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“Where we headed?” I asked.

“Hundred meters or so from shore should be far enough. You know what kind of anchor this thing has?”

“Thirteen-pound plow, fourteen feet of anchor chain, couple hundred feet of line. Line and chain are both half-inch.”

Lance disengaged the bow thruster and eased forward on the throttle. “Should be plenty.”

He steered us straight out until he estimated we were far enough from shore, then turned north toward a pair of thin islands jutting out from a shallow cove. Five minutes of putting along at seven knots brought the nearest island about a hundred meters from our port bow.

“This spot should work just fine,” Lance said. “Water’s about seventy feet deep, rises pretty sharp when you get close to the island. If we have to jump ship, it’ll be a close swim.”

I went forward and dropped the anchor. Lance reversed the propeller and eased backward until the scope of the line was forty-five degrees from the bow. The anchor dug in firmly until we stayed put with the throttle in reverse at four knots, much stronger than the Guadalupe River’s lazy current as it pushed through the lake.

“So what now?” I asked, staring at the shore. It was mid-afternoon, plenty of daylight left. To the north of the cabin, I saw the horde reach the edge of the peninsula and head straight for Colleen Drive. At best estimate, we had escaped them by about fifteen minutes.

“Now we stow the supplies,” Lance said. “Not a good idea to leave them on the deck.”

It was the work of less than five minutes to form a human chain, hand everything down to the galley, and stash it in cabinets and stowage compartments. The only thing left out was a case of Jameson’s Irish Whiskey. “Who brought that aboard?” I asked, pointing.

“I did.” Sophia grabbed a bottle. “Where are the glasses around here?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetie,” Lauren said. “Your father wouldn’t like you drinking.”

“Well, my father isn’t here. So unless you wanna tie me down, I’m getting drunk.” She shifted her chestnut eyes back to me. “Glasses?”

“Cabinet behind your head.”

She turned and grabbed two glasses, then pointed at Lance. “What about you?”

His face didn’t move, just a slight head tilt to the left. “Why not? Got nothin’ better to do.”

“Jesus Christ,” Lauren said disgustedly, standing up to leave. “You people are unbelievable.”

We watched her stomp up the ladder to the main deck and slam the door behind her. I looked over at Lance.

“Think I should go talk to her?”

“Right now? No. What’s her problem, anyway?” He went to the counter and let Sophia pour him a drink.

I sighed and stared at the door. “If I knew the answer to that I wouldn’t be asking for advice, Lance.”

“All right then,” he said, handing me two glasses. “Take this to her and set it down beside her. Don’t say a word. Just sit down close by and don’t look at her or speak to her. Sooner or later, she’ll crack. Won’t be long after that she’ll pick that drink up and ask for another.”

“You think?”

He shrugged. “Got nothin’ to lose trying.”

I took the glasses.

TWENTY-THREE

She lasted five minutes.

During that time, I gassed up the generator, switched on the radio, dialed in to the frequency Dad and the others used on their handhelds, and sent ten messages at thirty-second intervals.

No response.

Frustrated and scared, I slammed the mike down in its cradle.

“They’re probably just out of range,” Lauren said.

I turned to look at her. She sat with her back to the sun, outlined against a tangerine sky, legs crossed and bouncing nervously. Lola snored away on the bench behind me, oblivious.

“Yeah.”

“We’ll probably hear from them soon.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Silence for a while, then she said, “This is for me, I assume?” She took the drink from the cup holder on the back of the bench and held it up to the light.

“You assume correctly.”

“What the hell, maybe Sophia has the right idea.” She took a sip and made a face.

“Isn’t this supposed to be the good stuff?”

“I guess so. I get the impression people drink it more for the effect than the taste. Kind of like coffee.” To punctuate, I drained half of mine in a single gulp. My stomach was still empty from throwing up earlier, so I felt the buzz almost immediately.

“So what do you think of her?” Lauren asked.

My eyebrows came together. “Who?”

“You know who.”

I looked back at Lola. “I think she needs a therapist.”

Lauren gave a slight laugh and shook her head. “That’s not who I meant.”

“Sophia?”

She nodded.

“She’s all right, I guess. Kind of a smartass.”

“I think she likes you.”

I stared at her flatly. “Maybe you’re the one that needs a therapist.”

“Call it a woman’s intuition.”

I turned back in the captain’s chair to stare across the bow. The second half of the drink went down the hatch easier than the first. When I could talk again, I said, “Even if she does, which I doubt very much, I’ve got more important things to worry about.”

“We all do, Caleb. But you shouldn’t let that distract you from what little pleasure there is left in life.”

I watched her drain her drink, then get up from the bench. “There a stateroom on this thing?”

“Down the ladder, first door to your left.”

“I’m going to take a nap. Come get me if you hear from your father.”

“Will do.”

She opened the door and took a few steps, then hesitated, eyes fixed on her feet, refusing to look up. “Caleb … I just want you to know I love you, and I always have. I know I’m not your real mother, but I love you as much as any woman ever loved her own flesh and blood. No matter what happens, I want you to remember that. Okay?”

Something in her tone made my stomach feel heavy and my blood run slow in my veins. “I know, Lauren. I’ve never doubted that for a second. You’re the best mother a guy could ask for. And for the record, I love you too.”

She gave a weak smile, still not looking me in the eye, and went belowdecks.

A gentle breeze blew across Canyon Lake from the east, stirring the water and sending white waves lapping at the western shore. The fabric of the canopy flapped lazily as the deck rocked slowly beneath me, a strong hint of rotten fish smell lingering in the air. I turned the empty glass in my hand and wondered why people like me hung on to life so hard when we were all destined, sooner or later, to lose our grip.

*****

It became a cycle.

Crank up the generator. Wait for the little amber light. Send out the message. Wait. Curse. Put the mike down. Turn off the generator. Stew for an hour. Repeat.

Night fell. Still no contact. Finally, I ran the generator until the batteries in the engine compartment were charged and left the receiver on. It takes a lot less power to receive a signal than to transmit one, so I felt confident the batteries would hold out overnight. That done, I sat and waited.

Lance brought me a plate of food. Chili, I think; I didn’t really look at it. After the tasteless mechanical function of mastication, swallowing, and the first stages of the digestive process, I went belowdecks and deposited bowl and spoon in sink and applied the necessary rinse.

Finished, I looked around. The door to Lauren’s stateroom was closed. Lance sat shirtless and sweating at the table, rifle dismantled, cleaning kit on display, hands moving with the exaggerated slowness and precision of the experienced drunk. At some point, Lola had moved to one of the fold-down cots forward of the galley and resumed sleeping it off. Sophia had changed into a bikini and sat in front of an open porthole, the evening breeze blowing over her bronze skin. My gaze lingered there for longer than I wanted it to, distracted by the sheen of sweat covering her chest and thighs. Sophia looked my way and smiled, eyes more than a little glazed.