behind the panel, Jim collapsed onto the bunk and forced himself to think things through, find a way forward out of this mess. That Mike wasn’t talking gave him time, but how long that would last, he couldn’t tell.
The plan of sending Susan Faust was of no use now.
With Mike back, there was no way he could justify sending her, and although Graves had agreed to take care of her in exchange for Frank’s release, there was no point in sending her out when there was no one to receive her.
But she still posed a problem with her mad rhetoric. He still suspected her and her group of acolytes of sabotaging the hydro and wind turbines. Then there was Frank. He was one problem Jim didn’t want to have to deal with.
The weight of responsibility threatened to crush his chest as his breath became shallow. He pictured himself before the world drowned, captaining the Alonsa on her maiden voyage. A nice cruise around South America. He pictured the warm weather, the beaches that he managed to enjoy for a few snatched hours during stops. He pictured the guests on board enjoying the ship’s roster of entertainment and how they would all greet him with smiles and admiration.
In those days, his leadership was something to respect, and he worked hard to live up to those standards, but here, on the flotilla, things had a chaotic nature that he was increasingly finding difficult to cope with. Perhaps he should just step down, hand it over to Graves or Faust or whoever thought they could do a better job.
Burdened by indecision, he left to pay Mike another visit, just in case those murmurings turned to words, and those words turned to accusations and revelations.
***
Jim decided to take the route through the container ship. Might as well check on the stocks and storage while he was out and about. An opportunity to make sure none of Faust’s congregation were trying to steal any more fuel, water, or food.
The rain had thankfully stopped, but the wind still cut a cold edge, attacking his extremities with a ruthless prejudice. He pulled his hat down lower over his ears and pulled his collar up, but still the winds bit deep.
As he navigated his way through the dark tunnels created by the containers, he passed a number of flotilla citizens huddled around their small driftwood fires, the smoke twisting out the cracks of the metal doors within their container homes. He moved quickly to avoid recognition. They’d only bug him about Mike.
Throughout his walk, passing through the maze of paths, he heard the same questions over and over within the boat’s cabins:
“What do you think Mike saw?” “Is it true he found someone?” “Will we be saved, finally?” “I heard he’s sick; has he brought a new bacterium back with him?” On and on, endless conspiracy theories, conjecture, and rumour.
By the time morning came around, the information and rumours would have twisted into wild flights of fancy. But that wasn’t something Jim could worry about now. He just had to make sure Mike’s return remained a mystery, one way or another.
He came to the container that Faust had earlier tried to break into. To Jim’s satisfaction, the chains and locks were still in place. He tested them just to make sure. Still solid, secure. Although their drinking-water stocks might be in peril, individuals would be able to boil the seawater and gather the condensation. It would be tough, but they could survive for a while like that, at least long enough to get the desalination units up and running again.
Coming to the edge of the Chinese carrier ship, Jim prepared to climb down to the lower level created by a number of damaged pleasure craft that were lashed together with boards and sheet metal, fibreglass and sails. He turned around to grip the rail. A dark figure appeared in front of him, making him jump. He let out a surprised breath.
“Jim, old son, need a hand?”
“Marcus, you scared me for a moment there. What are you doing?”
“Just
The plan of sending Susan Faust was of no use now.
With Mike back, there was no way he could justify sending her, and although Graves had agreed to take care of her in exchange for Frank’s release, there was no point in sending her out when there was no one to receive her.
But she still posed a problem with her mad rhetoric. He still suspected her and her group of acolytes of sabotaging the hydro and wind turbines. Then there was Frank. He was one problem Jim didn’t want to have to deal with.
The weight of responsibility threatened to crush his chest as his breath became shallow. He pictured himself before the world drowned, captaining the Alonsa on her maiden voyage. A nice cruise around South America. He pictured the warm weather, the beaches that he managed to enjoy for a few snatched hours during stops. He pictured the guests on board enjoying the ship’s roster of entertainment and how they would all greet him with smiles and admiration.
In those days, his leadership was something to respect, and he worked hard to live up to those standards, but here, on the flotilla, things had a chaotic nature that he was increasingly finding difficult to cope with. Perhaps he should just step down, hand it over to Graves or Faust or whoever thought they could do a better job.
Burdened by indecision, he left to pay Mike another visit, just in case those murmurings turned to words, and those words turned to accusations and revelations.
***
Jim decided to take the route through the container ship. Might as well check on the stocks and storage while he was out and about. An opportunity to make sure none of Faust’s congregation were trying to steal any more fuel, water, or food.
The rain had thankfully stopped, but the wind still cut a cold edge, attacking his extremities with a ruthless prejudice. He pulled his hat down lower over his ears and pulled his collar up, but still the winds bit deep.
As he navigated his way through the dark tunnels created by the containers, he passed a number of flotilla citizens huddled around their small driftwood fires, the smoke twisting out the cracks of the metal doors within their container homes. He moved quickly to avoid recognition. They’d only bug him about Mike.
Throughout his walk, passing through the maze of paths, he heard the same questions over and over within the boat’s cabins:
“What do you think Mike saw?” “Is it true he found someone?” “Will we be saved, finally?” “I heard he’s sick; has he brought a new bacterium back with him?” On and on, endless conspiracy theories, conjecture, and rumour.
By the time morning came around, the information and rumours would have twisted into wild flights of fancy. But that wasn’t something Jim could worry about now. He just had to make sure Mike’s return remained a mystery, one way or another.
He came to the container that Faust had earlier tried to break into. To Jim’s satisfaction, the chains and locks were still in place. He tested them just to make sure. Still solid, secure. Although their drinking-water stocks might be in peril, individuals would be able to boil the seawater and gather the condensation. It would be tough, but they could survive for a while like that, at least long enough to get the desalination units up and running again.
Coming to the edge of the Chinese carrier ship, Jim prepared to climb down to the lower level created by a number of damaged pleasure craft that were lashed together with boards and sheet metal, fibreglass and sails. He turned around to grip the rail. A dark figure appeared in front of him, making him jump. He let out a surprised breath.
“Jim, old son, need a hand?”
“Marcus, you scared me for a moment there. What are you doing?”
“Just
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