Chapter 54
Lila Logan Cameron
Call sign: Cassiopeia
Dawn fringed the horizon, the morning of her children’s birthday. Lila hadn’t spoken since the storm, and neither had her
son. They huddled by one another, reliving it all. When the rain stopped hours ago, they had unzipped the orange tent over
their heads to let in fresh air, and now the endless expanse of where they were floating became evident. Lila couldn’t bear
to think of the storm, yet she couldn’t tear herself away from the memory of last night. When was the last time she had spoken
to her daughter? In the hallway. What was the last thing Tia had said to her?
She didn’t know.
And the ship . . . Rylan and Lila had watched helplessly as The Old Eileen had been swept farther and farther away, without the fire Lila had envisioned for days.
It was salt in the wound: knowing when midnight came and the bomb didn’t go off that Alejandro’s confession of loyalty to Francis hadn’t been faked.
He must have put the bag in the bilge so Lila would believe he’d go through with it.
Then maybe he’d have found some way around it, convinced her it was too dangerous to get on a raft in a storm.
He would play both sides as best he could until he was forced to choose.
And in the end he chose Francis.
Quietly, Lila celebrated his death.
But not half as much as she celebrated Francis’s.
Once Lila realized Francis wasn’t bringing her home, she had decided she would get there herself. She asked Alejandro to make
plans to blow a hole in the ship, something big enough to sink it fast. He had planted a makeshift bomb in the bilges, and
Lila’s job was to get everyone off of the ship before midnight, before the bomb even went off. She planned for them to be
rescued and sensationalized by the media.
Celebrity Shipwreck! Lila Logan Survives Peril at Sea!
With renewed attention on her, her career would resume. They might even make a movie about the sinking. They would arrest
Francis for whatever it was he was so desperate to run from, and she could even blame him for The Old Eileen’s apparent failing.
She hadn’t planned on the storm. Or Alejandro’s disloyalty. Or losing her daughter to the sea.
But Rylan was alive. He was gentle and good. He still looked to her for guidance and let her hold him in her arms. He would
need her now more than ever, with his father and sister gone.
Lila swallowed the lump in her throat. It was Tia’s own fault she’d ended up overboard, right? She was too stubborn, too aggressive.
She wouldn’t have obeyed her mother to climb into a life raft. She was too hell-bent on fighting.
But to picture her . . . dead . . .
Would the coast guard recover Tia’s body?
Maybe the media would chalk the incident up to tragedy after all.
In a way, Lila would have exactly what she’d wanted: her face on every paper in the country.
Even though she hadn’t planned for anyone to die, there was nothing, no matter how you spun it, more sensational and newsworthy than death.
Lila’s arms were stiff, but she stretched them out anyway and pulled Rylan into her chest. He didn’t fight her, limp and unblinking.
She stroked his hair and hummed tunelessly. He was going to be okay.
“We’ll be rescued,” Lila rasped. “We just have to hold on.”
Rylan nestled into Lila’s embrace, and she shielded his face from the sun’s advance.
“What if no one comes?” Rylan’s voice cracked.
Lila couldn’t think like that. They would be rescued, of course they would be. Once a ship passed them, they could . . . oh,
what was it that people did in movies? Fire a flare gun? She knew there were plenty of survival supplies packed on this raft.
She broke her hold on her son to rummage through the raft until she retrieved a canister. Thick, tasteless crackers. Packets
of water. Flares, a mirror, and a compass.
“See, lovey? We have everything we need,” she told him, but the cheer in her tone fell flat.
She worked to peel open one of the water packets, cursing her French-tipped nails, but the only thing Rylan seemed to be interested
in was the little black compass. He picked it up and studied the horizon.
“What is it, my dear?” Lila managed to puncture a hole in the plastic and take a couple greedy gulps of water. She handed
it to Rylan, but he didn’t take it.
“It’s just numbers . . .” Rylan murmured.
“Numbers? Rylan?” Lila touched his shoulder.
Rylan’s eyes shuttered, and he began to count. “One, two, three, four . . .”
Lila didn’t know what to do. Had he gone mad?
She hugged him to her chest, hoping her embrace would be enough to snap him out of it, but her son counted on.
“Five, six, seven, eight . . .”
“Rylan, darling . . .” Lila detangled his salt-caked hair and willed for him to come to. She couldn’t bear to face the sea
alone.
“Nine . . .” Rylan’s eyes popped open. “One hundred and forty.”
“Lovey, I think you skipped a few numbers . . .”
Rylan jolted to his feet, which sent the raft teetering and Lila’s stomach to her toes. She grasped the sides of their rickety
salvation. “Sit down!”
“One hundred and forty,” Rylan told her, as if that meant something. He tapped his finger on the face of the black compass,
numbers ringing its perimeter. “That was the heading we were at. Tia told me, she told me days ago that we weren’t far from
the final destination.”
Lila tugged on Rylan’s sleeve until he sat again. “How could you know that? He didn’t tell any of us where we were going.”
Maybe they should have saved Francis.
“No, but Tia found out.” Rylan’s expression shone with pride. “If we follow the heading, we can make it to the island. Unless
a boat comes to pick us up . . . that island is our only chance, Mom.”
Their only chance was the mystery island Francis had purchased and plotted to bring them to. After everything they had done
to escape their fate, they were just going to claw their way to it? Lila searched every inch of the horizon. They had flares
to signal for help. In all of Lila’s daydreams about being on this raft, she had never imagined that they simply wouldn’t
find anyone to rescue them. There had to be a ship nearby, right? There had to be someone who could save them.
But the sky and sea were blank.
They were alone.
As if he could read her mind, Rylan took Lila’s hand. “What choice do we have?” he asked and held out the compass in his palm.
Lila swallowed and wondered if the bitter salt taste of the sea would ever leave her.
“To save ourselves,” she said. “Rylan, I’m proud of you. For figuring this out. For doing . . . what you had to do in the
storm.”
Her sweet, soft son rounded his eyes earnestly. “You know what? Dad would have been proud of me too.”
He leaned forward, looking deep into her eyes. “I think I finally passed his test.”
Then he smiled, close-lipped, and Lila shivered against the wind as Rylan picked up the paddle to begin.