by Robin Ray
Chapter II
Sunday, April 19.
The next day, five survivors of the shipwreck are adrift on the lifeless Sea Monkey somewhere in the Atlantic. The five – Grace, Migdalia, Silverleaf, Rochelle, and Dr. Scott – gaze out wearily at the eerily calm sea, staring at the wood and plastic debris strewn all over. As far as they can see, they’re the only ones alive after yesterday’s nightmare. Tattered, twisted and bruised, it’s obvious the hurricane’s fury was impossible to ignore.
Rochelle is in tears. Grace has her arm draped around her. Silverleaf’s right hand is over his heart, almost as if he’s shocked to find he’s still alive. Dr. Scott is continuously bailing water out of the damaged boat with a metal bucket. Migdalia, peering in the distance, sees something approaching slowly.
“¡Mire!” she shouts. “Look! ¡Allá!”
“Where?” Silverleaf asks. “I can't see. I lost my glasses.”
“Looks like el Capitan. It is!”
Wieck, paddling a raft, waves hello to the group as he comes closer. Minutes later, they help him board the damaged boat which wobbles menacingly when he climbs in.
“Are you the only survivor?” Silverleaf asks.
“I'm afraid so. Everyone else is gone. All I can see for miles is debris.”
“What about the lifeboats? Where are they?”
“They went down with the ship.”
Rochelle cries louder. Grace wraps her arms around her.
“Easy, easy,” she murmurs, trying to console her. “It’s all right. We made it.”
“We’re never going back!” Migdalia laments.
Silverleaf rubs her shoulder. “We mustn't give up hope.”
Dr. Scott turns to Wieck.
“Help is on its way, right Captain?”
“Yes. Um, I never caught your name.”
“It’s Dr. Scott.”
Wieck turns to Rochelle. “What about you?”
“My name’s Rochelle,” she answers.
“Milton Silverleaf,” the sullen older man reveals by way of introducing himself.
“I’m Grace,” the Asian sister utters, drying her tears.
“Migdalia,” the 19-year-old housekeeper declares. “I’d just started.”
Wieck shakes her hand. “A little late now,” he tells her, “but welcome aboard.”
“I don't think the bandits survived,” Dr. Scott notices.
“How do you know?” Wieck asks him.
“This was their motorboat.”
Rochelle throws up her arms. “Who cares about them?”
“Bandits?” Migdalia asks. “What bandits?”
“It seems like we were under siege in more ways than one,” Silverleaf explains.
Migdalia looks confused. “¿Como?”
“We were attacked,” Dr. Scott elucidates.
Rochelle glares at Migdalia. “How do you not know that?” she squeals. “Where were you?”
“Me?” the housekeeper responds, defending herself. “I was working. What happened to the security people? Wasn't there security?”
“No doubt subdued by the bandits,” Wieck explains.
“No sense getting upset,” Silverleaf mentions. “What's done is done. Count our lucky stars.”
“I just want to get the hell out of here!” Rochelle groans but Migdalia’s tired of her bellyaching already.
“Then call a taxi!”
“Ladies!” Wieck warns them. “We’ve got to calm down. We'll find a way out of this.”
Looking at the motor, Wieck tugs on its starter cord, but its engine never turns over. Dr. Scott shakes his head.
“We tried that already.”
Wieck drops the cord. “Damn it. Must be out of gas.”
“We're a million miles from nowhere!” Rochelle bawls. “We've got no food, no shelter, not even fresh water! Look at this. Ocean…for miles! I’d say the ones who died quickly were the lucky ones. Ours is going to be slow and agonizing!”
“Stop it!” Grace shouts. “You can’t give up hope so easily. We’re stronger than that.”
“Everything will be fine, Rochelle,” Dr. Scott tells her.
Wieck reaches into a fob in his pants and pulls out a small tin. Opening it, he takes out a handful of brightly colored pills, and gives one to each person who studies them cautiously.
“What is this?” Silverleaf asks.
“In the melee,” Wieck answers, “I forgot about these. They'll hold you for a while.”
“What are they?” Grace queries him.
“Phenhexadrine. Appetite suppressers. Designed specifically for situations like these.”
“I remember hearing about these,” Dr. Scott admits, “but I thought they weren’t available because the FDA hasn’t approved them yet.”
“Not to the U.S. Navy,” Wieck boasts.
