The call of duty - My short story entry for We-Write#2

“They say a ship’s run aground over near Harper’s Cove,” said an old man in overalls, hanging up the corded phone. There was a sense of permanence about the Coast Rescue shack, between the scratched furniture and fading paint it looked as though it had sat there near the sea for ages. The midday salty air wisped through the open windows, gently rustling the loose papers on the man’s desk. “John says it’s a real doozy.”

“That's too bad, I was hoping to spend some time in town today,” Becky rolled her eyes, but smiled as she threw on her reflective red jacket. “Do you think we’ll need help from the mainland?”
“Nah, I don’t think so. Probably nothing you can’t handle,” he smiled back, with equal measures of pride and sadness. His own safety jacket was slowly collecting dust on the back of his chair.

“Thanks, Dad,” Becky said as she grabbed the keys off the wall. Stepping past the creaky screen door and off the porch, she could feel the August sun burning down. It was almost the off-season, when things would quiet down. The rolling crashes of the cobalt waves grew louder as she descended the wooden steps down to the rocky beach. It’d be a great day to go swimming, she thought, but duty calls. The tugboat by the dock rose and fell, and with the ease of expertise, she climbed on and started the engine.

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Although Becky internally registered the unforeseen assignment as a somewhat annoying obstacle to her day of fun, it wasn’t entirely a daunting task. She loved her work and much rather go to a dozen calls of duty in the open sea than to sit in a stuffy office, entering data in spreadsheets. Switching to a higher gear, she didn’t mind this call of duty because she believed in the mantra of “helping the world by helping one person at a time”, which in her line of work was a matter of everyday business.

When she stood at the steering wheel of a tugboat, feeling the occasional water spray on her face, she perceived her existential presence with only a thin slice her consciousness. Most of it was delegated to her senses, allowing her to maneuver the tugboat between large waves, directing it to the location of the shipwreck at the Harper’s Cove. A lone albatross soaring high above the ocean could see her bright orange west.

Once she came closer to Harper’s Cove, already from afar she noticed a small dinky old sailboat, with its nose stuck in the shore’s sand. As she approached she put the bullhorn to her lips and hailed

“Boat Ahoy! What’s happened?”

There was no answer. She repeated the hail with the same result. Alarmed, she softly touched tugboat’s nose to the sand, threw the anchor, jumped out into the water and approached the sailboat already from ashore. The deck was high and Becky couldn’t see what was on it.

“He, on the boat. Anyone?”

In response, she heard some the muffled sounds similar to cow’s low.
Becky pulled herself up, climbed over the perils and stepped on the deck. There was no one still. Some noise was coming from the cabins below.

Before going down though, Becky pulled out her walky-talky and contacted Coast Rescue shack

“Calling from the scene. Can you hear me?”

“Hearing you well, baby. What’s going on?”

“I am at the wrecked boat. No one on the deck, but someone’s down in the cabins. I am going down.”

“Don’t go. Let’s call to the mainland.”

“Someone could be wounded there.”

“Ok. You go in, but be very careful and I am calling for help.”

“Ok, I will be. Becky out.”

Carefully, she started going down the stairs to the cabin section. As she was getting lower, a strong smell of alcohol invaded her nostrils. She grimaced with revolution and looked around.

Three burly men lay down on the floor surrounded by several bottles. Seeing her, one of them tried to raise himself into a horizontal position, but slipped and fell on the floor again. He tried to say something but the sounds were coming out muffled.

“What do you want?” Becky came closer and bent down

“Hey, pretty girl,” the man finally was able to utter. “Can you pass me that bottle?” he pointed with his bent finger to the bottle that still stood on the table.

“What!” Becky cried with disgust

“My head hurts. I need just a little swallow. Be a nice girl! Give it to Billie.”

Becky shook her head sarcastically, now in full command of a situation. They probably needed the help from the mainland after all.

THE CONTEST