He’s right. It isn’t just their clothes, but their better-quality life belts, with thicker shoulder straps and ties, that give them away. Wink and Olly can’t be here. Maybe they’re bottlenecked in one of the stairwells, or stalled elsewhere in the labyrinth-like passages of the ship. They’re clever boots, and as boiler monkeys, they must possess some sea sense. But panic can be a ruthless scamp, slashing the knees of reason.

People peer out of the arched windows of the deckhouse, their faces tight with worry. Some flit from the lounge only to return, like foxes reluctant to leave the safety of the den. Others appear not worried at all, like the spry young man in the gymnasium riding an exercise bicycle.

The boats on the forward end appear less crowded, perhaps because they lie farther from most of the staircases. I count four lifeboats, including a smaller cutter already swung out, plus a flatter boat still covered with a tarp. Maybe the flatter one is the “collapsible” type Jamie mentioned.

A couple pushes past, headed for the closest lifeboat, where an officer yells, “Newlyweds! We will accept newlywed couples, in addition to women and children.”

“What is a ‘newlywed’?” Bo asks me.

“A just-married couple.”

I’m not sure if it’s my imagination, but I swear Bo’s fingers grip mine more tightly, and despite the chill, my cheeks warm.

Past another deckhouse, marked “Officers’ Quarters,” we stop at a gate that blocks entry to the navigating bridge. The gate is half-open. We steal closer, unnoticed by the crewmen readying the foremost lifeboats on our right. On our left, an open doorway allows us a direct view into the command center. Brass instruments give the illusion of a populated room, though only four officers stand the watch, including Captain Smith. Their movements are jerky, their voices agitated.

“No one. Take ’em three hours to get here.”

“Where are those damnable flares?”

“Someone call Bell. I need an update on the boilers.”

“Six is underwater. They’re pumping five, and four is flooding, too.”

They’re talking about Boiler Room 6. Only thin veils of vapor trail out from the closest smokestack, the chimney for Boiler Rooms 5 and 6. The one behind it still vigorously puffs away. I push aside thoughts of Drummer.

A walkway hung with lifesavers wings out from the navigating bridge, blocking access to the front rail and thus our view of the forward decks. Even I cannot bring myself to breach the command center. All our fates depend on those officers doing their jobs.

Bo points to a narrow staircase cut into the floor, surrounded by a bulwark to prevent accidental falls down the hole. “Where do these stairs lead?”

“What the devil are you two doing here?” An officer emerges from the bridge. “This is off-limits! Move along!” He shoos us away, nearly clipping Bo on the shoulder.