Cautiously, everyone swallows their pill.
“I ain’t swallowing this,” Rochelle protests.
“Then I’ll take it,” Migdalia affirms. “El mas para mi the merrier.”
“The hell you will!” Rochelle shrieks, swallowing the pill.
Silverleaf moans. He can feel a headache coming on.
“The Coast Guard patrols these waters regularly,” Wieck utters. “It'll only just be a matter of time before they arrive. A device in the ship sends out automatic distress signals in instances like these.
“Well,” Dr. Scott states, “then I suggest everyone don't lose their heads. We need to be as calm and comfortable as possible.”
He picks up the machete off the floor of the boat and analyzes it. “I wonder what those bandits wanted.”
Silverleaf examines the other items. “Hmm. There’s a flare, an old rope, that metal bucket…tools for their trade, I wager.”
Migdalia picks up the fishing net. “What about this?”
“At least we can fish if all else fails,” Silverleaf supposes.
Rochelle shakes her head. “You speak for yourself, mister.”
Migdalia stares at her. “Oh, don't be so hopeless.”
Wieck produces his broken but functional compass, studies it for a moment, and looks out at the wide debris-littered, endless sea.
“I think we're in the Bermuda Triangle.”
“¿Como?” Migdalia asks.
“Are you sure?” Dr. Scott wonders.
Wieck nods. “Based on our recent trajectory, I'm almost positive.”
Rochelle gazes at the sea. “Where are we?”
“The Bermuda Triangle,” Scott answers.
“A lot of ships have disappeared here,” Wieck informs them. “The Copernicus IV, the Grand Birkhoff…the Connemara IV was found adrift and alone just five years ago in Bermuda. All of its five members just disappeared.”
“Are you trying to scare us?” Silverleaf asks. “You're doing a pretty good job so far.”
“I've gotta use the bathroom,” Rochelle admits.
Silverleaf hands the bucket to her. Insulted, she knocks it out of his hand. It hits Migdalia's leg so hard that blood trickles out from a small cut.
“¡Puñeta!” she cusses. “¡Mi pierna! ¡Tu negligente burro!”
Rochelle glares at her, tightened fists by her side. “You wanna start with me, too?!”
“Come on, people,” Wieck interrupts, “we've got to calm down. It helps nothing if we're at each other's throats.”
About four hours later, and having drifted several nautical miles away from the accident site, the raw tropical heat is beginning to take its toll. Already, everyone's a few shades darker and a few degrees hotter. The afternoon sun, pouring down upon them with relentless wrath, saps their strength and will inch by miserable inch. Grace turns to Wieck.
“Captain, do you have any more of those pills?”
“Yes.”
He gives one to her then gives everyone else their second helping.
“These actually work,” Silverleaf claims.
“Well,” Rochelle dissents, “they don't do nothin' for me. I'm going out of my mi
nd.”
“You’re not alone,” Silverleaf opines.
“I can’t stand it no more!” Migdalia screams.
Dr. Scott turns to Wieck. “Captain, where is your Coast Guard?”
“I don’t have an answer. Sorry.”
“Is that all you can say? Sorry?”
“I’m not going to get into a shouting match with you, doctor. As there’s no way of communicating with anyone, I suggest we try to conserve our energy and remain calm.”
“I'm being punished for my past lives,” Grace moans.
“¡Coño!” Migdalia shouts. “¡Mire! Look!”
Everyone turns to see what the alarmed young lady is pointing to.
“What is it?” Silverleaf asks. “I can't see that well.”
Dr. Scott looks amazed. “Well, I'll be...”
“It's land, old man!” Migdalia yells. “¡La isla bonita adelante!”
They rejoice.
“About time!” Rochelle chimes in. “I was tired of this goddamn boat.”
Silverleaf shakes his head.
“Must you use such common language?”
“Sorry, daddy-o. I get so excited.”
Wieck peers curiously at the upcoming islet.
“Strange…I've never seen that island before. It's not on any chart I’ve ever viewed.”
“Who cares?” Migdalia asks. “I just glad we’re getting off this barquito.”
Minutes later, the boat touches ground on the unknown locale. Pulling up to the isle’s western shore, they leap off the boat and run their fingers in the clear light sand as if it wasn’t real. Silverleaf, on his knees, sifts sand through his fingers like a child in a playpen.
“Finally,” he shouts, exploding with joy.
