Poppy
A hand shakes her shoulder.
She fights through a molasses thickness, trying to place the voice, struggling to comprehend what he’s saying. It is a he, she thinks. Patrick. Yes, Patrick.
She touches her temple. Her head is wrapped in something—a turban? Cloth?
“Can you get up?” Patrick asks.
She opens her eyes. They’re still in the stairwell. Emergency lights glow faintly along the steps. Everything else is dark and leaning over sideways.
“Listen to me, Poppy. They’ve given an order to abandon ship. We need to get to a muster station, find a lifeboat.”
She stares at him, still struggling to compute. She’s very weak. And he’s topless above his trousers. She blinks again—he’s still topless.
“Where’s your shirt?” she asks.
“On your head.” He grabs her arm, pulling her up.
She manages to come upright, but leans hard against the wall—the entire stairwell is canted on its side. Her legs don’t want to obey her brain. She touches her throbbing head again, feels fabric.
“Had to stop the bleeding with something,” he says. “Come, we need to go.”
Her vision swims. She sways, staring at his pale, naked chest, trying to compute.
“Yes, I need to go to the gym,” he mutters. “But this is all you’ve got right now—so lean on me, yeah?”
“Our designated muster is—”
“Not possible. That’s the other side of the ship. We need to go up and out onto the deck. And stay starboard. The port side’s going into the water. If we sink more, they won’t be able to deploy the port lifeboats. The whole weight of the ship will crush down on them. Come.”
He helps her up one step. Then another. She leans against the canted wall, using it to help push her up. They take another step. Her vision blurs. She feels blood leaking out from under the shirt tied around her head. Her vision swims again.
“Poppy! Stay with me, please.” He hoists her arm over his shoulder and hefts her body up the next few stairs. He stops, breathing ragged, sweat glistening.
“You can do this,” he whispers. “I got you.”
Patrick reaches down and hikes up the bottom of her sequined gown. He holds it above her knees so she can move better.
“We can do this, Poppy.”
She nods faintly. She feels the surety in his hands, the steadiness in his arms. She hears the quiet authority in his voice.
Patrick is stronger than she thought. He’s a kind man.
He could’ve just abandoned her in the stairwell, unconscious and bleeding, and saved himself.
Paz would have done that, but Patrick didn’t.
She remembers suddenly why they were going down, and why they’re in the stairwell. “Lillith. She’s still down—”
“She’s in another part of the ship. There are trained crew on every deck—they’ll help her. We can’t reach her now, so let’s focus on getting out onto the deck, okay? We need to reach a lifeboat. Do you understand?”
She nods weakly.
“Good. Now listen to me—when we get out there, hold my hand. Whatever happens, do not let go.”