by Jordan Rivet
They waited a heartbeat. Then Boris’s cold voice said, “You mean friends like Paris Morgan?”
Esther threw the microphone back onto the console. “Fuck!” Not Paris. How had they found out? She should have tossed Connor off the highest deck when she had the chance.
David’s face was ashen. “Esther, if we slow down . . .”
“I know.” She clenched her fists. Think, Esther, think!
She picked up the radio again. “I demand safe passage to the Hampton. We can discuss terms aboard the destroyer, or you can explain to the Galaxy community why you allowed twenty captives to be killed and your precious destroyer damaged by your own weapons. You can’t hide this.”
The voice was silent for a moment. “Permission to negotiate granted. We’ll send a boat for you.”
“Good,” Esther said. “And I want to see Paris Morgan on that boat too, so I know he’s safe. Otherwise, no deal, and we fire on the destroyer in full view of the Flotilla.”
“Agreed.” There was an odd note to Boris’s voice. He did not sound worried. Not at all. “We’re sending a boat. Morgan will be aboard. Maintain your position.”
“Copy.” Esther turned off the radio and tossed the headset onto the console.
“You can’t go over there,” David said. “They won’t negotiate, no matter what Boris says.”
Esther nodded. “I’m not a moron,” she said. “I won’t set foot on that boat. I have a plan. Now, watch the speedboat. We’re going to send it back toward the destroyer to obstruct their path. The second I tell you, jet around the stern of the destroyer with everything you’ve got. You ready?”
“Yes, ma’am,” David said, slowing the ship.
“Good.” Esther ducked out of the pilothouse and beckoned to Zoe and the two sisters, Eva and Anita. “We’re about to move, as soon as we get Paris on board. Get everyone off the deck the moment we accelerate, but not before. We have to act normal for as long as possible.”
“Understood,” Zoe said. Her eyes had a wild light behind them.
Eva and Anita nodded too, faces pale.
Esther returned to the pilothouse and studied the looming destroyer. They should be bringing Paris out any second. He may not want to leave the Galaxy, but he had no choice now. A small speedboat was descending on cables, but she couldn’t tell for sure whether Paris was inside. The deck of the destroyer was too tall. Still, if they timed it right, this just might work. The boat lurched as someone let one cable unwind too quickly. Esther felt the Lucinda shift subtly. That was good. Soon they were drifting around to face aft of the destroyer.
Esther waved up at it, not sure who was watching. “Hand me those binoculars, will you?”
The speedboat sank lower. The Lucinda drifted farther aft. Esther still couldn’t tell who was actually in the speedboat. It drifted lower still.
“Wait, Esther,” David said urgently. “Look at the deck of the Hampton.”
She swept the binoculars back up, the circle of vision blurring. A chilling sight came into focus. Captain Boris was leaning over the railing of the destroyer, thirty feet above the water, his hand wrapped tightly in Paris’s silver curls. Paris’s nose was bleeding heavily. Another man held onto his arms, forcing him closer to the railing, to the drop.
“No,” Esther whispered. “He’s not on the speedboat, he’s . . .”
Then Boris smiled and pushed Paris over the edge.
The fall only lasted a few seconds, but Esther could see Paris in sharp relief, his curls ruffling in the breeze as he flew downward. He landed headfirst in the speedboat. The impact sent it swinging against the hull. They were too far away to hear it, but Esther imagined the sickening crunch.
“No!” she screamed.
Then everything happened in slow motion. Esther felt a roaring in her ears. A wave of shock, like the worst storm swells she’d ever experienced, threatened to crush her into the deck. She couldn’t process it. She switched to autopilot. They had to get out now.
“Go, David, we have to move!”
He didn’t hesitate. Lucinda sprung to life with a roar. Esther darted out of the pilothouse.
“Incoming!” she shrieked.
