by Jordan Rivet
“Any trick to the shower?” he asked. He wore only a pair of boxer briefs now.
“What? Um, no. I can’t promise the water will be hot.”
“Long as I can get rid of the sand and salt, I’ll be happy. Will you be okay for a minute?”
“Of course. This is my room,” Judith said.
He gave a trace of a smile and then closed the bathroom door.
Judith shook her head. Pull yourself together!
She needed to rest. She’d be able to think more clearly in the morning. She eased herself back on the bed, still wrapped in the towel, and brought the blanket up to her shoulder on the left side. She couldn’t pull it any higher on the right because her skin was too raw. She felt exposed, lying partway uncovered and sideways so her battered skin wouldn’t come in contact with the bed.
She tried to doze, but she felt too wired from her dunking in the sea. It was still stormy, though not as bad as last time. The sounds of the shower came through the thin walls of the stateroom. It occurred to her that Michael had nowhere to stay. Was he expecting to sleep here in her bed? She wouldn’t mind the company, but she’d already shared an unusual level of intimacy with this man. They’d been through a crazy ordeal together, but that didn’t mean she knew him. At all.
The water shut off. Judith couldn’t see the changing area outside the bathroom or the stateroom door from where she was lying. If Michael thought she was already asleep, he might slip away quietly. She lifted her head so he’d see she was awake. She didn’t want him to go.
“Hey.” He came around the corner from the changing area. “You were right about no hot water, but it feels good to be clean. I rinsed my clothes too.”
He had a towel wrapped around his waist. Water droplets made tracks down his chest.
“You might find some extras in the shopping arcade.”
“I’d like to wait until the storm’s over.” He stood in the doorway expectantly.
“You can stay here,” Judith said, perhaps a little too quickly. She blushed. “Until the storm’s over, I mean.”
He nodded and hobbled back to the bed. He gathered up some of Nora’s things and moved them to the end. The mattress creaked when he sat.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Like my side is on fire,” she said. “Helps with the cold, I guess.”
“You did well out there. You’re pretty brave.”
“We’d better still have those fuel tanks after this is all over.”
Michael grinned. “I tie a mean sailor’s knot. We’ll have one at least.”
“Good,” Judith said. “I don’t know where we’ll go with it, though.” She shivered. They’d been turned away from Hawaii and from Guam. They had to find refuge somewhere. “Where do you think we’ll end up?”
“Maybe nowhere,” Michael said after a moment. “At least not right away. Moving around probably takes up eighty-five percent of this ship’s energy. The fuel would go a lot further if we weren’t trying to get anywhere.”
“You mean if we just floated along until things calm down?”
“Something like that,” Michael said. “Things don’t seem to be any better on land, if you believe the reports.”
“We just don’t know,” Judith said. “That’s the whole problem, right?”
“Yeah. No, we’ll have to go somewhere. I need to get home. Maybe there will be news in the morning.”
They were quiet for a moment. Michael lay back and lifted his battered foot onto the clothes piled at the end of the bed. He put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling, preparing to sleep. Judith wanted to hear his voice for a little while longer.
“How long do you think we could last, floating along like that?” she asked.
“Depends how good we got at fishing,” Michael said. “And how long we could avoid scurvy.”
“We’ve been eating a bit of seaweed already. That has plenty of nutrients.”
“Blech. I hate the stuff, but you’re right.”
“Hmm . . . staying on the Catalina,” Judith said. She did not like the idea one bit. She wanted to get her feet back on land. Real land, not just a patch of sand in the middle of the ocean.
“It’s probably just the hypothermia talking,” Michael said. “We’ll be able to disembark somewhere. There’ve got to be relief organizations on the move by now.”
“I hope so. Maybe Nora can—” Judith fell silent abruptly. She’d forgotten.
“She was your friend who . . .”
“Yeah. She was kind of a computer genius. She was helping us keep track of what was going on in the world.” Judith swallowed and looked over at the window. The wind howled against the panes, rattling them like ghosts.
“How close were you?” Michael asked.
Judith let out something between a sob and laugh. “I only knew her for a few days. It seemed like a lot longer.”
“That’s how it works in traumatic situations,” Michael said. “That’s why war buddies are for life. I’m sorry about Nora.”
“It’s stupid,” Judith said. “She made it out of San Diego. We were the survivors. But she just couldn’t swim well enough.” Judith wrapped her fingers around her blanket, as if squeezing it would somehow ease the enormous pain in her chest. “It’s not fair.” She could barely hold in the tears.
“Nothing’s fair anymore,” Michael said. “The world has gone to hell.”
“It’s stupid,” Judith said again. She really was crying now. She hated crying.
Michael sat up and reached across the small gap between them to put his hand on top of Judith’s fist. His warmth relaxed and calmed her. Almost involuntarily the tension in her body eased. Michael reached out to wipe the tears off her face.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
He stayed like that, one hand over her hand, the other hovering near her face, like he was ready to block out the rest of the world. She felt like she was holding her breath and Michael was leaning forward, offering an oxygen mask, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to take it.
