Robert was comforted by the sound of the ship's foghorn blaring in the distance. Although initially it was just an idea he threw out there to scare Doc, on reflection, it seemed like a good way to draw the infected towards the boat and away from them. He had written on the side of the boat the date and direction they had departed in case any other survivors came across it. Their packs were loaded with food and water canteens, the weight of which, coupled with carrying Arnold on a stretcher, made travel hard going. Doc was definitely out of shape, constantly asking for breaks more often than Robert would have wanted, but he obliged. He needed to keep Doc onside after his threat at the ship, and right now compliance was easier than conflict.
Having left at first light they followed the coast north and had made it to an inlet that went inland. Along the way they had seen nothing but trees. There were no signs of civilization along this part of the coast, and Robert was beginning to doubt if this was the right direction to take. Arnold had become increasingly worse, beads of perspiration reappeared on his forehead no matter how often Robert wiped them away. He’d also taken to muttering in his sleep. Doc constantly reinforced that if they didn’t get medication soon, Arnold would die. Robert wasn’t sure if this was a diagnosis based on medical training or Doc’s own survival instinct, but he took heed anyway as they followed the inlet inland.
With the sun directly overhead they moved into the cool shade of a pine tree to stop for lunch. The lukewarm water in the canteen was still surprisingly refreshing and Robert drew a large sip. Doc slurped down the water, splashing some on his chin, which irritated Robert as he snatched the canteen away from him.
“Go easy on that. We only have two more and no idea how far it is to any other water source,” he said as he tipped a small amount of water into Arnold’s mouth before handing the canteen back to Doc.
“You rest here for half an hour. I’m going to scout ahead and see if there’s a mountain range or some high ground where I can get the lay of the land,” he moved away before stopping and turning back to Doc.
“Give me your pack.”
Doc handed it over asking, “why?”
“Insurance,” Robert replied, taking out some tinned food and water and giving it back to Doc, “what’s left won’t last you very long so my best advice is to stay here rather than run off.” Doc nodded as Robert slung his pack over his front and walked off. He took a rebellious long swig of water as he watched Robert disappear into the distance.
Arnold’s muttering was beginning to really get on Doc's nerves as he pondered a way out of this shitty situation. Right now he needed Robert but it was frustrating that Robert couldn’t see that Arnold was just dead weight. Arnold was going to die, of that Doc was certain. The medication he needed was highly specialized, and they were not likely to find it on some piss poor part of the Russian coast. And even if it was there, by the time they got to it, Arnold would most likely have perished. He’d tried explaining this to Robert as they walked, but the man’s stubbornness knew no bounds.
As a doctor he was used to making tough decisions and this was one of those. No matter what Robert said, they both knew that carrying Arnold through the woods was jeopardizing their own survival. Robert just refused to acknowledge it out of some stubborn loyalty to his roommate. Deep down Doc felt that Robert would have done the same for any one of the crew, Robert was just that kind of guy.
If only Arnold died right now, that would save them a lot of trouble. It would almost be a mercy. The man was very weak. He probably wouldn’t struggle that much if his airways were blocked. Sure, an autopsy would show the true cause of death but that was unlikely to occur out here. Robert would suspect, of course, but suspicion is not the same as knowledge, and he could suspect all he liked.
The thought burrowed deep into Doc’s brain. If he was going to do this then he needed to do it now, while Robert was away. He was unlikely to get another chance and it was a much more peaceful way to die than what was otherwise ahead for the poor man. Doc wiped the perspiration off his hands and ruffled his hair a few times, trying to come to grips with what he was about to do.
And then he heard it. It was faint but distinct, the sound of an outboard motor. All thoughts of murder were replaced with hope. There was a boat, he would be found and saved. He left Arnold alive under the tree and rushed to the shore, waving down the boat. In the distance a black shadow came towards him, the motor’s droning bringing sweet music to his ears.
Robert waved back from the PBX, grinning from ear to ear. The PBX was a very lucky find, just sitting there at the inlet’s edge. For a fleeting moment he thought maybe it was someone else’s boat and they might be back soon. Taking it was theft but Robert justified that he needed it to save Arnold’s life - so he took it. Perhaps later on he could return it once Arnold was better, but for now it was their best chance of moving Arnold.
He pulled it up at the shore next to Doc with a proud look on his face. Doc was amazed, “Where did you find this?”
“It was just parked on the coast a bit further up. Let’s get Arnold on and get out of here, it’s only got half a tank and I have no idea if we’ll find more fuel.” They tenderly loaded Arnold and the stretcher onto the boat, part of the stretcher hanging out the front. Doc squeezed on board, his legs crammed underneath the stretcher and although uncomfortable he was in, so they pulled away.
They travelled back along the inlet towards the ocean, wind in their hair and the fine mist of sea spray cooling them underneath the harsh midday sun. For a moment they both felt good, at peace with their situation. Doc reflected on the variety of large yachts and boats he’d been on in his life and how pale those experiences were compared to this one. It was amazing how quickly the little things began to matter and Doc couldn’t help but smile. Then he remembered how close he’d come to murdering Arnold and although outwards his smile didn’t change, to Doc it suddenly felt really forced. Things weren’t better yet - this was a small drop of okay in an ocean of fucked-up that they still needed to swim through.