Excerpt: The Atlas

“So, what do you plan on doing now?”

Dan turns away from the beauty of the open ocean, to watch Rick walk across the deck toward him. It’s probably all in his head, but he thinks Rick even walks how an FBI agent is supposed to walk. The long, purposeful gate those hero cops always had in movies. Rick takes a place beside him at the rail, waiting expectantly, question still lingering in the salty wind. “Go back to the Caribbean and my whales, actually.” With his answer, Dan sees a tense frown pull at the edges of Rick’s lips for a short moment. Ignoring it, he turns back to the water. “I’ll have to find a small schooner, something I can sail on my own, since I doubt anyone will be looking to join me.” He doesn’t think he’ll mind that too terribly much. There are worse way to live life, he’s sure, than on the surface of crystal waters with whales bellow him.

There’s a heavy, loaded silence that weighs uncomfortably at the air before Rick finally breaks it. “You wouldn’t even consider staying here?” His voice is a low murmur, and Dan can’t tell if it’s genuine surprise in there, or just plain disappointment. Either way, Dan doesn’t risk looking over at him.

“I became a whale scientist for a reason, Agent Harvard. I’m a whale guy, an ocean guy. I like being out on my own out there. Being here, on the Atlas,” he makes a broad waving gesture to take in the entirety of the ship, “it reminds me about everything I enjoy leaving when I go out.” His eyes linger on the few morning birds who linger on the decks bellow, taking in the crisp morning air before breakfast, before finally turning.

Whatever it is he was expecting, it’s not the Marshal’s clenched jaw and almost glaring eyes. “We’re already running low on supplies. We barely managed to get ourselves through that storm. People are terrified. They have no clue what’s happened to their family and friends back home, how long they’ll have to be out here, or how to handle living in a glorified hotel on the ocean.” His features tighten, voice dropping to a low bitterness. “You could genuinely help us, not only outlast the ocean, but survive, and you’re saying ‘no’?” There’s no question about it now, that’s disdain, Dan’s ninety-five percent sure of it. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Dan takes a moment to attempt to gather his thoughts before responding lamely with, “I didn’t realize…” which is a blatant lie, and from the way Rick rolls his eyes and interrupts with a loud snort, the Marshal knows it too.

“You’d really have no problem leaving these people to die?” Rick asks, incredulous, simply unwilling to accept that someone would care so little for his fellow man, especially at a time of crisis.

With Rick’s eyes boring into him, Dan rubs a calloused hand over his face, week old stubble scratching at his palm roughly. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Ever since he got here he’s been focused on one goal, getting back to the Caribbean, and he’s been shutting out everything else. Opening his eyes, he looks around the ship again. Three months at sea and it doesn’t look half bad, but there are already patches of paint that are starting to dim with the erosion of the salt air, and he remembers the spotting lighting from last night, the restrictions on electricity and the generators. Rick and the Captain had explained earlier that they’re getting help from a US Navy ship in the area for fuel.

It takes a long couple of heartbeats before he responds, refusing to meet Rick’s steal gaze. “They won’t die without me.” He tries to sound confident and sure, but it’s difficult to do when Rick is right there, staring at him as though Dan’s already ordered the entire ship sent to the gallows. “You already said you have the Navy giving a helping hand.” For that, he gets another rough snort.

“The Navy’s good for implementing order. Getting us fuel and keeping pirates from the ship is a far cry from making sure we don’t die of scurvy.”

“I’m sure Sally’s going to stay. She practically has her doctorates already. She knows what you’ll need. She’s got it all.” But she doesn’t have the experience. Doesn’t have the same life knowledge gained from a decade of post-doctorate research on the sea. She has the book smarts, but she’s still young. She’s not ready to have the weight of responsibility that’s going to come with keeping a ship like the Atlas alive and kicking. It’s him. He’d be better to stay. Dan knows it, and when he glances over at the Marshal beside him, the look in Rick’s stormy eyes says he does too, but neither of them say anything. Instead Dan assures himself as much as Rick that, “You’ll be fine.”

The Marshal just nods. “Sure we will.”

They stand in silence on the upper deck, looking out over the ocean as the sounds of activity float up from the decks bellow. Dan tries to go back to day dreaming about long days spent floating in crystal waters with humpbacks and dolphins swimming beneath him, the spray of the ocean, the hard slap of tails against water; but all he can think about is the Atlas, alone at sea, a crowd of terrified faces closing in on Sally, whose attempting to explain the differences between kelp and how to tell which are edible.

Through his thoughts, he hears Rick let out a long, disappointed sigh, and the patter of his feet as he walks away. Dan tells himself, again, that this is not his fault. This ship is not his obligation. But the arguments don’t feel as solid as they did before, and leave him with a bitterness in the back of this throat and an uncomfortable weight in his belly. He tells himself he’ll regret it if he stays, that it’ll be more trouble than it’s worth and he’ll get as much reward for saving these people as he did for being a loyal husband – and just look at how that turned out.

Moral compass spent, Dan lets a low sigh spill from his lips as he stares out at the ocean and the early morning sky, pushing his thoughts back to allow himself a few moments reprieve.