“Do you see something that doesn’t belong?” Ian asked.
Lancaster began to answer when Elsa spoke up.
“A stray, someone who hasn’t learned their place yet.”
Ian straightened his tie; he checked his hair and features in the mirror. Elsa did the same; she ran her palms down the front of her clothes, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles.
“You don’t belong here,” Ian finally said.
Elsa held the bathroom door open. She stared at Lancaster with a mix of disgust and rage. She nodded out past the crowd, above their heads to the doorman.
The doorman nodded in return and made his way to the bathroom, where he stood in the doorway. His large frame took up most of the opening. “Time to go,” was all he said.
Lancaster was stubborn, but he wasn’t foolish. He left without another word. As he neared the exit with the doorman right behind him, he could hear the siblings mocking him and laughing. Lancaster’s attempt at integrating himself with the Financiers had failed miserably, though he wouldn’t let this misstep discourage him. There were other ways to get into the good graces of the Elite. He would only need to keep digging; something had to give.
~~~
The hour was late, going on twenty-four hours since Paula’s tragedy. Most of the medical staff had long ago retired for the evening. Aiko needed to lie down; she was little more than a month away from giving birth herself. Jeremiah joined her. Only Nazneen remained, nose in her notes as usual. There had to be something she’d missed regarding all of these failed births; she was sure of it.
Word of the death would spread, and Todd and his men would come for the child. She would be flushed, and that would be the end of it for everyone but Paula. With no security to speak of and the staff retired for the evening, it was easy for Paula to steal her baby and sneak out of the infirmary. She was Casandra’s boss, so she had witnessed firsthand what grief could do to a person. Casandra was strong, though; she bounced back fast. Paula had no desire to attempt the same.
Paula made her way out to a secluded area of the deck, just out of sight of the pool bar. She dragged a lounge chair to the rail. It was heavy so as not to blow in the wind. She noticed the warm Caribbean air trying to cut through the cold, and for a moment, it gave her pause; she thought of home. The chair was heavy, and it made an ear-piercing racket as she dragged it. Paula looked around; no one heard a thing. She hoisted her heavy legs over the rail—one at a time, slowly. On the other side of the barrier, she only had purchase with the balls of her feet. She held on with one hand, trembling. Her other hand clutched her baby to her breast, careful to not let her little head dangle.
“Easy, Paula.” Rodrigo approached cautiously.
“Don’t come any closer.” Tears were streaming down her face.
He stayed far enough away so as not to startle her into doing anything rash. Rodrigo slowly joined her on the other side of the rail.
“They can’t have her,” she sobbed.
“They won’t take her. I promise.” He inched closer.
“Stay back.”
“You misunderstand me, Paula.” He gently extended his hand to her. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
Paula made eye contact with Rodrigo; the weight of the world hung on both of their faces. She put her arm around him. Rodrigo was the only thing steadying her. He could pin her to the rail and call for help. The baby would most certainly fall, but Paula would live. Instead, he smiled and let go.
They hit the water hard and sunk deep. After the impact, Rodrigo lost his grip on her and they floated apart. She reached out for his hand but lost sight of him in the darkness. Far above, Paula could see the twisted lights from Haven distorted in the inky blackness surrounding her. She gripped her baby tightly, exhaled, and sank deeper. Haven’s lights disappeared. Paula closed her eyes and waited for the end.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
A New Perspective
Before Soraya returned to him, time for Miller was moving at a snail’s pace. Now the days passed in the blink of an eye. He had no earthly idea where the ship was going or where it even was, and he didn’t care. The days of studying charts and pressing Arnold and the wheelhouse staff for information regarding possible landing sites were behind him. For the time being, he was content to spend his days with Soraya at his side—whether that be in the privacy of their living quarters or out among the residents of Haven or back on the road during excursions. The world and Miller’s place in it were that much clearer with her beside him.
January 18
Miller cracked the balcony door. Soraya loved the ocean breeze and the salt air. He hoped it would give her pleasant dreams as he watched her sleep. Crisp white linens lay gently across her waist and legs. Her bronze shoulders and back gently swayed with her breathing. The sound of waves slapping against the side of the boat and the smell of salt air filled the room. Seagull songs echoed in their quarters; Haven was nearing land.
Land meant excursions; the where and why was of no more concern to him. He knew that she would be with him, and that was all that mattered. Miller even toyed with the notion of taking Alex’s idea and never returning from an excursion, provided they touched down in an area devoid of the dead or an abundance of scavengers. If they came across a semi-safe locale, he would float the idea to Soraya of the two of them staying and building a life together away from the crisis and every awful thing that it spawned. These were the sort of ideas that could be discussed with Soraya at length over the next weeks and months—years even, if it took that long to find a suitable home. For now, she was happily a member of the excursion team. She filled Simon’s position as a runner when he followed through on his promise to begin teaching full-time.
They were safe aboard Haven, but Miller felt trapped. He never liked the idea of being in a place where he couldn’t leave in thirty seconds flat if he felt the need. They were confined to the ship; yes, it was a floating city with nearly all the amenities offered in a previous life, but it was a prison of sorts. Semi-celebrity status or not, Miller didn’t like the feeling.
