what now? | outerbanks

• forty-eight •

Sarah

From the first step off the boat yesterday, I could already tell this wasn't going to be easy. The sun shone down on us relentlessly, and the veneer of sweat encasing each of our bodies was a reminder of the hard work we came here to do. Today, we will officially start our journey—a journey calculated to the step to find what we've been tirelessly studying. This is it.

    JJ steps onto the dock first, holding his hands out to Cleo and Kie to help them out as well. I step awkwardly to the front of the boat, formulating the best way to get to the dock with a twenty-week pregnant belly. It's not large, but it definitely restricts what my body can do and handle. Without hesitation, JJ carefully wraps his hands around my waist and assists me onto the dock.
    "A gentleman," I gasp, playfully bringing my hand to my mouth.
    "Only the best for Princess Cameron," he winks back.
    Standing on the dock, I can feel the sun's blazing reflection off of the water beneath me, and the piercing smell of salt and spice dances through my nostrils. I adjust the straps of my bag—the bag I insisted I wasn't too pregnant to carry—and observe the scene. Fishermen hauling in morning catches, vendors calling out daily sales, and the occasional stray dog navigating through the chaos of it all.
    John B, stepping onto the dock, gives me a quick glance, checking in without words. I nod just slightly, letting him know that I'm okay. And really I am. We all are, for now.
Pope leads the way, the map gripped rough in his hands, the corner folded over partially to fend off wandering eyes. He weaves us into town, and the bustling instantly spikes my nerves.
"Alright," he murmurs, like he's mostly talking to himself, not us. "We're looking for the old cannery first. That's our checkpoint."
    The streets are alive with motion, the hum of conversation bleeding into car horns and distant drums. We navigate it best we can, trying not to draw attention to ourselves. Yesterday, Cleo did her best to help us fit in, sifting through shops and finding what she believed to be the most authentic pieces. Still, we're only Pogues. A pack of six teenagers—clearly not locals—with a mission burning in our eyes. We just about stick out like sore thumbs.
    Some time into our trek, I've been forced to the middle of the group, Cleo claiming it'll keep me the most safe. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kiara's head glancing behind us, her step slowing with the motion. It sends a prickling sensation down my neck.
    Putting a hand on her shoulder, I ask, "You good?"
    She fights herself for a moment, and I can tell she's deciding whether she should lie or tell the truth. "I keep seeing this guy behind us. It's probably nothing," she brushes off, shaking her head and picking up her pace.
    John B. hears this and instantly steps in. "Are you sure? Because it wouldn't be the first—"
    "I'm sure."
    "Yeah, you're probably just a little paranoid. Loosen up, baby," JJ hums, holding onto her shoulders and kissing her cheek and jaw. "We just got here. Who'd be following us?"
    We don't mention it again; the reality is too scary to face. Pope pushes forward, leading us to wind deeper into the maze of narrow alleys and open plazas, until finally, he stops short.
"There," he says, pointing. "That's the cannery."
    The building is weathered, rust creeping up the edges of old corrugated metal, but it still stands firm. It's a perfect landmark, just like the map had described. I sigh a deep, relaxed sigh, rubbing at the burden that is my stomach. We're on the right track.
    Then, I see Kiara glancing again. Watching. Tracking. This time, I don't let it slide.
    "What's going on?" I ask her, willing her to spill.
    "Something's up," she whispers, snapping her head back, scanning the crowd with more urgency. Following her line of view, I catch it. A man in dark sunglasses leaning against a post. Cool and collected as if he belongs there, but he doesn't. He's too still. Too focused.
    We don't stop. I slide a slow, patient hand into John B's, interlacing our fingers so I know he's present and listening.
    "Don't make it obvious," I mutter just loud enough for the group to hear. "But Kie was right. We're not alone. Someone's watching us."
    Everyone can feel the seriousness in my voice, and they follow my instructions clearly. John B. subtly turns his head, catching sight of another man standing near a fruit stall. Pope, trying to stay casual, adjusts his grip on the map and steals a glance toward the far corner of the plaza—another guy. Three, at least. Maybe more.
    "Who are they?" Cleo whispers, pulling closer to Pope.
"Better question," Pope says, voice tight, "How do they know who we are?" It's clear now—this isn't random. These men aren't just the curious passersby Pope was once worried about. They're watching us specifically. And that means that we aren't the only ones looking for the treasure.
We try to think quick, to make a plan of action and free ourselves from their pointed gaze, but it's not quick enough.
The first attacker moves fast, lunging at Pope with a knife aimed straight for the map. Pope barely has time to react, stumbling backward as JJ tackles the guy, sending them both crashing into a stack of crates. The market erupts into animalistic chaos—vendors shouting, customers scattering, the sound of fruit and fish hitting the ground in a messy explosion.