The Lucinda streaked toward the stern of the destroyer. Esther dashed to the portside rail, the wind on her face. She should be below. She was exposed. But she had to see. There was a shout from above, and the speedboat dropped the rest of the way from the destroyer into the water with a splash, still attached to the cables. The outline of a crumpled figure was just visible across a bench. There was no way Paris survived that fall.
The speedboat dragged as the destroyer tried to react to the Lucinda’s escape. The Hampton couldn’t move fast enough. Lucinda scraped around the stern, nearly tangling with the destroyer’s propeller at the last moment, but her draft was shallow and she cleared the turn. More shouting and cursing filled the air. The destroyer groaned, trying to turn its bulky weight toward the smaller ship. Lucinda danced free.
Esther saw the sky, laced with purple clouds. The horizon was a blurred charcoal line in the distance. A shiver passed through the Lucinda. They were speeding through the water, away from the Galaxy Flotilla, toward the open ocean. The spray drenched Esther’s clothes. She felt the wild joy of the sea for a moment, delirious in her grief for Paris. He didn’t deserve this.
Then the first shell exploded beside them. Another. Esther’s ears rang, jolting her back to her senses.
Shells from the Mark 8 shrieked through the air, and splashes erupted all around them. Machine-gun fire ripped across the ship, tearing through steel and ringing against iron. Esther hit the deck and crawled. She couldn’t see anyone else. They had listened to her instructions and gotten out of sight. If anyone screamed, the shells ate the sound. The stinging smell of sulfur and melted metal engulfed her.
The destroyer rained shells down on them, but she hadn’t reached full speed. The Lucinda ran for her life. As they got farther away, the shots became less accurate. Esther imagined the chaos on the destroyer. That ship didn’t use its weapons often. It was out of missiles. That had to be why the Lucinda hadn’t suffered a direct hit. Yet.
Esther reached the hatch and climbed inside, finding Dax and some of the crew below. It was dark in the passageway and smelled of fear and sweat.
“Status,” she barked.
“Still afloat. The kids are safe in the hold,” Dax said. He was leaning against the wall of the passageway, arms clutched around a stage gun as if it were a teddy bear. Two women Esther didn’t know, probably the wives of oil workers, crouched on the floor. “Is Paris . . . ?”
“Injuries?” Esther barked. The Lucinda shuddered as another shell landed all too close. One of the women shrieked.
“An oilman got hit in the leg. He should pull through.”
“The captain?”
“We’re sailing straight, so Hawthorne’s probably alive,” Dax said.
Esther nodded. Breathed.
Zoe ran up the passageway. “Esther! Eva’s hit bad.” Sweat had darkened her purple scarf, and her face was bloodless.
“Get Neal,” Esther said. “He’s a better medic than me. Where is she?”
“Portside. Almost to stern,” Zoe shouted.
She had a real rifle slung over her shoulder, and as she whirled around it swung heavily against her back. It wouldn’t do much good against the destroyer, though.
It had been at least a minute since the last shell. Esther couldn’t allow herself to relax yet, couldn’t allow the panic to set in. “There should be a first aid kit. Dax, go find it and bring it to them.”
“Sure thing.” He ran off, his hair on end as if from static.
One of the women sitting on the floor stood on shaky legs. “Is it over?” she said, her voice squeaking.
“I don’t know.”
The gunfire seemed farther away, no longer pattering against the hull like rain. Esther listened for a splash or explosion but heard nothing. She counted to ten, then crawled back out of the hatch
and darted to the pilothouse, crouching low to the deck.
The daylight was already dimming, but as Esther reached the door a slice of sunshine cut beneath the purple clouds, turning them to bronze. She stepped inside.
David stood, leaning forward over the helm with his hands wrapped tight around the wheel, eyes fixed on the horizon. The windshield had shattered into a thousand cracks. A patch of blood was growing on David’s left shoulder.
“You all right?” Esther asked, voice shaking as the shock finally registered.
“The destroyer can’t outrun this beauty. Whew, just feel her move!”
