An Afternoon at the Shipyard

I always keep the office window open. I like the scent of the sea, the feel of the sun on my skin. For so long I couldn’t feel it at all, feared it even. Now every moment is a new, sweet experience. Just like life itself, which I was given back after hundreds of years of mere existence. I try not to think about those times when I simply drifted with my fate, when only my stubbornness and survival instinct carried me forward. These days I think about today and tomorrow.

A loud clang and shouting pull me out of my thoughts. I set down my coffee.

“What are they up to down there?”

I stand up and walk over to the inner window of the office, looking down into the dry dock. Several yachts stand in the open hall – half finished, or waiting only for the final touches. Perhaps the most modern in the world. Each one made to order, built to a unique design.

My men are gathered around the largest one. A large panel has slipped. Therra is trying to hold it on his own while the others struggle to hook the crane cables back into place. I head down the stairs, but I don’t hurry. I figure they’ll have it sorted by the time I get there.

For a human, Therra is unbelievably strong – and big. I wouldn’t rule out the possibility that one of his ancestors might have been a giant. But giants don’t exist. Not anymore.

As I get closer, I sniff the air. Sea, varnish, oil, human sweat – all mixed with the sharp smell of fiberglass. I don’t smell any blood, but still – since I did write that workplace safety policy – I ask.

“Anyone hurt?”

“All good, Mr B,” one of the workers shouts back, clipping the last carabiner into place and signalling to the winch operator to pull.

The motor revs up and the cables tighten one after another. But not evenly. I can see it’s going to tilt. And Therra is standing in exactly the wrong spot. Right underneath it.

“Stop it!” I shout to the winch operator, though I know all too well the limits of human reflexes.

I jump onto the deck. Another cable goes taut and the heavy panel begins to rise and twist.

Damn it.

“Therra! Get back!”

I raise my hands toward the panel just as it starts to tilt. Faster than I expected. Suddenly another cable snaps tight and breaks with a sharp metallic scream.

Instinctively I jerk my head aside from the whipping loose cable, which ends up striking Therra full on. In pain, he lets go of the panel. It tips even further – and crashes down on top of us.

Therra roars, his muscles straining as he lifts the panel a few millimetres, but that only makes it press down on me harder. I try to speak, but no air comes into my lungs. I can’t move my arms – they’re trapped. The air, heavy with the smell of Therra’s blood, presses against my face. My body screams with helplessness and hunger. Another crack. Another rib. A fresh, sharp stab of pain in my chest. My mouth fills with my own blood.

The shouting fades into the distance, growing quieter, as everything turns red and then sinks into complete darkness.

*

“Therra! Therra, are you all right?”

“Don’t… yell… just get this off us,” I groan, turning my head toward the motionless Mr B. “And fast.”

A thin line of blood runs from Mr B’s mouth.

No. That’s impossible. I never thought he could bleed – or even pass out. Or… maybe he hasn’t passed out at all?

My own injuries suddenly feel like nothing as panic floods over me.

“Come on, hurry up!”

I try to lift the panel again, just a little, but it only shifts more weight onto Mr B.

“Get a jack under the other end. Quickly.”

“We should call an ambulance,” one of the workers suggests.

“No.” I hope I sounded firm enough to stop them trying. “Find Mario. And bring that jack already.”

Lying on the ground, I can’t see what they’re doing. But I hear hurried footsteps around us and the winch starting up again. The panel tilts toward me once more.

“Stop! I need a jack on my side too before this thing cuts us in half.”

Mario appears beside me with a worried look, glancing at Mr B as he crouches down.

“What can I—” he starts to ask, but I cut him off.

“Call Doc – Matt. Tell him to get here immediately – Mr B is hurt. Badly.”

“Okay.”

“I mean now. Not whenever you get around to it.”

“Right, right…” He jumps up and hurries toward the offices.

Normally I’m calmer than this, but with that much weight on his chest, no one could stay level-headed for long.

“Therra, get ready – it’s moving,” someone warns from nearby. The winch roars again, the panel trembles, and at last I feel the pressure easing.

Slowly it rises. I test my limbs. Arm, arm, leg, leg. All still there. Hands grab my shoulders and pull me out.

I hiss as sudden pain rushes through me. Maybe I’m not completely fine after all.

“Easy, easy…”

“Earlier you said fast.”

My gaze slips to Mr B, then up at the panel still hovering above us like a guillotine, only higher now.

“Get it away from there. Carefully. We don’t know what’s broken.”

I struggle into a sitting position, leaning my back against the ship’s railing, and watch as they carry Mr B to a safer spot.

Where the hell is Matt?

*

The unexpected call interrupts a peaceful afternoon.

“I have to go, darling. Something’s happened at the shipyard. B is hurt. I’ll call when I know more.”

