by Kyla Stone
“I wish they had halo-halo,” Benjie said. Halo-halo was a Filipino delicacy with shaved ice, agar jelly, coconut, evaporated milk, and boiled sweet beans. It tasted way better than it sounded.
“That would make today better than perfect,” her mom said, smiling at them.
Benjie shoved huge chunks of watermelon into his mouth until his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk's. Pink juice dribbled down his chin.
Zia giggled. Benjie made a silly face at her and then they were both cracking up. Zia's shoulders convulsed. She clapped her hands over her mouth, but it was too late. She did that gasping, donkey-bray laugh she'd perfected as a little kid. Her mom laughed, too.
Willow smiled, but it felt tight, like it didn’t fit her face. She couldn’t get the stupid diamond bracelet out of her head. And the way that guy, Silas Black, had looked her with such scorn, like she was nothing. Less than nothing. She still felt the burning shame and humiliation. It made her want to kick his teeth down his rich, snobby throat.
She popped a chocolate raspberry truffle in her mouth and watched the ocean glimmering like burnished steel. It was so beautiful, her heart hurt. Every day that passed made her heart hurt worse. Pretty soon, this would all be gone. And she’d never get it back again.
The cruise director's chirpy voice came over the ship's speakers: “Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you had a wonderful time enjoying Grand Cayman today! I see a few sunburned noses. Make sure you're wearing your sunblock! A quick note of unfortunate news. Due to unforeseen circumstances, the Grand Voyager won't be docking in Belize tomorrow morning as planned.”
A collective groan rose from the passengers.
“We will continue on to our Roatán destination on Friday. However, I'm happy to announce that tomorrow we will also add performances of Cirque Du Soleil at Sea at one and four p.m. The world-renowned jazz pianist Vadim Kuznetsov will grace us with another concert at six. Also, we’ll have extra Stud Poker tournaments in the casino. House pays for the first round of buy-ins. Have a glorious day, everyone!”
“What's going on?” Zia wrinkled her nose.
Her mom shrugged. “I think they're trying to avoid that storm, what's-its-name. They're so . . . capricious these days. It happens sometimes. Nothing to worry about.”
“What's capricious mean?” Benjie asked.
“Hard to plan for.” Her mom looked so relaxed as she sipped her margarita. Content and peaceful. Like Willow hadn't seen her for a long time. It made her happy and sad at the same time. She couldn't go back to the nothing she had before. Not after this. There had to be a way she could change things for all of them, her mom included.
“I'm glad we're here,” Zia said.
Her mom smiled so wide her eyes crinkled at the edges. “Me too, honey. Me, too.”
They were halfway through their fluffy pancakes and spinach omelets dripping with melted cheese when her mom got a message on her phone.
“Tita Rosie sick,” her mom said in a strangled voice.
“What?” Willow wiped her face with a linen napkin. Unlike all of the titos and titas at every get-together, Tita Rosie was her mom’s actual sister. “What's wrong?”
Her mom held her fork in midair with one hand, her phone in the other. She paused, staring off into space. “She had a cold all week. But she spiked a fever last night. They went to the hospital, but they were turned away.”
“Turned away?” Zia wrinkled her nose. “Because they couldn't pay?”
“Because the hospitals are full. Apparently, it’s all of them.”
“Will she be okay?” Zia asked.
“I—I think so. I hope so.” She looked at Willow with a stricken expression. “I wish you'd gotten that vaccine.”
Willow rubbed the back of her neck. “I told you, I couldn't afford to take a day off school and work to wait in line for a zillion hours. And it doesn’t seem to be working that great, does it? Besides, I'm fine. So are the kids.”
As if on cue, Benjie sneezed.
Her mom went rigid.
“Mom! Hello? His allergies? Relax.”
Her mom looked at each of them, touching her cross necklace. Most of Willow’s family was Catholic, though Willow didn’t make it to Mass much anymore. “Thank God we're on this ship. Still, I want you to stay away from anyone coughing or sneezing, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise!” Zia and Benjie chorused.