Grace, Rochelle and Migdalia survey the calm beachhead. Dr. Scott and Capt. Wieck moor the boat in an inlet then bring the items from it onto the beach.
“I never thought I'd be this happy to see land again,” Silverleaf adds standing up.
Wieck surveys the area. “You know,” he notices, “it’s very odd. Looks like this place wasn't even touched by the hurricane. See?”
The rest of the survivors scrutinize their surroundings, their weary eyes soaking in the almost surreal sight – intact trees, very little driftwood, pint-sized birds whistling calmly in the distance as if without a care in the world.
“There should be coconut fronds all over this beach,” Wieck declaims, rubbing his chin, “perhaps even the carcasses of seagulls or other indigenous creatures. Of course, I don’t even see any coconut trees, just these banyans, Ficus and Caribbean pines.”
“Some of the islands have coconuts because sailors brought them,” Dr. Scott acknowledges. “I guess this one wasn’t in their itinerary.”
“Some of the beaches in Macau are barren like this,” Grace adds. “If this was Hong Kong there’d be hotels everywhere.”
“This is not like the beaches in Costa Rica,” Migdalia muses. “The sands there are white.”
“Really?” Dr. Scott enunciates. “I'd like to visit there someday.”
“Bueno. Maybe I’ll take you around myself.”
Rochelle shakes her head. “If we get back to civilization.”
Wieck looks at her. “I see optimism doesn't flow through your veins.”
“After what we've been through?”
Wieck reads his compass again. “Hmm.”
“What's the matter?” Dr. Scott asks.
“Somehow, we’ve drifted south-easterly and still ended up on the western side of this island. Very odd. Well, from a geographical standpoint, at least I know where we are.”
“And where is that?”
“The middle of nowhere,” Rochelle answers.
“Tsk, tsk,” Wieck scolds her. “That's a defeatist attitude. I suggest we find ourselves some wood and start a fire. Night will come soon.”
Migdalia rubs her abdomen. “Yo tengo ambre.”
Wieck reaches into his pants fob to bring out the can of appetite suppressants.
Migdalia waves her hand. “I don’t want that. I know what to do.”
She picks up the net while he re-pockets his pills.
“That net is full of holes,” he warns her.
“It will do,” she tells him. “I’ll go catch something in the woods. This was a common thing when I was a child back in Costa Rica. I’ve caught martillas, guatusas and iguanas this way.”
“Ugh,” Rochelle groans. “I don’t want to know what those are.”
“Come with me,” Migdalia tells her. “Maybe you’ll learn something.”
Rochelle gazes at her momentarily. “Okay, why not. I'll go with you. Just you be careful.”
“Si.”
Rochelle turns to the rest. “Anyone else want to come along?”
They shake their heads. Rochelle turns to Migdalia.
“I guess it’s you and me. Let’s go. We're in this together and we won’t share what we catch. I hope you can cook.”
“I make the best casado you’ve ever seen.”
“I don’t know what that is,” Rochelle admits, “but whatever it is, I hope I enjoy it.”
They exit to the woods. Dr. Scott picks up the machete.
“I guess I'll go collect the firewood.”
“I'll go with you,” Grace insists, “if you don't mind.”
“Not at all. I can always use the company.”
They cautiously enter the forest. Wieck turns to Silverleaf.
“Well, old man, it's just you and I. Wanna scout around a bit?”
“Nah,” Silverleaf disagrees, shaking his head. “I'll just relax here for a while. It's been a long day.”
“Suit yourself.”
The captain grabs the metal bucket and heads back towards the shore. Moments later, Silverleaf hears a commotion from the leaves on the ground near him. Glancing down, he sees a red, black and yellow coral snake nearly a foot-long slithering towards him. Immediately, he backs away, yells to the captain…
“Wait for me!”
…and runs to meet him as fast as his varicose legs can move.
A few hours later, the six survivors are gathered around a campfire roaring in a clearing in the woods near the beach. They are eating an iguana caught by Migdalia and Rochelle that was roasted on a spit. There's a grotto some 100 feet behind them.
“This actually tastes good,” Grace remarks. “We ate iguanas in China. We called it lie xi.”
“A little gamey,” Dr. Scott agrees, “but not too bad.”
Rochelle looks at him. “It's not like we have a choice.”
Silverleaf, instead of eating the iguana, is eating a papaya Rochelle had plucked from a plant she’d found. He stares at the other five eating the iguana.
