Clare was moving too quickly to stop her momentum. The captain lifted his hand. A serrated kitchen knife, still carrying flecks of long-dried blood, glinted in the early morning light as he stepped through the door.
There wasn’t enough time to stop the collision. Clare did the only thing she could think of. She extended both hands and slammed them into his chest. His flesh was cold. Wet from rain. Leathery. She felt each rib under her fingers, the bones hard but brittle, bumpy like broken stones.
The impact forced him back out of the door. He brought the knife down. It caught on the edge of Clare’s sleeve, tearing a hole in the fabric, but didn’t meet her skin.
Dorran was there before she knew what was happening. He followed up her push with his fist, connecting with the captain’s jaw, sending him staggering back until he hit the railings. Clare yanked Dorran back inside and wrenched the door shut. She forced the lock into place. A second later, the handle rattled again.
“Are you hurt? Did he catch you?” Dorran grabbed Clare’s hands, turning them over, examining the place the knife had snagged her shirt.
Clare shook her head. “I’m fine. But he’s going to try again. Where are the other doors? How else can he get in here?”
Dorran kept his hold on her as he scanned the space. “The stairs to the second deck. I don’t know how else.”
Something scraped the metal behind them. They both turned to face the wall. Through the windows, all Clare could see were the railings, the rain, and, in the distance, the shifting riverbank. She knew what must be happening outside. The captain was climbing the walls.
Dorran darted to the stairs beside the bar. Metal clanged as he ascended them three at a time. Then a moment later, the clatter grew closer as he descended again. His face was tight. “There is no lock.”
“What?”
“There is only a door. The lock has been removed.”
Clare dragged her fingers through her hair. “Do we… can we…”
They had no weapons. She had no doubt that the hollow would have removed anything else they could use to defend themselves, as well. She looked towards the windows. The banks were at least twenty meters away on each side. Beyond them, shielded behind a layer of plants, were homes. Even if they swam for shore, she didn’t think they would last long once they reached the bank.
“We’ll barricade it,” Dorran muttered. He snatched up one of the closest tables and dragged it towards the narrow stairwell. “Get chairs.”
“Right.” The dining area’s chairs were all cheap wood and fake leather, but they were relatively hardy. Clare grabbed two at a time and hauled them to Dorran, who alternated stacking them with the tables. He jammed them between one another, locking them into place and filling every gap he could reach. The door on the upper deck slammed. Dorran picked up a final table and flipped it to lean its weight against the pile. Then he stepped back, and they both stood, breathless, watching their barricade.
The table blocked Clare’s view of the stairwell, but she could hear the captain. Each footstep reverberated off the metal. He stopped after six paces. The furniture jostled with a clatter then stuck with a bang. The table bulged out an inch as he tried to push it then shuddered as he tried to pull. Clare exchanged a look with Dorran. A frustrated snarl echoed from the stairwell, then the door slammed again as the captain returned to the upper deck.
Dorran bent close to whisper into Clare’s ear. “Wait here. Call me if he returns to the stairs.”
She tried to ask where he was going, but he moved into the hallway before she could speak. As silent as a wraith, he disappeared into each door, turn by turn. Clare kept one eye on him and the other on their barricade. She couldn’t hear the captain any longer.
He’s smart. He hasn’t tried to talk, not like Madeline did, but he remembers how to use knives, and he remembers the way around the ship. Maybe he kept part of his humanity, but not all of it.
Dorran reappeared and gave Clare a brief nod. “There are no other doors. We should be secure as long as he can’t dismantle the stairwell blockade.”
“Okay.” Clare licked her lips, her heart hammering. “What do we do now?”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Through the windows, the scenery continued to change slowly but unrelentingly. One of doors in the kitchen rattled then fell silent again as the captain scoped out the remaining entrances to the paddleboat’s central area.
Dorran ran his hand over his face, wiping away the remaining raindrops. He took a moment to answer Clare’s question. “We don’t have access to the engine room any longer. I don’t know how we can return to the car.”
How far are we from it now? A kilometre? Two? How far will we have travelled before we can get to shore?
Clare blinked furiously. Of all the things she could grow attached to, she hadn’t expected it to be a grimy, half-broken vehicle. But that car had saved them. It had carried them for days without complaint. Despite how precarious its repairs had felt, it hadn’t failed them. And it held most of their supplies, including the radio. Except for the blankets, food, and masks they had brought onto the ship, everything was back in the hatchback.
She wanted to repeat her question. What do we do now? But that wasn’t fair. Dorran didn’t have any more answers than she did.
They could try to swim to shore, but it was hard to know what they might find once they got there. In a best-case scenario, they might find an abandoned vehicle with its keys still in the ignition close by. Alternately, they
