TWISTED ꜜ LOUIS PARTRIDGE

⟾ 16 | MISTER SCRATCHY

LOUIS🗡

Saturday, 6:23am

_

THE SHIP IS GOING TO BLOW.

There's been a lot that happened since that moment in the plane, to where we are now, but I'm trying not to die so I'll have to make the summary quick. I mean it—I've got thirty seconds before the whole boat blows into oblivion with me still on it.

Let's begin.

30 seconds—Ash fell asleep.

Four hours into the plane ride, and she was already dreaming (of fire, probably). I thought nothing of it at first, but then I heard her whisper something under her breath. It was strange. Not what she said, but the fact that she talked in her sleep.

"Cold," she mumbled.

I blinked, not sure what to do.

I just went with my gut feeling. Taking off my jacket, I draped it over her shoulders, watching as she snuggled into it like it was a blanket. I'd have to get it back before she woke up, otherwise she'd wonder why she had my jumper. I didn't want to have that conversation.

So, I didn't sleep.

I stayed up, skin shivering in the chilly air, and my body tired and hungry. I feared something would happen if I closed my eyes. What if she woke up? What if the plane landed? I just had to secure our safety and our standing—enemies didn't share clothing.

I wasn't sure if we even were enemies anymore.

We were working together now.

Damn, I'm running out of time, let's move on. The plane lands, I wake her up, we get out, and we scour the area for means of transport. Perhaps we should have been more careful, because we didn't think anything of the eyes watching us. I thought it was because we looked like tourists—turns out spies are everywhere.

However, we managed to find a shipment boat transporting vehicles that was headed towards Barbados.

25 seconds—we sneak onto the boat.

It's blistering with heat out here in the Carribean, and I'm not sure my English background is suitable for this kind of weather. I'm used to rainy days and grey skies. I can feel my skin flushing a dangerous shade of pink already; Ash said I should have bought suncream, but I ignored that statement.

And it was fine, sitting below deck, hiding amongst cars and bikes as we felt the ship rock against the water, but then we saw the light.

A streak slipping across the darkening sky, heading straight towards the boat like a falling star. Ash didn't know what it was, but I recognized it immediately:

A missile.

I wasn't sure whether the SIS or The Embers sent it, but it was clear they had figured out where we were, and sought to kill us. Brilliant.

20 seconds—I wanted to grab one of the water-mobiles that was being transported, because it would give us means to escape the boat in time, but Ash had different plans.

"The crew," she had yelled, sprinting across the deck, "we have to get them to abandon ship!"

I remembered grabbing her hand. "We don't have time!"

"Neither do they!"

I hated her even more in that moment, but somehow respected her for it. She was throwing away so much—our chance to get to safety, the mission we had recklessly embarked on—but she had a point. The Captain and crew running the transportation vessel would be killed, because of a missle sent to kill us.