Several passengers huddled in orange life jackets at the front of the boat on the lower deck. Barrows Bay loomed behind them, quickly closing the distance. Sheila stood by a large white pickup truck, wearing a life vest, holding another out to the driver.

"I ain't leaving my truck," the driver said. "This is a goddamn hemi, you know what that is? I still got six payments on this sumbitch."

"Fine. Sink with it, for all I care. At least put on the fucking life jacket."

Grudgingly, the driver took it and began to pull it on.

She caught Martin's eye and hurried over. "One of the crew was passed out in the lounge," she said. "Did you find out what's going on?"

He shook his head. "The rest of the crew's out cold."

"What the hell happened here, Martin?"

"I don't know. But if we don't crash into the island we're just gonna keep circling until we run out of fuel. Eventually the coast guard will come for us."

"We can't wait on that."

"No." He turned to face the bow. The island so close he could make out individual seagulls on the stony shore. "And I don't think we'll get the chance."

She followed his gaze. The rocky bluffs rolled into view. "Should we jump?"

"When it's time. If we have to. The water's gonna be freezing."

She nodded toward the others. "Let's get them ready."

As they approached the other passengers, the bluffs blotted out the sky.

"It looks like the whole crew is incapacitated," Sheila told them, taking charge. "We may need to jump but it's going to be very cold."

The passengers gave each other fearful looks, whispered prayers and curses. An older gentleman tucked his cane between his legs to fasten his life jacket. The dog owner kissed her poodle. Beside her a young mother tightened the straps on a little boy's life vest. His dark eyes were wide with fear.

"You need to start swimming for shore the second you hit the water. That should keep your limbs from going numb—"

As she said it the ferry lurched drastically to the left. Something boomed on the starboard side and screeched along the hull.

The passengers cried out, grabbing the railings, reaching out for one another.

Sheila and Martin shared a nervous look.

She took his hand. They headed for the starboard side of the bow.

The others followed. The screech of metal subsided, leaving nothing but the hum of the engine, the cry of nearby gulls.

The ferry chugged onward, fifty feet from where the waves, each at least five feet high, beat against the rocky shore.

Sheila climbed over the railing.

Martin followed her over. They leaned side by side over the edge in the shadow of the bluffs, gripping the cold, wet rails, preparing to jump.

Ry Mulligan rolled an udder between thumb and forefinger, squeezing down to the tip to find it dry, then the next. Translucent white fluid eked out from twelve of her sixteen teats. She would farrow any day now. By the look of her distended belly it would be the biggest litter of her life.