the water. If fog moved in during the crossing, he’d run the risk of hitting the shoal and sinking.
His other plan was to cross the strait in his twelve-foot sailing skiff. It bobbed like a cork and would never run aground. Jordan was a good sailor. His grandfather had taught him everything he knew, the terminology, how to rig a boat, how to tack, come about, jibe. But no matter what his skill level, his fate would depend on the weather. Storms boiled up in the strait and created a cauldron of huge, choppy waves. The skiff—the bobbing cork—would capsize in rough seas.
Jordan decided to keep these ideas to himself. Why start an argument with Abby? In the meantime, he’d search for more maps, plan the best route to take, and be prepared in case the time came.
He glanced at Emily who was playing the saddest notes ever, drawing the bow across the violin strings. The sound matched his feelings. Then he had an idea that would help both of them, that would help all of them.
“You want to go to the harbor with me?” he asked her. “We can look for survivors.”
She put down the bow. “Me?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, why not? Kevin and Abby went to the Coutures’. It’s our turn.”
She paused, thinking. “When?”
“Right now.”
“Did you ask your sister?”
Jordan sighed. “I don’t need to ask my sister . Do you need to ask your brother ?”
“Let’s go,” she said without hesitation.
* * *
Abby stood by the window, anxiously watching Emily and Jordan walk down Melrose Street until they were out of sight. Low wispy clouds, getting ever lower, concerned her. This cloud pattern often indicated fog was on the way. Castine Island had two foggy seasons: spring and fall. The first thick fogs of the year started in March, this month. Abby wondered if the fog would be purple and even more difficult to see through.
She cursed for not insisting that they wait for better weather. But she also knew that Jordan would have argued forever. At least he had listened to her and carried a fire extinguisher as a precaution against coyotes. But what was more dangerous, fog or coyotes?
“I made the connection!” Kevin shouted. “The internet is up.”
Abby slid beside him on the couch. Kevin had already made the connection to the wireless router in his house, and now, apparently, had made the biggest connection yet… to the outside world. She tried to stay calm. She badly wanted to know what was going on, but she also feared what they might learn.
He clicked the Firefox icon and the hourglass appeared. “Keep your fingers crossed,” he said.
She crossed her fingers and toes. The hourglass seemed to take forever. Abby’s thoughts returned to Jordan and Emily. She felt a growing dread.
“Can your sister swim?” she asked.
“Not very well,” Kevin said.
Jordan was a good swimmer. He’d look out for Emily, take care of her… if he could see her.
“Do you know how quickly the fog can move in?” Abby said.
Kevin ignored her.
Abby poked him. “Jordan and Emily might get lost in the fog. If they go on the docks, it’s easy to fall off.”
“Huh?”
“Are you worried about your sister and Jordan?” she asked.
“Abby, they’re twelve years old!” Clearly, Kevin wasn’t worried. Eyes still on the screen—on the hourglass—he drummed his fingers and talked at the same time. “Fog is nothing more than a cloud on the ground, you know, tiny condensed water droplets. Look!”
The browser window launched the homepage of some adventure game.
Kevin whooped and pumped his fist. Then he typed CNN.com and pressed ENTER. “They report news all over the world,” he said. The CNN homepage appeared. “Fast, huh?” he added proudly. The page showed a picture of the comet. The header above the picture said: TONIGHT’S THE NIGHT.
“The comet came last night,” Abby said.
Kevin pointed out the date. “The page has been cached.”
“Cached?”
“Yeah, stored in memory. The information is a day
Learning to Kill: Stories