Willow tugged on the hem of her too-tight navy blue dress, yet another gift from Rihanna. Along with the pretty silver heels she wasn’t used to wearing, with the straps that dug into her ankles and crushed her toes. Her throat tightened. Was Rihanna still sick? Was she in a hospital? Or had she been turned away, too?
“Can I borrow your phone?” she asked.
“I need it for work, but you can take Zia to the library and have a few minutes at the tech station.” Her mom kept her voice light, but her face was strained. She was worried about her sister. “Are you sure no one has seen my wristband?”
Willow shook her head. She still had the wristband folded into a small pocket inside her dress. Even when her mom had searched the room last night, Willow couldn't bring herself to give it back. After the humiliation she’d endured, she wasn’t ready to give up, to admit defeat. She was too stubborn for that.
Soon. But not yet.
After lunch, Willow’s mom took Benjie to the Kid Zone on her way to housekeeping. Zia wandered after Willow as they made their way up to Deck Eleven. A lot of people weren’t back from their excursions yet. The ship was eerily empty, their sandals echoing on the polished floors of the promenade.
“Hey! Gwyneth! Hey!”
Willow took several steps before Zia elbowed her. “He's talking to you, Gwyneth.”
Her cheeks burned as she turned around. “Hey, Finn.”
Finn maneuvered through several strolling couples and a group of older, well-groomed ladies chatting and nibbling fat-free gelatos right in the center of the main corridor. He was dressed in an oversized polo shirt and orange-striped board shorts.
She gazed up at him, her neck already aching. He really was huge. “What's up?”
“I've been looking for you everywhere.”
She shrugged, aiming for nonchalant. “I've been around.”
He grinned, revealing the adorable gap between his front teeth. “Cool. Me too.”
“Um, we're headed for the library.” She cleared her throat, pretending she didn't care either way. “I mean, you're welcome to come if—”
“I'd love to,” he said, falling into step beside them.
The library was half tech station, half bookcases filled with old, mostly leather-bound books. The sign by the door stated they were all either autographed copies or original first editions.
Willow sat in the ergonomic chair and swiped her wristband over the sensor integrated into the sleek black desk. The navbar display appeared, hovering in front of her. “Welcome, Willow,” the computer said in a smooth British accent.
She flinched, but Finn was over in the library section with Zia, totally oblivious.
Zia took one of the books out of the bookcases and hefted it in her hands. “These are heavier than they look.”
“That’s because you're in the old white guy section,” Finn said. “That's why the books are so thick and heavy. The more words they used, the smarter they thought they were.”
Zia shrugged. “Whatever. Books aren’t really interesting without the audio and visuals.”
Willow stared at the display. No vids from Rihanna. Nothing. Not even text.
Willow: You there?
There was nothing for a moment, then Rihanna’s face appeared. But it was her holo avatar, a saved gif of her hamming it up for the camera, her eyes bright, a huge, goofy grin on her face.
Rihanna: Hey you. Long time no see.
Willow: How come you aren’t live streaming?
Rihanna: Trust me. You don’t want to see this.
W
illow: What’s going on? You still alive over there?
Rihanna: Once upon a time, that used to be funny.
Willow: Are you okay?
Rihanna: Not really.
Willow: Are you in a hospital?
Rihanna: Not exactly.
Willow: What does that mean? Stop being cryptic.
Rihanna: You've been a good friend, even when things were rough. Thanks for that.
Willow swallowed. Why was Rihanna acting so strange? And why didn’t she want Willow to see her? Now you're weirding me out.
No response.
Willow: Hello? You there?
Nothing. Her pulse thudded in her throat. Dread settled like a rock in the pit of her stomach.
Willow: Rihanna?
Still nothing.
“Refresh,” she said. But nothing changed. The holograph of Rihanna’s face was frozen, the barely visible glow around the edges flickering. She swiped the projection with her finger. Still nothing.
