“Not so much,” Drake said, his voice turning solemn.
Hawkins quickly double-checked Bray, who waved him away, saying, “Go. Go.” Then he stood and made his way toward Drake, who was helping Blok to his feet. Drake motioned with his head to the floor at the front of the wheelhouse. Hawkins steeled himself as he walked around the front row of consoles. He’d seen death before, up close and personal, but he didn’t think repeated exposure to something like that would ever make it easier.
When he rounded the corner and saw the caved-in head of Jeff Allen, he knew he was right. A pool of watered-down blood covered the floor around the body. Hawkins covered his mouth with the back of his hand and stepped back so only the man’s legs could be seen.
“Near as I can tell, that fridge caught him on the way in,” Drake said. “Would have been quick.”
Hawkins nodded. The young man wouldn’t have had time to even register the injury before he ceased to exist, which was preferable to a long, drawn-out, painful death. No one deserved that.
Joliet gasped when she staggered up to Hawkins’s side and looked around the corner. “Oh, no…”
“Where are we?” Bray asked. He stood on the starboard side, looking out the windows.
Happy to turn his attention away from the body, Hawkins joined Bray at the windows. Toward the bow he saw a crescent-shaped, light gray sand beach. Behind it was a thick, tropical jungle that eventually rose up over a string of steep hills. The beach and jungle wrapped around the starboard side, eventually dwindling down as steep, rocky cliffs rose up, blocking the view of anything beyond.
Hawkins turned aft and saw that the cliff ended nearly a football field’s distance away. The break in the wall was perhaps seventy feet wide—just big enough to allow the Magellan passage—and picked up again on the other side, where it merged with more tropical jungle. The water below them was dark blue, but toward the shore, it glowed light blue from the gray sands beneath. Had they discovered some kind of lost paradise?
“It’s beautiful,” Joliet said.
“Any idea where we are, Drake?” Hawkins asked.
Drake stood on the port side of the ship, looking out over the palm-filled jungle. “Some kind of lagoon. Beyond that, your guess is as good as mine.”
“There aren’t any islands on the charts for this part of the ocean,” Blok said, his voice more subdued than usual. He rubbed a hand over his bald head and repositioned his glasses. “It’s not supposed to be here.”
A loud knocking came from the locked hatch at the back of the wheelhouse. “Open up!” someone shouted.
“That’s Jones,” Drake said to Hawkins, who was nearest the door.
Hawkins understood the unsaid order and quickly unlocked the door. A disheveled Harold Jones, the ship’s chief engineer, stood on the other side. Blood covered the dark skin of his forehead and his thinning gray hair. “Where’s the captain?”
“Here,” Drake said, stepping into the center aisle and heading for the door. “How are the engines?”
“Functional, but not controllable. Whatever happened during the storm hasn’t stopped. Computer still has control.”
“And your crew?” Drake asked.
“A little roughed up, but we managed. I checked on the Tweedles on my way up—” “The Tweedles” was the crew’s nickname for their two chefs, brothers who were two years apart, but looked like twins. Chubby, bald twins, hence the name. Jones smiled. “Looked like they’d eaten before the storm, so they’ve got a mess on their hands. But they’re—”
Jones’s smiled faded. His eyes had stopped on the pair of feet poking out from behind a console at the front of the wheelhouse. “Who’s that?”
“Jeff Allen,” Drake said.
“He’s…?”
Drake nodded.
“Dad!” DeWinter took the stairs two at a time, arriving by her father’s side with a look of horror in her eyes. Her skin, normally a few shades lighter than Jones’s, was covered in grime. When she saw Drake, she addressed him instead of her father. “Captain…” She paused, out of breath. “We found Cahill…”
“Good,” Drake replied. “Is Kam with him? We need to get—”
“You don’t understand,” DeWinter said. “Cahill. He’s dead.”
Drake’s face reddened. “How?”
DeWinter collected herself and answered. “He’s bound up in some netting tangled off the port crane. Looks like he fell overboard. Drowned.”
“The hell was he doing outside?” Drake grumbled.
“Have you found Kam?” Joliet asked.
DeWinter shook her head. “Should have been in the science quarters with you.”