Several sailors lowered a wooden lifeboat over the side, with two of them in it. They hoisted Commander Hollander inside, and then helped me clamber aboard. When the boat had stopped rocking, one put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. “Take us up!”
Up we went. Bit by bit the flight deck crew winched us up, the boat banging against the hull, until we were level with the deck. Dot and Peggy, ever present, fluttered and fussed over Commander Hollander as they placed him on a stretcher. They carried him away into the ship. His arm was hanging limp over the side of the stretcher.
I was now shivering uncontrollably. An ensign threw a blanket around my shoulders, and Stanholtzer handed me a steaming mug of the most disgusting drink I’d ever tasted in both of my lives.
“We don’t have coffee here,” he said by way of apology after I’d choked on my first sip.
A huddle of men escorted me back into the hangar bay. We passed the planes, many of which were riddled with bullet holes and large cracks. Aviators were sitting up against bulkheads, their eyes dulls with fatigue, or heartbreak. There were fewer planes now than before, and I could suddenly see how very few planes there truly were for an aircraft carrier of this size. The Saint Catherine was dying by degrees thanks to beings like Scylla.
“Goldstein? Goldstein? Where are you?” Bickley’s booming yell made me look up from the drink I was daring myself to sip again.
“I’m here!” I shouted.
He shoved aside two sailors and pulled me into a huge bear hug. “Torres said you’d been whisked off the ship by a monster,” he said into my hair. “I thought I’d never see you again.” He looked down at me, tears in his eyes, and our connection revealed the source: I was one of two people who’d known him in life, and I’d run off toward trouble without a thought.
That had been selfish of me.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I won’t do that again.”
He put his hand around my shoulder and ushered me into the ship. We passed the coil of rope where I’d hidden. I looked over my shoulder at the ocean, where Scylla had come from, and to where she’d fled again. She’d robbed the Saint Catherine of at least two brave, true sailors—and me of John Hanson. I’d known him for just a moment, but already a future was gone. It was the second future of mine that had been snatched from my hands.
I narrowed my eyes and turned back toward the door.
Scylla and I had unfinished business.
9
“Well, you know how the saying goes, right? If the Saint Catherine had wanted you to have a boyfriend, it would’ve put him in your seabag.”
I paused in the middle of rolling my coveralls and looked over at Torres, who was eating a sandwich. “The only reason I’m not punching you right now for that tasteless joke is because we’ve been friends for so long. John was really nice, okay? And that schtik drek literally ate him. Have some respect.”
She grimaced. “Sorry. What’s a schtik drek?”
“Context clues, Mar. Use them.”
I wrinkled my nose and resumed putting my few possessions into my seabag. They’d appeared on one of the spare racks in the tiny female berthing compartment, opposite Dot and Peggy’s and above Torres’s. My material possessions in this life comprised spare coveralls, the world’s ugliest underwear, extra boots, socks, an amulet bearing the Traveler’s Prayer, and a Star of David necklace.
I had to put them away, because whether I liked it or not, they were mine, and we were almost to Port des Morts. In a few hours, I’d sling my seabag over my shoulder and get off the ship, never to set foot on it again.
I was going to do this. I had to do this—for my parents. I wasn’t selfish. I wasn’t going to hang around on a boat when I had a chance to see them again. I’d taken myself away from them by joining the Navy, but now that was over. I had to go be with my people, whatever that meant, and prepare a place for the man and woman who had loved me more than anything else.
I idly rubbed my necklace, then reached out a hand to Torres. “Let’s try again.” Anything to take away the sting of John’s death.
Torres touched her fingers to mine, and I passed her the bit of magic I’d taken from a glass sphere earlier. The more we worked with it, the easier it became to manipulate. She and Bickley needed to be on their toes after I left.
After I left. It sounded so dismal.
The captain’s whistle sounded, heralding an announcement. “This is your captain speaking. We’re coming up on the Krasnoye Morye on our starboard side in about ten minutes.” The whistle sounded again, and he cut off the intercom.
Krasnoye Morye? Must be Russian.
She chewed thoughtfully. “Where do you think ghosts go when they die again?”
“Heck if I know.”
“This place is so weird. I wonder why it wasn’t ever mentioned in any of our holy books. Like, not even some rando’s scribbles from a thousand years ago. Are you sure it’s not in the Jewish apocrypha?” She reached out her hand. “Again.”
I snorted. “I promise you.” I accepted the power back into my body, and this time I neatly tucked it into my stomach. I’d take it with me when I disembarked as a backup weapon. Just in case. Who knew what was out there?
Scylla. Scylla was out there. And I’d kick her ass yet.
She sighed. “The hardest part is still feeling alive, you know? I still feel like I’m just Marisol, and that I’ll return home soon. It felt so natural to chat up those guys back on the flight deck. We’re all still interested in romance.” She sat up. “Hey, do you think we can have kids?”
I eyed her sandwich. “No, probably not. The only reason the galley exists is because food and eating are comforting, not because we actually need it. I didn’t need to breathe underwater. I doubt our reproductive systems are still functional.”
