The Shippers(93)

The world became dark and still.

Not good.

“Did we just blow an engine or something?” I asked.

“We just lost power,” Cooper said. “That’s pretty clear.”

“Shouldn’t some emergency lighting be kicking on right about now?” I asked.

“That would be nice,” Cooper said.

Other questions I could’ve asked: Was the ship about to sink? Did we have enough lifeboats? Were these the last remaining minutes of our lives?

Also: Was Cooper about to have a cleithrophobia problem?

First things first. We needed to get out of this stairwell.

I found myself really hoping that all the times Cooper had said “it’s mild,” he’d meant it.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sensing my worry.

“Nothing,” I said, making my voice bright and smiley.

“Do you think the door we came in through is open?”

“It has to be open,” I declared. “Legally.” I had no idea.

Next, wishing for even the tiniest sliver of light, I said, “You don’t happen to have your phone, do you?”

“I left it in my banjo case.”

“We’ll just have to echolocate, then,” I said, overly cheery. “Grab the railing.”

I set an example by starting to climb.

I’d made it up exactly five steps when I sensed that Cooper wasn’t following.

“Cooper?” I asked, reversing steps until I was close to him again. “Are you okay?” I turned to feel for him, and my palm landed on his chest.

Some darkness gets brighter as your eyes adjust. But this was not that kind of darkness. He might as well have been invisible.

He was breathing a little fast. “I’m fine,” he said—voice tight.

“Are you having a cleithrophobia attack?” I asked, moving my hand up to his face—to what? Read him like braille?

“I’m not sure,” he said.

“Because this wouldn’t be great timing for that.”

“I agree.”

“Could you postpone it,” I suggested, “until after we get out of here?”

“I’m not sure that’s how that works,” Cooper said.

We were basically nose to nose.

And then I had an idea. “Cooper,” I said. “Do you need a distraction?”

“What?”

“You said it helps to have a distraction.”

He wasn’t quite sure where I was headed with this. “Sometimes, yeah.”

“Do you want me to distract you?”

“Not if you’re going to slap me across the face or something.”

But that wasn’t what I had in mind.

Instead, I said, “Don’t take this the wrong way. This is medicinal.”

And then I leaned into the darkness, pulled him toward me, found his mouth—and kissed him.

I went all in, too. My mouth led the way, but my body followed.

The second Cooper registered what I was doing, he kissed me right back.

His arms came up and tightened around me, and before I knew it, we were twined around each other like passionflower vines. I couldn’t see him, true—but I could definitely feel him. In every possible way.

Was this a good idea?

I had no clue.

But if distracting Cooper would help me get us both out of this stairwell, it seemed worth a shot. More important, if we all were about to die—maybe this wasn’t a bad way to spend a minute or two before the end.

But that’s when a loudspeaker crackled to life, and a voice filled the stairway and put an end to the smooching. “Passengers, this is your captain speaking.”

Cooper and I broke apart to listen.

The captain went on. “I’m sure you all just heard a rather loud noise and have no doubt noticed our sudden lack of power. Please be assured the problem is a simple blown electrical transformer. The ship is fine, and our backup generators should be up and running momentarily. We appreciate your patience. Full power should be restored within the next hour.”

“Do you think that’s true?” I asked.

“I think,” Cooper said, “that if there were a real problem, he’d have told us to go to lifeboat stations.”

I let out a sigh. “That makes sense.”

Next, the emergency stairwell lights flickered on at last—low and greenish, but on all the same.

Cooper and I took in the sight of each other for a second.

At that, it was time to go—before the distraction wore off. “Come on,” I said, turning and not just climbing, but—now that we had some light, in an effort to hurry up and get us out of there—more like jogging up the stairs.

The very steep stairs.

And Cooper followed.

“Sorry for kissing you just now,” I called back as we went.

“You’re sorry?” Cooper called up.

“I didn’t give you much warning.”

“I thought you were going to tell me to take a three-second breath.”

“No,” I said.

“I guess you had a different idea,” Cooper said.

“Very different,” I agreed. And then, out of curiosity: “Did it work?”

There was a nice long pause with just the sound of our feet clanking up the steps before Cooper said, “Like magic.”