Page 51 of The Final Storm
“Two days,” Luke replies. “Islanders need to decide.”
“I thought Caleb brought them all back,” I say.
“I heard Gemma tried and failed to convince at least one that wouldn’t leave. Their funeral,” he answers.
A nurse walks in, looking down at her tablet, tapping along with every step. “Ah, she’s up,” she says and checks the machines attached to the many cords on and inside me.
Lori rolls her eyes at the interruption. “Is there anything you’ve… seen?” She raises her eyebrows.
I exhale and rub my chest. How do I explain what I’ve seen? I nod and look over at the nurse.
“It-It’s different,” I explain.
“Than things you’ve seen before?”
I nod my head. “I mean…”
“You need to rest, not chit-chat,” the nurse interrupts. “Here we are. Have a good sleep.”
She puts something into the port of my IV, and I reach for it, but it’s too late. It plunges in, and immediately the room blurs. A sensation of calm washes over me, lightening the weight of my pounding skull and coursing through my veins until I’m sinking into the mattress.
I hear Lori’s muffled, “Oh fuck,” and when my eyes grow heavy, I see only darkness. I give in to the inevitable this time, sinking deep into the void of nothing, not knowing what I’ll find on the other side.
There’s a relief in this forced sleep. My battered body needs the rest. It’s my mind that worries me. I don’t know if it can take much more of my past and present colliding together in my brain.
When I open my eyes again, the floor sways beneath me, and the sound of rushing water is everywhere. It echoes in my ears, loud and startling. There’s no sky this time. Only a metal ceiling full of walkways and pipes. Voices carry through the noise, and I turn my head to see shoes running across a boat deck.
Not at the farm this time.
Standing up proves difficult as the floor beneath my body sways. I roll onto my stomach and curl my legs underneath me, using a wall at my side for balance. My feet still falter from the rocking motion, and I almost fall over to one side. Gripping a ledge, I steady myself and look at the unfamiliar faces that surround me.
“It’s time to go,” I hear someone yell. A machine roars to life in the distance with a thunderous cranking noise. The boat’s rocking gets worse, and I’m being jostled around despite holding on to the ledge. My feet slip, and a few people lose their footing, but when we tumble together, I’m reminded this is a vision of shadows. They pass through me while knocking into each other, and the sight makes me shiver.
“We’re in that much of a rush!” someone gripes by my side.
“I wouldn’t complain,” a man answers. He’s the first familiar face, but I can’t place him.
We’re on a tender, a smaller boat inside one of the ships. My head jerks around, trying to determine exactly where. All these fucking vessels look the same. There are a dozen slips on each side, filled with similar boats that jostle from the incoming water slamming against their hull. This is bigger than the Galene. A lump forms in my throat at my next thought.
I’m on the Thalassa.
I think I might get sick, and then I hear him. My hands clutch the side, making my knuckles white and my stomach lurch.
This vision isn’t too far into my past, if this is the past at all.
I can tell by the cadence in his voice, sharp words that bite at everyone he meets. That version of him is recent, hardened over time.
The very much alive Dean Riggs speaks, and every part of me knows this is after we left, and he’s not dead. I’ve always known but couldn’t admit the fact.
“Do you have the bags?” Dean asks, but it comes out as an order.
Whoever he speaks to stutters back. “Y-yes. All four.”
“I have another special delivery,” Dean yells over the rushing water. With the door now opened completely, the bright sun beams down on my skin. The water in the slip calms a bit, mixing with the ocean and finding its balance. I’m able to let go of the side, but I’m frightened, frozen in place.
Not real.
“Take this too and dump it at the halfway mark.”
