Undertow (6 page)

He appeared to know that too.

6

“You look terrible,” I said to Robbie a few hours later, passing him in the narrow hall on my way to the bathroom. His sallow and dewy complexion did not bode well. “Come here.”

He rolled his eyes and backtracked to me, knowing that I was about to play doctor with him in front of the others while they prepared to go on deck and start pulling pots. Crabbers prided themselves on their strength and fortitude; looking weak was unacceptable. I was surprised that he even listened when I called him over.

I pressed the back of my hand to his forehead and was met with a near inferno. I felt a frown tighten my cheeks as I stared into his eyes. I intended to get my thermometer out to confirm it, but I knew his fever was dangerously high just by the feel of him. My chest tightened slightly, knowing that if he was as ill as I presumed he was and if his condition deteriorated more rapidly than I could manage, he would be stuck in the middle of nowhere with little aid. I needed to fully examine him quickly to know more precisely what he faced. If I misdiagnosed him, it could cost him his life, and I knew it.

“Come with me,” I demanded, grabbing his hand to drag him back down the hall to his quarters. Once there, I forced him onto the bed with the echoes of catcalls drifting into the room behind me, courtesy of the young greenhorn. I slammed the door to shut his calls out.

“It's just a cold, Aesa. I'm fine.”

“This
cold
of yours—” I started, sounding every bit as serious as I felt. “How long have you had it?”

“I don't know,” he replied, slowly leaning back against his pillows. The second he did, an unrelenting cough erupted from him, forcing him back up again. He doubled over, trying to breathe between outbursts. I left to get him a bottle of water and retrieved my medical duffel on the way back. His face was red from the force of his coughing and he was holding his ribs.

“Let me see those,” I demanded, trying to pry his hands away.

“It's nothing—just a couple hairline fractures I got horsing around in town before the season started. I didn't want to tell your dad. I was afraid he would sideline me for the trip.”

“Well, they're making it harder for you to clear out whatever it is you have.”

I attempted to prop him against the wall of his bunk so he could rest, but he winced at the pressure I placed along his spine. His broken ribs story was officially confirmed.

“Robbie, this is no ordinary cold you have,” I scolded, pulling out my stethoscope. “I don't need this thing to know that. You sound like an eighty-year-old smoker.”

“It's really not that bad, Ice.”

I shot him a stern look.

“Sorry,” he said, lifting his arms carefully in surrender. “It's really not that bad,
Doctor
Ice.”

“You guys are incorrigible,” I muttered under my breath while I lifted his shirt up gingerly, pressing the freezing cold end of my stethoscope to his chest. I hoped I wouldn't hear anything more than a little congestion when he inhaled deeply, but I knew that wasn't likely.

“You could have at least warmed—”

“Shhh!” I snapped as I moved the scope around to the various points of auscultation. Once I was satisfied that I'd collected the necessary information, I removed the stethoscope and placed it back in the bag, withdrawing the thermometer next.

“That just goes in my mouth, right?” he asked, eyeing me dubiously from his semi-reclined position.

“Keep it up and I'll put it somewhere else.”

He smiled weakly in response.

“Now is when you decide to get all freaky on me?” he joked. “I'm not really in the mood for it at this very moment.”

I placed the thermometer in his mouth with a frown.

“Robbie, I think you have pneumonia. It's hard to tell for sure—I can't exactly take a chest x-ray right now to confirm it—but even if you don't have that, you've got a really nasty bug. You need to rest and let me monitor you. If you don't, I'm afraid it's only going to get worse, and I don't exactly have a pharmacy on board. I can't do much other than monitor your condition and let Dad know if and when he needs to get the Coast Guard out here.”

“The Coast Guard?” he slurred, trying to talk with the thermometer still in place. “Aesa, don't be so dramatic. I need some food and a little sleep. I'll be fine tomorrow.” He stood up quickly to continue his protestations; the second he did, he wavered slightly, forcing me to catch some of his weight before he crashed to the floor. He was far weaker than I had thought. The expression on his face told me that he had grossly underestimated his condition as well. I couldn't figure out how he had managed to make it through a grueling thirty-hour shift without his body giving out. Fishermen truly were enigmas.

