Page 74 of Enemies to Lobsters
“Diana,” I call toward the house as I work through the slippery grass toward her. We need to move. I’m dreading the return trip, and the storm is only getting worse. It’s almost dark now. “Diana!”
When I reach the house, I leave a dripping trail as I stomp from room to room calling her name. “Diana, where are you? We need to go. Now.” She has to be here somewhere, but the lights are out. The short door to the lighthouse tower is cracked open. I shove through. “Diana?” I hate the nerves in my voice. I need to keep it together. I’ve rescued plenty of people, but this is the first time trying to save someone I love. There’s too much on the line.
Chapter 35
Diana
I’m angry with myself for taking so long to work up the courage to go out to the boat. A fat lot of good that did me—it was full of water by the time I got out there. I got close enough to see a major crack in the hull, and the ocean was crashing so violently against the shore I felt like it was going to drag me in. Then lightning struck so nearby that my skin tingled. I bolted to the top of the lighthouse tower on autopilot.
You’d think there would be cell service up here. I’m sitting on the floor, drenched and shaking while I clutch my useless phone and pray for a few bars. Or even one bar. I’d takeone tiny bar—some way to let Ike know I’m stuck out here while lightning flashes through the lantern room, and the water only gets higher.
Usually we hear about these big storms days in advance. There are text alerts and preparation. People snatch up all of the bottled water and toilet paper, and hunker down. There was no time to hoard anything with this one. I don’t have any warning texts or missed calls. Nothing. Where did this storm come from? I mean, there was bad weather on the forecast, but it wasn’t supposed to be like this.
“Di!” Ike’s panicked voice echoes through the tower. “Diana, are you up there?” He’s already stomping up the iron stairs before I can answer.
“Ike,” I breathe, my voice weak with relief. He came. I can’t believe he’s here. “What are you doing over here?” He’s crazy. Now we’ll both be stuck on this island, at the center of the bullseye for this storm. But my heart isn’t thumping quite so hard. I can breathe.
Ike’s here.
I’m safe.
“I came to get you,” he says in a rush. He’s almost at the top of the stairs. “We need to get you off this island. Fast.”
He read my mind. I’m ready to be far away from here, so I don’t waste any time. I rush down the stairs, crashing into him and throwing my arms around his neck.
“Oof.” He chuckles when I plow into him. “I guess this means you’re ready to go?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, grateful to have his calming voice in my ear. “So ready.”
“Okay. Let’s move.”
He takes my hand, and we race down the tower and through the stinging rain toward the shore. We’re only halfway across the grass when Ike curses. He drops my hand, rushing toward the rocks.
“No!” he hollers through the wind with another curse.
Another boat—I’m guessing it’s the one that brought him here—is sloshing haphazardly in the whitecaps a few dozen yards from shore.
Our boat is almost fully submerged now. Ike yanks it onto the rocks, flipping it as he tugs it free, and inspecting the damage with a groan. “I need to patch this up before the storm gets worse. Can you run to the boat house? Grab a—”
Simultaneous thunder and lightning crash, cutting him off. I screech and duck, like that will help. There’s no logic in times like these.
“Ike,” I call through the wind. The water is rising so fast. It already took the other boat. I don’t want it to take us, and I’m not getting into a patched boat in this. We’re not getting off this island, and we have no way to reach anyone on shore. Ike and I are riding out this storm together, whether he realizes it or not.
His brow furrows and he purses his lips, rain streaming down his face while he measures the impossible distance to the mainland. He groans at the sky.
“Let’s get inside,” I call, reaching out a hand. “We’ll figure out something.”
Except there’s not much to figure out. Taking a tiny boat out in this storm would put us in far greater danger than if we stayed. That’s obvious to me—not so much to Ike. I can see him trying to find a solution. I take his hand, trying to tug him toward the house. With some hesitation, he lets me.
Once we’re in the breezeway and out of the storm, Ike scowls out at the heaving ocean. He digs his fingers into his shoulder, massaging while he thinks. “We need to get off this island. I need to be over there.” I can tell he’s thinking out loud, because based on the size of those waves, what he’s suggesting is clearly impossible.
“Ike.” I rest a hand on his shoulder. “There’s nothing you can do.”
“We can’t sit here. The surge is coming—”
“All we can do is get to high ground.” How is it possible that I’m the levelheaded one right now? Talk about role reversal. “The storm will blow over.”
He paces across the breezeway like a caged animal. “You didn’t see the weather alerts? We’re in danger here. And I needto be at the fire station. This is so much worse than—” He groans, scrubbing his hand through his dripping hair.