David crowed like a rooster as Lucinda sped through the waves. Even as his left hand seized up and dropped to his side, he gazed triumphantly at the horizon line.
Chapter 27—Aftermath
As the sun gasped out its last light and dropped into the sea, they lost sight of the destroyer in the distance. The Galaxy Flotilla was gone, swallowed as surely as the sun.
Though the sea was empty again, the new crew of the Lucinda wasn’t safe yet. The destroyer couldn’t catch them in a straight run, but she carried more fuel and could sail for longer. They had no idea how long the chase would last.
The aftermath of the day’s events began to sink in. Esther had been so afraid, and she was only just realizing it. And Paris was dead. She allowed herself to think the words, but she still didn’t believe them. He’d helped them so much, put himself at risk to spirit them away from the Flotilla. He’d been so kind to her when she was left behind after the storm, and now he was gone. Esther felt like curling up in the deepest corner of the hold until the shaking in her limbs subsided. She pushed the feelings away. There was work to do.
She forced herself to move, making her way through the ship to check on everyone. Dirk had the engine room well in hand. His crew—it was clear they were all loyal to him—had already divided into teams to manage the propulsion system.
One of the men, apparently Dirk’s second-in-command, had taken shrapnel to the leg. Adele knelt in the grease and blood on the floor of the engine room, digging shards of metal out of the man’s calf muscle. The others winced as he hollered, but they kept to their tasks.
“Will he be okay?” Esther asked.
“He’ll be fine. Nothing to worry about,” Adele said, wrapping the wound with gauze.
“Can you take care of David next? He’s in the pilothouse.”
Esther had left him with his own shirt pressed against his shoulder to staunch the blood.
“Certainly,” Adele said. “And then you.”
“Huh?”
Adele smiled. “You’re leaving bloody footprints on the deck, Esther.”
Esther looked down at her bowling shoe, which had turned a dark purplish-brown. “Oh, it’s just my stitches. David first. He’s got a hole in his shoulder.”
Looking at her bloody shoe made the pain come rushing back. Esther flinched and turned toward the door.
Dirk stepped in front of her, blocking the exit. “Taking charge, are we?” he said, his face unreadable.
“Just making sure everyone’s okay,” Esther said.
She waited for him to step aside so she could leave. He didn’t.
Dirk dropped his voice lower. “You’re still an outsider on this ship. We didn’t want the captains telling us what to do, and you’re no captain. Remember that.”
“I just want to find my family,” Esther said, willing her voice to remain steady. “I don’t want to be the captain of anything.”
Dirk stared hard at her for a moment before stepping aside.
She wanted to bolt, but she resisted, walking slowly and brushing against him as he hovered just out of her path. But then an image flashed in her head, and she couldn’t help but smile. Soon Dirk would meet Judith.
Esther continued her rounds. Byron and his wife were busy assigning bunks to the children when Esther poked her head into the crew quarters.
“We’re okay,” Byron said. “Everyone will be better after a bit of sleep. But you look like you’ve seen the Great White Whale himself, Esther. You should get some rest.”
“I will. Got a few things to do first.”
Esther smiled at them and ruffled little Thera’s hair. The shaking in her hands had gotten worse. She had to keep moving.
It was dark outside now, and the wind whipped around the deck, harsh and cold. Esther trailed her hand along the railing, heading aft.
She found Neal in the stern, kneeling over Eva’s body with Dax at his side. Not another one. His hands were dyed red, and blood was soaking into the fabric of his trousers, leaving dark patches on the knees.
Esther asked Neal what had happened. His voice monotonous, he told her Eva had been climbing the turret to warn the lookouts when the gunfire began. She’d been hit multiple times. Neal had been too late to stop the bleeding.
“It was so quick,” he said dully. “I couldn’t do anything.”
Esther swallowed. She felt numb. “You did what you could, Neal.”