“Maybe you should just let me do my job, Robbie. You get to be the boss on deck. In the infirmary, I reign supreme.” He nodded once, leaning back delicately against the mound of pillows behind him. The thermometer beeped just as he settled in, and I quickly withdrew it from his mouth. “One hundred and three,” I mumbled to myself. “I'm going to find Dad. I'll be right back.”

Without waiting for argument, I quickly exited the room and rushed down the narrow hall to the kitchen, passing the boys as they inhaled their breakfasts, in my quest for the wheelhouse. I ran up the stairs as quickly as I could, wanting to let my father know how potentially serious the situation was with Robbie. He seemed a tad startled by my sudden entrance, quickly looking me over as if I'd been the one hurt. When he seemed satisfied with whatever he was looking for, he spoke.

“Aesa, is something wrong?”

“Yeah, Dad. It's Robbie. He's quite sick.”

“He's been fine this whole time—” he started, turning his attention back to the water.

“That doesn't matter, Dad. He's run-down and injured. I think his lungs have been compromised by the broken ribs he's been hiding from you and the rest of us. Something has settled into his lungs, and the speed with which the infection has taken over makes me wonder if he's going to reach a point soon that will require him to be shuttled back to Alaska for medical help.”

“Are you sure of this?” he asked plainly.

“As sure as I can be. His lungs don't sound clear, and his fever is pretty high, but neither is as bad as it could be. He could potentially turn around, but it would have to happen sooner rather than later.”

“What do you suggest?”

“I think he needs to stay below until his fever returns to a far less threatening temperature and his lungs clear out a bit. I believe he's at a make-or-break point. If he gets any worse over the next twenty-four hours, you'll need to call the Coast Guard.”

He turned to face me again, studying me as he pondered my words.

“Okay,” he relented with a stern nod. “If this is your professional opinion, I will heed it. He stays below until you clear him for duty or tell me to call the Coast Guard.”

The argument I had already started to prepare in my head caught in my mouth as I nearly let it escape. When I realized I didn't have to make it, it took me a moment to recover, stumbling on my words momentarily.

“Okay?” I asked, wondering if I'd somehow misunderstood him.

“Yes. You are a physician, Aesa. You know far more of these matters than I do. However, your recommendation puts the others at a disadvantage on deck. Do you think you're up to helping them as you have been? You will be needed more than before and will be pulling some longer hours yourself.”

I nodded briskly, still slightly stunned at his willingness to follow through with my suggested plan for Robbie.

“Good. Let the others know what's going on, then send Decker up here. I need to have a word with him.”

He set his gaze back to the sea before him and I walked out in silence, stunned by my father's trust in my judgment. Unable to be contained, a smile painted my face while I made my way down the steep stairs to the kitchen area. Once there, I informed the crew about Robbie's condition and my father's orders about having me on deck while Robbie rested. Then I told Decker that his presence was required in the wheelhouse.

He brushed past me on his way to the captain, giving me a tight smile along the way. Needing to check on Robbie, I quickly returned to his room, where I found him asleep against his pillows. He looked pale but peaceful. Grabbing the blanket from the foot of his bed, I pulled it up over him, tucking it in around him so that it wouldn't fall off. I then plucked my duffel off the floor and turned to leave, nearly walking into Decker on my way out.

“How's he doing?” he asked quietly, trying not to disturb Robbie. I pressed my index finger to my mouth and pushed him back out of the room gently, closing the door behind me.

“I'm not sure,” I replied softly. “He's not good, but he's also a strong SOB and stubborn as hell. If he gets the rest he needs, he might just be able to stay here.”

“Good. I'm glad to hear it,” he returned, watching me as I made my way down the hall to my room. “Aesa—your dad just wanted to tell me that he's put me in charge of your safety while Robbie is incapacitated. I hope that's all right with you.”

