Page 26 of Wayward

“Want me to take over?”

“I’ve got it,” he says.

The ship shakes, changing course. Not a lot, but it's definitely a shift in direction. And then the engines kick it up.

“Whoa,” Dante whispers.

“Yeah.”

“You think we should wake them up?” He lifts his chin to me, then shakes his head, answering his own question.

“No point,” I whisper and pull on my pants. I hang the towel up and head to the porthole. There’s nothing out there but the moon on the water. Fuck, I used to love watching the waves from the bridge. The quiet of the night. I’m staring out at the waves, but there’s nothing now but dread. The dread of being under Z’s control. Having him pull us out to threaten us. There’s a click behind me.

I turn to hear Penny growling, the light from the corridor shining across the foot of the bed. Calvin bounds to his feet, but the others don’t move.

“Come with me,” Holloway says, pointing at me.

Calvin takes a step toward the door.

“Just your captain.”

I follow Holloway out the door, and Penny leaps to come with me. “No, you stay.”

“Come on, Penny.” Dante pulls her back in.

Holloway closes the door with a click. One of the nameless guards stands on the other side of the hall. He looks away, his face blank. But if he’s been standing there for the last few hours, he’s heard some things.

“She’s a good dog,” Holloway says to the closed door. He takes long steps to the stairs at the end of the hall.

“Thanks, she is.” I leave off all the things I used to say, like “when she wants to be” or “she’s stubborn.” Because no, she listened to Calvin when he told her to go home. “She’s the best dog there is.” There’s no point denying it. They have enough things over my head to keep me motivated. “Where are we going?”

“Wheelhouse.” He doesn’t slow.

“Okay. Any reason why?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Probably for the best.”

“It’s always for the best.” We step up the last step. He points me to the wheelhouse. “Don’t do anything dumb. Captain carries.” Holloway angles his head to the wheelhouse’s side doors on the port and starboard. Large backs fill the window in each door. Holloway pulls the interior door shut behind him.

And I’m left staring at the back of the uniformed captain. He’s tall with square shoulders, his elbows sticking out from his sides, a bulge of the weapon he carries on his right. “Hello,” he says with a strong Scandinavian accent. He turns, dropping a pair of night vision binoculars on a stack of charts at the back of the wheelhouse. “Thank you for coming.” The crewman next to him, holding the helm, doesn’t turn.

I swallow down my smirk. Like I had a choice.

“Right, so Mr. Z has cleared me to talk to you about the drifting of the Rock Candy. I’d like to know more about the current that brought you to your island. I like my charts to be complete,” he says in the gruff sing-song voice that so manyolder Nordic sailors have. He doesn’t say his name. But there’s something familiar about him.

“Well, I don’t have my charts. They’re still with the Rock Candy. Wherever she is. And Z has my logbook.”

The captain pulls it out from under a chart. “Dis, ja?”

“Yes.” I hold my hand out and take it. “Thank you. May I sit?” I motion to the bench next to the table the charts are on.

“Please.” He clicks on a map light. “Humph, it would be better to have more light.” He yanks open the door back to the corridor. “We are moving to my office.” He snags the charts from the table. “Nei,I need that one.” He points to the stack next to me. “Take those.”

I take the stack and follow him out.

Holloway has an eyebrow arched.