Poppy
Outside is a cacophony of chaos. Helicopters thud overhead.
Massive searchlights sweep over the deck and the sea.
Alarms bleat. Diesel engines from rescue boats roar in the surging water below the ship.
She can hear metal booms, thuds, and groaning.
People call out names—crying, frightened, panicked.
Guests scramble sideways on the canted deck, slipping, clawing, trampling over others as some fall and others push and shove to reach the lifeboats first.
Patrick guides her into the seething crowd.
She winces as a man’s elbow jams into her ribs while he forces past her.
There’s no one in control. A crew member in uniform is shouting orders, but few are listening—or can’t hear him, or are so panicked that nothing is going to dissuade them bulldozing over weaker guests to secure a place in a lifeboat.
A woman pushes through, shouting, “Carter! Carter! Where are you!”
She’s sobbing, raw desperation in her eyes. She has blood all over her evening gown. Her hair is wet. She grabs Patrick’s arm. “Have you seen my son? He’s eight. He’s really small for his age?”
“I’m sorry—”
“Oh God, has anyone seen my boy?” she screams. “He’s eight! Blond! His name is Carter! Please, anyone seen my son?”
Patrick reaches for her arm and steadies her. “What’s your name?” he asks as they’re jostled among the surging mass of people clawing for places on rafts.
“Sarah.”
“Sarah—where did you see him last?”
“I lost hold of his hand in the commotion outside the theater, when the ship struck something and tilted, and all the lights went out. Everyone went sliding and screaming and I couldn’t see him. He—he’s so small.”
“Stay with Poppy here. Hold each other’s hands. Don’t let go. Keep moving toward the lifeboat. I’ll go look for your boy.”
Tears and mascara stream down her cheeks. She shakes her head. “I can’t—I won’t get on the raft without my son. I won’t.”
“You need to stay in one place, so he—we—can find you.” He takes her hand and places it in Poppy’s. “Poppy, hold on to Sarah. Okay?”
Poppy looks into his eyes. They’re fierce with determination.
His features are tight with resolve. She believes him.
She believes he will do anything he can.
He is made from DNA that gives him empathy.
He can’t escape from that—she can see it now.
Patrick is simply wired to help others, and his empathy is either his downfall, or strength.
“Understand?” he says.
She nods. It hurts her head.
He starts to push away through the wall of frightened people.
“Patrick!”
He hesitates, looks back over his shoulder.
“Be careful.”
He smiles. The man actually 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.