Chapter 17 #2
I feel like I need to see it. It’s like a beacon, calling to me. How can you look away? Hux had asked me in the server room. And now I understand it. I can’t thrust my head into the sand and pretend this isn’t
happening. All around us, the rest of the guests breeze onto the deck, having done this dozens of times before.
“Are we going to get past this garbage anytime soon?” A woman’s tinny voice sounds from my left. “It’s depressing.”
I look at her, wondering if my expression is half as raw as I feel.
When she catches me staring at her, at her fake-looking red hair, at her gaudy necklace that matches her bulbous eyes, she
lowers her champagne glass and turns her head. “What?”
“People lived there,” I say, my voice sounding strange. “And people are dying there. Maybe right now.”
She lets out a guffaw, like she’s half amused by me. “I know.”
Callum squeezes my hand in his a little tighter. Whatever he’s trying to tell me, I ignore it.
“Do you? Do you know that?” I press.
The woman gives me a fake, sweet smile. “Do you know who I am?” she croons.
Callum steps up. “Ms. Beighlor. The owner of MayTech,” he says for my benefit, stepping forward and holding his hand out.
“I know my father has been very appreciative of your donations.”
The woman shakes Callum’s hand, locking her eyes on mine as she does it.
“Ripley and I specifically asked that we see the destruction from the last hurricane. So, if you’re put off by our route”—Callum
puts a hand on his chest—“you can blame me.”
I clench my teeth, looking down at the ocean through the floor. I know Callum is being smart. I know that ripping this woman
to shreds with angry words is not the smart move. She has money, which means she has power, and we can use that power. And
honestly? It won’t change anything. It won’t change her mind. It won’t bring people back.
But the words I want to say sit in my throat like magma. It hurts to keep them locked up.
I force myself to offer her a smile, however close I can get, but my eyes focus on a dark figure over her shoulder. Hux, standing at the doorway of the observation deck, his hands clasped behind his back. His face is unreadable, but his eyes are fixed on me.
“Apology accepted,” Ms. Beighlor says, a saccharine grin spreading over her face as she takes in the sight of Callum. He knows
what he’s doing. He knows his charm will smooth this over.
Maybe I don’t want it smoothed over.
And in that moment, it’s almost like Hux can read my mind. A smirk kicks up the side of his lips. I cough, turning to look
back out over the scenery as Callum expertly extricates himself from Ms. Beighlor, somehow also managing to get her to commit
to another donation before she rejoins Mona on the far side of the deck.
“I’m sorry,” Callum says to me as he leads me away, a hand at the base of my spine. “I really hate these people, but they’re
a necessary evil. I promise you, every dollar she gives us, I’ll use to fix this. We can do that. And soon. Just a little
bit longer. She thinks I agreed with her? Fine. I’ll take her money anyway.”
The storm is almost here. I can feel the thunder in my bones, rumbling with discontent.
Somehow, this feels strangely close to lying. And my Callum? He doesn’t lie.
The lightning cracks again—closer this time. This round of applause is punctuated with more playful screams.
Nova steps up this time. “Ladies and gentlemen! We’re getting word that the storm has been upgraded. We’re going to need to move to the inner ballroom and prepare for enclosure. When the captain gives the word, we’ll be ready! Mr. President, would you like to lead the way?”
Nova gives President Graves a performative bow, which he playfully returns. It’s strange to see him in this world, in this
role. President Graves plays it. Callum plays it. I guess I’m playing it, too, just by being here.
I’ve found myself surprised by how Callum reminds me of his father. For the first time, I’m seeing the president remind me
of his son. It’s the same mask.
Just then, a piece of driftwood as big as a car slams into the glass, bouncing off of it with a loud crack. People jump back;
one woman drops her glass with a crash.
Something shifts then. Everyone seems to realize that safety, like so many other things, is theater, and the wrath of an angry
planet is larger than polymers and even megayachts. Fear roils in my gut as Callum pulls me closer to him.
“Callum,” I whisper. “Are you sure this is safe?”
His eyes scan the deck, the green storm-glow of the clouds. “I’d say we should go, but I don’t know if there’s a quick, safe
way off this ship,” Callum whispers into my ear. “We’ll have to stay. Hunker down.”
I nod, and Callum runs his hands on the sides of my head, smoothing my hair back before clasping his hands around the back
of my neck. “It’ll have to go through me, yeah?”
I nod, forcing a smile, hearing those familiar words from him again.
Callum leans in and brushes his lips against mine.