“Well, hey, no periods. That’s something.”
“Ever the optimist,” I murmured as I placed my overalls into my seabag. I latched the top, then pushed it into the corner of my narrow rack. “That’s everything. Now we just wait until we sail into port, then I’m getting off.”
Torres finished her sandwich and threw the wrapper into the little trash bin. “Is there anything I can say to keep you on board?”
“No. I’m really going to the Far Island. I can’t go back and comfort my parents, so the next best thing is to be there when they die.”
“You don’t even know what’s there, though. It could be something awful. There are others like Scylla, you know. Mythology is full of horrid stuff. I was happy to sign the book.”
“The Far Island is more likely to be paradise than the ship is, Mar.”
“But what about fighting Scylla again? You said you were going to.”
“And what am I going to do, exactly? Sit around here and wait for her to attack?”
“Yeah, I think you should, actually. Better sitting here in relative safety than twiddling your thumbs in Port des Morts. Wayne told us a little bit about the place when you were off having your little adventure in the engine room. It’s like the Mos Eisley of the afterlife.”
I crossed my arms. “You mean it’s a wretched hive of—”
“—scum and villainy. Worst of the worst.”
There was a beat. I smiled despite myself.
“I miss Star Wars,” I admitted, my heart throbbing in my chest. “And movies in general. Going to the theater…”
Virginia Beach had had an enormous movie complex, a lovely centerpiece to Lynnhaven Mall. My mother and I had always loved to take in a film after a long day of shopping. After the movie, we’d go out to dinner somewhere nearby and chat about the movie, gabbing for hours about the plot and performances.
I’d never do that again.
I sank down onto the chair and covered my eyes with my hands, trying to keep back the tears.
I couldn’t stay on the ship. I had to get off and secure passage to my one chance to be at peace. I’d be there when my parents passed away and entered paradise. I’d run and hug them
, and our argument would be nothing more than a distant memory.
“Oh dear. Are you thinking about Yeoman Hanson?”
Dot’s rich southern accent cut right through my tears, and I looked up and sniffed. She was standing in the doorway with a galley tray in her hands, smiling with such sweetness that I dried up a bit.
“No. Come on in, Dot.”
She handed me the tray. “Peggy told me all about it. He was your beau, right? I thought maybe a good hot meal would help you. This was the best the galley had today.”
I balanced the tray on my knees and took a deep breath. She’d brought me a ham and cheese sandwich, green beans and bacon, and lime jello.
Torres smirked and raised an eyebrow at me, clearly communicating her thoughts. What are you going to do, Rach?
I carefully placed the tray on my bed. “I’ll eat a little later, Dot. I’m not really hungry right now.”
Dot sat on her rack and smoothed her white cotton skirt. “I know it can seem impossible, but you do really move on as the years go by. I’ve been here for a long time and I don’t feel sad when I think about all the people I’ve said goodbye to. Most of the sailors I’ve met here are gone, and I left behind parents and six siblings. I’m sure they’re all dead now.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “I don’t know what to say.”
Dot held up a hand. “I’m sorry that you’re leaving. I’d hoped to get to know you more. Both of you, actually. I’ve been waiting for female sailors to join the ship since I’d heard that the Navy was accepting them.” Her eyes took on a distant look. “I think I would’ve liked to serve in the modern Navy.”
“I don’t think your job would’ve been that different,” Torres said. “We’ve still got nurses.”
Dot shook her head. “I wanted to be a doctor. My parents felt that going to medical school would’ve hurt my marriage prospects, though, so they didn’t allow me to go.”
I laughed for the first time since Scylla’s attack. “My parents were mad at me for joining the Navy because they wanted me to be a doctor. Funnily enough, it probably would’ve helped my marriage prospects.”
Dot grinned. “It’s a different world out there. I would’ve loved to experience it, or at least have a granddaughter who experienced it. But I died without issue. I doubt anyone even remembers me.”
Well, that had turned dark real fast.
Dot bolted to her feet and ran to the porthole. “Ladies, you need to get outside. You’ll want to see this.”
Krasnoye Morye. Red Sea. At least, that’s what Dot had explained.
The USSR’s own private ghost ship was now, in a way, a true ghost ship. Even larger than the Saint Catherine, it floated in the mild current of the Oceanus, dead in the water and unlit inside and out. In the quiet moonlight that reflected off the still water, it looked like a monument to aircraft carriers of the past. Broken-down planes littered the flight deck, and through the shattered portholes I could see rooms in shambles. A red hammer-and-sickle logo, faded and peeling, was the lone decoration of the ship—the flags were long gone.
It felt like a warning…though of what, I could not say.
As the Saint Catherine slid past the derelict, I detected movement in one of the portholes. “Is there someone aboard it?” I asked Stanholtzer, who’d joined the small crowd of people with me in the hangar bay.
“One or two sailors, probably,” he said quietly. “The USSR ceased to be, so its navy ceased to be. Russia has a different ship. The sailors on the Krasnoye Morye are just remnants. The fog will come for them soon, and then the ship will be claimed by the Oceanus for good.”
