of energy which I really couldn’t afford. There was nothing I could do to stop it unless there was a distiller in the survival kit. I’d have to make sure to add one of those for next time. I had a brief image of John Paul right after we bought the lifeboats for The Oblation . He packed a bottle of rum in with the rations. If I had gotten to one of the fucking lifeboats, I’d have some goddamn alcohol.
“Holy fucking shit!” I yelled out, beating my hand against the flexible side of the raft, which was wholly unsatisfying. I kept cursing and ignoring whatever the fuck Raine was trying to say to me. I was yelling too loud to actually hear her over myself. I felt her fingers against my arm again, and I shoved her.
“I told you not to fucking touch me! How fucking stupid are you that you can’t follow the most basic instructions?”
I heard a sharp intake of breath and didn’t care how fucking shocked she might have been.
“Should have fucking let you drown!”
My hands covered my face, and I tried to rub my fingers into my eyes. They itched. Actually, my whole face itched, and I scratched at the thickening beard on my cheeks. My ears itched, too. So did my arms. My hands were all sweaty, and when I tried to scratch at my arms, the sweat clung to my skin and just made me itch more.
“Daniel, stop,” I heard Raine say. Something was wrong with her voice – she sounded strange. I felt her hand on top of mine as she tried to pry my fingers off of my skin. I shoved her away. “You’re going to make yourself bleed.”
“I’ve bled before,” I barked. “What fucking difference does it make?”
I looked down at my arms and saw the long red streaks I had made on them with my fingernails. Shit. I couldn’t think about it for too long, though, because I was suddenly retching over the
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