“This opens into the engineering room,” Trey explains. “It’s how we access the bridge. You can’t make the inner workings of a boat look very glamorous, so we hide it. This is whereEmpress’s brain lives.”
He pulls the door open and leads me into a completely different world.
Everything is exposed. There are pipes running through the ceiling, industrial stainless-steel containers, machine parts, and a grated metal floor that clangs when we step on it. There are no windows, and the storm is quieter here. Instead, there is a gentle humming sound.
It’s not a room; it’s a whole different section of the boat, tucked away and hidden.
“Over here,” Trey says, leading me around the corner of one of the large metal containers.
The others have stayed behind in the billiards room, but I follow Trey up a rickety steel staircase that leads to a second door, which belches us out into a wide, curved space with a full-length window showcasing the brutal storm raging outside. A captain’s chairperches on a raised platform and a strip of cushioned seating lines the wall next to the door.
“Wheelhouse window and observation deck,” Trey says, gesturing. “This is where the captain hangs out when we’re moving. It’s the control room. There are sat phones and radios we can use to communicate with the Coast Guard. Or whoever else might be listening.” He winks at me. For some reason, it sends a chill up my arms. “Don’t worry, I know this looks complicated, but I can—”
He glances toward the wheelhouse window and freezes. I almost bump into him.
Peering around his thin frame, my eyes land on the large bank of digital screens and displays. There are two big touch-screen panels along with a series of dials, knobs, and a bunch of other stuff I can’t even guess the name of. I wonder what the display screens facing the captain’s chair would have showed if they hadn’t been smashed to bits.
Every monitor, every display, looks like it’s been punched by Iron Man. The control panels themselves have been opened up—there are twists of colored wires sticking out, and other pieces of equipment have been smashed, as if with a hammer.
“What the FUCK!” Trey yells, his hands up in his hair again, tearing at his roots. “What happened here?”
His wail is so loud it brings the stamping feet of the others, clanging through the engineering bay. The bridge floods with voices and footsteps behind us.
“Is…is that…”
“Oh my God!”
“Whathappened?”
But I don’t think anyone has to explain what happened. It’s pretty obvious.
Someone intentionally destroyed the radio, the control panels, and our chance of escape.
Chapter 20
“You’re telling me we can’t call for help?” Rachel pants. At this point, she’s clinging so hard to Ashley that I’m worried she’s going to pull her sister over.
“Someone busted up the radioandthe sat phone. The whole damn thing is fucked!” Trey yells, striding forward to inspect the damage as the storm rages outside the window behind him, blissfully unaware of our predicament.
This is not good. I had hoped to sneak away and use the radio to alert the authorities about Elena too, but that clearly won’t be happening now. I’ll have to continue to lay low instead.
“Be careful, those could be live wires,” Viv begs as Trey pokes at the control panel.
“Carl, are you okay?” This comes from Fiona, who is eyeing herboyfriend, leaning against the doorframe to the bridge like it’s the only thing keeping him standing.
Carl coughs, a strange, rattling noise that comes from deep inside. “I’m exhausted. I can’t believe this has all happened in one day. It’s too much.”
I hope he’s not sick. The last thing we need is an infection spreading across the boat while we’re all trapped here together.
“What about the rest of the yacht?” I ask, turning back to Trey. “Our electricity, our plumbing?”
Trey shakes his head. “That’s separate. Whoever did this sabotaged the control panels. This is what makesEmpressmove. It’s how we communicate with other ships and the shore. It’s also how we lower and lift the caissons. This is going to cost afortuneto fix,” Trey moans, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes.
“That’s what you’re concerned about right now?” Viv scolds him. “We have a bigger problem!”
“We’re fucking trapped here!” Fiona shouts, shoving her pastel pink hair out of her face.
“We can’t call for help,” Ashley says, as if we need reminding. “The internet is out. The bridge is destroyed. Now what?”
