V7 Sneak Preview #3 (April Fools)

#1

May 10, 2015
Fishing Boat Islendingr
Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean

Today was the day. After ten years of deep-sea fishing, ten years of taking unnecessary risks in search of one big catch, today was the day that Gunner Stähl drew the line in the sand. He'd had enough.

As he peered through his worn binoculars out into the ocean, his lips were pursed, his body wrought with frustration. Magnus had - as he often did - talked a big game about the undiscovered country, the hundreds of unpillaged miles of the sea that was theirs for the taking. But while the Captain was charismatic enough, and their vessel large enough for the long journey, there had been something about taking the ship this far away from Norway that had rankled him. He hadn't been alone, of course, but the dissent from the crew had been limited to mere caution, which Magnus had abated with more than the usual port landings on their way. Having a day to sightsee or pick up supplies in a variety of coastal cities was a nice perk, but Gunner was a fisherman. He wasn't here for a pleasure cruise; he was here to work. Had he wanted to be able to relax and live a life of luxury, he would have gone to work in the mines. Luxury didn't suit him. He opened his nostrils and breathed in some of the fresh sea air. No, this was where he wanted to be. Where he belonged.

He just wasn't sure about this particular voyage.

Australia was a long way away, and there was many a rumour about pirates, about ships going missing in the vicinity, and Australian fishermen were avoiding this particular section of the sea. For whatever reason, being here seemed like an ill omen. Standing on the crow's nest that looked over the ship, Gunner put the binoculars down and sighed. The wind blew through his dirty blonde hair as the boat cut through the water, endless ocean at either side. They hadn't yet reached their destination, but too many things had already gone wrong. The water recirculation pump had failed mere days into the voyage, and that had necessitated one more stopover sooner than they'd hoped. The kitchen freezer had failed without them realizing it and they had been forced to throw out all of their spoiled meat, which meant cheese sandwiches for a week before they'd been able to replace it. Another week into the trip, they'd been forced to leave Lars behind in Africa when he'd somehow contracted dysentery. Gunner knew of sailors getting scurvy from a lack of vitamin C, but dysentery?

The rest of the crew had started to talk, but still, they had pressed on.

Scratching his beard - now quite sizeable after weeks without a razor, Gunner leaned against the basket of the crow's nest and shook his head. He'd known that there were perils about being out at sea for a month or more, but this... it seemed like an extravagance. It barely seemed worth it. They'd been travelling for weeks, and for what? When one of their fuel pumps had clogged and almost started a fire, what had started as murmurs from the crew had become much louder. They had become discussions. Conversations. As the first mate, Gunner knew it was his responsibility to keep everything in order, but he was starting to have his doubts. He trusted Magnus - he'd been fishing with him for the majority of the decade, but now?

Even Gunner was starting to wonder.

Less than an hour before, Magnus had called him into his cabin and admitted that the radar had gone down, and they were off-course. That had been almost the last straw, though there was still the emergency transmitter. Magnus had begged Gunner to help him get the boat back on course, and so here he stood. Looking out into the ocean, trying to find some landmark, some fellow ship, something - hell, anything that would help them pick back up.

That would save Magnus his pride.

And better yet? Save their lives.

Looking through the binoculars again, Gunner felt weary. Barely forty years old, he felt older today. Sad to say, there was nothing to see. No islands in the distance, no ships passing by. He scanned the water; nothing. Flicking the emergency transmitter seemed an inevitability at this point. It was disappointing; he knew that Magnus would feel like a failure and the rest of them would-

"Hey!"

His own voice almost surprised him, but he'd done a quick double-take to confirm what his brain was telling him he saw. Squinting through the lenses of the binoculars, his jaw dropped slightly. What he'd just written off as sea debris had gotten closer, and with a chill he'd realized that it was anything but. Down on deck, Alexander had looked up at him quizzically. Gunner pointed out into the ocean emphatically.

"Get the skiff! Someone's in the water! There's a person in the water!"

The urgency sprung the crew in to action, and Gunner himself quickly started to climb down to join in. He was absolutely certain right now - there was a body in the water. It was a sinister business to do retrieval of a body, but it was every fisherman's duty to help bring a potentially fallen brother home. They'd all lost friends at sea, and each one of them took this incredibly seriously.

By the time he'd gotten down from the perch, Magnus had emerged from the cabin with the first aid kid and the AED and the skiff had already been launched. For a group of grizzled fishermen, most of whom had questionable pasts, they were probably as efficient as any trained search and rescue team. It was a pensive few minutes as they watched the skiff stop, pull something in out of the water, and make haste back to the boat. No one on the boat said much of anything. They all knew. The day had taken a dark turn.

Alexander was the first one off the skiff, and he carried the body underneath the arms, while Johan carried the legs. As he leaned in to get a better look, Gunner was shocked by Alexander's panicked declaration.

"He's still alive!"

As the two men laid the survivor on the deck, everyone sprung into action. Gunner himself had basic first aid training, and so he stepped forward immediately to look at what they were dealing with. Much to his surprise, the waterlogged survivor they'd pulled from the ocean was a young man. He couldn't have been there very long - especially if he still had a pulse. The man's clothes were soaked through, and his lips were dry, likely from dehydration. Whomever this was, they had likely been through hell and against all odds, had lived to tell the tale.

Cracking some smelling salts and gesturing for someone to bring him some water, Gunner waved the salts in front of the man's face. Water was going to be the most important thing; else he didn't have a chance.

After a moment, the smelling salts jolted consciousness back into the man, who awoke with a gasp, eyes wide and looking around. Gunner smiled at him reassuringly, the rest of the crew leaning in to see. Eyes wide, the man looked around wildly, grabbing for the bottle of water that Gunner held out for him. His breathing normalized, and after the survivor downed the entire bottle, he managed to croak out one word - in English, much to Gunner's surprise.

"Wh- where?"

Most of the crew didn't speak English, though Gunner was one of the few who could converse adequately. Gunner reassuringly patted the survivor's back, having propped him up to drink the water, his English thickly accented as he tried not to sound too surprised.

"You're on a Norwegian fishing vessel. It's a miracle that we found you."

A miracle. The survivor let the words filter through his head for a moment. Some might call it luck, others would call it long odds. A wry smile crept upon the survivor's face. That fit how his life had gone so far. It wasn't the first time that he'd survived against impossible odds; hell, it wasn't even the second. He wasn't a religious man, but after yet another brush with death, the survivor couldn't help but wonder if someone up there liked him. It made sense. It was a cosmic joke that he had found his way back yet again.

After all, it seemed like the universe wasn't quite finished with Adam Dodd just yet.