The fog swirls around Firefly, encapsulating her in its dense shroud. The cabin windscreen fogs up, and I wipe a patch clear with my hand. The moist air leaves droplets over the glass.
Christ, how am I meant to find anybody in this goddamn soup?
I throttle back.
Drifting among the eerie whiteout around me, I make another radio call.
Nothing comes back, and the pit of my stomach turns like a mossy boulder, disturbed.
I switch the handheld over to the megaphone that was installed when Firefly went from fishing boat to lighthouse first response vessel.
“This is Firefly. Can you hear me?”
The loud sound echoes through the fog.
Shivers rack my spine, slipping along my rib cage and through my bones.
“This is Firefly. Vessel east of the lighthouse, can you hear me?”
“Over here!” The faint reply comes from the south.
I turn toward it, slowly making my way to its position. “Firefly to Coast Guard. I have located the stranded vessel. Three miles due east of the northern end of the island. Over.”
Static screeches back at me before Errol says, “Copy Firefly. Over and out.”
When I finally see the small boat, its port side is almost level with the water.
Jesus Christ.
I can’t make out anyone on board. I search the water around the boat quickly. But there is nobody bobbing in the choppy waves. No hands waving at me to save them.
Fuck. I’m going to have to step aboard this disaster.
I idle Firefly, sliding her in beside the smaller boat. Nobody appears, so I tie off to the small vessel on its port side so we don’t drift apart in the manic sea.
“Coming aboard!” I call out.
I need to find whoever is out here. This little tub is going to roll over any second.
Carefully, I make my way along the slippery, tilted deck to the companionway. Leaning down, I peer inside, bracing with both hands. “Hello?”
My only answer is the choppy waves hitting the starboard side and the creak of the boat as she takes on more water. With tentative, slow steps, I descend halfway into the living quarters. It’s half flooded with items, food, and papers scattered everywhere. Most floating in the water.
Nobody’s down here.
Thirty-Four
EVIE
Iris isn’t answering. Still.
I stalk my way down the sidewalk of Bay Shore. Having taken the night bus, I rolled in with the sun. The walk from the bus felt like an eternity. But I don’t have time to waste trying to hail a cab in this one-seagull town.
Horrified by the lamest pun the world’s ever bared witness to, I huff a strained noise.
I close in on the café. The place is lit up and bustling, even at six in the morning. Iris weaves and rushes behind the counter. I hesitate before pushing through the door. The happy, routine chatter that’s she’s deep into sends another stone to my gut. If something happened to Cal, why is she here?
The doorbell chimes as the door slips closed behind me.
