The ferry captain prided himself on regularity.
“Keep to a schedule, that’s the main thing,” he said. “Everything else will fall into place.”
The ferry made its passage across the channel three times a day, four times on Saturdays, and never deviated from the schedule by so much as a second, rain or shine.
Naturally, the captain didn’t see why the end of the world should be any exception.
“There’s still room!” called a woman from the shore as the gates closed and the bridge rose.
“Wait for the next ride across!” the captain shouted.
As the ash cloud brewing overhead would reach them long before the next ferry, the people stranded on the shore found this of little comfort.
The woman looked at the cloud, at her children, at the ferry moving slowly away.
“Nothing to lose,” she muttered, and slammed her foot down on the accelerator.
Word Count: 148
This is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and Ted Strutz for providing the prompt photo!