John B. shouts for us all to run, but there's no chance of escaping now. A second man grabs Cleo's arm with sharp, digging fingers, yanking her back forcefully. She snarls, twisting hard and driving her elbow into his ribs. The scruffy man grunts in pain, but more men are closing in.
I stumble back over some gravel, clutching at my stomach as I try to remove myself from the bustle. I don't know where to look, my eyes scanning back and forth frantically at the violence.
Kie swings her backpack at one of the pursuers, the zippers perfectly piercing into his face, knocking off his sunglasses. Beneath them, his eyes are cold, calculating. I can tell, just by the shadows of his face, these guys know exactly what they're doing.
Suddenly, a fist comes flying toward me, and in a flash of instinct, I duck just in time. I fall to my knees, and the rocky debris pokes searing gouges into my skin. I look up and see that John B. isn't so lucky. One of the men catches him square in the jaw, sending him sprawling onto the cobblestone street. Blood wells in the corners of his mouth, and just for a split second, I catch his eye.
"We need to go, now!" Kiara yells, kicking out at another attacker who grabs at her arm. The six of us all realize, however, that we're cornered.
Cleo makes the first defensive move. She grabs a wooden plank from a nearby vendor stall and swings hard, catching one of the men across the face. The impact sends him reeling. That's all it takes to bring us up from the bottom.
JJ gets his second wind at the sight of Cleo's strength, driving his fist into another guy's gut before grabbing Pope and shoving him toward the exit. "Move!"
I don't have time to pick myself up before someone's hands are on me again. They're calloused and angry—not someone I know. I thrash in their arms, but the grip only gets stronger against my delicate skin. The only thing I can do is kick sand in his face, and it's just enough to keep him distracted so I can stand from his grasp. But, just as I turn to get away, another man grabs me by the wrist and yanks me back.
Panic shoots through my veins, a deep, primal fear settling in. All I can think about is my baby. I can't let her down. I twist, trying to fight, but he's too strong, too determined. His grip tightens around my arm, and then he shoves me hard—too hard.
I stumble back on my heels, my body colliding with the rough brick wall of a surrounding building. A sharp pain shoots through my abdomen. I gasp, my shaking hands instinctively flying to my stomach.
I don't know what to do. All I can think is to yell, and all I can manage to choke out is an ached, "John B!"
John B. turns toward me, and I catch a glimpse of his twisting face before I double over in pain. The air changes into one of rage and revenge as he lunges forward at the man who pushed me, tackling him to the ground with full force, fists flying.
"Oh my God." Kie rushes to my side, wrapping an arm around me, eyes darting with concern. "What's wrong? Tell me what's wrong."
I nod quickly, despite the throbbing pain. "I'm fine. Just—let's go."
We push forward, winding through the chaos, but a sharp, pained scream erupts from Pope's mouth. A blade slices through his shirt from behind, slicing through his shoulder. He swings his elbow into his attacker's throat. I see the pouring blood immediately, and so does JJ.
"Shit, Pope—"
"Keep going!" he manages to grit out. No time to stop. No time to think about the pain.
Frantically, we reach the edge of the market, darting into a narrow side street. My lungs burn, my legs ache—I try not to even think about the burning sensation in my stomach—but we can't stop. Not yet.
Gunfire cracks behind us. I gasp, a bullet ricocheting off of a stone wall inches from my head. "They have guns?!"
"We are so screwed," JJ pants, but he doesn't stop running.
We don't stop until we're deep into the alleys, weaving through buildings, scrambling over fences. My foot wiggles a little below me, and I wince, the pain still radiating in my core.
"Do you need to take a break," John B. asks softly, immediately at my side.
"I'm good," I lie. "We shouldn't stop yet; we don't know if they're still following us." I can tell he wants to protest, but he doesn't. We walk a few more feet, but a wave of nausea and exhaustion washes over me, and my vision goes a little spotty. I sway in my steps, and it doesn't go unnoticed.
"Nope. Not today," JJ immediately interjects, scoping out our surroundings for somewhere nice to sit. In a determined, pointed manner, he leads us to a quiet, mostly empty café tucked behind an alleyway. His gaze flickers down to my hand, which is pressed to my stomach, and then back up to my face. "Sit, now."
    I hesitate for a moment, looking up to John B. for support, but he's already nodding. I let out a frustrated breath and relent to their wishes, sinking down onto a crate outside the dimly lit café, its awning swaying in the warm Kingston breeze. The street is quiet, mostly deserted save for a few lingering locals who pay us no mind. My eyes flick back and forth between each of the locals, surveying their faces and deeming them suspicious or not.
Cleo ducks inside the café, exchanging a few hushed words with an older woman behind the counter. Moments later, she returns with a cool, damp cloth and a small glass bottle of something dark.
"She said it'd help," Cleo explains, kneeling in front of me and pressing the cloth to my forehead.