He sat back on his heels and wiped his nose with the back of hand, leaving a red smudge. Eva’s friends stood around her body in a circle. Zoe’s face was red, and she was crying with heaving, openmouthed sobs. Toni shook like a leaf, tears clinging to her thick eyelashes. Eva’s sister, Anita, was the only one with dry eyes. She simply looked at her sister’s still face, shrugging off her friends’ attempts to comfort her.
They all looked up at Esther. She met their sad, accusing eyes and said the only thing she could think of: “We have work to do.”
She had to keep going, keep working. Her father had taught her that. In a crisis, the worst thing was to be idle. Simon made sure the people on the Catalina were too busy after the catastrophe to let the reality of their situation set in. It had saved them from panic. Now, she would do the same.
As the cold deepened, Esther circumnavigated the Lucinda, surveying the damage. She’d assign people for the most essential repairs, no matter what Dirk said about her giving orders. It didn’t look like there were any breaches in the hull. Lucinda had an ample tool supply. Esther would get the less technically able sorting through the supplies and organizing the hold in the morning. She occupied herself with such thoughts: tools, work, practical things over which she had some measure of control. She couldn’t allow her emotions to get in the way.
But soon Esther’s walk slowed, and she nearly stumbled. She caught the cold railing between shaking hands and stared at the black sea sliding past her. Desperately, she calculated the days since she had walked the Catalina’s decks, smiled at Bernadette, spoken to her father. She imagined them using makeshift methods to clean their water, rationing what they had, slowly burning through their fuel. She hoped there had been sunny days where they were. She needed them to hang on a little while longer.
The cost had already been too high.
Esther straightened up and continued her journey around the ship. When she had made a complete circle, she came upon a small gathering. It was a burial at sea for Eva, quick and simple. Anita recited her sister’s favorite poem by Lord Byron.
Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean, roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin; his control
Stops with the shore; upon the watery plain
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
A shadow of man’s ravage, save his own,
When, for a moment, like a drop of rain,
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,
Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.
As Eva’s body slipped beneath the surface, guided by her friends, Esther looked around at the people who had thrown their lots in with her. The people who had trusted her, counted on her.
Neal reached out a hand and rested it briefly on Anita’s shoulder. Adele stood in front of a group of oilmen like a pillar of salt. Byron and his wife had come out on the deck, holding hands while their solemn-eyed
daughter stared at the waves. David’s silhouette was visible in the pilothouse, separate from the others still. She imagined Paris standing among them, smiling at her with his twinkling eyes.
Esther hoped it wouldn’t all be for nothing. As the group dispersed to find rest and comfort, she stood alone, watching the ruffled wake of Lucinda slicing through the sea. And finally she cried.
Chapter 28—The Search
The rising sun the next morning found Esther in the pilothouse with David and Neal. Two bullets had passed cleanly through David’s shoulder, one right next to the other, but Adele had patched him up. He would be fine.
They had sailed through the night at full speed, working in shifts, to get as far away from the Galaxy Flotilla as possible. Esther slept in a crew cabin for a few hours but woke before the sun to check for updates. With only the secondhand messages from other ships to go on, they headed for the last known location of the Catalina.
Neal stood at the communications console, looking shell-shocked after the events of the previous day. His usual good-natured smile was gone, replaced with a sea-deep melancholy. Esther wondered if she’d ever see that smile again.
But Neal was ready to work. He switched through a handful of languages on the radio, seeking information about the Catalina.
At first, a barrage of communications had come from the Galaxy. The messages threatened and enticed but eventually became less frequent. They mostly ignored them.
Neal managed to get in touch with a metal-harvesting vessel that had seen the navy ship Marianna had talked to before, but the harvesters had never heard of the Catalina. Neal carried on a long conversation in a language Esther didn’t recognize that left her and David anticipating good news, but when he signed off he only said, “The harvesters don’t know anything, but they said the Galaxy is asking other ships to apprehend us.”
“Think anyone will do what the Galaxy wants?” David asked.
“Doubtful,” Neal said.
