Chapter 7
It took five days of exhausting work to turn around the galley to the point where she didn’t want to cringe each time she walked into it.
Gail had recruited any able-bodied seaman who wasn’t fast enough to duck and cover. Mechanics had replaced leaky lines and questionable power outlets. The overhead piping and hoods had been scraped of old grease, scrubbed, and repainted—plenty of gray paint aboard. The galley was spit-shine bright by the time they were done with it.
The ship’s stores weren’t as miserable as she’d first thought, they’d simply been pillaged at random and not restowed properly. A long day in the tropics wearing Arctic survival gear put everything to rights.
A vast jumble of produce had turned into a sensible set of supplies once organized. The meat locker—almo
