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SHE’D GOTTEN HIMin the face, it seemed. The cop rolled away, scrambled until his back was to the helm. He got up, grabbed at the bridge to try to steady himself and knocked the throttle forward. The engine roared and squealed, tugging at the tangled ropes and sheets. Hope went for the gun but he kicked it away and lunged at her, grabbing at her hands, the blood making his fingers slick.

They rolled, twisted, tumbled down the stairs into the galley. His face was a mask of blood, hideous and wet, two cool blue eyes bulging wild as he came for her. Hope grabbed a knife from the kitchen block and threw it, backed it up with a second one. He caught the blade in the air and kept coming. She fell beneath him, the blade inches from her face, and pushed upward with all her might. His blood dripped on her. Her hands slipped, and the knife shunted into the wood right by her ear.

The smoke was sudden, thick with burning chemicals. The wind picked it up from the deck and blew it inside the galley where they fought. The engine had ignited, pushed over its limit by the sheets and ropes tangled around the propellers. The burning fuel seared in their eyes. They both rolled, fighting through the pain, trying to climb to their feet.

Out of the glowing flames on the deck the woman cop emerged, the one who had gone after Jenny. Two other officers were close behind her on the ladder. The woman cop’s whole body was shaking with adrenaline and exhaustion. Hope backed toward the stairs as the two officers turned, blocking her exit. She grabbed at the counter, tried to find a weapon. A bottle. A glass. Anything.

“It’s over, Hope. The whole thing’s going to burn,” the woman cop yelled. “Put that down. You’ve got to come with us.”

Hope thought about it. And a weary smile crept to her face at what she imagined, how similar it was to the life she’d lived before. Hands on her. Dark rooms and endless days passing the windows. A team of girls in the prison dorms who’d welcome her, who’d stick by her, cheer her on, try to keep her away from the needle. Sweaty sheets and thin pillows, and those faceless men wandering in the halls, never meeting her eyes, giving her commands.

No. Never again.

Hope went up the stairs and slammed the bridge door behind her.