the bed’s taut, tucked in blankets.
“They got up this morning before I did,” he said, and—seeing Cedar’s intent focus on the queen—added, “Even made the bed.”
Cedar shook his head. “Anyone with half a brain could tell you your parents didn’t make this bed. The housekeeper did.” He faced the jock. “Your parents have been gone since last night. Same as our dad.”
Jake’s eyebrow nudged upward, and slowly, he nodded. As if on cue, the three of them faced Naomi.
She stared back, eyes wide. “I . . . I figured she had spent the night with someone.”
“So she didn’t come back either?” asked Brynn.
She shook her head.
“Well, now we know,” said Cedar. “Whatever happened to them . . . it happened last night.” He closed his fingers on the remote, which was perched on the bedside table, and raised it to the TV.
He pressed the power button.
Static.
Jake reflected on their group as Naomi led them through the below water corridors to her cabin.
Cedar .
He was much sharper than he let on. They needed him on their side.
“It’s spooky down here . . .” said Brynn, throwing a wary glance behind them. The musty passageway stretched on to infinity, groaning and creaking with the movement of the ship. “And wet. ”
The sound of dripping came from above. Jake sensed the pressure of the ocean on all sides; he could practically see the humidity. Down here, everything vibrated from the ship’s diesel engines.
“We’re almost there,” said Naomi, taking them around another corner, down an even darker, dingier tunnel. The smell of brine stung his nostrils.
He wrinkled his nose. Jesus . . . was there a leak?
“All ship’s smell,” said Naomi, seeing his expression. “Anyway, here’s my mom’s cabin.”
The four of them barely fit in the tiny broom cupboard.
Empty.
“Mom!” Naomi shouted down the empty corridors. “Manny? Can anyone hear me?”
Silence, just the metallic groan of the ship’s hull and the rumble of its engines.
“Where would people go if they all had to gather somewhere?” said Jake.
“One of the theaters,” she said. “The Royal Promenade, the Boardwalk . . . I don’t know. All of that’s on deck five.”
“We haven’t checked deck five,” said Brynn, her eyes lighting up. “Bet they’re all there. We probably just missed an announcement or something.”
They wandered past the empty shops on the Royal Promenade in morose silence. The stores were closed, abandoned—yet still all lit up.
Naomi was beginning to suspect something was very wrong. Eight thousand people didn’t just disappear. Even if an emergency drill had been called somewhere on the ship, there would still be crewmembers milling about to give instructions. And stragglers. There were always stragglers.
Some of the tables they passed had food on them, plates of half-eaten tiramisu and crème brûlée, mugs of cold coffee, glasses of liqueur . . . half empty, some spilled.
“Last night’s dessert,” said Cedar.
“Left behind in a hurry,” she added.
“Selfish pricks.” He kicked over one of the chairs. “They could have told us.”
They left the Royal Promenade and continued toward the bow. Beyond another set of elevators, the lobby outside the Opal Theater extended a floor below them, its marble floor agleam beneath inset blue lights.
“Well, this is the last place big enough for a crowd,” said Naomi, taking a deep breath. She dragged open the double doors.
The air conditioned smells of varnish and new plastic breezed past them.
The theater was empty.
Cedar cupped his hands and yelled into the cavernous space, his voice echoing. “Hello! Hell-ooo! Anyone in here?”
No one.
He yawned. “I’m going back to my room to take a nap,” he said. “When I wake up, they’ll all be back. You watch.”
“We have to find Dad,” said Brynn.
“He can find himself—”
Just then the intercom clicked above them, cutting him off with a hiss of
“They got up this morning before I did,” he said, and—seeing Cedar’s intent focus on the queen—added, “Even made the bed.”
Cedar shook his head. “Anyone with half a brain could tell you your parents didn’t make this bed. The housekeeper did.” He faced the jock. “Your parents have been gone since last night. Same as our dad.”
Jake’s eyebrow nudged upward, and slowly, he nodded. As if on cue, the three of them faced Naomi.
She stared back, eyes wide. “I . . . I figured she had spent the night with someone.”
“So she didn’t come back either?” asked Brynn.
She shook her head.
“Well, now we know,” said Cedar. “Whatever happened to them . . . it happened last night.” He closed his fingers on the remote, which was perched on the bedside table, and raised it to the TV.
He pressed the power button.
Static.
Jake reflected on their group as Naomi led them through the below water corridors to her cabin.
Cedar .
He was much sharper than he let on. They needed him on their side.
“It’s spooky down here . . .” said Brynn, throwing a wary glance behind them. The musty passageway stretched on to infinity, groaning and creaking with the movement of the ship. “And wet. ”
The sound of dripping came from above. Jake sensed the pressure of the ocean on all sides; he could practically see the humidity. Down here, everything vibrated from the ship’s diesel engines.
“We’re almost there,” said Naomi, taking them around another corner, down an even darker, dingier tunnel. The smell of brine stung his nostrils.
He wrinkled his nose. Jesus . . . was there a leak?
“All ship’s smell,” said Naomi, seeing his expression. “Anyway, here’s my mom’s cabin.”
The four of them barely fit in the tiny broom cupboard.
Empty.
“Mom!” Naomi shouted down the empty corridors. “Manny? Can anyone hear me?”
Silence, just the metallic groan of the ship’s hull and the rumble of its engines.
“Where would people go if they all had to gather somewhere?” said Jake.
“One of the theaters,” she said. “The Royal Promenade, the Boardwalk . . . I don’t know. All of that’s on deck five.”
“We haven’t checked deck five,” said Brynn, her eyes lighting up. “Bet they’re all there. We probably just missed an announcement or something.”
They wandered past the empty shops on the Royal Promenade in morose silence. The stores were closed, abandoned—yet still all lit up.
Naomi was beginning to suspect something was very wrong. Eight thousand people didn’t just disappear. Even if an emergency drill had been called somewhere on the ship, there would still be crewmembers milling about to give instructions. And stragglers. There were always stragglers.
Some of the tables they passed had food on them, plates of half-eaten tiramisu and crème brûlée, mugs of cold coffee, glasses of liqueur . . . half empty, some spilled.
“Last night’s dessert,” said Cedar.
“Left behind in a hurry,” she added.
“Selfish pricks.” He kicked over one of the chairs. “They could have told us.”
They left the Royal Promenade and continued toward the bow. Beyond another set of elevators, the lobby outside the Opal Theater extended a floor below them, its marble floor agleam beneath inset blue lights.
“Well, this is the last place big enough for a crowd,” said Naomi, taking a deep breath. She dragged open the double doors.
The air conditioned smells of varnish and new plastic breezed past them.
The theater was empty.
Cedar cupped his hands and yelled into the cavernous space, his voice echoing. “Hello! Hell-ooo! Anyone in here?”
No one.
He yawned. “I’m going back to my room to take a nap,” he said. “When I wake up, they’ll all be back. You watch.”
“We have to find Dad,” said Brynn.
“He can find himself—”
Just then the intercom clicked above them, cutting him off with a hiss of
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