The Zodiac roared to life, a wild, frenzied beast jerking from slumber, snapping into motion. It surged forward with the energy of a dog chasing after a cat, its rubber back rippling with energy as if to shrug off the ridiculous herd of humans clinging to it like fleas.
Skimming across the water, the Zodiac’s motor was the only thing shattering the peaceful silence—aside from my internal screaming, of course. But, surprise! It wasn’t as bad as I thought. My death grip on the side loosened, my pulse returned to a non-life-flashing-before-my-eyes pace, and I even started to enjoy it. I think I smiled. Maybe. Or maybe my face just froze that way in sheer terror. Hard to say.
As we left the bay, the wind picked up, turning the serene glide into a spirited bounce over the cold, choppy waves. The Zodiac rose and fell with the rhythmic pulse of the ocean, each crest lifting us before the trough pulled us back down. The salty spray tingled on our skin, and the hum of the motor blended with the crashing of waves.
This was only the beginning of the fifteen-minute journey to Palmer Station.
I convinced myself I was totally fine with this hell ride, even as the Zodiac launched off another wave. The last impact rattled my bones so hard I was pretty sure I had rearranged my entire skeletal structure. My teeth clacked together, and I started to wonder if maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t normal.
I glanced at Hannah, hoping for some sign that she, too, was experiencing the sheer terror of impending doom, but, no—she was utterly unbothered. She leaned into the chaos like a woman born to ride aquatic death traps. My gaze flicked to the others. They were equally unfazed, staring ahead with the calm focus of National Geographic explorers.
Right. Just me, then. Fine. Everything was perfectly fine.
And then it wasn’t fine.
A sudden spray of saltwater hit me square in the chest, and for a moment, I forgot to breathe. Images from Titanic surged into my mind—people bobbing like lifeless buoys in the frigid water, faces frozen in eternal shock.
Dear God, will this flimsy life jacket keep me from sinking to Atlantis?
I didn’t want to be a grim warning for the next poor soul who dared trust an inflatable raft on a vast and merciless sea.
The wind tore at my face as the Zodiac hit another wave, launching into the air before crashing back down, and I clung to the side as if it were the only thing keeping me tethered to this world. We weren’t just speeding forward; we were charging headlong into the wild, where the horizon blurred, and the line between thrill and terror grew razor-thin.
I refused to look at Hannah. She was probably still calm and poised, the picture of zen, with not a care in the world. Of course, curiosity got the best of me, and I stole a glance.
To my complete and utter surprise, she was clutching the edge of the boat. Her teeth were chattering, and the serene, blissfully unbothered look was nowhere to be found. In fact, there was nothing calm about Hannah at all. My perfectly coordinated assistant wasn’t immune to a ‘what-the-hell’ moment. She was human, after all.