“How can you people eat that thing? It's repulsive.”
He turns to Rochelle. “Oh, thanks for this papaya. It’s delicious.”
“No problem, daddy-o. I’m not big on vegetables myself. You should try the iguana, though. Tastes like chicken.”
“Are you trying to make me sick? And stop calling me Pops. Milton or Silverleaf is fine.”
“What kinda name is Silverleaf anyway?”
“It's Polish-Jewish. An Americanized contraction.”
“Sounds like a Canadian dollar.”
Wieck gets up, stretches, and turns to face the cave. “Did anyone explore in there yet?”
“Be my guest, Captain,” Silverleaf tells him. “Bring us back any riches you should uncover.”
“I wouldn’t go in there,” Migdalia pleads. “It’s probably full of snakes.”
Grace looks at her. “That should be good for you. You can add to your Costa Rican cuisine.”
Wieck studies the cave again. “I think it's worth a gander.”
He makes a torch from the campfire using a stick the length of a grown man’s arm.
“You're brave,” Silverleaf compliments him.
Dr. Scott also gets up and makes himself a torch. “I'll check it out, too. Co
uld be something of value in there. Could be a pirate's treasure just waiting to be discovered.”
Wieck grabs the machete near the campfire. Rochelle shakes her head. “Men,” she laments. “Always gotta prove something.”
The captain and the doctor exit to the grotto.
“They couldn't pay me enough to go in there,” Silverleaf boasts, “especially in the dark.”
Rochelle gazes at him. “You have the spine of a jellyfish.”
“Why? ‘Cause I don't follow those two fools to their doom?”
“Oh, stop picking on him,” Migdalia scolds her. “He's old already.”
Silverleaf protests by waving his arms. “I'm old, huh? How's this for old?”
Challenged by the young girl's remark, he gets up and makes a torch. The three ladies stare as he exits to the cave.
“He is an oddball,” Rochelle mutters.
Silverleaf stops and turns to face the ladies. “Listen, if I'm not back within the hour, start digging.”
“Start digging what?” Rochelle yells.
“Our graves.”
Nearly an hour later, Grace, Migdalia, and Rochelle are pacing slowly around the fire. The eerie sound of leaves rustling in the distance adds to their anxiety.
“I don’t like this,” Migdalia rants. “I telling you, something happened. They’ve been there too long. This place gives me the creeps.”
The ladies suddenly see Silverleaf emerge from the grotto and run to him. He appears confused and has scratches on his face. Migdalia takes his lit torch from him.
“What happened to you?” Grace asks.
“Help me sit down.”
The three ladies assist him to a place by the fire. Grace gives him some fruit from a papaya to eat.
“What happened?” Migdalia asks. “Where are the others?”
“I don't know. I was following them, but I got sidetracked. It's huge and dark in there, and cavernous as hell. Doesn’t look like it from outside, though.”
He reaches into his shirt pocket, brings out a brown and green mushroom-like plant, and nibbles it almost methodically.
“What's that?” Grace asks.
“What?”
“That thing you're eating.”
Silverleaf looks confused by her questioning then slowly realizes she means the substance in his hand.
“Oh, this. I plucked it off a ledge in there.”
Grace takes it and examines it in the available light.
“Lichen?”
“Yeah,” Silverleaf agrees.
“Did you eat a lot of these?”
He nods. “They’re harmless.”
“What is it?” Rochelle asks.
“It’s like a cross between mushrooms and a mossy plant,” he explains. “In some cultures, they eat it regularly or use it for medicine. I was curious what it tasted like.”
“You could hurt yourself with this,” Grace informs him. “It must be prepared right. We call it shi’er in China. Some of them can be poisonous.”
Migdalia puts her hands on her waist.
“No wonder you’re so sick, papi. It’s no bueno.”
“I wouldn't be sitting here right now if they were,” Silverleaf disagrees. “They do possess a curious intoxicant, quite unlike what I'm used to.”
He swoons. Migdalia laughs.
“I think papi is high. Look at his eyes!”
“They're bloodshot,” Rochelle notices.
“Where is my phonograph record?” Silverleaf asks to no one in particular.
“Huh?” Grace beseeches.
“I have to get to the sun deck,” he moans.
“You’re not on the ship anymore,” Migdalia corrects him. “It sunk, remember?”