Then the exhaustion of the day tumbled onto her. She closed her eyes, relaxed. With Michael’s hand still covering hers, she succumbed to sleep.
Simon
When the storm finally calmed, Simon looked out at a changed sea. He had no idea how long it had been, but suddenly the water was as flat as glass. Clouds still swirled above it, milky and chilled.
Ren had finally gone to bed. Vinny and Kim were up in the radio tower, trying to figure out where the storm had brought them and if there was anyone else out there. Captain Martinelli had returned to his quarters. As soon as they were far enough away from the atoll to be safe, they’d shut off the engines and allowed the sea to toss them where it willed.
The navy had forsaken them. They were being pushed away time and again. They couldn’t communicate with the outside world. They had lost another of their number. They had nowhere to go. Simon felt the clutches of despair in his heart. When was this going to end?
Chapter 16—The Shops
Simon
Simon strolled along the plaza in the early-morning hours, surveying the damage. The plaza had been decorated to look like a boardwalk, with tropical-themed shops along the perimeter. In addition to the huge cruise gift shop, there were boutiques selling patio clothes, overpriced artwork, sunglasses, and swimming trunks. There was even a bookstore, and this was where Simon stopped.
The first storm had sent books and merchandise cascading to the floor. Some effort had been made to clean up the mess, but they’d had the sense not to put everything back on the shelves, stacking the books on the floor to prevent them from being damaged further. This storm hadn’t been quite as bad as the first, but the books had still scattered as the ship tossed.
Simon began shifting books, clearing a path through the shop. The sound of paper against paper whispered through the air. One bookshelf had tipped over. On the other side, Penelope Newton sat on the floor sorting through the children’s s
ection.
“Hello, Simon,” she said brightly.
“Penelope.”
“How are you holding up?”
“It’s been a rough night,” Simon said. “For all of us. What are you doing?”
“Just picking out a few stories for my boys. I can’t approve of the content of some of these so-called children’s books.” She held up a book with some sort of sorcerer on the cover. “Gotta narrow it down a bit.”
“You look out for them.”
Penelope sighed. “I’m not sure if it’ll matter in the end.”
“What won’t matter?” Simon asked. He had come to expect Penelope’s persistent optimism. He might not agree with her on many things, but she always seemed so cheerful.
“Whether they read one more story with magic or too much sex,” Penelope said. She frowned at the small pile of books she had stacked in front of her. “I want to keep the same standards despite everything, but sometimes I don’t know if it’ll end up being all that important.”
“I think it’s important,” Simon began slowly, “that you continue to parent them in the midst of all of this. And you’re trying to be a good parent.”
“Yes,” Penelope said. “You’re right. It just gets hard sometimes.”
She met his eyes for a moment. There were new lines in her face, and her gaze was vulnerable and sad. Her eyes were quite pretty, really. There was more to Penelope than Simon had thought at first.
Then she gave a little sniff and resumed sorting through books.
“Do you need any help?” Simon said.
“Not with this, but it sure is a shame to leave all these books lying around like no one cares about them,” Penelope said. Her voice was determinedly cheerful again, though she still sniffled every once in a while. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
“I needed somewhere to think,” Simon said. “This seems like the most sensible place for it.”
“What are you thinking about?” Penelope asked politely. She shifted the stacks of books across the floor, back to her usual bustling self.
“What to do next,” Simon said. “After Guam didn’t work out . . . I don’t know where to go from here.” He knelt on the floor of the bookshop and began picking up paperbacks. “We have the fuel tanks now, and we salvaged a few extra things that might be useful. I just don’t know when it’s all going to end. If we were going to hold on for another week, I could take it. If we were going to hold on for exactly two months and four days, I could take it. It’s the not knowing that worries me. Should we be rationing for the long haul? If so, things are going to get a bit less comfortable around here.”
“Well, the Lord always said we wouldn’t know the day or the hour of His coming,” Penelope said. She took a book with animals on the cover out of Simon’s hands and added it to her small stack. “I believe we’re seeing signs of the End of Days. We don’t know when the Second Coming will be, so we’ve got to hang in there. The apostles believed the Lord would come again during their lifetime. That didn’t happen, but I think it’s a good bet He’ll come again in ours, what with all the signs. I’ve been doing some reading . . .”
Penelope stood and retrieved a worn Bible from where she’d placed it on a now-empty display counter. It was in a carrying case made of some sort of quilted fabric, and the corners were frayed. The tome overflowed with sermon notes and pretty bookmarks printed with inspirational sayings.
Penelope opened the Bible to the very end.
“Seven years, Simon!” she gushed. “That’s what we’re looking at. Seven years of tribulation before the last battle. I’ve always been in the Pre-Trib camp myself. I thought we’d be raptured before the Last Days because I didn’t think Jesus would want his people to go through all this. But I’ve been faithful, and he wouldn’t have left me and my boys behind, so we must be looking at a Mid-Trib—that’s three and a half years—or a Post-Trib scenario.”
