Free We Float Upon a Painted Sea by Christopher Connor

deduction.” 
    “Elementary dear boy,” retorted Bull through chattering teeth.
    Andrew frowned again. He sized Bull up and said,
    “So why were you naked, apart from your life jacket that is?
    “Why does it make you feel uncomfortable?”
    “No, I was just wondering.”
    “I was showering when the accident happened,” lied Bull.
    “Interesting that you use the word accident .”
    “What else would it be, if it wasn’t an accident?”
    “I don’t know but we know the facts. An accident would imply responsibility, fault, blame…” Bull coughed up some more seawater and forcing his head through the aperture, he spat it back into the ocean. He closed the flap, moved to the far side of the raft and rubbed his exposed legs, trying to prevent them shivering. Bull said, “Don’t you think we should try and turn the lifeboat around and pick up some of the survivors?”
    “This is a life raft,” grunted Andrew, “there are no oars and the raft appears to be drifting away from the ship. The wind and the current are at work. If this was a lifeboat, that would be a different matter. They are usually equipped with several days’ worth of food and water, basic first aid supplies, oars, navigational equipment, solar water stills and fishing equipment, but these items are all missing on this craft. I’ve already checked.” Bull cusped his hands and breathed into them. He said, “No food? So what do we have?”
    “These rafts are only designed as a temporary means of survival, until a rescue party can be assembled “What do we have then?”
    “There are two foil blankets, three flares but they are wet and although we have a hand inflator, there’s no puncture repair kit. I hope we don’t spring a leak. The water bailer is also gone but there is this thing.” Andrew held up a polyester hood attached to a length of rope. “I think it’s a rain catch. We can collect rainwater from the raft’s cover. I think it drains into this bladder.” Bull took it from him and examined it. He put it on his head and said,
    “Are you sure?” Andrew’s eyebrows narrowed in bewilderment.
    “I don’t know. It might be important, so don’t mess about with it.”
    “It will trap some body heat. I read somewhere that you lose...”
    “I’d rather you didn’t wear it. We may need it later on.” Bull ignored his protests. “How come you aren’t wet?” asked Bull.
    Andrew inspected his attire with a sense of intemperance.
    “I am wet but this clothing is designed for survival situations. It is neoprene lined with a water repellent skin so it’s thermally insulated with fast drying qualities. It’s a Roy Beer endorsed Swazi tahr anorak. So are the trousers. Its standard army issue.”
    “So were you in the forces?”
    “You could say that.”
    “I just did.”
     
    Andrew sighed heavily and moved towards the aperture. He unzipped it and stared out. The mist had lifted and the strong ocean currents and winds had dragged the raft further out to sea. The St Kilda archipelago was now a faint wisp of land on the horizon, rapidly dissolving into the iron grey sky, until finally it was gone. The rugged shorelines, peppered with grey misty cliffs had once appeared ominous from the superficial safety of the ship, but now the absence of land unnerved him. Even the sight of the ship’s upturned hull seemed to shrink behind the low slanting sun, reflecting its rays like shards of shimmering red glass. Andrew watched the troubled vessel appearing like a beacon on the horizon. Still no sign of any rescue services, he thought. The clouds gathered once more and snuffed out the illuminating display.
     
    Andrew felt a knot in his stomach – the anxiety returning. He knelt upright, extending his body as far up as possible, groping around the roof of the raft until he came to the apex, where the satellite beacon was located. He examined the snarled remains of the unit and returned the rest of his body inside the raft and said to