I stare at her, taken aback by how quickly she’s changed tack. A minute ago, Viv was spitting mad, worried about being trapped on a yacht in a hurricane, and now she’s all business, whatever fears she had forgotten. Maybe this is her way of coping—we can’t change the situation we’re in, after all.
“Charlie, can you go check the crew mess instead?” Viv asks, turning to me suddenly. “See if there’s anything useful down there. Food or otherwise.”
“Oh, um, sure,” I say, too slow to come up with a reason why I can’t. It’s better than fussing around on my phone like the othersanyway. “What is the deal with the internet? Will we have Wi-Fi during the storm? Can we call and get someone to evacuate us?”
Viv ignores me, wandering off to the couches, face already buried in her phone. Piper takes her drink and slips away, while Fiona fastens a hand on Carl’s wrist and drags him into a corner, whispering furiously. Rachel scurries off, phone at the ready to capture the perfect hurricane content. Ashley is watching Carl, expression strangely blank. Then she blinks rapidly, glancing at the retreating back of her twin, heaving a large sigh. As if her feet are made of stone, Ashley follows Rachel to the third level.
Only Trey remains in the kitchen to answer my question. “Unfortunately, I think it’s safe to assume the internet will go out at some point. See, it’s Ligia that houses the router and antenna. It’s a long-range router, so it reaches where we’ve anchoredEmpress.”
“But when the internet goes out, we’ll be stuck.” I can’t figure out why he’s not taking this as seriously as anyone else. Does he truly believeEmpressis the safest place to be right now?
“I’m not an idiot, Charlie,” Trey says, smiling a little to soften his words. “I left word with the Coast Guard on Islamorada before I came back to get you girls. Obviously, I didn’t make it in time to evacuate you, but I promise, we really are safe here. We have a radio on the bridge. Worst comes to worst, I’ll call them again from there. They can come get us. But right now, this is the safest place for us to be.”
“There’s a bridge?”
Trey chuckles. “Of course. And an engine room. And crew quarters. And everything else a boat would have. This is a yacht, remember? We hide the less glamorous areas.”
I suppose this should make me feel better, but I can’t surface from the well of fear that has sprung inside my chest. I’m trapped in the middle of the ocean during a hurricane with a bunch of strangers, and I’ve been seeing things.
I have never felt less safe in my life.
Chapter 15
A Category 2 hurricane is survivable. I read a book about a woman who survived a Category 3 storm in a drainage pipe a few years back. But knowing that and being trapped on a glass boat that affords you an uninterrupted view of the violent weather are two different things.
I worry about the strength of the caissons, the supply of drinking water suddenly running out, the possibility of the storm upgrading or lasting days.
But as I head to the bowels of the boat, my storm anxieties are shunted to the side and replaced with different ones. Descending to the crew quarters feels like closing the cover of a hot tub when you’re still inside it.
Trey had showed me a nearly invisible door on the far side of the main level, tucked behind a huge potted plant. “These stairs will take you to the crew area. Fair warning, you might not get anyservice. Hopefully we’ll have internet for a while longer, but don’t be alarmed if you can’t use your phone while you’re down there.”
“I never noticed this door before,” I said as he opened it for me, revealing a claustrophobic staircase shooting straight down into the depths of the yacht. It looked like a tunnel, enclosed on all sides—no windows, no landings.
“Good,” Trey replied, so casual and genial. As if this was a perfectly normal day and not an emergency situation. “The crew areas and staircases are supposed to be unobtrusive.”
When Trey shuts the door behind me, my skin prickles. Trotting down the steps, it’s clear the lack of care billionaires take with places that aren’t made for them. The staircase is stooped and dimly lit; the railing is dusty. There is no art. There are no windows.
It’s eerily quiet. My footsteps echo as I go deeper, but the storm is muted inside the isolated staircase. I am confined in the very center of the boat. A chill rolls up my spine, and I stutter to a halt when a burst of cold air blooms on the back of my neck.
Swiveling, I look behind me. The staircase looms above, darkness chewing on the edges. No one is there. I must have imagined someone’s icy breath on my skin.
It takes me two tries to swallow the excess saliva that has filled my mouth, and when I finally manage it, I continue onward.
The steps eventually lead me into a long, drab hallway, illuminated only by the light spilling from the tubelike staircase. Shadows hover, and the hall ends in inky puddles.
Okay, no thanks.
Searching frantically, I find a panel of switches near the staircase and slap them, lighting up the crew area like a stage. It smells like mothballs and mildew down here, but the fluorescent bulbs chase away the darkness and make the space feel a little less hostile.
There’s a crew mess that consists of a few benches surrounding a long Formica table, a microwave and mini-fridge, and a line of cabinets. Past the mess is another constricted hallway with doors that hang slightly ajar—crew cabins.
Everything upstairs is sleek, white, and minimalist. The crew area is small, functional, and more than a little ugly. No wonder the stews didn’t want to stay here. The people upstairs get huge beds and a beautiful kitchen and room to stretch. They get windows.
But this? This is a prison.
The roar of the hurricane is back now that I’m outside of the enclosed staircase. The caissons keepEmpressfrom rollicking with the violent waves outside, but the sound of the storm crashing against her hull isn’t comforting either. And with no windows, the crew area is even worse than upstairs. At least on the main floor I can see how bad things are getting. Down here, all I have to go on are the sounds of thrashing waves and howling wind. It’s far easier to fear something you can’t see properly.
I resolve to make this experience as fast as possible.
