More waves hit the other side of the boat and I fell the opposite way back out of the bunk, plunking me on the deck outside and helped by a strong push from Ally herself who used her bare arms and legs to heave me off.

“OK, OK...my God.” I picked myself off the pitching deck and scampered.

Gun was dozing on his lower bunk with a plate of half-eaten food to his side, insects on it, and a battery-operated fan on his chest blowing in his face. I saw the bugs and got angry that he would leave food like that to attract bugs in the cabin. I flung the plate into the ocean frisbee-style.

All the fatigue hit me and despite the heavy bouncing and splashing of the boat I could fall asleep. Daylight lingered over the horizon. I knocked down a beer, and decided to wake Gun. I had to nudge him hard before he awoke with a sudden jolt. “Sorry, Gun, I wasn’t sure how to get you up. How’s the best way?”

Gun rubbed his face and scalp up and down to orient himself. “Like that. That’s fine.” He checked the time, wondering.

“We might be near Bimini,” I told him. “Figured you’d want to know.”

“What are you doing? You should be sleeping,” he answered.

“No relief came until just now. That old guy is up there, the one who lost control of himself on your last trip, you know...”

“Yeah. I know. Have you been steering all night?” He seemed worried.

“Yeah, we should be in Cuban waters by now!” I joked. “Or else, we’re heading for Boston! I’m not sure anymore.”

“Better not be in Cuban waters,” Gun replied. “Why didn’t you get me up?”

“You asked, so I did my best.”

He set up the Global Position Finder, pressing some buttons.

“SEARCHING FOR SATELLITES…” was the finder’s readout.

Gun explained the delay, “It’s a real old GPS. Takes a while to lock on the satellites for our position, speed and whatnot.” He picked a piece of food out of his teeth and made a smacking noise in his mouth.

I got concerned as a more time went by. Gun shook his head, pessimistic.     “ACQUIRING SATELLITES...” displayed the readout. Gun searched around the cabin for something.

“What are you looking for?” I asked.

“My food, what happened to my food?”

“I tossed it overboard. What are you leaving rotting food in the cabin for?”

“You tossed it?” He smirked.

“There were bugs on it. You leave food out? Don’t do that.”

“I always have food near me. I wake up for a minute and eat, then I go back to sleep. That way I don’t have to get out of bed.”

I shook my head at him. He was a man of few and simple needs, but such a slob living right next to me all this time. Looking at my bunk, I told him, “There are big cockroaches on this boat, I don’t want them in bed with me.”

Gun smiled. “In the galley I saw one this big.” He extended his thumb and index finger almost their full distance apart. The Magellan instrument beeped and he was shaking his head pessimistically again.

“What is it?” I said.

“Hmm. Right. Almost to Cat Cay. Let’s anchor somewhere.”

“Is that good?”

He sprung out of bed, put a few things in his shorts and climbed up the side of the boat, replying optimistically, “Not bad, Caleb, not that bad.”

Staggering drowsiness overcame me after that last beer, but I managed to floss, rubber tip and brush my teeth in cloudy water before passing out.

NEXT CHAPTER