“We’re almost there, Ripley. I can feel it.
” He puts his lips to my ear and I shiver, unsure if it’s from the way he makes me feel, or the fear his words spark.
“I talked to my father about the vote last night. About how it would be bad. How it might be fine for him to lead, but what precedent does it set? What comes next? And Ripley . . . I think he agreed. I think he’s listening. ”
I bristle. Listening isn’t enough, not when the Machs’ deadline is tomorrow night. I can feel Hux’s stare boring into me like
laser sights.
“What about the other thing?” I whisper back. “The information that could maybe stop all of it?”
Callum pulls back, his expression darkening. “Please, Ripley. There are cameras everywhere.”
I glance up, surprised to find that the observation deck has emptied. I’m alone with Callum by the rail, and Hux’s shadow
hulks in the doorway like a bad dream.
“Mr. Graves. Ms. Hart,” he calls, all business. “You should get inside.” A siren wrenches through the air. “That’s the dome.”
Callum and I start walking, and I throw one more look over my shoulder as the dome begins to rise, a bubble forming over our
heads. I freeze when something on the coastline catches my eye—
A person.
I pull my hand from Callum’s and pivot, cupping my hand against the glass to get a better look.
“Callum,” I breathe.
A woman climbs out of one of the ruined houses, scrambling to get on top of the roof. Behind her, a boy follows. They’re both
thin, their clothes filthy and soaking.
“Shit,” I mutter, shoving off the glass and turning to run back inside. Someone has to help—we have to help.
“Ripley?” Callum yells after me, confused. But I’m already gone.
As I pass Hux, I call out, “There are people out there.” He doesn’t say a word as I race by him, but mutters something into
his earpiece.
I don’t know exactly where I’m going—this place is massive—but I run. To my surprise, Hux pulls on my elbow, yanking me down
a hall. When I glance behind, Callum has followed too.
We spill out into the ballroom. My eyes rove for Mona, and I make a beeline for her, not bothering to apologize as I push
my way through the crowd.
“We have to stop the boat,” I breathe, startling Mona out of a conversation she’s having with a tall, handsome man I recognize
from DopaMine.
“What?” She looks around like she’s waiting for the punchline.
Frustration roars within me. “There are people out there. Alive. They survived Yelene, but they won’t survive Zelda. We’re their only hope.”
Mona’s mouth opens and closes, and she searches the crowd for—
President Graves. The crowd parts for him as he makes his way to us.
“What’s all this?” he asks with a twinkle in his eye, like he’s waiting to be let in on the joke.
“Some people weren’t able to evacuate,” Callum says.
Mona winces. “She doesn’t know what she saw,” she says apologetically to President Graves, like the rest of us aren’t even
here. “We’re closing the dome. For our safety. It’ll be sealed in another ten minutes.”
“Then we’re wasting time talking about it,” I bite out. I’ll go to the captain myself, convince him to stop, to turn around.
“We have to do something.”
President Graves rests a gentle hand on my arm, and I come to a shuddering stop. For a moment, I can almost see pity in his
eyes. Maybe even regret. And then he blinks, and his mask is back. After all, we have an audience.
“I cannot endanger all the people aboard this vessel on the off chance that you might have seen one person. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.” His eyes dart to Hux. “You would be wise to learn
that.” He starts to walk away.
My body is alight with rage, sparking with helplessness. “What about the optics?”
President Graves motions for the party to continue as he makes his way back to Callum and me. I expect angry words, but instead he claps his hand on my back, the pressure of his palm anything but gentle as he steers us to the edge of the ballroom. Callum follows, eyes downcast, as does Hux.
When we reach the glass, I fight the urge to jab a finger at the proof. But all I can see is the rain, whipped sideways into
the glass.
“She has a point,” Callum mumbles into his shoes, and President Graves forces a fake smile.
“The optics, Callum? What are the optics of a president partaking in—what do they call it, ‘disaster tourism’? Or the optics
of revealing that I’m accepting donations for a campaign I can’t legally be running? Shall we tell them about the Senate vote
that’s happening next week?” The president scoffs. “Callum, think, with your brain, for once. Some problems can’t just be
smiled away.”
“And that’s what you have me for,” Callum mutters.
The president’s own smile goes thin. “A cost-benefit analysis I’ve found myself running daily.”
I don’t care. I can’t believe they’re talking about this while with every second, the waves grow higher, the winds stronger,
as the storm barrels toward the coast.
I’m done.