Page 132 of The Girl Out of Time
“Are you sure you don’t want to try that diet I found? They say it helps.”
“Yeah, yeah, they also call it morning sickness, and it’s three in the afternoon.” She headed down the hallway. “Don’t worry, honey. You can make it up to me when the baby cries in the middle of the night.”
***
Will ran down the grand staircase, holding on to the balustrade as he swung around corners. As the orchestra’s violins faded from above, the noise of rushing water replaced them from below. He stopped and leaned over. The elegant, wrought-iron, gilded balustrade descended like a spiral into the ship’s bowels—straight into the pale green, foaming surface of the water.
Gone was his false sense of security. The ocean had already made its way deep into the ship. Will swallowed, steeled himself, and ran further down. The reception area on D Deck was still fine; he ran forward through the cabin hallways, but there was no passage to the third class areas. But, there—a narrow staircase leading down, behind an open, collapsible wrought-iron gate. He ran, nearly losing his footing in the rush. One deck, two—no, no further. Water was already pooling below, slowly progressing up the enclosed staircase. Multitudes of envelopes floated on the wavy surface, like white petals fallen off a tree. Will exited through another collapsible gate, finding himself in an abandoned hallway. A few cabin doors had been left open and suitcases leaned on the walls, forlorn in this dimly lit corner of the ship, where steel moaned as it was slowly being dragged under.
He wasn’t in the third class area yet, but he tried shouting Emmeline’s name, anyway. His voice bounced off the walls, but encountered noresponse. Onward he went, supporting himself along the walls as the ship’s list drew him steadily to the side. Another corner; he stepped into a puddle. A thin stream of water was coming from behind the door further down.
Damn.
“Emmeline!” he tried again.
Steps sounded from behind him. His heart briefly rejoicing—he’d found her, she was fine!—he turned, only to instead encounter a man in a dark officer’s coat, running toward him.
“Sir, you’re not supposed to be down here anymore.”
“My daughter. I have to find her. She’s gone to third class. Do you know how to get—” As he approached the officer, recognition struck. He’d been on the bridge when Will had tried to warn them about the icebergs. Kinsley, wasn’t it?
Will paused, unsure what the officer would do if he recognized him as well.
“When has she been down here? What does she look like?”
Perhaps he didn’t recognize him, or had decided for bygones to be bygones. Will served him a quick description, and the officer’s eyes widened.
“Was she with a young man? Third class, dark-haired?”
“Yes! She could be. Have you seen her?”
“In a group that went up the third class stairs,” Kinsley said. “Come, I know a shortcut.”
With that stone rolling off his chest, Will didn’t even care for the two inches of water he had to wade through, following the man down the hallway; and he didn’t even care that Emmeline had disobeyed his orders and went to see that boy again. At least she was somewhere here, and she was safe. Now he only needed to get her off the ship.
“In here.” Kinsley held a door open for him.
Running through his next steps in his head—they’d have to try to board the aft boats, perhaps even the collapsibles; Emily had said C and D would be fine—Will didn’t take proper notice of the room he’d entered for the first few seconds. It had no staircase, no other exit. It was some kind of a closet.
“I think you got the wrong—” Something hit him on the back of the head, and he said and saw nothing more.
***
“We’re not naming him Chad.” Emily unlocked the front door and left it open for James to carry the groceries in. “The kid is going to be a meme.”
“I thought it was an interesting name.”
“Bless you.” She pecked his cheek. “It might be fine somewhere else, but not in this day and culture.”
“Then what?”
“Kyle, obviously. Short, easy to say, and works with everything and at every age. Five-year-old Kyle? Yes. Thirty-year-old Kyle? Also yes. He can be a professional footballer; it’ll work. He can be a politician, although I hope not; it’ll work. He can go and sell bananas on the street, and it will still work. It fits everything!”
James raised a doubtful eyebrow over his bag of groceries.
“Okay, fine, I don’t want his life achievement to be selling fruit from a stand, but you get what I mean.”
“That we should name him Kyle.”
