Bang bang bang. A heavy pound thumped from the hickory door. Even above the screeching wind from outside, Harlow could hear a muffled shout.

Bennet turned, the lantern swinging in his hand. “Who in the blazes is here right now?”

Harlow hopped off the ladder and walked to the door. Without opening it, she pressed her ear to the weathered wood planks.

The knock came again. “Open up! This is the Federal Bureau of Investigation. We have a search warrant, and we-” The rest was drowned out by thunder splintering the air.

Harlow froze. No. It couldn’t be. How did they know?

Under the lamplight, Bennet’s face went slack. “Harlow- why is the blistering Bureau here? This is a lighthouse for crying out loud. And it’s the middle of the night.”

Harlow hardly heard him, her mind racing. The shipments. That had to be what they were here for. But how had they found out? How had they known that this night, of all nights, was when the ship was coming in?

The pounding came again.

“Harlow?” Bennet asked, his face pale.

There was no time. “Quick, up the stairs,” she snapped.

“What? You’re ignoring them?”

“It- I’ll explain later. Just get moving.”

Bennet’s brow furrowed under his rainhat, but he started up the narrow spiral staircase. “You realize they’ll arrest you for this?” he asked, his voice sour.

“Yes, I know! Just hurry up.”

“Well maybe you’ve lost your marbles, but I’d prefer not the spend the rest of my life a convicted felon for resisting arrest.”

“We’ll tell them I forced you!”

“You are forcing me.”

“Good! Then we won’t even be lying.”

He stared down at her through the metal bars of the staircase. “You really did lose it.”

The banging sounded from the door again, rattling the locks this time. Bennet, for his part, took the stairs two at a time, all the while grumbling that they hadn’t finished boarding up the windows- for heaven’s sake- and the whole place would flood in an instant.

They scrambled up past the kitchen floor, past the living quarters, and the control room. After climbing through the trapdoor, they reached the lantern room, a round chamber with a domed ceiling. The broad windows were now boarded up with makeshift wooden planks, all except for the sea-facing windows, left clear to allow the light through. In the center of the room sat the beacon, a light covered by an enormous lens of delicately cut glass. Its platform spun at its usual rate, flashing the beam of light toward the sea every ten seconds.

“Quick, lock the door!” Words tumbled out of Harlow’s mouth, as though her adrenaline had a mind of its own. She knelt next to the beacon. Hands trembling, she flicked a switch on the control panel. The beacon went from white to red, bathing the room in a crimson glow.

 Harlow went through the signals. “Turn,” she muttered. “T is long dash, dot, dot, u is short dash, dot . . .” She turned a few more switches, causing the beacon’s platform to slow. After that rotation, she sped it up again, letting it flash two more times. From outside, the slow rotation would resemble a long dash, and the faster rotation would look like a short dash.

At least, she hoped.

“Why are you changing the light?” Bennet demanded. “That’s not our character. You’ll just confuse the ships.”

“I’m . . .” Harlow stopped. What was she doing? Was this really going to work?

“It’s a stupid attempt at Morse code,” she said.

“Oh, of course, that makes perfect sense,” Bennet said, his voice seeped in sarcasm.

When Harlow didn’t respond, he sucked in a long breath. “If it’s not too much of an inconvenience, would you please explain what on earth is happening?” he said, reminding Harlow of a snarling dog.

“Listen,” she said. “There’s a ship coming here tonight with a very secret shipment, and I know that’s what they’re after. And I really don’t want the Bureau to get to that shipment. So I’m trying to signal to the ship to turn away.” She shuddered as she imagined authorities getting ahold of that shipment. What that would mean for the captain. The crew. The passengers.

“What shipment?” Bennet demanded. “Narcotics?”

“What? No, do you really think I’m that cliché? I don’t want to tell you too much. It’ll just put you in danger. Just trust me that we don’t want anyone to get their hands on this.”

Harlow turned the switches on the control panel again. Dash, dash, line. Away.

“Fine,” Bennet said with a sigh. “But do you think the ship will really see the messages? The storm is wild as a banshee out there.”

“It’s rain, not fog. And the captain said they’d be coming around this time. The storm probably slowed them down some . . . but if we can get this message out a few times, they should be close enough to see it.”

“If they make it close enough to shore.”

“I know the captain. He may not be the friendliest, but he’s been through his fair share of storms. He’ll make sure the ship survives. And he’ll listen-”

Harlow stopped. “Wait a minute . . .” she whispered, putting a finger to her lips. She crept to the trapdoor. From outside, the sound of footsteps on metal grew closer.

“They got through the front door,” Harlow said, and bit her lip.

The pounding came again, this time rattling the trapdoor. The familiar shouting followed.

Bennet held up his pocket watch. “We have two minutes, at best. One and a half, if you forgot to oil the locks.”

“Oh shut-”

But she couldn’t finish.

It hit her like a punch. Sprays of sharp, icy water bit into her back and soaked through her shirt, her pants, her skin. A stream of expletives flooded out of her mouth, words that would have made her weather-hardened sailor friends cover their ears.

Almost drunkenly, she stumbled to the side, out of the torrent of water. It was one of the windows, she could now see. Shattered open, letting in pent-up water from the gutter.

“Harlow- your leg.” Bennet’s lips pursed.

Harlow glanced down to find spots of red blooming on her legs. Stupid glass. But already, she was too cold to feel the cuts.

“I’ll take care of the window,” Bennet half-grumbled, half-shouted. He picked up the wooden plank that had burst off the broken window, but already, water was spraying through the gaping hole, the cold wind sweeping through the room.

Harlow stumbled back to the control panel. Dot dot. The second message finished.

Just one more. One more, and she was certain the captain would see it.

Harlow’s teeth clattered violently, and she turned to Bennet “J-j-j-ust- for heaven’s sake, c-c-can’t you stall them or something?”

Bennet’s face reddened and contorted. “Yes, that would be jolly swell, wouldn’t it? I suppose we could make small talk over tea?”

“Never mind. Just- t-t-try to keep the water out.” Already, the pool of liquid was lapping over her boots, the wind biting through her soaked coat.

When the third message finished, she breathed a sigh of relief and strode over to the sea-facing windows. “Now go!” Harlow yelled and swung open the glass door to the gallery, the narrow platform that jutted out from the lantern room. Out there, only a thin metal rail would stand between Bennet and a long fall into the rocky outcroppings below the lighthouse.

Bennet’s face contorted. “I thought you weren’t trying to kill me!” he shouted over the screeching wind.

Harlow tossed him the length of rope on her belt. “Tie yourself to the railing, and I’ll lock the door. We’ll tell the Bureau you were locked out this whole time. They’ll come get you as soon as they break in!”

Bennet shot her a glare, but he pulled the flaps of his hat down and walked, hunched over, out onto the gallery, his raincoat flapping in the wind.

Harlow slammed the door shut, tightened the lock, and slumped against the wall. Was she a monster for doing this? He’s only being loyal, she thought, and this is how I repay him.

No, there was no time for that. He’ll be fine, she told herself. She would shoulder the punishment. He would be proclaimed innocent.

From across the room, a sharp click pealed from the trapdoor. They’d picked the lock.

Harlow took a deep breath, and the door swung open.