Glass doors and stairways lead to multiple open decks, which would be great on a sunny summer day, but everyone stays inside the glassed-in area today. There’s a snack bar, where passengers line up to get coffee and breakfast. We seek out the location of the lifeboats and flotation devices, and assign a lifeboat to each of us to man—if things work out to enable us to man them. That’s the thing. Who knows how this goes down? Who knows how hard that bump is when the ferry hits the wall? And what else happens that we don’t know about? I know there’s got to be something that puts people on the floor before the jolt.
Once we feel comfortable with the layout, we find a spot with a table by the window and sit around it, keeping our duffel bags close by.
“This feels weird,” Trey mutters. He drums his knuckles on the table. “It’s really different compared to the other ones.”
I nod. “The others were high tension, counting down to an exact time, and then over in seconds. This one’s going to feel like it’s going in slow motion, I think.”
Rowan and Sawyer study the list of victim descriptions and look around for matches. Ben pulls his list out too. “This could be heartbreaking if we let it be,” he says. I follow his line of sight to a family with a baby coming on board.
And I know what he means. I’m glad he said it, because that means he’s thinking the way you have to think when you are doing a job like this.
I text Tori, letting her know our status, and she replies immediately, saying things are getting crazy strong. As the ferry’s engines rev and we begin to pull away, I can only hope the crazy strong vision is because it’s imminent, and not because we’re doing something wrong.
“We’re moving,” I say. I look around at the people who stand by the windows, watching us leave land, and everything inside me wants to scream, “Go back!”
Trey fidgets. After a moment he stands up. “I’m going outside to look for more life vests. I can’t stand sitting here.”
And I watch the time, knowing there’s only so far we can go before the pilot—or whoever is sailing this thing—will take a sharp turn south.
Thirty-Nine
The minutes tick away, and soon we are past the pier and on the open lake. The ferry speeds up and flies over the choppy water. And damn, it’s rough. People take their seats and try to keep their coffee from spilling. A few stumble to the bathrooms, and I see somebody puking into a white barf bag. I look at Sawyer, who is gripping the table with one hand and staring at his victim list with the other. He looks ill.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah. Trying not to be sick. I’m not good with spinning rides at theme parks, either.”
I smile and reach into my bag. “You’ll do better if you look out the window rather than at the paper.” I pull a box of Dramamine out and give him a dose, along with a small bottle of water. “Try this.”
He downs the pills and looks out the window through half-slit eyes.
Rowan leans over, her sweet brown eyes troubled. “I only see one person who vaguely matches any of the descriptions of the victims,” she says quietly. “That guy over there.”
“We might need to move around a little to find everyone. And there’s the first-class cabin—there could be people in there who we can’t see.”
“Some of the descriptions are pretty general,” Sawyer says. He keeps his eyes on the horizon.
I check my phone for what must be the twentieth time, and then glance around, nervous. “We should be turning soon,” I mutter. I stand up to see if I can keep my balance. The rocking is getting more and more pronounced, and hardly anybody is trying to walk around.
Ben looks at me, concern in his eyes. “Where’s Trey?”
“I was just wondering that.” And then I see him pushing open the door to come inside the cabin. The wind catches the door and he has to pull it closed. His hair is everywhere, and he looks damp, but not soaked. He makes his way over to our table like a drunk, staggering from side to side trying to stay level.
“Jesus futhermucker,” he says under his breath, grabbing the table and swinging heavily into a chair. “There. Well, that was an adventure.” He catches his breath and grins at Ben, who is looking rather stern.
“What’s the status?” Trey asks.
“Rowan thinks she found one person on the list,” I say. “That guy with the tie.” Everybody turns, and I feel like we’re in an episode of Scooby-Doo. “Don’t all look at once, gosh.” I duck when the guy looks at us and frowns.
“I don’t know anymore,” Rowan says. “He’s a maybe.”
“That’s it?” Trey says.
“So far,” she says.
I look at the time. It’s been thirty minutes, and according to my compass app, we’re still heading northeast.
“Hey, Sawyer?” I ask.
“Yeah, baby.” He peels his eyes from the horizon and looks at me.
“Why aren’t we turning?”
“I don’t know.”
I catch Trey’s eye, and I don’t have to say anything for him to know I’m getting anxious. “We should be turning,” I say again.
Rowan bites her lip and stands up. “I need a new angle,” she says. She walks forward like she’s climbing a hill, and then suddenly lurches the rest of the way across the expanse of the ferry, grabbing the backs of chairs and whatever else she can reach. She disappears around a corner. I stare out the window at the rolling waves and whitecaps gnashing at the ferry. The sky gets noticeably lighter over the next few minutes. We have outrun the storm.