“This is fast!” Sammy shouts back.
At the mouth of the Compound, I can see the security station Harvey mentioned, a sturdy room with glass windows that butts against the water. From behind the windows, a guard is signaling for us to stop. The Gulf ahead is dark beneath the falling twilight, but we’ll have trouble reaching it. A series of spiked metal poles rise a forearm’s length from the Compound’s channel. They are precisely spaced, ensuring no boat can slip through unless the blockade is lowered. Not even one as tiny as ours.
“Clipper?” Sammy says hesitantly.
“We should fit. May promised we’d fit.”
Sammy doesn’t slow. It looks tight. Too tight.
Several guards run from the security room and onto the surrounding exposed deck. They take aim.
The blockade is right before us now.
As they open fire, we duck. I swear a bullet nicks my ear, but the next moment we are flying between two of the pillars. A horrible screech sounds beneath our feet—the spikes tearing into the hull of the boat—but the next moment we are on the open water. I crane back toward the Compound, listening for the sound of a pursuing motor. All I hear is wind and our own motor, sounding wounded, drained. I look over the side of the boat, trying to survey the damage.
“I thought we were supposed to fit.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Clipper says to me. “We’re bailing soon anyway.”
“Bree, get ’em up here for the jump,” Sammy orders. She darts down the short half staircase to get Harvey and Emma.
“Jump?” I echo. “What shore do we plan to swim to?” As far as I can see, the only land in sight is the island we’re fleeing, and our original plan had us traveling back to Pine Ridge in the disguised Order boat.
Sammy ignores my question and Clipper busies himself with securing his bulky package beneath his seat.
“Look, I get that the hull’s breached,” I shout over the wind, “but we’ll freeze to death in this water!” I remember the sting of the Gulf when the Catherine sank, how it made me seize up. The days have been getting a little warmer, but I doubt the water’s changed much. We won’t last long.
“They’ll come after us if they haven’t already,” Sammy yells back. “So we jump, the boat blows up, and anyone trailing us sees the explosion and thinks we’re goners.”
Bree reappears with Harvey and Emma.
“Okay, that’s the signal!” I have no clue what Clipper’s referring to. “On three. One . . . two . . . three!”
We throw ourselves over the side of the boat. The impact is a viscous sting across my face, a claw at my side. I’m thrown about in the freezing water, gasping for air, momentarily uncertain which way is up. I resurface, my clothes heavy and my teeth already knocking. Not far away is the flaming shell of our boat. Smoke drifts up like a bonfire as the Gulf swallows it.
I swim, following Sammy. There’s another boat just ahead, one strikingly similar to the Catherine. It’s killed all its lights and I’m half-amazed we didn’t crash right into it. A rope ladder comes over the side. I guess the team had a back-up plan all along.
We climb aboard and are greeting by a curvy woman who distributes more thick blankets than seems natural for a fishing vessel to have on hand.
“Dry as best you can,” she says, “and then we’ll go in and warm you properly.”
Bree pulls a blanket snug over her shoulders. “Thanks, May. We owe you.”
The woman beams and it makes her already plump cheeks get even plumper.
“And I don’t get any thanks?” a guy behind her says. He’s opposite of May in every way: tall and gangly, with skin that is leathering despite the youthful glimmer in his eyes.
May elbows him. “Carl, this isn’t the time for sarcasm.”
I look between the team and the two strangers they all seem to know. “I’m confused.”
“Inside,” May says, waving toward the wheelhouse. “Once everyone’s warm and in dry clothes, we’ll talk.”
The team shuffles off, Clipper clinging to Harvey like a lost child, and my gaze drifts to Emma. There is so much I need to say, but I can’t get my feet to move and that’s probably for the best. She won’t believe me. How could she after what happened at the Compound?
She glances my way, and her eyes feel like ice.
Tell her you’re sorry about picking Blaine.
But I’m not. The situation was horrible. But I’m not sorry I tried to save my brother.
Then tell her you forgive her for Craw. Tell her you’ve been over it awhile now.
But I don’t want to mislead her. My heart is elsewhere—tied up in another person—and I can’t change that. Wouldn’t want to even if I could.
At least tell her you still care about her. That you always will.
But she won’t believe it. Not after what happened with Blaine and my Forgery and . . .
She’s still staring at me.
Sammy is regarding her apprehensively, like she’s a ghost that terrifies him, but he can’t bring himself to look away.
It’s such a mess, life. The way everything gets all jumbled and tangled and knotted. Why can’t it be easy? Bree would say something like, Because easy would be boring, and she’s probably right, but in this moment I’d love boring. I’d love straightforward and clear and tied up in a pretty bow. I’d love no surprises and happy endings and everyone getting what they wished. Right now, boring sounds pretty damn perfect.
Sammy pulls his gaze from Emma long enough to look my way, and I give him an encouraging nod. I don’t know why he’s seeking out permission. He doesn’t need it.
“Hi,” Sammy says to Emma. “I was a little preoccupied for introductions earlier—escaping and explosions and all—but I’m Sammy.”
He offers his hand.
“Emma.” She shakes it. “And thanks for before, with the cell.”
“’Twas a small detour, and absolutely worthwhile if you ask me.”