Emma Eileen Grove by Kathleen Duey

Author:Kathleen Duey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aladdin Paperbacks
Published: 1996-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

Emma woke to a crashing roar that seemed to consume the world and everything in it. Her whole body curled up, trying to escape the incredible, painful concussion that slammed at her ears. She heard Claire cry out, then a booming echo rolling back to the Sultana from some distant bluff. Only then was she sure she wasn’t dreaming. She struggled to sit up.

Claire was sitting rigidly on her cot. Emma heard high, panicked shouts and screams in the saloon. Scrapes and thuds beat upon the hurricane deck above their heads.

“What is it?” Claire was screaming. “Randall, what is it? What is it?”

Emma stood up. Her knees were weak, shaky. Claire, her eyes wide, was as pale as milk in the dim light. Emma looked to the top bunk. Randall was not there. For a moment, Emma was confused. Then she remembered. Randall had gone ashore and she had finally gone to bed, too tired to wait any longer for him.

A strange squealing began directly overhead, metal scraping against metal. Another deafening crash wrenched through the Sultana. Claire put her hands over her ears, whimpering in fear. The sound freed something in Emma. They had to get up; they had to do something.

As Emma reached for her clothes, she felt a strange vibration in the floor. Still clumsy from sleep, she pulled her dress on over her nightgown. “Claire!” Emma shouted close to her sister’s ear.

“What’s happened?” Claire shrieked back at her. “What’s wrong?” Her voice was rough, scraping its way across Emma’s pounding ears and frightened heart. There was only one explanation. Emma knew it, but she did not want to say the awful words aloud. She looked at the top bunk again. Where was Randall? Where was he?

Emma managed to get Claire’s dress over her head, but then Claire flailed and turned, crying for Randall. Emma grabbed at her. “Claire! Let me get you dressed. Then we can go out.” Fighting like a frightened animal, Claire wrenched around. Emma managed to get Claire’s arms in the sleeves, then jerked the dress down into place. Breathing hard, Emma picked Claire up and sat her on the cot and got her shoes on, tying them crookedly. Her hands were trembling. Emma scooped up her own shoes, then stepped past her sister and put her hand on the door lever.

When she pulled the door open, she gasped. A thick fog filled the saloon, burning her eyes and lungs. Steam, Emma realized. Steam mixed with smoke. So it was true. The boilers had exploded. And the smoke meant that the Sultana was on fire. Cries and groans came through the choking mist. The chandeliers, still lit, swung back and forth, forming soft globes of light sailing eerily in the mist. The stacks of bottles behind the bar had fallen, a mad jumble of glass and spilled liquor.

Someone screamed close by. Emma gripped Claire’s shoulder and bent to speak into her ear. “If the boat is sinking, we have to get off. There’s only one lifeboat, and the Yankees on the stern will have it by now.

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