Jeff grinned. “NowthatI believe.”
I traced my finger along the map. “He’s been building that place up for years. Solar water systems, storage, everything.”
Ethan leaned in. “Like a survival base?”
“Exactly.”
Jeff rubbed his chin. “And you think he’s still there?”
“I know him,” I said. “If the world started collapsing, that island is the first place he’d go and the last place he’d leave.”
Sloane looked at the map, then back at me. “And you want us to go there.”
I met her eyes. “Yeah.”
Jeff studied the coastline again. “Three hundred miles.” Jeff exhaled through his teeth. “Hell of a run on open water.”
“I know. But if we make it… we might actually have a long-term survival plan.”
The room became silent, and Ethan looked up at his father.
Jeff stared at the map for a long moment, his fingers tracing the route almost unconsciously, but he nodded, slow and deliberate.
“I’ve run that coast my whole life,” he said. “If there’s a safe place at the other end of it… that might be the best idea I’ve heard since this whole nightmare started.”
Sloane pressed into my side.
I looked over at her. She didn’t say anything.
But she didn’t pull away.
* **
The aquarium settled into its strange nighttime routine; most of the tank lights had gone dark to conserve power. Through the office windows, water in the large central tank shimmered faintly, shadows of fish drifting slow and aimless through the blue.
Jeff and Ethan were settled on their couches with a pile of tin blankets. After days on a cramped fishing boat, they’d both dropped off almost immediately—Jeff’s snoring already rumbling faintly through the wall.
Sloane and I returned to our arrangement.
Two couches pushed together. The sleeping bag spread open across them.
Not exactly comfortable, but after a week, it had become ours.
I lay on my back, staring at the dim ceiling, listening to the quiet noise of the generators somewhere deep in the building. Beside me, Sloane shifted under the blankets, restless.
For a while, neither of us spoke; after a bit, her voice came through the dark—quiet, careful.
“Callan?”
“Yeah?”
A pause, long enough that I thought she might have fallen asleep.
She didn’t.
“Do you think we’re actually going to survive this?”
The question came out quietly. No drama, no panic; if anything, too calm, and that scared me more than if she’d been crying.