TWENTY-FIVE
Xan set up her camp bed near the bathrooms, far from all the external windows and doors. Everything was shuttered against the storm, but she wasn't taking any chances. The wind had started whistling, then outright howling, and the metal sheeting on the roof rattled almost constantly. She'd turned the radio up, but the only sound it emitted was static. Normally this channel was alive with chatter between the local boat-owners, but today's forecast had grounded even the most rabid fisherman. No one was out in this storm. No one except them.
Jason stood at the kitchen bench, fixing himself a sandwich. Xan had prepared hers already. Now, she stretched out on her bed, flipped open her book and took a bite of bread, bacon, sundried tomato and lettuce. Between the book and her BLT,
