Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59521 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59521 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
“Oh God,” Rachel wails. “Oh no.”
“Rachel, shut the fuck up,” Aggie snaps. “Your wailing is fucking old.”
“If it wasn’t for you two, we wouldn’t be here. Now we’re going to fucking die when that storm hits.”
She jerks a finger in the direction of the dark, looming clouds in the distance that seem to be edging closer and closer. Everyone starts talking at once, the noise as rough and broken as the sky above us. The words “storm,” “dead,” and “fuck” keep popping out of the panic, muttered or screamed depending on who is saying it. Even Ace looks scared, which is how I know things are different now, because nothing so far has made him look like that.
Tatiana is the only one not looking up—she’s staring at her hands, which are shaking so hard she has to sit on them. I shove down my own fear, try to push it away so we can figure out what the hell to do right now. “We... we just need to get as far from that as possible,” I say, and I have no idea what “that” is, only that we are nothing in comparison to it, stuck in some tiny lifeboat.
“Move where?” Aggie asks, her voice high.
“She’s right. We need to paddle,” Ace says. “Everyone gets an oar. We will take turns. We need to get as far away from that storm as we possibly can.”
“And if we go in the wrong direction?” Rachel snaps.
“Do you have a better fucking plan?” Ace growls.
She doesn’t answer, just shrinks back into her seat.
“The wind is hitting hard from the east,” Zeke mutters. “We move in that direction.”
He jerks a finger at the vast open ocean. How he knows the direction, I don’t know, but I am glad he is at least making it sound like he knows what he’s doing. Kellen doesn’t wait. He starts knotting cords together, hauling the two boats as close as he can possibly get them. “If we’re lucky, the outer bands will shove us past before the worst fucking part. If not...” He doesn’t finish. He just gets busier.
“Well, that’s going to ruin dinner,” Adrian mumbles from his perch at the back of the boat. “At least there will be no mosquitos.”
Nobody answers him.
Nobody.
We gather everything we can into one bag, to keep close if we do go over. Then, we ensure we are all in a lifejacket and have some kind of rain cover. Then, we paddle. We paddle like our lives depend on it. Every time I look up, the sky is closer, bigger, meaner. The surface of the ocean looks flatter than ever, which makes it worse because that means the wind hasn’t arrived yet, but it’s coming.
Ace barks out orders. “Sit in the bottom, low as you can, back against the side. If you feel sick, puke overboard, not in the fucking boat. Anyone not paddling holds onto another person. If you get knocked out, someone else grabs your vest.” There’s something almost funny about the way he says it, as if he’s prepping us for a fire drill at school and not the literal possible end of our lives.
I look at Aggie, and she’s looking at me with wide eyes. “I’m scared,” she says, and that’s it, nothing clever or tough, just scared. I grab her hand. Mine is cold, even though the air feels wet-hot, like an animal breathing on us.
I try, but I can’t sit still. Every muscle in me wants to run but there’s nowhere to go, no studio, no mirrors, no floor. I try to stretch my calves but it does nothing to ease the anxiety building in my body. I want to say something to the group, some kind of speech, but what would I say? Sorry for getting us capsized? Sorry for not telling any of you so you had a chance to help?
Just keep paddling.
We take turns, sweating and cursing as we force the paddles through the endless ocean.
Are we even moving? Who knows.
The wind is picking up now, cold and threatening.
We paddle harder.
“Keep goin’,” Kellen roars. “We need to get further away.”
My hands sting with each stroke, blisters opening fast, raw skin against the cheap oars. Aggie relieves me after ten minutes, and we keep rotating like that for what feels like forever. We are moving away, the wind has changed direction, but the sea is rocking in a way that makes my stomach twist. If it gets much worse, there is no way we will keep these boats afloat.
“Keep going!” Ace is yelling over the wind. His face is wild, alive, a man who knows this is all that exists. The wind howls, the boat jerks, every second is a jolt through my spine. The ocean, always a black mirror, is turning white and rabid around us as the waves increase.