Penelope explained the signs and portents she believed heralded the Last Days. She catalogued the events, referenced verses. Simon didn’t think they were living in some cosmic end-time, but Penelope’s voice was calming. The order and methodology of her words soothed him. She was carving out meaning for herself in the madness of the last week and a half. It must be easier than questioning why all this was allowed to happen in the first place. Even if she was completely wrong, her soul was more at peace than Simon’s. He wished he too could simply study the right passages in a book to find the answers to his doubts and fears.
It was one of the things he had always liked about being Jewish. He hadn’t followed the rules to the letter for years, but there was a consistency and staidness to his heritage that he appreciated. Regardless of whether or not he was personally religious, the tradition was something to study and to practice. But now he wanted an explanation for why all this had happened.
Penelope noticed he had fallen silent. “I’m sorry to babble on like this, Simon,” she said. “It . . . it helps that we might be able to work out what’s coming next.”
“I almost hope you’re right, Penelope,” Simon said. “But like you said, we won’t know the hour, so we need to focus on what to do in the next few days.”
“How far d’you think we can get on that extra fuel?” Penelope asked.
“Ren thinks we should be able to get all the way to Southeast Asia on it . . . or all the way back to Hawaii. We can’t do both. We don’t want to make the wrong choice.” He hesitated, then voiced the doubt he hadn’t shared with anyone else yet. “I’m not sure we’ll find solace in either location.”
Penelope gasped. “You don’t think they’d help us? Of course they’ll help us!”
Simon smiled. Despite everything, she still had faith in humanity as well as in God.
“No one else has helped us so far,” he said. “I hope they will, but they’re dealing with problems of their own. We’re almost better off sailing around for a little while.”
“We have to get back on dry land, Simon,” Penelope said. “We can’t raise our kids on this boat.”
“Maybe it’s like the Ark,” Simon said. “Maybe the Catalina will keep us safe.”
Penelope smiled. “It already has.”
They returned to sorting through the books. Simon arranged them by topic and author, even though he knew another storm could pick them up and toss them about again at any moment. It made him feel better to find order in the midst of the chaos.
Judith
Before Judith opened her eyes, the pain reignited in her side and arm, reminding her immediately of what had happened. Her dreams had been filled with dark waves, ropes tangled around her like snakes, and Nora disappearing beneath the ship again and again.
The next thing she became aware of before she opened her eyes was deep, heavy breathing. Warmth touched her face with the sound of each breath. She remembered this part even more clearly. She opened her eyes.
Michael lay beside her, partially on top of the covers. He had fallen asleep holding her hand instead of climbing beneath them. Judith sat up slowly so as not to disturb him. Each movement hurt worse than the last. She must have pulled every muscle she had.
She eased herself out of bed and tiptoed to the bathroom. She managed to undress without crying and took a cold, head-clearing shower. She scrubbed her hair and winced through each drop of water that fell on her wounded skin.
She thought about the man sleeping in her bed, recalling the feeling of his hands on hers the night before, the way the muscles rippled in his stomach. His strength was positively seductive.
But she reminded herself these were extreme circumstances. They had been through a very intense day. She had latched onto him in the midst of the crisis. It didn’t mean anything. It was the danger, the adrenaline. She didn’t even like jocks! They spent too much time in the gym and not enough time doing useful things, like homework. But that gym time paid off . . . Judith let the shower water course over her face, her sore muscles forgotten for a moment. Stop it! Just be
cause the world is ending, doesn’t mean you need to throw yourself into the first muscular pair of arms you find. They’d be getting off the ship soon anyway.
Judith turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. She wiped the fog from the bathroom mirror to reveal her reflection. She looked like a drowned golden retriever. She grabbed the spare towel from the rack to dry her hair, then ran her fingers through it, trying to make it look tousled and beachy. Get a grip, Judith. When have you ever used the word “beachy”?
She yanked open the bathroom door. Michael was standing right outside it in the changing area.
“What are you doing?” she gasped.
She quickly swung the towel around herself. In her haste, it scoured against the scabs forming on her damaged skin. The pain made her angry, as well as embarrassed.
“I wanted to see if you were—”
“What? Naked?” Judith shrieked. “Yes, genius. I was showering. Get out!”
“I was just trying to—”
“Out!”
Michael shrugged and ducked back around the wardrobe.
Judith finished drying herself off. There was blood on the towel now from where it had rubbed against her raw skin. What was he thinking, lurking outside the door while she showered? Obviously, he could hear the water running. Judith realized she didn’t have any clean clothes to put on. That made her even more annoyed.
She wrapped the towel tightly around her body and stalked out of the changing area. Michael was sitting on the chair, slowly putting on his shoes.
“Sorry about that,” he said breezily. “I was worried you were having trouble moving and thought I’d see if you needed help.”
Face burning, Judith sat down across from him. She had overreacted. It was not like she’d never been naked in front of a man before. They were both adults.
“Look, if you want to make yourself useful you can do me a favor,” she said stiffly.