Andy climbed below and welded a hand to the galley counter, the boat’s roll forcing him to step heavily for balance as he foraged the galley lockers. Mitchell was still laughing. Andy glanced at him with a curious disdain. Chewing crackers Andy pulled a plastic jug with a long drainage tube in the lid from Mitchell’s gear in the quarter berth. He placed it on the cabin sole beside the berth and connected Mitchell’s catheter then threw his blankets over him. Mitchell didn't own a sleeping bag or a windbreaker or sunglasses or a watch. Andy thought he was one of the stubborn men who clung to the old ways, unwilling to change. He was a little bit right but Mitchell had spent everything to buy and commission the sloop. There was nothing left for frills.

Using the overhead grab rails Andy went forward through the head into the vee berth. Mitchell hooked his wrist into a sail tie looped into the grab rail above and pulled up onto his elbow then turned onto his side. He reached beneath the covers to bend his knees for balance. His legs were freezing now. He didn’t make body heat and the cold sea was depleting the little body temperature he did have, causing him greater fatigue. He surrendered his head to the pillow.

"No!"

Mitchell raised his head. "What the hell?"

"A ferry!" Andy screamed and crashed from the forehatch into his vee berth.

"Get a grip!" Mitchell shouted as explosions of diesel engines amplified through the hull.

"It’s bearing down. We’re going to die."

"A real grip, goddammit! Find a hand hold!" Mitchell hooked the sail tie and judged the ferry’s distance. "See us," he prayed. "Please see us."

Reverberations ear-split the cabin until a gigantic wake hurled the sloop sidelong out of the water, slamming Mitchell backward. He pressed his head quickly against the bulkhead to keep from being knocked senseless as they fell like a breached whale full on the sloop’s beam. Sound exploded through the boat, every fitting strained as the hull fought to right itself, swinging into the wind and rolling hard again. A groan escaped Mitchell. Diesel echoes subsided as the ferry gained distance astern. Mitchell flexed his shoulders and craned his neck.

"No anchor light," Andy muttered, barely audible, muffled under something thick. "More ferries. We’ll be killed."

"Stop your goddamn raving and go to sleep." Mitchell hiked the blanket onto his shoulder. His head was in the pillow, eyes throbbing. "We’re in a general anchorage," he mumbled, half-conscious. "We have a right to be here."