A Fine Cast of Characters - J. Dane Tyler [14]
Kelly sighed and sat down, tried to stay out of earshot of the pleading Edward and the shushing Sam as they argued in muted tones. The crew tossed yellow life vests around, not donning any themselves, and then returned to the flying bridge. Kelly peered out the door as the underbelly of the cloud moved overhead, stretching and pulling and tugging its way across the sky.
And there was still no wind.
She leaned forward and got her journal, and opened it to the page she began earlier.
Strange storm has blown in. It’s moving fast—very fast!—but there’s no wind. The sea is calm. There’s lightning but no thunder. At this moment—12:23 pm—there’s no rain, but I can smell precipitation in the air. It’s a low, heavy and very dark cloud, and it moves like ... well, like it’s crawling along the surface of the water, not being pushed along by the wind. Very strange.
She closed the journal as the sound of a driving rain swelled around the boat. In a moment she couldn’t see the transom across the deck from the paned door of the cabin. The walls of water pounded down so hard she wondered if the boat might sink under the accumulation.
The passengers stared silently at the ceiling, as if listening for something from above. The steady hiss of rain filled the cabin.
Kelly saw a flash, then another, and a few more rapid-fire as the lightning began. She counted off seconds in her head, waiting, staring out the door of the cabin.
The thunder never followed.
She wanted to open the cabin door and stand on the deck, but the cabin would flood if she did. The weather stripping under the door held back the water, and she didn’t want to compromise the situation. And the rain fell.
And fell.
And fell.
“This ... This isn’t right.” The voice startled Kelly and she turned. It was Charles, Edward’s comedic second. His face dripped sweat and a slight flush colored his neck and most of his cheeks around the blob of zinc oxide on his nose. Big patches of dark pooled under his arms, breasts and down the middle of his back on his Hawaiian print shirt.
“It’s okay, it’s just a storm.” Kelly tried to sound confident.
“No,” Charles said, and shook his head, causing droplets of perspiration to fall onto the table where he sat. “No, it’s not just a storm. It’s ... it’s weird. There’s something wrong. Where’s the skipper?”
Sam’s voice bit the quiet. “Just calm down, Charles. They’re on the flying bridge. You’re whining like a little girl.”
“Something’s wrong.” His voice did have a more nasally, whiny tone, Kelly noted.
“Charles, please relax, it’s just a storm. It’ll pass in a few minutes.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it was moving too fast not to.”
“This could go on for days! We might be—”
He never got the chance to finish. The sound of the rain rose to a crescendo, receded to a soft patter, then ceased. The flashing, crawling cloud moved across the stern and into the open water beyond.
“See?” Sam said. “It’s over already, before you were even done pussing out.”
Charles turned to look out the cabin door, but a solid sheet of slate gray stared back at them. The cloud wasn’t visible anymore. The hazy, softened shape of the boat’s aft floated in and out of view, paling and darkening.
“Whuh ... What now?” Charles clambered to his feet and jostled Kelly aside. “What’s ... What’s going on now? Wh—”
“Charles, shut up!” Sam snapped.
Kelly stared into the gloom for a few seconds, then realized what happened.
“Fog,” she said. “The storm must have ... It must’ve been behind the cloud.”
“Fog?” Sam stood and shoved Edward aside. “Shouldn’t the rain have ... Shouldn’t it be clear and stuff after it rains that hard?”
Kelly gave a helpless shake of her head, staring at the thick, shapeless mist. The boat’s stern was almost lost now, the haze seeming to thicken as they watched. “I don’t know. I never heard thunder. Did you?”
Sam looked at her. “No.”
“This is weird.”
“Where’s the crew?” Edward pressed himself against Sam and she grimaced in awkward discomfort