Page 123 of Johnny

Logan is waiting inside the bowels of the recovery dock, making hand motions at us, and Johnny,

who I didn’t peg as a sailor twenty-four hours ago, seems to know exactly what said hand motions

mean, because he stands up to slowly and carefully navigate the boat into the recovery net as four

large, rough-looking men, dressed in all black, scurry around holding winch lines and operating

controls, or just generally look concerned and busy in the same moment as we are tugged inside. The

dock we slide up on rises behind us, closing us up into semi-darkness like we’ve just been taken

prisoner in a cave.

I let out a long breath, exhausted by the short, but stressful, experience.

This whole plan is starting to feel like a very bad idea.

There’s like two seconds of calm silence and then the whole thing starts up again.

Johnny jumps out and he and Logan quickly approach each other, talking in low tones. One man

jumps in to take Johnny’s place, busy with the tender boat’s controls, while another holds his hand out

to me and says, “Come on,” without fanfare.

I scowl at him, don’t take his hand, and clamber up onto the sideboard of the boat myself, then

pause before jumping over the gap to land on the actual inside of the ship.

“This way, please,” the man says, putting his hand on the small of my back.

I move sideways to break his contact, then call out, “Johnny?” Because I’m suddenly overwhelmed

and scared, but I’m not exactly sure why.

“Just… go inside,” Johnny says, noticing my uneasiness. “I’ll be up in a minute.”

“What’s going on? What are we doing?”

“Go inside, Megan. I said I’ll be up in a minute.”

The big guy, who is apparently in charge of me now, grabs my arm and doesn’t let me slip away

this time. So I’m tugged to a ladder and told to climb.

I do.

The next deck level is a passageway with lots of cabin doors, so I pause. But the big guy says,

“This way, ma’am,” and directs me to keep walking towards another ladder.

I climb without being told and come up to yet another passageway, but this one is wider and the

floor is carpeted.

Living quarters.

My guard, because that’s what he feels like, slips past me with two hands on my shoulders, and