“How bad are your supplies?”
“A couple of days’ food,” the Captain admitted. “Less if my kid keeps eating like a teenager.”
Despite everything, I let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh—the smallest human sound.
Callan leaned against the railing beside the radio.
“What’s your plan?”
The captain didn’t answer right away.
When he did, his voice sounded almost deflated.
“Truth? We don’t have one. If we burn the last of the fuel trying to reach another port and there’s nothing there…” He trailed off.
Callan stared out toward the horizon.
I watched him think. Watched him turn something over behind his eyes, the way he always did—quiet, deliberate, already three steps ahead of the words.
Then he keyed the mic.
“Captain.”
“Yes?”
“You said it’s only you and your son.”
“That’s right.”
Callan glanced at me.
I knew that look.
Not a question. A decision already made, looking only for confirmation.
I gave him a small nod. He turned back to the radio.
“The aquarium is secure. Heavy steel doors. Reinforced glass. Generators still running. We’ve spent the last week preserving every scrap of food we could find—freezers are stocked full.”
I stood still, arms crossed, listening to him lay it out piece by piece. Calm. Measured. The way you talk someone down off a ledge.
“There’s also direct access to the marina,” he added. “Deepwater berth. Protected from the open coast.”
The radio crackled.
Then the captain said carefully, as if he didn’t trust what he’d heard—
“You offering us somewhere to land?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation. Not even a breath between the question and the answer.
“You can dock here; the Aquarium has a private slip and dock,” Callan said. “We’ll guide you in during high tide tomorrow night.”
Silence filled the channel. Several long seconds where only the static breathed.
When the captain spoke again, his voice had gone rough. Stripped raw.