Thankfully, a few of the other regional winners had arrived and Eddie turned his attention to them, shouting greetings and welcoming them aboard for the second day of the company sponsored fishing trip for top performers. It was a new tactic the company was trying—team building—rather than handing out wads of bonus money.
“Go on, help the others,” Eddie muttered. Jimmy dutifully stepped up and helped the rest of the winners climb aboard, just as surly as he had been with Reese.
“Hey, hey! There they are!” Eddie called out, his arms spread wide to welcome the next arrivals aboard the boat.
Reese narrowed his eyes at the fake enthusiasm and rah-rah spirit that Eddie always effused. He turned away and followed Ben toward the front of the boat, passing under the flying bridge. Two crew members sweated away up on the bridge, securing fishing gear and readying the boat for another long day on the open water.
They passed through the main bridge, where the captain fussed with the fancy touchscreen control boards positioned in front of the ship’s wheel. He looked up and grinned at them, then went back to his pre-launch checklist. The radio squawked with traffic from the dozen other deep-sea boats preparing to leave port that morning. The sky looked clear, but with a cold front bearing down hard from the west, most captains wanted to be offshore rather than in transit when it hit. Charter boats didn’t make any money when they were docked.
Reese stared west. He’d give anything to be on his sailboat, preparing to leave port. He’d never been a fan of motor yachts.
Ben and Reese exited the bridge out the front opening and found seats near the bow. They sat back against the thick cushions, relaxing while the rest of the group gathered at the dock and embarked.
Reese had to admit, leaving port on a motor yacht was a lot less stressful than on his small sailboat. There were no sails to trim and prepare, no lines to double-check. Just fire up the motors, cast off, and away you go.
It was ironic, he mused, sipping his coffee. He valued his time on the sailboat because out on the water with the wind in his hair, he had time to think. He scoffed at motor cruisers, because they were constantly fiddling with engines and the roar of those same engines made it hard to have any peace and quiet, even in your own head.
Yet, before casting off, Reese discovered it was the motor yacht that allowed him time to think and relax. He grinned at his philosophic attitude and took another drink of Ben’s slap-you-in-the-face coffee.
“You see the news?” Ben asked casually.
“Nope,” Reese muttered, feeling like he could go back to sleep.
He stared out over the still water, watching a large luxury yacht at anchor across the bay. The thing was a massive, sleek slab of white, spotted by black windows and portholes. Probably a hundred-footer. That thing would be like a floating apartment building.
Ben shook his head. “Some volcano erupted over in Africa. They got a video of a town blown apart or something…”
Reese’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He knew that was going to happen as soon as Ben had said ‘volcano.’ His wife, Cami, was an incurable prepper and seemed to wait breathlessly for disaster. It was a harmless hobby for her, he supposed. She was an experienced, licensed hunting guide, so she knew it was smart to be ready for emergencies, and the more she prepared, the safer she was in the woods. That helped him stop worrying. Well, a little.
He glanced at the screen. “Cami,” he told Ben. The message was a heads up that a volcano off the coast of Africa had blown its top. He sighed and tapped out a reply, asking why it mattered. It had to be 3,000 miles away.
“And good morning to you, too,” he muttered, unable to hide his grin. His wife was the most direct woman he’d ever met. When she had something to say, she didn’t let pleasantries get in the way, even with her husband.
His phone rang a moment later. “Hey, you,” he said, glancing at Ben with an apologetic shrug. Reese stood and moved to the bow, looking down at the water swirling around the front of the boat.
“Reese, baby, listen to me—” his wife began.
“Cami, it’s like 5 o’clock in the morning—what are you doing up?”
“You know I don’t sleep well when you’re not here,” she answered in that soft Carolina Lowcountry drawl that made his knees weak. “I called because I’m worried about you. Remember when I told you about the Canary Islands...?”
Reese frowned, scratching his head. “The super tidal wave?”
“Megatsunami,” Cami corrected. “There’s all kinds of conflicting info out there right now—no one really knows what’s going on, but I think it’s gonna be bad.”
“Yeah, Ben said something about a town being blown apart when it erupted…”
Cami sighed. “I know, it’s horrible…there were a bunch of tourists and hikers. It’s a very scenic spot. But that’s not what I’m worried about. Those poor people are beyond help,” she said, her voice tight. “If I’m right, this is going to be bad for a lot of people. I can’t stop thinking about you out there on the water...”
Reese sighed and looked up at the brightening, crystal clear sky. It was going to be a gorgeous August morning. The last thing he wanted to do was worry over one of Cami’s paranoid theories. “And if you’re wrong?”
She didn’t speak for a moment, though he could see her in his mind’s eye, chewing on her lip like she did when she was worried, but unable to provide a good enough reason for being worried. “If I’m wrong,” she admitted quietly, “then nothing happens.”
“And if I leave this trip, on a