Ignoring her, he moans and swoons a little more.
“Let’s go up to the atrium and get some martinis!” he insists.
Grace leans over and feels Silverleaf’s forehead and neck.
“No wonder the poor guy's delirious. He has a fever.”
Going through his pocket, she removes the rest of the lichen and throws it away. She turns to Migdalia.
“Is there some way to squeeze water from the papaya?”
“I don’t think so.”
“We saw a tiny pond not far from here,” Rochelle offers. “I can scoop out a papaya and use that as a cup.”
Grace nods. “Good idea.”
Rochelle, grabs a papaya, bites off an end and starts scooping out the fruit.
“I’ll be right back.”
She exits to the woods.
“I’ll wet my shirt in the ocean,” Migdalia explains. “It’ll cool him off.”
Getting up, she races towards the ocean, removes her shirt, soaks it in the water, and brings it back. Grace takes it and cools Silverleaf’s face. Seconds later, Rochelle returns with the water in the papaya. Kneeling by the stricken businessman, she gives him a few sips.
“You’ll be okay,” she whispers.
After drinking the water, he passes out. Grace points to an area not far away.
“There’s a soft patch over there where he can sleep.”
The ladies drag him to a soft area where the net has been stretched out and lay him on it. Afterwards, they cover him with their outer shirts, leaving them covered only with t-shirts. As they finish, they hear Wieck’s voice yelling from the cave.
“Help! Grace! Rochelle! Come quick! Dr. Scott's in trouble.”
“That’s the captain!” Rochelle emits.
“Sounds like Dr. Scott’s in trouble,” Grace adds.
The three women pick up their heels and run towards the grotto. Wieck, sweating and short of breath, emerges.
“What happened to your clothes?” he asks them.
“Covering the old man,” Migdalia answers. “He’s sick with a fever.”
“What happened to Dr. Scott?” Grace wonders.
“He fell in a hole, a deep one. I can't pull him out. I think he broke his leg.”
“How sad,” Migdalia shouts.
“We’d better hurry up,” Wieck suggests.
“Shouldn’t somebody stay with the old man?” Migdalia asks.
“He’ll be fine,” Wieck replies. “I need all the hands I can get right now. It’ll also help if you had your own torches.”
Complying, the three ladies quickly make torches from the campfire. Minutes later, with his torch held high, Wieck, walking towards the cave, orders the artisans behind him, “Let’s go.”
The three women gulp simultaneously and follow the Captain closely. They soon discover the cave’s temperature is so cool that it makes them shiver. Tiptoeing further, they see some kind of thick white fluid oozing out of the rocks.
“What is that?” Rochelle asks.
“Don’t touch it,” Wieck warns. “My guess is it’s the exudate from some trapped animal, maybe a lizard or a snake.”
Seconds later, Rochelle trips over a root. “Ouch!”
“Be careful,” Wieck tells them. “Look out for exposed roots and tiny crevices.”
Migdalia screams when she accidentally walks into a large cobweb. Her shriek startles an immense family of bats into the air. Frightened, the ladies scream and hit the floor.
“They won't bother you,” Wieck promises. “They're fruit bats. Come on. We're almost there.”
They rise and commence following the captain. Within minutes they arrive at a large cavernous opening resembling an abyss deep inside the cave. They hear rats scurrying about in the dark cathedral-like room then hear Dr. Scott's faint voice.
“Help me…”
“Where is he?” Grace asks.
Wieck points in the direction of a pit. “Over here.”
Following the doctor’s voice, they come to the edge of a pit nearly twelve feet deep, three yards across at the top and about ten feet wide at its base. Using their torches, they look in and see Dr. Scott crouching in pain in a corner. His lit torch is against a wall but its dying out slowly.
“Are you okay, Dr. Scot
t?” Grace asks.
He nods weakly. Migdalia suddenly shrieks.
“What’s the matter with you?” Grace asks.
“I nearly fell in!”
“Look,” Rochelle shouts, pointing to a spot in the great pit.
Everyone complies. Above Dr. Scott’s head they see a large reticulated python hanging ominously on a stick jutting out of a wall.
“Don't move, Doctor!” Wieck warns him.
“I couldn't if I wanted. I think I ripped a ligament in my left knee.”
“How are we gonna get him out?” Rochelle inquires.
“Let's find some vines,” Wieck answers, “make a nice strong rope out of it.”
