“We’ll do it right before midnight,” she says. “Everyone will be asleep. We’ll make sure we pack some things in the lifeboats. It might be swift rescue, but if it isn’t, we don’t want to be left with nothing if we have to get in them. So make sure you have what you need.”
That doesn’t sound terrifying at all.
Tatiana draws in a ragged breath. “And then what?”
Aggie shrugs. “We hope the distress call goes through, and I dunno, maybe the fucking Navy shows up.”
Here’s hoping.
“Do you think it will take long? We are a fair distance out,” I ask, nerves settling in my stomach.
Aggie gives me a reassuring smile, but I’m not sure I buy it. “Look, the technology on this boat is elite. The safety features would be incredible. They will send a distress call, and we’ll be fine. Come on, let’s not overthink it.”
It’s hard not to, but she’s right.
We just have to hope everything is up to scratch.
Though my father wanted us sold, so I am quite certain it is.
He wouldn’t risk anything happening to his money.
4
IT DOESN’T TAKE LONGto pack a few things, mostly warm clothes and items that protect us from the sun. Extra for the others, even though it wouldn’t completely upset me to see Iris and Rachel burning as they whine about how shit this trip is while proceeding to blame it on me and my father.
I suppose they wouldn’t be wrong.
We also stash water, food and medicine in one boat, and some fishing reels and line in another. We have a plan to ensure we get on that one if it comes down to it. The sea is mostly calm tonight, the water gently lapping against the boat. We have picked a good night, and I hope that counts for something.
The kitchen sits at the far back of the yacht, a long corridor away from where the rooms are at the bow. We check the hallway twice before we slip inside, Aggie pulling the door shut behind us and twisting the lock. The room is all stainless steel and fluorescent light, smelling of food and dish soap.
Aggie moves fast, pulling bottles from her bag and uncapping them over the drain. Whatever combination she’s mixing, it hits the air like something chemical and wrong—sharp and eye-watering, somewhere between bleach and burning plastic. I press my sleeve over my nose and mouth and take a few steps back until my shoulders meet the door, Tatiana pressing in beside me.
“I’m going to burn a piece of paper,” Aggie says, ushering us back out into the corridor and pulling the door shut. “The second it hits those chemicals, we have maybe a minute. Maybe less.”
We all take a deep breath.
Here goes nothing, or everything.
She tears a strip from a folded sheet in her bag and soaks it with something from one of the bottles, holding it pinched between two fingers, away from her body. “Can’t let it go out before it gets in there.”
Tatiana and I back up until we hit the far wall. Aggie flicks the lighter. The paper catches instantly, burning fast and orange, curling black at the edges. She doesn’t look at us. She rushes over, placing it on the side of the sink where it will hopefully fall and catch onto the paper she just balled up and threw in there. Then, she turns and rushes towards us.
We just get outside of the kitchen when the bang goes off.
