Chapter 2 #2
Saylor sighed. “I’ll only do a quick sweep. You stay here and guard my six.”
“I can’t guard your six when I can’t see it.”
“Just… make sure no one steals my boat. And shoot a round in the air if you see anyone else approaching who doesn’t look like they’re here to help. I’ll come racing back. Promise.”
“Saylor.” Atticus managed to push himself up onto his good leg. “This feels wrong.”
“I know, but…” She took his hand. “What if Mac hadn’t called in favors and insisted on being part of the recovery team?
If she’d waited until it was safe to come looking for me?
What if she hadn’t ventured out with the winds still howling and the ocean still seething?
If she’d assumed everyone had been lost, and that it wasn’t worth her time?
Her safety? I might not remember it in the truest sense, but I’m only alive because she put her life on the line to save mine. ”
Atticus huffed. “Just, be careful, or it won’t matter if you can look at yourself in the mirror or not.”
“I’ll be fine, and I’ll be back before you know it.”
She gave his hand a squeeze, then struck off, quickly moving up the deck then over to an external set of stairs.
She kept her gun at the ready, constantly checking that Atticus wasn’t stubbornly limping along the deck, trying to follow her, before heading up.
The metal clanged beneath her boots as she reached the next level, the ship still tilting left and right with every wave.
Only now, it didn’t recover as quickly, staying slightly off-kilter.
Edging toward the starboard side a bit more with every swell.
All the more reason to check for survivors, then get the hell off — let the Coast Guard worry about if the vessel was salvageable or not.
The door to the stairwell creaked in the wind, the eerie sound sparking more flashbacks. Lights bobbing along the surface. Footsteps pounding along the corridor. She did her best to shove them aside — focus on climbing the stairs — but the thoughts lingered in the background.
Saylor stopped at the top, the hatch to the bridge already ajar. She took a breath, then slowly opened the door, clearing the area as it appeared a wedge at a time.
Shadows danced across the room, the setting sun already lost behind a band of clouds. A few raindrops hit the windshield, silently sliding down the glass.
The bridge was dark. No functioning gauges or navigational equipment and no crew. Just the helm absently turning on its own as the light faded into gray.
She made a quick circuit, tried the engines, just in case, then backtracked to the stairs.
Her boots tapped the metal surface as she hurried down, continuing to the lower level instead of returning to her boat.
While it seemed increasingly unrealistic that she’d actually heard anyone calling out, Saylor couldn’t leave until she’d searched the entire vessel.
Until she’d quelled the voices in her head that refused to be silent.
She reached the lower deck, removed her mag light, then froze. Voices. Low. Distant. Too soft to pick up any words, the syllables fading beneath the constant roar of the waves. The eerie way the hull groaned with every shift.
She took a breath and grabbed the handle when three sharp pops sounded beyond the door. The lingering echo jacking up her heart rate. She placed her ear to the hatch, listened, then slowly opened it, clearing the space beyond as the small beam bounced across the interior.
Had she imagined it? Fragments of memories intruding on the present? Or had she missed a threat?
The air hung heavy around her, hints of diesel and sweat adding to the stale atmosphere.
She waited a few more seconds, then struck off, checking each room, listening for anything that proved she hadn’t manufactured the sounds.
That this was more than a by-product of a past she hadn’t made peace with, when she stopped outside the last hatch.
It sat slightly ajar, a bloody handprint smeared across the front.
Saylor held her breath, palmed the door, then shoved it open.
Panels and gauges dotted the area, another corridor leading toward the stern.
She bounced the beam across the floor, stopping at a splattering of more blood.
She wasn’t an expert, but it looked like the kind that came from high velocity impact.
Three dull pops .
She startled, scanning the rest of the area, wondering if she’d actually heard a noise, when she swore it sounded, again.
One, two, three. Then shouting. Footsteps racing down the hallway, the metallic clang ringing inside her head.
A familiar face wavered in the shadows, one final pop nearly taking her to her knees.
She closed her eyes, an eerie hum following her into the darkness.
It wasn’t real. It was just those remnants she’d been thinking about.
A night better left forgotten. Until a scuff sounded down the hallway.
A boot. Maybe more. Moving toward her. Stealthy, as if trying to remain quiet. Just like she’d done.
Giving herself a mental shake, she flicked off her mag light, then shuffled behind a bulkhead. Not quite hidden, but enough she’d have the upper hand. More scuffs. Slightly louder. Closer. Definitely two people. Moving in sync. Starting and stopping.
Was there a hint of smoke in the air? More diesel?
She closed her eyes, willing away the memory. Too fragmented to make sense of, just the suggestion of something darker. A truth a part of her obviously didn’t want to face.
The door creaked, a shadowy figure materializing against a dim light.
The small beam bounced across the room, stopping on that bloody patch.
A curse, then the silhouette moved inside, taking up all the space.
Sucking out the air until she could barely breathe.
The guy took a step — swung that light toward her.
She aimed at his chest — prepared to shift to his head if she caught a glimpse of body armor. “One more step, asshole, and I’ll drop you.”