“This isn't working,” she said. “I can't connect.”
Finn scanned his wristband over a different desk sensor. Nothing. He unclasped his SmartFlex, which resembled a thick leather cuff, and straightened it. “Activate Skittles.”
Willow raised her eyebrows. “Skittles?”
“The name of my first pet dog. I’m sentimental like that. What can I say?” Finn focused on the digital overlay. “Call Mom. Turn on 80s playlist. Skittles, what’s the weather report?”
Nothing. His SmartFlex remained as still and silent as the computer. “Maybe the satellite is down or something. There's that huge storm off the coast of Honduras.”
“A hurricane?” Zia's face puckered.
“Just a tropical. Not big enough to be a hurricane. They named it Wyatt or something.”
Willow stared at Rihanna’s frozen face. “Jeez, what a stupid name.”
“I know, right? If they want people to be all scared and evacuate from some monster storm, at least give it a monstrous name. It's an insult to get all worked up over a Wyatt.”
She laughed, but it came out sharp and too high. Rihanna was just playing one of her games. She’d been okay enough to message, so she must be getting better, right? If the stupid internet hadn't cut out, Rihanna would've mocked her for letting the media's 'doom and gloom' shtick get under her skin.
“We'll just have to roll with the old and archaic forms of entertainment.” Finn grinned mischievously. “You missed getting schooled in ping pong last time. How about we try a rousing game of mini-golf?”
She tugged at her dress. “In this?”
“Excuses, excuses.”
Zia’s face brightened. “Can I come?”
“It's totally fine if she—” Finn started.
Willow shook her head. She’d had enough of babysitting. Too much anger, frustration, and resentment swirled inside her. “Why don’t you hang out here? Read an actual book or something. We’ll meet up later.”
“I'm not supposed to—”
“Seriously, enough! You're not a baby. Stop acting like one.”
Zia's face blanched. “But—”
“I'm doing what I want for once. If that's a sucky game of mini-golf, so be it.”
“Hey!” Finn said with mock indignation.
“No offense.”
“None taken. It's the venerated game of miniature golf you insulted.”
Zia slammed the book shut with a scowl, dust puffing from the pages. “Why can't I go with you?”
Willow refused to feel guilty. Zia was thirteen and still acted like a little kid. At her age, Willow was helping Lola Cherry cook tapsilog and nilagang baka, scrubbing the toilets, doing all the laundry, and still maintaining her grades. Zia needed to grow the heck up. “Because I'm stuck with you all the time, okay?”
Zia sank back in the office chair. She did that big doe-eyed thing, like she was about to cry. “But—”
“Just stop it, Zia! Don’t you get it? I don’t want you around!”
Willow hurried out of the library before she could see the hurt on her sister’s face. She pushed down the guilt. Zia would get over it. Willow just needed a break. Everything was piling up on her—her irritation at her siblings, frustration with her mom, anger and humiliation over the stealing fiasco, the gut-wrenching disappointment of losing the stupid bracelet and all it represented, the stress of her Tita Rosie and Rihanna’s sickness.
It was too much. She needed to get away. She needed to have a few moments of fun or her head was going to explode.
She walked beside Finn, trying not to wobble in her heels in front of him. The straps rubbed painfully against her blisters. They passed dozens of people huddled on the white seats in front of the ship's windows, staring down at their SmartFlex cuffs, tapping the screen, shaking their wrists, holding it to their ears, like their volume just wasn't turned up enough. The connection must be severed ship-wide.
“Your sister likes you,” Finn said. “That's cool.”
She took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down, to relax. This was her time, now. “She's a pain in the butt.”
“You don't usually get along?”
“It's—complicated. You have any siblings?”
“Only child.”
“You're lucky.”
“It's actually pretty lonely. I don't recommend it.”
They climbed the stairs to the lido deck and passed through the glass doors. Outside, the sky was a steely gray. The wind whipped her dress around her thighs and snarled her hair. “You have no idea what I'd give to be left alone—to just be without having to think about them all the time.”
