No wonder we haven’t been able to move forward. I’m too busy basking in my grudge, dragging up things that have already happened and will never change despite how much I wish they could.
Jackson is tied to a railing, Emma’s medic bag at his feet. She, however, is nowhere in sight. The rest of the group is mopping down the deck beneath the harsh glare of the afternoon sun. Bree notices me, and straightens up, scowling. I think I may have insulted her last night, but I can’t remember. I’m never drinking again. Not only does it confuse your brain, muddy your senses, and encourage you to embarrass yourself, but it insists on making you feel like absolute trash the following day.
I head to the bridge in search of my father and find only Emma, bent over an assortment of Isaac’s gear in the wheelhouse. The door closes loudly behind me and she jumps, dropping something on the table.
“Gray!” Her hand clutches at her chest. “Gosh, you scared me.”
“Sorry. What are you doing up here? I thought you had to tend to the Forgery.”
“Ran out of fresh bandages.” She holds up a fistful of material and I spot Isaac’s medical kit lying open behind her. “Well, I guess I should . . .” She glances out the glass windows at the deck and squeezes by me. My father enters with Bo and Isaac not a moment later.
“We’ll stay west of this peninsula,” Isaac says, spreading a map over the table. He taps at a protruding landmass between New Gulf’s two northern bays. “Should reach it by nightfall. Then it’s straight sailing up Border Bay ’til you depart.”
“It’ll be good to be off the open waters,” my father says. “The fog offered some cover yesterday, but today I feel we could be spotted for miles.”
“If the visibility’s that great,” Bo says, snatching up a pair of binoculars, “I can get my first glimpse of another domed city.”
“Really?” I say.
“Haven.” Bo turns the map toward me. The city is positioned at the tip of the more eastern bay, in a territory labeled Big Water. It’s a fitting name, given the massive lakes nearby.
“Clear day like this, there’s a chance you could spot the Compound, too,” Isaac says.
“What’s that? Another city?”
Isaac points at the map, noting an island in the middle of the Gulf, farther south. “Another area under Order control, and a water-treatment plant according to rumors. They take salt water and run it through a long desalination process so it’s drinkable, I guess. I’ve wanted to check it out, see if I couldn’t snag a little freshwater myself so I can stop relying on Badger, but the Order guards that island like a fortress. You ain’t setting foot on it unless they bring you on themselves.”
He straightens up. “Now if you’re truly after some sightseeing, you better do it while you’ve got the chance. Weather can turn fast out here.”
My father and Bo grab binoculars and skirt onto the small, exposed deck that circles the wheelhouse. I follow.
“You see that, Gray?” Bo hands me the binoculars and points north. I take a look, ready to shake my head, but then the sun breaks through the clouds and a beam of light reflects off something. A glinting dome on the horizon, no larger than my thumbnail.
“Haven?” I ask.
He nods. I admire the city for a moment longer, but the gleam of the dome is making my headache worse. I pass the binoculars back to Bo.
It’s cold again, given how we’ve been cutting northwest. The wind bites at my nose, my ears. Owen is still scanning the south, trying to locate the Compound, when I catch sight of Isaac through the glass windows. He looks panicked all of a sudden, tugging at the wheel, mumbling into his radio. He tosses it aside and yanks open the door to join us.
“You see anything to the south?” he shouts over the wind.
“Nothing but a few specks on the water; fishing boats, probably,” my father says. “Why?”
“This ain’t good, boys. This ain’t good at all.” Isaac rubs his forehead. “I just got a call from the Order. They’re wanting me to drop anchor along the nearest shoreline and wait to be boarded. Said they found it suspicious I left port so early yesterday and so they’re coming to me for an impromptu inspection. I told ’em I ain’t up to nothing, just wanted to leave early and try my luck in the western portions of the Gulf, but they’re sending a team our way regardless.” He scans the horizon, rubs the back of his neck. “There ain’t no one on our tail yet. We should make a run for it.”
“No, it’s too risky,” Owen says. “Soon as we’re along land, you should drop anchor like they say. We’ll leave. It gives us more ground to cover on foot than we planned for, but at least your story will check out when they board. And by then, our team will be too far gone for them to track us.”
“I wish that’d work,” Isaac says, “but the nearest bit of shore? That peninsula we’re approaching? It’s a lookout point. The Order’d be all over you in a matter of minutes. We’ve gotta sail farther up Border Bay before it’s safe to depart. Tomorrow morning, maybe. Tonight if we make great time.”
My father frowns and glances to the south. “How’d they find us?”
“That’s what worries me. We weren’t the only boat getting an early start yesterday—I saw half a dozen docks already empty when we shoved off—and it was foggy as all can be until a few hours ago. I don’t see how—or when—they could’ve identified us.”
“Which means . . .” Bo looks down at the deck.
“The damn Forgery,” my father says through clenched teeth. “I don’t know how . . . but if he . . . I’m going to . . .” He shoves his binoculars into my chest and storms off.
By the time we sit down to eat dinner, I’m nervous. Everyone is. We’ve spotted a ship to the south with the binoculars that looks larger than the other fishing vessels. Jackson claims he has nothing to do with it, but the boat is clearly following us, a shadow in our wake. It gains. Isaac worries it will be far closer than comfortable come morning.
I’ve never felt so completely and utterly trapped. There is nowhere to run but as far as the Catherine’s deck allows. There are no trees to climb, no boulders to duck behind, no caves to burrow within.
I decide I hate the sea. It is an unforgiving place.
The team eats in silence, my father staring at me from across the table. He looks oddly distant. His mouth does this weird dance, attempting to pull into a smile behind his beard but always falling short. He drops his chin down, staring at his unfinished meal, and swallows, hard. Then, without warning, he grabs Jackson by the collar. Several mess kits are knocked to the floor as Owen tugs the Forgery to his feet and hauls him outside. We all watch through the glass windows, rigid with shock.
“Are you positive you don’t recognize it?” Owen shouts. Jackson stands there, despondent, and my father brings a knee into his gut. “I asked you a question!”
Jackson looks to the south. “It’s too dark to tell.”
My father punches him and the crack of Jackson’s nose breaking is so clear I hear it from where we sit. “Did you call them? Did you tell them somehow?”
Jackson is bent over, gasping for air. Owen grabs him by the shirt and throws him against the glass windows of the wheelhouse.
“My son is on this ship. My son and eight other lives, and the only one I don’t care about losing is yours. I will throw you overboard if I have to. You call them off. You do it now!”
“I can’t. I don’t know how.”
Owen hits him again.
“I mean it,” Jackson gasps, coughing. His bound arms are held before his face, frantically trying to shelter himself. “I don’t. I can’t.”
But Owen is striking him again and again and finally I’m the one with enough sense to run outside and pull my father back. The Forgery’s eyes are already swollen shut, his face a bloodied mess. My father is stronger than me and breaks free. He lunges at Jackson again, but stops midswing, turns to face me.