He had a surprise planned for the woman he loved. He slipped on a pair of shorts and a loose-fitting T-shirt and snuck out as quietly as he could; he didn’t want to wake her. He met Sweet Lips in the kitchen. Haven’s head chef was preparing the morning’s breakfast, but he took the time to put together a personal spread, specially made upon Miller’s request so that he could serve Soraya breakfast in bed.
Back at their cabin, Soraya was already awake but still stirring in bed when Miller returned to present Sweet Lips’s carefully prepared meal. The food was of a sort she hadn’t tasted since sometime before the crisis began. Scrambled eggs with a side of crab meat and toast with apple butter and cinnamon. Hash brown potatoes grilled with onions and peppers and fresh strawberries grown right in Haven’s own greenhouse. All of that was topped off with a carafe of freshly squeezed orange juice from oranges picked just this morning. It was the type of meal that in another life would have been considered just a normal breakfast, but now it was fine dining, a rare treat.
They ate their breakfast in bed, and somewhere during the meal it was decided that they wouldn’t even bother getting dressed today. Miller couldn’t have agreed more and hung a do-not-disturb sign on the door before returning his clothes to the floor where he found them. Anything less than an emergency and they would be left to their own devices for as long as they desired.
January 19
Miller never grew content to simply pass the time between excursions. Even with Soraya back in his arms, he still needed to keep himself busy the best way he knew how, and that was by helping around the ship. First and foremost, he would check in on his fellow Pepperbush survivors, always lending a hand where he could. He had been doing this since the early days on Haven—it was his way of contributing, as if putting his life on the line on a weekly basis wasn’t enough. There was a difference now. He had a lightness about his step; it was clear for all to see that a weight ha
d been lifted off his shoulders.
Tomorrow’s excursion would be passing a seemingly abandoned marina, so he thought spending the morning at the fishery with Sam and Markus was apt. He’d give them a hand with their duties, but while he was there, he could get the lowdown on what they really needed. Not some cobbled-together list approved by Todd, who wouldn’t have the first clue what each department required—resource-wise—in the first place. Todd just liked to put his fingerprints on everything.
Miller was put to work at a sorting table with Sam and Markus, separating out the latest catch while the fishermen were resetting the net. The net would drag behind the ship for a few hours while other things were attended to, like cleaning the workstations, sorting the catch, and hauling it off to the freezers.
“This doesn’t seem so bad,” said Miller. “In fact, I’d say working the fishery is downright peaceful. If I ever get myself kicked off the excursion team, I may join you guys down here full-time.”
“He must not have met Krysler yet,” Markus said.
“Humph,” Sam replied.
“Oh, I’ve met him, briefly. He doesn’t seem to be around here, though.”
“Nah,” said Sam, “the fishery is out of his purview.”
“Yeah, and so are we now that Sam put him on his ass.”
“I see. Well, I’m going to need to hear about that one of these days.”
Miller lugged an ice chest over; the fish were dumped into the cold water. This catch also held a fair amount of crabs and a few stingrays.
“Not a bad haul, huh?” Miller’s eyes lit up over how fast the container was filling with fresh food that would feed the masses for days.
“Every day, Miller. The hauls look like this every day,” said Markus with an air of pride about his work. “I swear, if the people of Haven can keep their shit together, we could live out here indefinitely.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice?” Sam added.
Miller topped off the ice chest. “I’ll run this to the freezer. I’ll be right back.” He pushed the cart through stowage, where the haul was checked over by security. What they were looking for was lost on him. Did they think someone would try to smuggle in a carrier in an ice chest? From there, he pushed the cart through winding hallways, back to the kitchen overflow and freezers.
He was greeted by Sweet Lips, who was below deck, looking over the inventory in preparation for the evening’s meal. “Hey, Captain Miller. What brings you to these parts?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“Ah, I’m taking stock of the inventory, trying to put together a menu for this evening’s dinner. How about you?”
“Just giving Sam and Markus a hand over at the fishery. I’m not going to lie, I kind of love it down here.”
“Well, if you ever get tired of on the road, off the road, you let me know. I’ll hook you up with a prime position on my staff.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Sweet Lips picked up an end of the ice chest. “On three, two, one.”
He and Miller lifted the considerable container onto a nearby shelf where the catch could stay just above freezing while Sweet Lips gave it a closer inspection.
“I told Sam and Markus I’d be right back, unless you needed me for anything while I’m around.”
“I think I’m solid, man. Good look, though.”
“Anytime.”
Miller loaded an empty ice chest onto his cart and headed back to the fishery. As he disappeared around a corner, Todd made his presence known.
“What did he want?” said Todd as he studied Miller.
“Man, he was just trying to help. He’s pulling way more than his share of the weight around here. Some of your boys down in de-cons could learn a thing or two from him. Not everything is a conspiracy, Todd.”
“Yeah, we’ll see.”
