Rolling up and using page after page of the album, she beat at the tripod’s closest leg, shaking the contraption, making it wobble as the water and her panic rose. “Die, you bastard,” she muttered, then grabbed the plastic-bound cover. It was stronger, the frame beneath the smooth simulated oxblood leather either plastic or metal or wood.

It didn’t matter which.

She only stopped to listen once, trying to discern where her jailer was, but she couldn’t get a bead on the woman, heard only the groan of the boat as it began to list slightly and the horrifying slosh of water as it rose, splashing her calves.

The boat was going down.

Fight, Olivia! You can do this!

Terrified, she started swinging like crazy, smashing the cover into the tripod’s legs, swinging with all her strength, her fingers clenched over her makeshift weapon.

Whack! Whack! Whack!

All sounds above stopped.

No footsteps. No scrapes of metal on metal. Nothing but the spookiness of the empty, rapidly-filling hull. Olivia’s teeth were already chattering, her fingers numb, her fear at the quietude complete.

Give me strength, she silently prayed. Please.

Then the sound of footsteps. Fast and furious.

Olivia froze, the album cover raised for a final assault, cold water sloshing around her knees. Her pulse was pounding in her brain, her senses heightened as she strained to listen. More footsteps. Her gaze turned to the stairs as the door above opened.

“What the hell?” the woman yelled. “What’s that banging? What’s going on down there?”

Damn!

Suddenly the footsteps were ringing down the steps.

No!

Olivia wasn’t ready.

She threw another blow at the tripod, hitting hard as her attacker descended. Wearing a wet suit, she dropped to the floor of the hold, splashing water.

The camera teetered.

Olivia gave the tripod a final whack!

The legs gave way and the camera flopped off its base and fell into the water.

“Noooo! What the hell is this?” her attacker demanded, an expression of sheer horror on her face. “You miserable bitch, stop it!” She was sloshing through the salt water, trying to reach the camera as it sank.

Olivia fell to her knees, her hands scrabbling outside the cage, trying to reach the camera, water splashing around her face. She held her breath. Scrabbled frantically. Her finger grazed the side of the camera. It floated off. She tried again, sweeping it with a paddling motion toward the bars.

“Hey!” the woman screeched. “No! Stop! What do you think you’re doing?” She lunged through the water to the cage.

Olivia’s fingers curved over the handle and she pulled. The camera hit the bars and she nearly dropped it.

Her attacker sprang forward.

Gulping salt water, Olivia adjusted the camera so that it slipped through the bars to the inside of the cage.