Page 15 of The Final Storm
I swallow hard and nod.
“You know we’re not from here either,” Gemma admits. She moves Morgan onto her knees, tightening the blanket around her.
I scoot forward in my chair. “No, I didn’t know that.”
“We piled onto a fishing boat and squeezed our way out of the mainland.” She frowns at the memory. “I think about going back, but it’s not time. I can feel that, can’t you?”
“I just feel scared all the time,” I answer. It’s a relief to admit that to her. Around the boys, Lori, and Sam, I pretend the imminent future doesn’t terrify me. It takes a lot of strength to fake assuredness each day. “There’s a few months before the storms will…”
“Yes, I read the news reports before we came here,” Gemma brushes me off. “But there’s a feeling when certain things come to mind. Do you know what I mean?”
I’m not sure what she’s asking. “Woman’s intuition?” I guess.
“Come sit with me.” She pats the cushion at her side, and I wince a little getting up to sit next to her.
“May I… touch you?” she asks. “Here.” She points to my cheek and I nod, unsure where she’s from or what custom this falls under. The groups may not entrust each other yet, but I sense a calmness with Gemma. If I didn’t think she was authentic, I wouldn’t dare ask to leave the boys with her.
Her soft hand cups my cheek, and I relax with the embrace. A warmth begins with her touch and travels throughout my limbs. I close my eyes and see BeLew and Tank digging in the dirt behind her house, pulling out a worm the length of Beau’s arm. Then there’s a flash of Gemma, serving them a bowl of soup by a fire. The boys are sitting on large rocks, holding the food in their laps. The light from the fire dances across their foreheads while they bend down to eat.
A slow exhale leaves my body, and tranquility fills me so completely that I think I may fall asleep leaning against her hand.
“Oracle,” she murmurs.
My eyes shoot open, and I sit upright. “What?”
Gemma removes her touch and runs her fingertips across Morgan’s soft hair. “Special, just like her.”
Chapter 6
Ghosts
“I’mgrowingtiredoftelling you my opinion. I think this is a mistake.” Sam runs his hand through his hair with a flexed forearm, and even in the darkness, I see his mouth form a tight line once he speaks the words. Morgan nestles in my chest in search of my breasts which are drying up more and more each day.
I sigh and look over to Milo, who volunteered to drive the boat. It seems Sam grew on him during their time together. Sam diverts his attention back to him, instructing how the boat operates even though they’ve discussed it many times.
I let Gemma’s comment roll around in my mind this past week, but I don’t tell Sam. He doesn’t need more to worry about. It’s not surprising, me being considered an oracle. It’s that with a touch of her hand, she believes Morgan suffers the same fate.
Is that how I see it still?A destiny I want to live without.
I’m not sure anymore. In moments by myself when I was pregnant, I could close my eyes and see her, push the happy visions forward. She’s older in some of them, and I choose to believe that means we make it through this. The future unwritten once felt terrifying. I felt sure all the horrible visions were beyond my control, forced to become reality. Now, I’m scared destiny will rip away the wonderful ones, leaving me nothing.
“Do you see another way?” I mumble to the back of Sam’s head. I lift Morgan to nurse, which proves difficult as the boat weaves through the water. She latches but struggles to suck. She’s so small, and it’s hard for her. I tug at Sam’s arm, forcing him to come back to the conversation. “I’m worried about our girl. Her chest heaves as she sleeps, and she doesn’t eat well. We need to get her onboard.”
I look over at Luke and Lori with a frown. “And you can’t let Luke suffer anymore,” I whisper, unsure if anyone can hear me.
The past few days have taken a toll. The antibiotics weren’t strong enough, or maybe they aren’t the kind he needs, and I worry we are too late. My visions showed nothing of the sort, but the fear leaves a pit in my stomach.
Luke’s cheeks draw in and his grey complexion leaves him appearing almost skeletal. His body, once predominantly muscle, grows thinner by the day. Lori and I joked he was eye candy when we first encountered him on the Thalassa. The vision of him in her doorway with only a towel one day proved that theory, and the memory brings a flush to my cheeks.
Now Lori stares at him with troubled eyes. He leans over, elbows on his knees, looking like he might be ill with another bob of the boat. He insisted this illness was all the long days on the island, but when she noticed him cough blood, she knew. He favors the arm we broke, and it swells and is hot to the touch. There’s no hiding it anymore from anyone. We’re a mangled bunch that couldn’t make it a year on our own, and I don’t know if we’ll do much better on this ship.
“It’s just a few days, maybe a week,” I mumble, still looking over at Luke.
“One of us should have stayed back with the boys,” Sam argues. “Are you sure you didn’t see them in any kind of danger or trouble? I’m not comfortable being so far away from them.”
“You want them on that boat?” I hiss.
I’m defensive, and he has a point. There are no good choices, and I’m new at the mothering gig. I’m afraid I’ve fucked up already, leaving my children behind. I chose the better of two evils… I think.