I don’t wait for a reply – I’m already gone. I stop by the clinic to grab my bag and throw a few pouches of blood into a small cooler. I portal into B’s office, but it’s empty. I look down into the hall, then hurry downstairs with the bags.

I go to Therra first. It’s not like him to just sit around – he must be seriously hurt. I crouch beside him, my hand on his wrist, checking his pulse.

“What happened?”

“A panel fell on us. But I’m fine, doc. Check on Mr B.”

“He’ll heal on his own. You won’t. Don’t move.”

I glance around – no one seems to be watching. I close my eyes for a moment and shift my inner focus. When I look up again, I see things others can’t. I slowly run my gaze over Therra. His bones, veins, and internal organs outline themselves before me. Hairline fractures in four ribs, but no breaks. However, a vessel near his stomach has been damaged, and with every beat his heart pumps more blood into his abdomen.

I can’t fix this here. But there’s no time to take him to a hospital either. I concentrate and portal the company ambulance into the parking lot outside. I blink a few times, then look up again.

“Hey!” I wave one of the workers over. “Two of you get down to the ambulance and bring the stretcher.”

“Take Greg,” Therra adds. “He might know which—”

“Don’t talk. If possible, don’t do anything. Breathe slowly.”

“Mr B—”

“Fine. I’ll check on him until the stretcher gets here.”

I walk over to the cabin where the workers have laid B.

“Everyone out.”

It’s easier to work when no one is watching. As soon as I step inside, I understand Therra’s concern. B’s chest is crushed inwards, like he’s been run over by a truck. His shirt is soaked with blood. If my nose isn’t deceiving me, his own. There’s no point checking for a pulse. I know there isn’t one.

With quick movements I open my bag, pull out a pouch of blood, and hang it from the unfinished cabin window. I cut open B’s shirt. For a moment I forget how to breathe. Then I take out the proper needle and tubing and connect them to the pouch. I guide the needle straight into his heart. I set it to a slow, steady drip and head back out. There’s little more I can do for him. I trust he’ll recover on his own. Therra, on the other hand, truly needs me.

I wave one of the workers closer.

“Name?”

“George Wilkins.”

“Stand here by the door, George. Don’t let anyone in or out. Do you have a phone?” I hold out my hand.

“Uh… yes…” He hesitates, but hands it over. I can see the stretcher arriving in the meantime.

“If Mr B wakes up… you’ll notice, because he’ll probably start screaming. Call me immediately.” I type in my number. “And get off the boat as fast as you can.”

I leave the spluttering George behind and help get Therra onto the stretcher.

As we head out, I turn back.

“George stays to watch Mr B. The rest of you should go home. Therra agrees, right?”

I glance at him and take hold of the hand he was trying to lift.

“I told you not to move.”

The workers help load Therra into the ambulance.

“You all go home too,” I say, closing the door behind us.

“A small aorta has been damaged,” I explain to Therra. “I’m going to put you under, make an incision beneath the ribs, and patch up what’s torn.” I’m already getting out the instruments. “Of course, you can say no. But then you’ve got about fifteen minutes.”

“Do it, Matt.”

I nod and continue with the usual procedures, focusing entirely on Therra.

*

The shipyard empties. The workers leave. The usual hum of machines gives way to the murmur of the sea and the cries of a few gulls. I’ve never heard them in here before. Echoing off the walls of the hall, it feels as if I’m standing in the middle of the ocean. I stare at the half-finished stern of the yacht, my thoughts drifting.

What happens now? And what happens tomorrow?

The owner is dead. That much is certain.

I don’t turn around. I don’t need to. I saw what he looked like. I saw he wasn’t breathing.

I don’t even understand why I have to watch over a corpse. Why me?

Probably just until they notify the authorities and the officials arrive. The yard will be shut down.

I’ve got a bit saved up, but I’ll need to find a new job urgently. I’ll have to dig out my CV and add these last three years. Not that I’ll be getting a reference. I just hope Therra pulls through.

But now that no one’s here, I can move further away.

The doctor said if he wakes up he’ll scream, and that I should get off the boat.

No one wakes up from that.

Maybe he’s turned him into some kind of zombie?

I climb down from the ship.

If he screams, I’ll hear it from farther away.

I head toward the changing rooms. If I have to leave quickly, at least I should be ready. I change into my street clothes and pack everything from my locker that belongs to me. No telling when I’d be able to come back for it. Not until after the police investigation. Deaths have to be investigated. Especially when the owner dies. That could take weeks, months even. I hope we at least get our final pay. But from whom?

I shut the locker. No point putting the padlock back on. I turn toward the door.

I freeze. My mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

Mr B is standing in front of me.

With glowing eyes, his shirt hanging in tatters from his shoulders, leaving his chest exposed. I can’t tear my gaze away from the heart beating behind his shattered ribs.