“We should’ve brought the net,” Migdalia bemoans.
Wieck realizes his faux pas and slaps his forehead.
“The net! I'd forgotten about that!”
“It’s under Silverleaf anyway,” Rochelle explains.
“We need to start looking for the vines,” Wieck suggests. “The faster, the better.”
They search every nook and cranny for a vine. Minutes later, they bring their gatherings near the gaping hole. Wieck plants his torch in a crack in a wall and returns to the group. The ladies stand their torches upright in the earth near the pit.
“Let's see what we can do with these vines,” Wieck tells the group.
Together, they weave the vines into one and test its strength by pulling it. Satisfied, they drop it into the pit.
“Watch out for that snake,” Migdalia warns.
“We see it,” Grace states.
Dr. Scott grabs the vine. “I got it.”
The group pulls the vine. Dr. Scott shouts in pain.
“I can't do this!” He lets the vine go.
“Somebody has to go down,” Grace proposes.
“You can't go down there,” Wieck advises her.
“I didn't mean me.”
The ladies look at Wieck.
“Forget it,” he explains, excusing himself. “I'm not going down there. We'll just have to try pulling harder and he’ll have to hold on stronger.”
Dr. Scott rises painfully to his feet and takes the vine.
“Let's try again,” he tells the group.
They pull the vine. Dr. Scott moves, but only a little.
“Oh, man! My knee feels like it's on fire!”
“Just hold on!” Grace shouts.
As Dr. Scott is being pulled up, he keeps an eye on the python. It doesn’t seem to be interested as it moves nary a muscle. Halfway up the wall, the python suddenly darts out of its comfort zone and wraps itself around Dr. Scott's good leg. He screams.
“It's got me! Hurry! Pull!”
They tug harder. The snake increases its pull. The hungry serpent winds its way around and upwards to the doctor's belly. His struggle for freedom is in vain.
“We need a torch!” Wieck shouts.
Rochelle answers the call. “I'll get one.”
Reaching backwards, she plucks one of the torches from the ground and returns to her position at the edge of the pit, then, she faces Grace.
“Watch me carefully.”
Grace nods.
Rochelle kneels down at the pit's edge and stretches as far down as she safely can. As the flame from the torch flickers, some of the heat reaches her chest, neck and head area. Steadfastly holding on but beginning to feel the sizzle, she finally brings the torch to the snake’s thick body. Immediately, it recoils, freeing Dr. Scott. Rochelle, now slipping too far in, is luckily grabbed by the very alert Grace and saved by being brought back up to the edge. The others then pull Scott out and sit him on the ground.
“Thanks, guys,” he tells his saviors.
“Are you hurt bad?” Grace asks.
“I think I'm losing the sensation in my legs.”
“Come on,” Wieck recommends. “Let's get you out of here before that snake comes up.”
Grace looks at the doctor. “Do you think you can make it?”
“I don't know if I can walk.”
Out by the shoreline, Silverleaf is still fast asleep beneath the moonlit sky. The campfire dims, swaying to the mild rhythm of the tropical currents. Rochelle, carrying her torch, is the first to emerge from the cave. She is followed by Migdalia. Grace emerges next toting her torch and the machete. Dr. Scott, slung over Wieck's shoulder, emerges last. They all sit the injured man by the fire.
“Is there any water or juice available?” Wieck asks.
“I’ll check,” Grace answers.
She looks into a small pit where a few papayas were kept.
“He’s in luck.”
Grabbing the machete, she cuts a papaya in half and hands it to Dr. Scott.
“Thanks. You're good with that machete,” he notices, then scoops out some of the fruit and devours it.
Grace turns to the captain. “Do you want one?”
“Please.”
She hacks another papaya and gives it to him.
“Thanks.”
“We have to conserve,” she advises them. “There's not much of these left around here.”
Migdalia takes the machete and cuts two papayas, one of which she gives to Rochelle who is busy rebuilding the fire.
“Thanks.”
“Te nada,” the teen states. “I'm glad we can be friends. It's better this way, no?”
Rochelle bites her lip but says nothing.
“We may as well try to sleep now,” Wieck suggests. “I can see just how busy we'll be tomorrow.”
“Hopefully, by tomorrow,” Rochelle believes, “when we wake up, this whole thing will just be a nightmare.”
Grace nods.
“It'd better be.”
