in.
Next, she made sure that Simon was comfortable and took a quick look at the leg wound which seemed to have caused such serious symptoms. With no medical kit to hand, there wasn’t much to be done. The spattered blood, evident on the edges of the torn denim, looked to have coagulated and sealed. Without closer inspection, she reasoned that if he wasn’t bleeding, anything else could be dealt with once they were safe.
“Okay, think, Barbie, think. What would Simon do from here? He must have come to the docks for a reason. There must be more of ‘them’ out there. He said he’d met some. The docks— boats. That’s it! He wants us to get on a boat, to sail our way out of this place. Baltic Wanderer , I like the sound of that one. That’s in Russia, isn’t it? The Baltic?” she asked, as if Simon would answer.
By the time night fell, the dockworkers had departed for their homes and into nightmares of their own, no doubt. Barbie woke with a start from her impromptu nap. Long nights studying medicine, combined with the day job, took its toll upon her—even at the age of twenty-three. She pulled the car as close to the side of the boat as possible and parked behind a robust metal container, so as not to be visible from the vessel. It seemed eerily quiet, too good to be true. She took the bag with the items taken from the store, slung over her shoulders.
“Right, my impromptu saviour, it’s time to return the favour.” She psyched herself up before opening the passenger door wide, but then stopped.
Instead, she moved to the back of the car and popped the tailgate. Sure enough, the side pocket held a green box with a white cross emblazoned on the front. First Aid Kit, the cover declared. Most new modern cars carried one supplied by the manufacturer these days, not that Barbie had ever owned a brand new car. She took the kit with a half-smile and added it to the backpack contents. As she returned to the rear passenger side, Simon stirred.
8 – Sea Legs
Queen Elizabeth Dock, Hull, 19 th March 2014, 1430 hours
My head felt as though an amateur rock band had booked an afternoon session inside it.
Keep practicing, you guys suck!
The freezing sensation, while still very much present, wasn’t quite as severe as earlier. I still felt weighted. I groaned as I tried to push myself from the seat, barely aware of Barbie’s attempts to pull me upright.
“You’re awake!” she stated, obviously.
“Easy, doll. Easy. Feel like I got hit by a dump truck and the son-of-a-bitch reversed too,” I moaned.
“Reckon you can walk?”
“Help me swing around, but gently, dammit!” I barked.
Barbie looked at me as if I had slapped her face, hard.
“I—I’m sorry. I don’t know why I snapped at you like that. I’m not myself,” I muttered.
It became somewhat of a major procedure to actually get me turned to face the passenger door, and sit upright, precariously swooning on the edge of the padded seat. With one hefty pull, Barbie managed to lift me. She placed her arm across my chest to support me, just in time to prevent me from falling flat on my face for what would have been the second time that day.
“I gotcha, I gotcha,” she assured. “Lean against the pillar here and don’t try to move on your own, I’ll be just a sec.”
I just about managed a nod before she disappeared to the back of the car. I began to tremble as I suppressed the rage building inside me once more. It wasn’t her fault, wasn’t anyone’s fault so far as I knew, and yet, I felt such a strong urge to lash out, to inflict pain and suffering upon this girl. I didn’t know why or what she was supposed to have done to deserve it.
You’re a wreck! Couldn’t even keep a wife. Call yourself a father? Look at you—pathetic excuse for a man. Even a girl has to save your sorry ass. Loser!
The chorus of prickling voices gnawed at my resolve as I heard the tailgate close, followed by the double clunks of the driver and passenger
Next, she made sure that Simon was comfortable and took a quick look at the leg wound which seemed to have caused such serious symptoms. With no medical kit to hand, there wasn’t much to be done. The spattered blood, evident on the edges of the torn denim, looked to have coagulated and sealed. Without closer inspection, she reasoned that if he wasn’t bleeding, anything else could be dealt with once they were safe.
“Okay, think, Barbie, think. What would Simon do from here? He must have come to the docks for a reason. There must be more of ‘them’ out there. He said he’d met some. The docks— boats. That’s it! He wants us to get on a boat, to sail our way out of this place. Baltic Wanderer , I like the sound of that one. That’s in Russia, isn’t it? The Baltic?” she asked, as if Simon would answer.
By the time night fell, the dockworkers had departed for their homes and into nightmares of their own, no doubt. Barbie woke with a start from her impromptu nap. Long nights studying medicine, combined with the day job, took its toll upon her—even at the age of twenty-three. She pulled the car as close to the side of the boat as possible and parked behind a robust metal container, so as not to be visible from the vessel. It seemed eerily quiet, too good to be true. She took the bag with the items taken from the store, slung over her shoulders.
“Right, my impromptu saviour, it’s time to return the favour.” She psyched herself up before opening the passenger door wide, but then stopped.
Instead, she moved to the back of the car and popped the tailgate. Sure enough, the side pocket held a green box with a white cross emblazoned on the front. First Aid Kit, the cover declared. Most new modern cars carried one supplied by the manufacturer these days, not that Barbie had ever owned a brand new car. She took the kit with a half-smile and added it to the backpack contents. As she returned to the rear passenger side, Simon stirred.
8 – Sea Legs
Queen Elizabeth Dock, Hull, 19 th March 2014, 1430 hours
My head felt as though an amateur rock band had booked an afternoon session inside it.
Keep practicing, you guys suck!
The freezing sensation, while still very much present, wasn’t quite as severe as earlier. I still felt weighted. I groaned as I tried to push myself from the seat, barely aware of Barbie’s attempts to pull me upright.
“You’re awake!” she stated, obviously.
“Easy, doll. Easy. Feel like I got hit by a dump truck and the son-of-a-bitch reversed too,” I moaned.
“Reckon you can walk?”
“Help me swing around, but gently, dammit!” I barked.
Barbie looked at me as if I had slapped her face, hard.
“I—I’m sorry. I don’t know why I snapped at you like that. I’m not myself,” I muttered.
It became somewhat of a major procedure to actually get me turned to face the passenger door, and sit upright, precariously swooning on the edge of the padded seat. With one hefty pull, Barbie managed to lift me. She placed her arm across my chest to support me, just in time to prevent me from falling flat on my face for what would have been the second time that day.
“I gotcha, I gotcha,” she assured. “Lean against the pillar here and don’t try to move on your own, I’ll be just a sec.”
I just about managed a nod before she disappeared to the back of the car. I began to tremble as I suppressed the rage building inside me once more. It wasn’t her fault, wasn’t anyone’s fault so far as I knew, and yet, I felt such a strong urge to lash out, to inflict pain and suffering upon this girl. I didn’t know why or what she was supposed to have done to deserve it.
You’re a wreck! Couldn’t even keep a wife. Call yourself a father? Look at you—pathetic excuse for a man. Even a girl has to save your sorry ass. Loser!
The chorus of prickling voices gnawed at my resolve as I heard the tailgate close, followed by the double clunks of the driver and passenger
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