Page 33 of Wayward
“Sit there. Don’t move.” The engineer points to a small stool against the wall, away from the control panel. There’s a crowded counter and shelf behind me.
“Got it. I’m Green, Calvin Green.” I sit on the stool next to a small bench. There are two other engineers monitoring stations on the other side of the room. I take in a breath.
The old guy nods without giving me his name and wanders away.
But there’s something up. Something’s not right. Then again, maybe it’s just my nose coming out of the cat room.
My eyes flick around the engine room. It’s state of the art, for sure. Clean. But I still can’t shake the feeling that something’s off. “Nice engine room.”
“Aye.” He nods without looking back at me.
“Stopping for fuel soon?” My eyes run over an open logbook on the counter next to me.
He glares over his shoulder and purses his lips. He doesn’t say anything. But he doesn’t deny it. I skim the page the logbook is open to, finding documentation of the transfer of fuel from one tank to the other. The last date is from yesterday. Or at leastwhat I think was yesterday. And both of the primary tanks are low.
The chief engineer lumbers across the room and shuts the logbook, moving it to the shelf above the table. “Keep your eyes and hands to yourself.”
I suppose Hawk’s dad is going to be the only friend we have on the yacht. Fucking Hawk. How did he not tell us his dad is the captain of theRosewood? Like we would have said anything. It might have made a difference. Then again, it might not have.
I take in another breath while waiting for my babysitter. “Do you smell that?”
“Cat shit? Yes, I can smell it. I’ve been smelling it since the howling things were brought on board.” He sneezes on cue.
He’s right. It smells like an underfunded animal shelter down here, but there’s more. “No, it’s a faint scent of acid. Have you checked the battery rack?”
One of the guys near the back takes off his hearing protection. “What did you say, Tom Hanks?”
I run my hand over my beard. Tom Hanks from the movieCastaway. Whatever. Our experience is going to have people saying that over and over to us. I get it. I shrug at him and run my eyes over each part of the equipment around the room.
The head engineer steps closer to me, and for half a second I think he’s going to punch me, but he swings around and faces the inside of the engine room and stands with his hands on his hips, his chest pointed upward. “You know, I do smell something, now that you mention it.” He heads over to the battery rack. “Fucking hell. Shut the engines off.”
“No,” I yell. “Don’t do that. You need to vent the room first. You might have a buildup of hydrogen, depending on how long they’ve been leaking. Shut the engines off, and you could get a spark.”
“Damn. Belay that order. Get the room vented,” he yells and glares at me. It’s half thank you and half shut the fuck up.
The three of them are moving. Doing all the things they should. Turning off nonessential equipment, opening the louvers. Soon they’ve got the door propped open, and a fan appears from a storage area.
The old guy is talking to the bridge. It’s killing me to not help. More engineers appear and then a guard. Of course it’s Collins, the asshole who fired at Zane.
“Did you cause this?” Collins grabs my arm.
The head engineer stops in the middle of talking to a level one engineer. “What the fuck. No, he’s the one who noticed the problem.” He scowls at Collins.
But the asshole Collins has half of my bicep in his hand. “Sure.”
“It’s true. I’m Turner. Thank you, Green. I’d like to say that I would have smelled it as soon as you did. But . . .” The engineer shakes his head. “Thank you.”
I nod. Because I get it?he’s going to be reliving today for a while. Just like I’ve revisited the issues with theRock Candyin my dreams for a year. Only this time it wasn’t sabotage, just a bad battery and a room full of engineers with allergies.
“Whatever. You want him as a crew member? You’ll need to fish him out of the water when Z has him sinking to the bottom.”
The old guy’s glaring at him. But there’s no point. Hotheads like Collins never see anything but what they want to see.
“Thank you,” the engineer says to my back.
I glance back and incline my head to him. He does the same back to me. Maybe I’ve won him over. Saving his job might have something to do with it.
Collins takes me up to our cabin. He opens the door and tries to push me in but doesn’t have the muscle to move me any faster than I want to.
