We reach the buoy. It is a towering cylinder of rusted steel, swaying violently. Barnacles cover the base, sharp as razors. "The ladder!" Charon yells.
Alaric grabs the rusted rungs. He hauls himself up, his muscles straining against the wet shirt. He reaches down. "Hand!"
I reach up. He grabs my wrist. His grip is iron. He pulls me out of the sea. I collapse onto the metal grating of the buoy’s platform. I am shivering uncontrollably, my teeth chattering so hard I think they will crack. Charon climbs up after me.
We are huddled on a platform barely five feet wide, suspended ten feet above the churning ocean. "Get down," Alaric orders. "Flat. Behind the solar panel."
We press ourselves against the cold steel. We wait. Five minutes pass. Ten. The cold is seeping into my marrow. Hypothermia is scratching at the door again. Alaric pulls me into him, wrapping his arms around me, sharing what little heat he has left.
Then we hear it.Thwup-thwup-thwup.Rotors. Lights appear in the sky. Searchlights. Two helicopters. Black. No markings. They swoop down on the burning wreckage of the boat. They circle it like vultures.
One of them fires a missile.WHOOSH-BOOM.The remains of the boat are vaporized. They aren't looking for survivors. They are scrubbing the site.
The searchlights sweep the water. The beam passes over the waves. It sweeps toward the buoy. I hold my breath. I bury my face in Alaric’s neck. The light hits the solar panel above us. It pauses. My heart stops. Then it moves on.
"Radar shadow," Alaric whispers into my hair. "We are invisible."
The helicopters circle for another ten minutes. Then, satisfied that nothing could survive the fire and the sea, they turn back toward Monaco. The sound of the rotors fades. We are alone in the dark.
"We can't stay here," Charon says, his voice shaking. "Exposure will kill us before dawn."
"We need a ship," Alaric says. He scans the horizon. "Look." He points north. A faint light. Steady. Green and Red. Navigation lights. "A freighter," Charon identifies. "Heading for Genoa."
"It’s passing close," Alaric estimates. "Maybe half a mile."
"We can't swim half a mile," I say. "Not in this state."
Alaric looks at the survival kit I strapped to my chest. "The flare gun," he says. "Did you bring it?"
"I have the SIG. I don't have a flare gun."
"I have a strobe," Charon says, tapping his life vest. "But if I use it, anyone can see it."
"The helicopters are gone," Alaric calculates. "The freighter is our only chance. If they see us, they are maritime law bound to rescue us. If they don't... we die here."
He looks at me. "Are you ready to roll the dice again,petite?"
"Always," I chatter.
"Light it," Alaric tells Charon.
Charon activates the strobe. It flashes intense white light.Flash. Flash. Flash.He waves it at the distant ship. We wait. The ship keeps moving. It’s huge, a dark wall blocking out the stars. It’s going to pass us.
"They don't see it," I whisper. "The bridge is too high."
"They need to hear us," Alaric says. He looks at my SIG. "Is it dry?"
I pull the plastic bag from my bra. I tear it open. The gun is dry. "Three rounds left," I say.
"Fire them," Alaric commands. "Spacing. Three seconds apart. The universal distress signal."
I raise the gun. I aim at the sky.Bang.Wait. One. Two. Three.Bang.Wait. One. Two. Three.Bang.
The sound is swallowed by the wind. But the muzzle flash is bright in the darkness.
We watch the ship. Nothing happens. It keeps moving. "No," I whisper. "Please."
Then... A spotlight on the ship’s bridge turns. A beam of light cuts through the darkness. It sweeps the water. It finds the buoy. It blinds us.
