Like most I came from an Ocean...

Chapter sixteen-Relations matter

We hurried up the stairs. We ascended five more levels until we were back on the floor that I had previously been on.

 Rèmy pulled out a pistol from his pocket. He was full of surprises, that boy. I didn't bother asking him where he'd got it from. 

 The lights were fully on now, so we didn't need the torch here either. 

 We ran into the elevator and went up to the top floor: the captain's quarters.

This was where we needed our torch. We halted for one second, then strode up to the helm. It was rather small and seemed delicate to the touch. A problem arose: how would we steer it?

 We had no experience in driving any vehicles. What would we do?

"Zander," asked Rèmy, "do you know how to work this?"

I shook my head. 

 "Then we're going to have to wait on someone, and hold them hostage!" he whispered loudly. 

Hold someone hostage?

 "And make them steer the ship?" I asked fearfully.

 "Exactly."

 We hid behind the wheel for as long as we could. Night time never seemed to fail. Was it really night? It can't have been. 

 Those were the thoughts I had in my head during the hour that we waited. 

 All at once we heard footsteps approaching the captain's quarters. Luck was with us at last.

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"Tie him up!" Rèmy cried, cocking his pistol, "cover his mouth, we mustn't let anyone hear him when he wakes up."

I bandaged our hostage's mouth with the first strip of cellotape I could find in one of the nearest drawers. Then I tied him to the helm, sat on the floor.

 When he'd walked in, Rèmy had shot at his foot and had used the pistol to knock him out. We had no idea who he was, but we had to get him to steer the ship. It wouldn't take long, considering we were only two miles away from the coast of Florida. 

 I stood by the victim, while Rèmy awaited at the door, just in case he heard anyone else come in. 

 We expected him to wake up soon, and eventually he did. 

 Muffled sounds were heard as he screamed from beneath the strip of cellotape. 

 I pulled it off him as lightly as I could so he wouldn't cry out in pain. 

 Before he could say anything, I covered his mouth with my hand tightly.

"Listen," I said calmly, "we need you to steer the ship to Florida. Can you do it?"

 He shook his head nervously. 

 "You have to know!" I snapped. "Please, help us."

The man nodded, and I helped him stand up slowly. His foot was badly injured; the least we could do was watch him hobble towards the helm. He certainly knew more than we did. We had been living astray for four years without any education or information from anyone, except Laurette. Thinking of her made me sad, but I carried on watching our victim carefully.

 "What if I don't help you?" the man asked.

I thought for a moment, then answered: "My friend and I will kill you." 

 Fearful, the hostage grabbed the steering wheel and got to work. 

 "We have to take this ship to Fort Pierce," the man explained.