    John B. crouches beside me, his hand firm on my knee, his hair falling halfway into his eyes. He looks rattled, his jaw tight with frustration, but he says nothing about my earlier insistence that I was fine. Instead, he just watches me, waiting for any sign that I might actually be okay.
    Kiara paces in front of us, arms crossed, shoulders tense. "We need a plan. We can't just sit here."
    "No shit, Kie," JJ mutters, rubbing at the back of his neck anxiously. He looks over at Pope, who's wincing as he presses a rag to his bleeding shoulder. "How bad is it?" he asks the boy.
    Pope exhales sharply, doing his best to get a clear picture of the wound and its severity. "It's not deep, but it's bad enough. I'll live."
    Cleo tilts the small, mysterious glass bottle in my direction. "You should drink this. Ginger and honey. Helps with shock."
    I'm a little hesitant, the sound of the mixture enough to make me nauseous, but I trust Cleo. I take it from her with shaking fingers, bringing it to my nose to smell it before raising the bottle to my lips and taking a small sip. It's strong and a little too bitter, but I swallow it down anyway. Anything to stop the way my stomach is still twisting with dull, burning pain. I don't want to think about what that push might've done.
    John B. shifts closer, his hand moving from my knee to my rounding belly, his fingers brushing lightly against the cloth over my probably bruised skin. His touch is cautious, careful—protective like it always is and always has been. "Are you sure you're okay?"
    I nod, but I don't believe it myself, and I know no one else does either. "I just need a second."
    JJ huffs, dropping down onto a nearby crate. "Yeah, well, we don't have a second. Those guys weren't just some random assholes. They knew who we were. And they had guns."
    Kiara says his knee, reprimanding him for his cold urgency in a moment like this, but I don't really mind. He's right—we shouldn't sit here for too long. It could be dangerous, and more danger is not what we need.
    "We're not going back to the boat yet," Pope says definitively. "If they've been following us since yesterday, they might know where it is."
    John B. straightens, his expression hardening. "We need to find somewhere safe. Somewhere they won't think to look."
    Cleo glances back toward the woman in the café. She's still watching us, her dark, foreign eyes concerningly unreadable. "I might know a place."
    John B. nods. "Then let's move before they catch up."
    I take a deep breath, steadying myself. My body is screaming at me to rest, but there's no time for that. Not yet. All I need is for my baby to be okay.
    I stand, and John B. is instantly at my side, worry etched into his face. "Just breathe, okay?"
    "I am breathing," I mutter, slightly aggravated at his simple reassurance, though I let my head tilt onto his shoulder for a moment before we start back up.
Cleo leads us now, hovering through the maze of Kingston's backstreets, her pace quick but measured, her eyes sharp as she scans for any signs of danger. The further we go, the more my body protests—my stomach tightens with each step, a dull, insistent ache that won't let up. I push through it, focusing on John B's steady presence beside me. His arm brushes against mine every few steps, as if he's keeping himself close enough to catch me if I falter. And with the way I'm feeling, I'd definitely call that a possibility.
The streets narrow until we reach a rusted metal door tucked between two crumbling stone buildings. Cleo knocks twice, pauses, then knocks again. A moment later, the door creaks open, revealing a man. He's older, deep lines slashing over his face and wary eyes painting pictures of his past. He takes one look at Cleo, then shifts his gaze to the rest of us, lingering a second longer on me before stepping aside.
"Come in," he says, with a voice that's rough, but not unkind.
The room inside is dimly lit, cluttered with old furniture and the faint smell of spice and seawater. A fan whirs overhead, stirring the suffocating humid air.
"This is Noel," Cleo says, motioning to the man. "He's an old friend."
Noel folds his arms, his gaze sweeping over our ragged group. "Friends of Cleo, huh? You look like you just ran through hell." His eyes flicker to Pope's shoulder, then down to where my hand still hovers over my stomach. "You need rest."
Am I that easy to read?
"We need a plan," Kiara corrects. "Rest can come after." She's persistent, but something about the man tells me that she doesn't stand a chance against him.
Noel's gaze doesn't waver. "You won't get far if you're running on empty."
JJ exhales loudly, scrubbing a hand down his face. "I hate that he's right."
I sink onto a worn-out couch, letting my body relax for the first time in what feels like hours. I lean my body into the corner of the sofa, my head instantly falling back onto the soft cushions. John B. sits beside me, his hand finding mine, squeezing gently. He leans into me, kissing my temple a few times before hiding his face in the crook of my neck. We stay there for a moment, just taking in each others' safety.
"We can't stay here long," Pope reminds us, his voice tight with pain. "We need to figure out who those guys were and what exactly they want."
I already know the answer. It's the same reason we're here in the first place—the treasure.

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vote and comment guys!!! 🌟💌

the actions finally here—not sure how many chapters i'll carry this out. this was so fun to write, i hope you guys enjoy it!!!