Page 12 of Wayward
The walls of the room are polished ochre honey mahogany?floor to ceiling. Overhead lights fill the porthole-less room, which must have been designed as a media center. But this one is decked out like a weird boardroom. Ten tall-backed leather desk chairs surround a long black table.
“Have a seat,” Durant says and leaves the room.
“Where do you think Easton and Haley are?” Zane asks, no trace of his normal smile around.
Sam puts his hand on Zane’s shoulder and pulls out one of the leather chairs on wheels. He sits and motions for us to sit too.
But I’ve got other things I want to do. At the head of the table there’s an intercom, and next to the intercom, there’s a stack of small notepads and pens. With the guards outside, I take two of each, slipping a notepad and pen into my pocket. I sit across from Sam. Zane’s next to him. I draw a bird, then a house. When I look up, I realize that Sam and Zane are studying what I’m doing. “Just drawing.”
“Oh.” Zane’s shoulders drop. He takes one, and his pen strokes are different from mine. Assured, a real house appears compared to the one on my page. Mine looks like a preschooler drew it. But that’s fine. I push a notepad to Sam, but then pull itback and split it in two. If they don’t know how many were here, perhaps they won’t miss the one I took.
“What are you drawing?” Sam asks.
“Nothing,” I say.
“Not you. Zane.”
I shrug but glance up. On the second page of Zane’s notepad, he’s drawn the blueprint of the Rosewood?or the little we know about it. Haley’s seen more than the four of us.
He’s sketched out five decks. Sam taps the paper. “Six.”
Zane’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”
“It’s modified.”
Zane’s pen moves across the page. He lifts the pen every so often, filling things in with a lighter line that are guesses. I have no idea if it’s going to help us, but fuck, we have to try. We’re at it long enough to fill in the whole diagram. There’s no way they’re going to let us keep it. No way they’re not watching us as we do it. But we finish the whole thing.
Calvin’s finger slides across the page. “Cat room, boiler, engines, lounge.”
We’re done after a few minutes, and we’re studying the schematics. But what's the point? There are too many men, too much firepower. These aren’t a bunch of unorganized pirates. They are a highly trained killing force.
I lean back in the chair and close my eyes, calming my system. In a way, being locked in a porthole-less room is more soothing. I don’t have to fight the Viking for window access to see if Sassy is on her way back to the boat. I’m more on edge than ever. And there’s no surprise to me. Being on the ship reminds me too much of how I hated working for the Russian.
The door opens, and I jump up.
Holloway’s there. But no Sassy or Easton. “Sit down,” the beefy guard says.
Kennedy is behind him, wheeling a cart with covered dishes. “Lunch.” He places the plates in front of the four of us.
“Where’s Haley and Easton?”
Kennedy nods at us, his eyes flashing at our little art projects around the table. He doesn’t take them. “Enjoy.” He pulls the door closed with a firm click.
The food isn’t bad, but it’s not good either. Boring. Lacking imagination and zest. But maybe their chef is as eager to get away from Z as I was to get away from the Russian.
With the plates stacked, the table shakes with the bounce of Zane’s leg. “You good?” I ask.
“No. I want to see Haley. Easton too.” He pushes back from the table and bangs on the side of the door with his fist. “I need to use the loo.” His accent is ten times as strong as normal.
The door opens. “Can you wait?” Holloway asks.
“Do you have a bucket?”
“I’ll take that as a no. Fine. Let’s go.” Holloway takes Zane, and the door shuts with a click.
“Fuck.” Calvin stands and paces.
“Sit down, Green. We need to keep our shit together.”
