He hesitates, looks back over his shoulder.
“Be careful.”
He smiles. The manactually smiles. Poppy realizes, if she never sees him again, she will always remember that smile. In the face of chaos. In the face of disaster.
Then he’s gone. Swallowed by the surge of humanity.
Poppy and Sarah are shoved forward with the crowd.
“I won’t board that life raft without him,” Sarah cries. “I’m not leaving this ship without Carter.”
“I know,” Poppy says as it suddenly hits her hard. Carter is the boy she bowled over. Dr. Marsh’s grandson. And the woman gripping her hand right now is his daughter.
“It’s okay, Sarah. Patrick will find him.”
Sarah’s gaze meets hers. For the first time she seems to actually see Poppy.
“Are you okay? Your head—it’s bleeding. You—”
“I’m going to be fine. You are, too.”
“I can’t lose my boy.” She begins to cry again. “He—he just lost his grandfather. He’s dead. He died saving Carter from going overboard. I—I can’t let it be for nothing. I can’t.” Tears flow afresh down her face.
Poppy squeezes Sarah’s hand. And a sick feeling fills her gut.
Dr. Marsh is dead.
And she has no idea whether Patrick will find Carter. Or if he will even make it off the ship himself now.
Poppy
“Oh God, we’re all going to die,” moans a woman crammed onto a bench in the covered life raft beside Poppy.
“We’re going to die. We’re all going to die.” She rocks backward and forward in her life vest. Wind buffets them as the craft creaks and swings out on the davit arm. Cables rattle as they begin to lower and sway down the side of the boat.
Poppy has been stuffed into the craft along with about one hundred and fifty other guests, plus a crew member in the steering area—he’s their designated lifeboat commander. They huddle tightly together in the vests handed to them as they managed to climb on board.
Sarah refused to come—not without her son. Patrick did not return. Poppy has no idea if he ever found Carter. She doesn’t know what became of Lillith. Or Hendrick. She’s terrified and oddly numb.
On the other side of her raft, a woman cries softly. A man sitting right across from her murmurs the Hail Mary over and over and over.
The lifeboat jerks. Everyone gasps. Someone starts sobbing loudly. Mostly everyone sits in collective silence, holding their breath. The boat lowers a few more feet, jerks, scrapes against the hull, tips slightly, then drops a few more feet and stops with a hard jolt and a bang.
Someone swears.
Poppy smells sweat—it’s sour with fear. She smells her own blood, and the rubbery-plastic tang of the life vests and the craft itself. Helicopters thud outside. Through the window in the steering area, shecan glimpse people trying to clamber down the starboard side of the ship, using ropes strung from balconies. A man slips, loses his grip, and goes spinning and screaming down the hull toward the sea.
She scrunches her eyes shut tight. Alarms blare constantly. Diesel engines growl below as rescue boats maneuver and pull survivors out of the water.
Their lifeboat drops another few meters, then slams to a hard stop against the side of the ship. TheOrchidis canted too far over to port for their life raft to drop cleanly to the water—they’re stuck against the hull.
“I know it—we’re going to die. We’re all going to die,” Poppy’s neighbor mutters.
“Shut the fuck up, will you,” snaps the Hail Mary man.
Poppy places her hand on the woman’s leg and says gently to the man, “We’re all scared—in our own way.”
He glares at her, but says nothing.
