But there’s nothing I can do about it—I won’t be sleeping anyway, soon I’ll have to go up again. I must check every fifteen minutes, look for other boats, drilling rigs, be on the lookout for other lone lanterns out there in the storm.

I sit down at the map table again. Time stands still, time rages by—no, it’s the storm that’s raging, the ocean, the wind, a racket like no other. The cable pounding against the mast, it’s no longer a rhythm, the sound is now so powerful and rapid that it has become a vibration. Should I call for help, mayday, mayday? If I have enough power on the battery to use the VHF, I can still reach the drilling rig, maybe they can help?

No, I’m not asking for help, I’ll ride it out, the storm. I don’t need them, I don’t need help from any damn oil rig, from crude-oil workers—at home half the time, million-dollar salaries—I don’t need their help, don’t need anyone’s help.

I have to check again, I pull back the hatch, peek out. A wave crashes over me—hell, my hood isn’t up, ice-cold seawater pours down my back, I can’t see a thing, all that’s out there is the ocean.

I slam the hatch shut.

Sit down.

Shake, tremble.

Keep going.

Chapter Twelve: David

Chapter Twelve

David

“I want to go see the boat again,” Lou said when she woke up.

She was lying in bed, smiling at me.

“Hush,” I whispered. “Don’t wake the others.”

It had to be early. The hall was still quiet. I heard only the sound of people sleeping, breathing heavily. Somebody was snoring loudly, others turned over in their beds. The morning light filtered through the windows.

“But I want to go to the boat,” Lou said, a little more softly.

“I thought you said it was a shitty boat,” I whispered.

“You’re not allowed to say shitty,” she said.

“No.”

“I’m going to the boat anyway.” She placed her bare feet on the concrete floor and pulled on the pair of shorts that had been hanging over the headboard.

“Maybe later,” I said.

“It’s our boat now.” She came over to me. “C’mon, get up.”

“It’s not ours.”

“But we’re the ones who found it.”

She leaned over me, pressing her face against mine. Her eyes were two bright slits in her face. Good God, she looked so much like Anna. Anna also looked this way in the morning—the same eyes. The sun was always shining in there, regardless of the weather.

Anna.

“Maybe we can go after breakfast,” I said, trying to hide the huskiness in my voice.

She hopped up and down. “Can we?”

“We have to put the tarps back on.”

“Of course,” she said.