Roger
The sea roars in a frenzy, waves smashing against the ship"s hull like a thunderous beast. I feel the floor shifting and groaning beneath me as the vessel is thrashed around in the storm.
Molly holds her stomach, eyes clenched shut, struggling to keep her lunch down. Everyone looks a little green—not from the light. This is not ideal for a cruise ship rebellion.
Thomas hisses over the din, determination rolling off him. “Damn it all.”
We huddle together outside the bridge, casting glances toward our companions: vacationers-turned-warriors, armed with whatever they could scavenge—broken bottles, fire extinguishers, even golf clubs.
The eerie green light intensifies, casting a sickly glow at our feet. What kind of twisted games are these cultists playing?
What kind of twisted gam