“I think you might miss it.”
She reigned in her frustration. It wasn’t Finn’s fault. It wasn’t even Zia’s fault, really. Her mom was the one always running off to please her boss, abandoning Willow with her siblings. Willow would make it up to Zia later. “I know, I know. You're telling me the grass is always greener on the other side.”
“You know where the grass is greenest, right?” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Over a septic tank. Let that little pearl of wisdom sink in for a bit.”
She snorted. “I see your point. I don't concede, though. You've never shared a bathroom with my sister.” She winced at her mistake. Rich kids had their own bathrooms larger than her house. They never shared anything. But Finn didn't seem to notice.
He moved to the glass railing. “Come look at these waves!”
“I'll stay back here, thanks.”
“What? Why?”
She swallowed. “I have this little thing about heights. That's like fourteen stories straight down. Those glass railings are too low and flimsy. How are they not a safety hazard? I mean, a strong gust of wind could push you right over.”
“Not me.” Finn flexed his arms. “See? I'm much too strong and manly.”
“I didn't mean you, of course. I would never suggest such a thing.” She felt lighter up here, finally free. For the first time, she actually felt like she was on vacation. She smiled, feeling happier than she'd been in days, weeks, maybe months. “We going to play this game or what?”
16
Gabriel
Gabriel spent the early part of the afternoon crouched on monkey island, located on the roof above the bridge and the Grand Ballroom, where the radar and radio antennae and the satellites were located. He cut power to the VHF and HF radio phones, dismantled the satellite wireless and communication systems, and deactivated the GMDSS, the Global Maritime Distress and Safety Systems, which would send long-range distress signals to a series of orbiting satellites if activated. The ShipLoc satellite tracking device was supposed to be in a hidden location, but in their arrogance, Voyager Enterprises just stuck the thing on monkey island with everything else.
He left the orange buoys with the Emergency Position Indicator Radio Beacon on the bridge wings. To move them now, in full view of the bridge, would only invite suspicion. If they hit the water, they'd automatically activate their satellite-relayed hourly posi
tion to NOAA, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration headquarters in Washington, D.C. But there was plenty of time to get those later. He radioed Simeon when the job was done.
“Well done.” Simeon's voice crackled through the walkie-talkie. “Meet me on Deck Twelve in fifteen minutes. It's time.”
The thrill of anticipation hummed through every cell of his body. He hurried to meet Simeon, who was standing with Kane and another New Patriot named Vera Hollis, a thin, middle-aged white lady with a sharp, angled face and auburn hair pulled into a tight bun. Two other men dressed in crew outfits directed a hover laundry cart into the alcove of the crew hallway.
“Our fellow comrades are en route,” Simeon said. “Davison and Hernandez are outside the engine room, awaiting orders. The rest of the team are stationed and ready.”
“How about the surveillance?” Kane asked.
“The relevant CCTV screens are set on a loop, ready to remote activate,” Gabriel said, his tablet in his hand. The ship's internal security system required two additional levels of access to hack, but he'd infiltrated them with ease.
“Start the damn thing.” Kane adjusted his body armor beneath his uniform.
When Simeon nodded, Gabriel tapped the tablet. Eight of the surveillance screens flickered and activated the recorded loops. “Done.”
Simeon put his right fist over his heart. The other men followed. Gabriel felt his own heart beating through the fabric of his uniform. “For the honor of true patriots and the love of country.”
“For the honor of true patriots and the love of country,” he repeated.
He followed the men down a series of hallways to the central entrance to the bridge. They stopped before a reinforced steel door labeled 'Bridge: Authorized Entrants Only.' The two men in crew uniforms pressed themselves against the right wall, out of sight of the camera over the door. They dumped the layer of towels from the laundry cart and pulled out three suppressed, subsonic assault rifles.
Simeon and Hollis did the same on the left side of the door, pistols outfitted with silencers now in their hands. Both groups took black ski masks out of their pockets and pulled them over their faces.
