sofa and leaned back her head.
“I—I was asleep in my room,” she said. “In the fog.” Sipping, she avoided Donna’s eyes. “Donna came and woke me up.”
“That I did.”
“There’s something out there,” Ruth went on. Her voice was shrill.
Donna let the conversation trail away as she knocked on the galley door. There was no answer. It swung open at hertouch, and remembering to lift her leg (like a damn dog), she stepped in.
“Hey, Cha-cha?” she called.
A faint smell of gas pervaded the cramped space between the door and a locker-size cabinet of stainless-steel compartments whose once-gleaming surfaces had been reduced to a dull sheen. The gas odor grew stronger near a six-burner stove top. A black pot speckled with blue—home on the range—sat on the back right burner, a cobalt flame winking feebly beneath it. Additional compartments hung over a stainless-steel sink; on the other side of the Formica bar containing the sink, a steel refrigerator-freezer hummed and whirred. Pots and pans hung in nets, were belted on hooks on the walls, rode loose on a large wooden sideboard. A half-open closet to the right of the refrigerator yielded a broom, mop, pail, rags. Five cans of Comet—hence the flat, scratched look of the place.
Donna peered into a drawer. Mouse traps. Rat traps. Sorry she’d looked, she shut it and slung the restraining hook into place.
“Cha-cha?” She opened an overhead cabinet and rooted past maple syrup and pancake mix, powdered milk, sugar. No booze. He had to keep it someplace. Guy like him, you’d think he’d have bottles stashed everywhere. And she didn’t mean cooking sherry.
Poor Ruth. She’d been shaking like a leaf. Donna was sure she’d stepped on something harmless. A mislaid mop, one of Matty’s toys. Normal objects became ominous in the dark and the fog. That’s why cops accidentally shot kids who waved squirt guns in their faces.
But how come there wasn’t any fog in her cabin? Not one little tendril, one wispy wisp? Her porthole was open same as Ruth’s. Suction, bull. She hadn’t bought that one and neither had Ruth.
She rattled around some more. “Oh, Cha-cha-cha,” she muttered. “Don’t tell
me
you’re not a boozer.”
The hatch that led to the outer deck flew open and Kevin sailed in, blond locks flying. He had on a white sweatshirt and blue baggies, no shoes.
“Oh, hey, hi!” he said, yanking open a drawer beside the stove top. “Come see this!” He hefted a huge knife in his hand and slammed the drawer shut. “We caught a shark or something!” His hair streamed over his shoulders as he doubled back the way he’d come and leaped through the hatch like a gazelle.
Intrigued, Donna followed him into the wet layers of fog. He melted into them and she walked unsteadily toward the sound of splashes and thrashing and yells of excitement. The containers were singing and droning, the symphony of the damned.
“Yeah! Yeah!” Cha-cha bellowed. “Yeah, baby!”
“Guys?” Donna passed her arms in front of her body. “Guys, where are you?”
The foghorn sounded. The containers droned.
“Here it comes! Yeah!” Cha-cha shouted.
A very loud splash.
“Shit! It bit me!” Kevin yowled. “Shit!”
Donna walked faster. She could see nothing.
“Watch it! Watch it!” Cha-cha again, bellowing wildly. “Oh, baby! Help!”
On reflex, Donna broke into a run, zeroing in on the men as Cha-cha cried, “Baby, baby, baby!” over and over again.
She saw two round circles of light that rattled in the white and headed for them. Then she collided with Cha-cha, who dropped his flashlight.
“What’s the matter?” she demanded.
“Son of a bitch bit me,” Kevin said, gasping.
His flashlight beamed into his face. She saw his features, all white bones and black angles, the way she and her friends used to frighten each other at slumber parties when they told ghost stories:
Donna, what happened to your beautiful face
?
Death and decay, it
“I—I was asleep in my room,” she said. “In the fog.” Sipping, she avoided Donna’s eyes. “Donna came and woke me up.”
“That I did.”
“There’s something out there,” Ruth went on. Her voice was shrill.
Donna let the conversation trail away as she knocked on the galley door. There was no answer. It swung open at hertouch, and remembering to lift her leg (like a damn dog), she stepped in.
“Hey, Cha-cha?” she called.
A faint smell of gas pervaded the cramped space between the door and a locker-size cabinet of stainless-steel compartments whose once-gleaming surfaces had been reduced to a dull sheen. The gas odor grew stronger near a six-burner stove top. A black pot speckled with blue—home on the range—sat on the back right burner, a cobalt flame winking feebly beneath it. Additional compartments hung over a stainless-steel sink; on the other side of the Formica bar containing the sink, a steel refrigerator-freezer hummed and whirred. Pots and pans hung in nets, were belted on hooks on the walls, rode loose on a large wooden sideboard. A half-open closet to the right of the refrigerator yielded a broom, mop, pail, rags. Five cans of Comet—hence the flat, scratched look of the place.
Donna peered into a drawer. Mouse traps. Rat traps. Sorry she’d looked, she shut it and slung the restraining hook into place.
“Cha-cha?” She opened an overhead cabinet and rooted past maple syrup and pancake mix, powdered milk, sugar. No booze. He had to keep it someplace. Guy like him, you’d think he’d have bottles stashed everywhere. And she didn’t mean cooking sherry.
Poor Ruth. She’d been shaking like a leaf. Donna was sure she’d stepped on something harmless. A mislaid mop, one of Matty’s toys. Normal objects became ominous in the dark and the fog. That’s why cops accidentally shot kids who waved squirt guns in their faces.
But how come there wasn’t any fog in her cabin? Not one little tendril, one wispy wisp? Her porthole was open same as Ruth’s. Suction, bull. She hadn’t bought that one and neither had Ruth.
She rattled around some more. “Oh, Cha-cha-cha,” she muttered. “Don’t tell
me
you’re not a boozer.”
The hatch that led to the outer deck flew open and Kevin sailed in, blond locks flying. He had on a white sweatshirt and blue baggies, no shoes.
“Oh, hey, hi!” he said, yanking open a drawer beside the stove top. “Come see this!” He hefted a huge knife in his hand and slammed the drawer shut. “We caught a shark or something!” His hair streamed over his shoulders as he doubled back the way he’d come and leaped through the hatch like a gazelle.
Intrigued, Donna followed him into the wet layers of fog. He melted into them and she walked unsteadily toward the sound of splashes and thrashing and yells of excitement. The containers were singing and droning, the symphony of the damned.
“Yeah! Yeah!” Cha-cha bellowed. “Yeah, baby!”
“Guys?” Donna passed her arms in front of her body. “Guys, where are you?”
The foghorn sounded. The containers droned.
“Here it comes! Yeah!” Cha-cha shouted.
A very loud splash.
“Shit! It bit me!” Kevin yowled. “Shit!”
Donna walked faster. She could see nothing.
“Watch it! Watch it!” Cha-cha again, bellowing wildly. “Oh, baby! Help!”
On reflex, Donna broke into a run, zeroing in on the men as Cha-cha cried, “Baby, baby, baby!” over and over again.
She saw two round circles of light that rattled in the white and headed for them. Then she collided with Cha-cha, who dropped his flashlight.
“What’s the matter?” she demanded.
“Son of a bitch bit me,” Kevin said, gasping.
His flashlight beamed into his face. She saw his features, all white bones and black angles, the way she and her friends used to frighten each other at slumber parties when they told ghost stories:
Donna, what happened to your beautiful face
?
Death and decay, it
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