I bent down to tuck the bag underneath my bed while he hovered outside the door to my room, awaiting a response of some sort.

“Okay,” I replied, turning my attention back to him. His formidable frame blocked out the scant light of the hallway as he towered above me. “He's putting me on deck again; you might have your hands full with that task, you know?”

“I have no doubt that you'll keep me on my toes. I wouldn't expect anything less.” A wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Just keep me away from the rails and we should be good.”

“Going overboard is one of the least likely ways to die on a crab boat, Aesa.”

“I know,” I retorted, standing up before him. “But it'll keep you from having to get wet. I thought you'd appreciate the gesture.” My delivery was perfectly dry, as was my expression. I managed to escape the room before he heard my muffled laughter. Starving, I made my way to the kitchen. I knew that I had only a little time to grab breakfast before my grunt work began. If the impending storm Dad was so concerned about was headed for the crab grounds, we had pots to pull and crab to catch in a hurry. With any luck, we could succeed in that task while escaping the storm's reach. To be at all effective on deck, I was going to need food, and lots of it.

Decker followed me to the kitchen, taking a seat across from me at the table. Judging by his absence, Damon had already cleared out and headed for the deck, and Andy was just finishing up. Brad was on his second or third helping, eating in the way that only teenagers could. I sat silently while I inhaled as many helpings of biscuits and gravy as my stomach would allow. The boys looked on, clearly entertained by my performance, but smart enough not to comment.

Finishing before them, I cleared my plate from the table and cleaned it before heading to the gear room to suit up. The boat was rocking harder than normal as the weather took a turn for the worse. It did nothing to help my food settle gracefully in my stomach. As I tossed on my jacket, I worried about Robbie, wondering whether, if his condition deteriorated enough to need outside help, the Coast Guard would arrive in time. There were only so many choppers to go out on rescues, and if the weather continued to pick up as Father thought it would, the likelihood of them being out on another call was high. That would leave me to deal with Robbie's decline alone, without the tools I might need. And it would leave him at the mercy of my skills under those circumstances, his life potentially hanging in the balance.

Illness was yet another way to die at sea.

That thought plagued me while we worked doggedly all day, pulling less than stellar pots and stacking them on deck. We never broke for lunch and continued on well into the evening hours. By the time we had the stack tied down tight, I was exhausted. I schlepped my way back below deck and managed to make it to Robbie's room to check on him. His condition was no better, but it was no worse either. Stable seemed an acceptable status for the time being.

Pushing Robbie's sweat-drenched hair gently off his face, I turned to leave his room, desperately wanting some sleep of my own. I crashed down hard on my bed, wondering if I was going to have to spend the next day on deck, and, if so, if I'd live through the process. Exhaustion was a dangerous companion when on the deck of a crab vessel. Unfortunately for me, it was mine nonetheless.

7

Much to my surprise, my next day spent laboring on deck was injury-free. Robbie's condition had been stable when I checked him in the morning, leaving me free to take his place on deck yet again. Since it appeared the growing storm cell was continuing on its projected path and headed right for the crab grounds, the crew and I spent eighteen hours straight emptying pots and stacking them on the deck in preparation for our retreat. I may not have sliced my hand or gotten hit by the heavy pots as they swung wildly with the building winds, but that didn't mean I was in good shape by the end.

My hands felt utterly mangled and torn. I could barely make a fist, the entire thing too swollen to actually close. Though I had spent the majority of the day sheltered from the weather and dangerous activity on deck, tucked away with Brad as we prepped the bait boxes and ground more frozen bait, I found the thirty-five pound blocks of frozen fish nearly impossible to grasp by the end of the day. Brad seemed impressed with my ability to keep up, but it was a front on my part. Inside I was crying, the pain in my hands nearly intolerable. I didn't want to embarrass myself or my heritage by bowing out, so I continued until exhaustion and limited function threatened my efficacy and safety on deck. The second I started to struggle, Decker sent me inside. Thankfully, it was only an hour before the rest finished up.