Chapter 57
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Rain streaked Nigel’s glasses, so he pulled them off and stuffed them in his pocket. His vision was shit, but even that was better than a wet smear.
Montague clung to the rail for dear life as the section of the gallery she was on angled precariously toward the ground. One of the supports must have broken, and the rest might go at any time.
Lawson looked stricken. “Patricia! Hang on!” She edged toward the door leading onto the gallery, even as the black cloud that Nigel assumed was Ullman began to solidify again.
“No—I’ll get her. The rest of you stay here, so we don’t overload the gallery.
” Nigel stuck his hand out to Chris. “Give me the other end of the Faraday cloth—I’ll try to use it like a rope.
” Tina had secured her end to the iron ladder when they climbed up after Oscar, and he hoped like hell she’d done a good job with the knot.
The wind tried to keep the door closed, but Nigel managed to force it against the gale, at which point it slammed open all the way, pinned against the outside wall of the lantern room by the force of the storm.
Cold rain drove into his exposed skin, feeling more like hail than water.
Beyond the island, the flaming ship climbed up one huge wave, then plunged down the other side, before being heaved up yet again.
He twisted the Faraday cloth around his wrist and hoped he didn’t need to trust his weight to it. It wasn’t rope, wasn’t made for strength, but it was the only thing he had.
A yell came from somewhere inside the lantern room, but he couldn’t worry about that now. Crouching low to give the wind less surface area to push against, he began to edge out toward Montague.
The steel groaned under his weight—then lifted slightly as the wind buffeted it, before dropping in a way that left his heart in his mouth and nausea clawing at his throat. Montague screamed, and there was a loud crack as more of the support structure gave way.
He was going to die like this, crawling around on slick steel in a lightning storm, trying to save a woman who’d betrayed all of them. A part of him wanted to leave her to her fate, let her live or die at the whim of rusting metal.
Instead, he gritted his teeth and stretched out his hand toward her.
“I’m coming!” he yelled. “Grab my hand!”
“I can’t!” She clung to the rail, eyes squeezed shut now. “Help me, please.”
“I’m trying!” Damn it. Maybe if he was closer. “Open your eyes,” he ordered as he shuffled farther out onto the tilting deck. “As soon as you can, grab my hand.”
Her throat convulsed. “A-all right.” Her eyes opened, and, one finger at a time, she loosened the grip of one hand off the rail and reached for him.
Something beneath them gave way, and the deck dropped.