January 20: Excursion – Braden, Georgia
The marina was deserted, as had been predicted. There wasn’t a seaworthy vessel left; all that remained of the fleet were half-submerged or out of the water and still up on cranes like they were abandoned while being prepared for maintenance. A lone man sat at the end of a pier. He was obviously missed by Haven’s lookouts and their high-powered binoculars.
Miller greeted the stranger with caution, but the man welcomed the excursion team with open arms. He invited them into his home, a ramshackle place at the end of the next pier over. It was formally a covered location for working on boats. Over time, the old man had converted it into a comfortable dwelling. His living room had water access and a fueled speedboat at the ready if he ever found himself in need of a fast getaway. The team spent their first night under the graces of an unexpected but benevolent host.
It was decided in light of this kindness that they would forgo this round of thorough scavenge. Otherwise, they would be taking potentially essential supplies from this man’s area. Instead, they would spend their time helping him fortify his home. The man unfolded a map for the team’s benefit. Locations he had thoroughly scavenged were crossed off in red; there was only a handful of them. They broke off into teams to scout nearby locations to help resupply the old-timer. Soraya, Genevieve, Petrova, and Alex traveled to a nearby trade school while Miller, Cortez, and Ulrich scoured nearby sites for building supplies.
The local hardware store was a bust; even in such a small-town, precious building materials were one of the first things to go during early looting. Tools of any kind were a valuable commodity these days. It was decided to disassemble some partially erected construction they passed on the road. The work had obviously been abandoned in light of the crisis. When Miller’s team returned, they had the man’s beat-up old station wagon packed full of two by fours and sheets of plywood.
The trade school had all the nails and screws and tools the old man could ever need. It appeared that no one in the area ever thought that a school might be useful during the crisis. The trade school also had vending machines and the stock to refill them. When Soraya and the ladies returned, they brought with them enough food to supplement the old-timer’s steady supply of fish for months.
Miller, Soraya, and the team spent their final night listening to tales from the old man and his life at sea as a fishing vessel captain. His vast knowledge of the ocean would be committed to memory. Somewhere down the line, Miller knew the lesson would come in handy. Before they disembarked back to Haven, they again offered the man a place with them, but for the final time, he declined. He had spent his entire life in this small town, and if he died tomorrow or twenty years from now, he would die in this place he called home.
The old fisherman bid them farewell with the greatest gift he could offer: a new perspective. Sometimes, slowing down and appreciating what life had to offer, no matter where you were, could open your eyes to happiness you never considered.
January 26
Trix’s bar was busy for a random Wednesday evening. The professional partygoers were getting their weekend started earlier and earlier as time went on. What used to begin as drinks before dinner on a Friday afternoon was quickly moved up to Thursdays, and now it seemed that Wednesday was the new start of the weekend and all the revelry that went along with it.
All smiles, Miller rounded the corner, wearing Sam’s smock.
Trix grinned and began a slow clap.
Vanessa’s eyes went wide. “Miller? Is that you? What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I told Sam he should take the night off. He deserves it.”
“Oh God, I know. The poor guy fishes all day, then comes up here at night to help us.”
“He’s a good man.”
“You’re no slouch yourself.” Trix playfully elbowed Miller in the ribs. “Cortez never shuts up about you.”
“All good, I hope.”
“And then some. I swear, if that man left me for you, it wouldn’t shock me in the slightest.”
Miller laughed as he picked up the bus bin to make his way through the crowded bar.
; Vanessa and Trix watched him navigate the crowd. He was careful not to bump into anyone but also took the time to ask people how they were doing and if he could get them anything.
Trix was impressed. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear that guy worked in customer service in another life.”
“You’d think, right?” said Vanessa. “He’s just good with people, and people like him.”
“Some people have that quality. It’s refreshing when you consider the alternative.” Trix motioned to Elsa, Ian, and their entourage. “Look who’s gracing us with their presence tonight.”
“Lovely.” Vanessa sighed.
Behind the siblings, Elias and Dolores followed with at least three others from the upper decks in tow. Their mannerisms spoke volumes; they looked down on everyone in here—the staff most of all.
“Would you be mad if I pissed in their drinks?”
“You want me to hold the glasses?” Trix shook her head and gave Vanessa a pat on the back. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.” Trix turned on the fake smile and entered the fray.
January 27
“I’m so happy for you, Miller.” Samantha was beaming with joy. Casandra as well. Even Nisha, who had been despondent these past few months since moving aboard Haven, let a smile creep over her lips. Soraya’s return instilled a new sense of hope in the remaining Pepperbush survivors. If after so long Miller could find Soraya not only alive but thriving, then truly anything was possible.
Miller never met Paula—they didn’t run in the same circles—but from every conversation he had with the ladies, she was a wonderful woman. They insisted he would have loved her, too. Samantha had been promoted in Paula’s absence; she wasn’t running room service yet, but she was well on her way. Casandra was her right-hand woman. After a time, the two of them had carried on Paula’s legacy of prideful work and spreading joy throughout their day. It didn’t cost anything to be kind, and as long as they were able, they would spread that message.
The Roaming (Book 3): Haven's Promise Page 36
