Unsinkable

Two seagulls screech, battling over fries on the boardwalk.

I wince, exhaling slowly.

“All those times you wished for a piece of the Titanic, I never imagined this.”

“You owe me, muffin.”

Kara was right. I did.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

Doing it midday was her idea. Halifax is nicest in July; it’s one of Maritime Museum’s busiest months.

Lots of people.

Fully staffed.

But we had a plan.

Basically: Kara had met a guy at Durty Nelly’s with a certain job, and she’d gotten her hands on a certain key.

It’s an isolated target. We’re patient. Finally I give Kara the nod.

Eyes closed, she grabs it.

Alarms!

Not in the plan.

Kara panic-drops the wreckage fragment.

I eye the hallways.

We split toward separate exits.

Running hard, I repeat the steps to the street in my head like a chant.

(Later my FitBit app would show 17 minutes in “Peak” heart zone.)

We both get to the rendezvous and sit down hard, backs against brick walls.

Kara curses. I know she’s about to cry.

“All that for nothing.”

I slip a shard of wood in her hand.

“Not exactly.”

“What?! How’d you—”

I shrug. We smile.

“I owed you.”