Free We Float Upon a Painted Sea by Christopher Connor Page A

Bull,
    “Look, it will be getting dark soon. We will need to rely on our own wits until a rescue attempt is made. It’s looking very bleak if I’m being honest. The satellite beacon is busted up.” Andrew stared directly into Bull’s eyes, catching him with a sincere look. Bull resented having his safety bubble burst so soon after finding his refuge. Once more he felt exposed to the natural environment. Andrew continued, “We need get rescued soon or we have merely traded a swift death for a slow one.”
    “Does pessimism come naturally to you or is it something you bottle up for special occasions?” grunted Bull.
    “I’m just stating the facts of our predicament.”
    “So, according to you, we have no chance of survival unless a rescue comes quickly – well that’s just fucking brilliant Sherlock!”
    “I’m not saying we have no chance. I’m just assessing the situation as a means of identifying how best to improve our chances of survival.”
    “We’re likely to die slowly…”
    “This is a normal reaction – seeing yourself as a victim.”
    “No, you said we are likely to die slowly – that’s what you said, didn’t you?” Andrew ignored Bull’s question. He was busy recanting script from his military survival handbook. He continued,
    “The effects of the adrenalin in your bloodstream are wearing off, leaving you with the debilitating emotion of being trapped with an eroding self-belief.”
    “There’s nowt wrong with my self-belief. I’m just cold and hungry, and I wouldn’t mind getting home at some stage.” Andrew was becoming frustrated that his own amateur attempts at field psychology weren’t working. He so desperately wanted to convince Bull that his experience and training endowed him with skills that were going to lead all three of them to safety. Moreover, he needed to be in control, this way his mind would be occupied and focused, extinguishing the inner voices that were ignited by his anxiety. First and foremost, Bull would have to acknowledge that there was a pecking order - so far, he was hopelessly off course with his strategy. Andrew stated,
    “Slowly but surely, you are becoming more conscious of the notion that you are a fatality of an uncontrollable event, and that you have been cast off into an unfamiliar environment.”
    “The sea? What of it? I was floating on the sea, inside a passenger ferry and now I’m still floating on the sea but inside a life raft.”
    “Yes, but when you think that all that lies between you and a mile of deep cold water, is a piece of reinforced black plastic.”
    “Have you ever been asked to talk someone off a ledge?”
    “No.”
    “Somehow, I didn’t think so.”
    “My words may sound harsh but part of the survival process is examining what one is up against.” Andrew wanted to build the calm persona of a man who was in control of his own destiny, regardless of the harsh reality of his environment. He called upon his military training, remembering that overcoming stress was one of the primary obstacles to survival. Stress, thought Andrew, impaired the cognitive process. It increased the chances of making fatal mistakes and it sapped energy levels. Stress was their main enemy. Second on the list was complacency, which his companion seemed to be experiencing. He needed to be reminded of the perils they faced. Bull said,
    “It sounds like this isn’t your first time waiting to be rescued?” Andrew felt a flicker of accomplishment rise from inside. He tried to offer a smile, but his lips curled into a painful sneer. He said,
    “You’re presumption is correct. I’ve had experience of these situations. I know what you’re thinking and you would be right.”
    “I was thinking you’re a jinx,” blurted Bull. Andrew’s eyes narrowed for an instant. Bull unzipped the aperture and looked out. His eyes settling on the surface of the ocean. He considered the dense body of saline water, descending a mile to the ocean floor. Suddenly,