Page 17 of A Second Dawn

“I heard enough,” she says, getting up to strip out of her signature flowing floral dress.

“Have you got another one of your work tunics?” she asks.

I rummage through my bag and hand her one. She’s got bigger boobs than me; the tunic just fits her. She’s already been wearing leggings and now looks ready to work in the kitchen. I hand her a spare cap, because all Claudette owns are bright-colored, wide-brim hats.

When her attire is complete, she swings her bag over her shoulder.

“Let’s go.”

We check through the peephole to make sure the corridor is empty.

“Remember, act normal,” I tell Claudette when she’s about to open the door.

“Me, normal?”

I don’t laugh at her attempted joke, trepidation gnawing at me.

Feel the fear and do it anyway.

That could be my motto from now on. What a cheery thought… not.

With a deep breath in, we step outside. Claudette and I are carrying a rucksack with the bare essentials, leaving most of our stuff behind.

The air is thick with tension, and I can’t shake the feeling that we’re being watched. Or I could be paranoid.

I know there are cameras, but is somebody really monitoring every single person who walks the corridors of this ship?

It’s a genuine struggle not to run or walk fast. Claudette has woven her arm through mine, helping me keep a relaxed pace. It doesn’t take long before we reach the door to the staircase and step through it.

It’s quiet in here, and I breathe a sigh of relief. There’s also nowhere for someone to hide. We’re safe… for now.

We descend the stairs until we reach the kitchen level. There are three doors going in different directions.

“This one,” I point to the right, “goes to the kitchen. I know one of these two leads to the garbage bay, but I’m not sure which one.”

“You’ve said you’ve been before.”

“I have, but there’s a more direct route from inside the kitchen. But we can’t take it. We’d need my employee card to get access, and I didn’t bring it.”

We stare at the two doors, trying to work out which one to take.

“You’re the psychic. You decide,” I say, looking at Claudette expectantly.

She falls still for a moment and then points at the middle door. “That one.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask her if she is sure, because I’d have picked the left one. But I trust Claudette; she’s the one with the sixth sense.

The door is heavy to open, and the corridor beyond is dark. I hesitate for a moment, but Claudette steps through with confidence.

A sensor light gets triggered and a dim light flickers on. It’s cool in this part of the ship and goosebumps pepper my skin.

We walk until we come to another door. It’s locked and there’s a sign on the door reading ‘Food Coolers’.

I frown at Claudette. “You seemed so certain this was the right way.”

“Well, I get it wrong sometimes,” she shrugs. “Eighty-twenty rule?”

“Huh?”

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