Update October 2021: Since this story was first posted I've changed and rewritten it as part of a compilation. If you want to read a better version of this story, along with others like it, click the link below for directions on where my chapbook Death of Dreams can be downloaded or purchased.
As our cargo ship sank we huddled together in the waterproof helm. Through my harsh panicked breaths, all I could think was that I’d never felt rain before. Of course, that didn’t make me special. No one else I knew had ever felt rain before either. But as we slowly inched towards our inevitable death I stared out the window as the poisoned rain fell against the glass and wondered what it felt like.
“Maybe they’ll rescue us in time,” the first mate broke the silence, eternally hopeful and optimistic. But this time even he didn’t sound as if he really believed that.
“With what,” the cook snapped back, running his hands through his grey tinged hair again. It was already standing up from a combination of sweat and frustrated tugging. “No other boat is going to chance sinking with us, and even if they did we’d have to make it through all that water!”
Together we followed his gesturing hand to look at the drizzle outside in solemn contemplation, fear evident on several faces. The waterproof suits were kept below deck, out of our reach, and there were no tarps or even extra jackets that could be used in a pinch in what had become our tiny prison. A person might be able to make a run for it if you could wash off in treated water immediately after. But the toxins in untreated water would kill you in a few weeks anyway. It wasn’t worth it, not to most sailors. Better to throw yourself into the sea and get the poisoning over with quickly.
Travis Wright, a new conscript, was sitting next to me with tears running down his face. Like the rest of us, he knew the risks of sailing across these toxic seas, even in these big metal tubs with safety measures everywhere you look. But like the rest of us he never imagined he would be the one other ships whispered about over cups of weak coffee in the galley. It always happened to someone else.
Desperate to lighten the mood I spoke up into the quiet room.
“At least we don’t need to worry about getting eaten by sharks.” As I knew it would, the old sailing adage made the more seasoned men chuckle. Sharks, like boogeymen, were nothing more than a myth these days. Nothing alive was in the sea.
“Or drowning,” the captain chipped in softly. The laughter cut off. We all nodded. A few minutes in the water would kill us before our arms even got tired from trying to swim. Not that any of us could swim. Only rich folk with money to burn on pools of treated water could afford to learn. It was an obsolete skill, no one needed to know how to swim. Not even sailors. Like I said, nothing alive was in the sea.
The ship shuddered and I grabbed frantically at a table that was bolted to the floor. A few cried out, calling for their loved ones or begging until it stopped. No one judged their fellows for crying, it was a time for tears. But the Captain’s eyes were dry as he stared outside at the rain with me.
We sat much lower in the water now. The surface of the water was getting closer. A few more flooded areas on the ship and we will be lost.
“Well,” the captain said, getting to his feet, “it’s been an honor gentlemen.” He let out a deep sigh and a sort of crazed curiosity lit his wrinkled eyes.
“I’ve always wanted to know what it felt like to stand in the rain,” he took off his cap, exposing his shaved and balding head. His jacket went next. All we could do was stare in horror as he stripped down to nothing but his pants. “There was this old romance movie my nan loved where the couple kissed in the rain, the real rain.”
With that, he walked across the helm and opened the door. None of us moved, scared of his madness, and scared to get wet from the rain. Even if it was just for a few more minutes, we wanted to live. The door clicked shut behind him. His boots clacked outside as he walked across the deck with his arms spread wide and his face tilted to the sky. Then he vanished from our view.
After his exit, no one felt like talking. We sat in silence for long minutes and thought, and I watched the rain hit the glass on the window.
Then an odd thumping sound came to us through the storm, reverberating in our tiny dry sanctuary. I and a few others jumped to our feet and rushed to the window.
“It’s-” someone gasped.
“A helicopter!” I yelled.
The rest of the men scrambled up and crowded around the windows. Tears of relief filled my eyes and there were shouts and celebrations ringing through the helm. The copter hovered over our hiding place and a plastic shield dropped from the landing gear to protect us from the rain. Once the water was blocked we all ran as quickly as we could to the ladder and climbed for our lives.
Safely shut in the helicopter, surrounded by cheers and weeping, I leaned against the window and looked down as our cargo ship sank into the waves. Before it went under I saw a pale form lying prone, dead, on the deck. The captain had gone down with his ship.
As they sank under the poisoned Atlantic ocean together a violent feeling of jealousy ripped through me. I wanted to know if the rain was worth it.
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