“How sad,” I said, my voice soft with true pity. The Krasnoye Morye was like an old soldier, silently fading away long after the war was over.
Stanholtzer frowned. “It’s what will happen to the Saint Catherine if sailors keep getting claimed by Scylla…or leaving.” He turned to face me directly. “This ship is a key force protecting your loved ones from monsters. Something to think about, Petty Officer. Good night.”
He strode off, leaving me to mouth wordlessly after him.
A few minutes later, when the Krasnoye Morye was shrinking in the distance, I walked along the edge of the flight deck, too keyed up by what Stanholtzer had said to consider sleep just then.
A lone sailor stood on the edge at the aft end of the ship, his binoculars up to his eyes. He lowered them as I approached, and gave me a polite nod of greeting. “Good evening, Petty Officer. We haven’t met. I’m Seaman Dartsch.”
“Are you part of the lookout team?”
I couldn’t read his expression. “I am the lookout team. Hanson was the other member.” He swallowed. “He was a good friend.”
I held out my hand for the binoculars. “Hanson died to keep me safe. If I may, I’d like to take over his duties while I’m still on the ship.”
He handed me the binoculars. I peered through them, scanning the horizon for anything unusual or suspicious. “What are we looking for?”
“Pirates, mostly. Pirates can swoop in unbelievably fast, since they exploit the weak points and sail in and out of worlds. They’ve been our bane for years, far more than Scylla and her ilk.”
“And they want magic?”
“Yes. Unfortunately for us, each monster and pirate attack wears down our defenses just a little more. We may look ferocious, Petty Officer, but the truth is that we’re one good attack away from total loss. There are fifty-five souls aboard this ship. We’re barely running.”
I looked up at him. “What happens, really, if the ship stops patrolling?”
“Not to sound dramatic, but the forces of good will lose a major player in the fight to keep the forces of evil firmly stuck in this world. They’re constantly trying to get into the world of the living. We cycle endlessly around the weak spots, warning anyone who nears that we’ll attack.”
“And what happens if the forces of evil get through?”
“You know those old myths and legends about monsters eating maidens, destroying cities, and generally oppressing mankind?”
“Yeah.”
“Where do you think they came from?”
He took back the binoculars, and we stood there on the stern, silently watching the dark ocean together.
I shoved my shoulder against the exterior door, trying to get it to stick in its jam. This ship was seriously falling apart. After a few attempts, I gave up and left the door ajar. A cold wind blew down the hall after me, making me shiver. It wasn’t often that a rack sounded comfortable, but right then, I wanted nothing more than to curl up under my blanket.
The sick bay’s door was open when I passed it, allowing me to hear two voices in conversation. I walked quickly past the door, but not quickly enough.
“Petty Officer Goldstein.” Commander Hollander’s voice grated against my ears.
Hashem, have mercy. What could he possibly want now?
I stepped into the sick bay. “Yes, sir?”
He was propped up on pillows in one of the real racks, the same that he and Torres had been in when we’d woken up. Peggy had put him in a white T-shirt and roomy cotton pants, both of which were stained with blood and the stinky pus.
He leveled a glare at me. “You don’t have to make it sound like a foul word.”
“Sir, I was on my way to my berthing. Did you need something…sir?”
The old “sir sandwich.” They’d told us to do it to officers when I was in basic training. Turns out, they didn’t like it much.
“Bickley said you weren’t like this on the Taft. What happened?”
“Well, sir, you flew an aircraft into the side of the ship and killed me. I guess you could say I’m bent out of shape about it. Sir.”
“Stop it. Stop saying it like that.”
“You can’t have it both ways, sir.”
“Stop it! It was an accident, for God’s sake! I died too!”
To hell with self-control. “I don’t care if you died! You cocked it up
and killed me! Why on earth does that not matter just because you didn’t mean it? Why should I forgive you?” A small medical device was suddenly in my hand—and then flying across the room toward Commander Hollander. He ducked just in time.
Peggy flew out of the nurses’ office. “Petty Officer! What are earth are you doing to my patient?”
I didn’t care if he was an officer. I didn’t care if I could land back in the brig for this. I wasn’t even officially part of the crew, damn it, so who the hell was he to demand that I call him ‘sir,’ like he was important? Like he was something? He was nothing. He’d messed everything up when he’d said...
I took a step back. No, he hadn’t said anything. He’d done something. He’d killed me.
What was going on in my brain?
I swallowed the lump in my throat and pointed at Commander Hollander, whose mouth was open. “He wanted to speak to me, but he wouldn’t get to the point. What did you want to tell me, sir?” It was miraculous that I hadn’t cracked my teeth from how hard I was gritting them.
He crossed his arms, incredulous. “I wanted to thank you for saving me in the water. They said one of the new women aboard pulled me out, and the description was clearly of you.”
There was a short silence.
“Torres did that,” I snapped. Peggy raised an eyebrow, but I glared at her. “No, it was Torres.” I dragged my eyes back to Commander Hollander. “Would I save you? Really?”
Hurt flitted across his eyes, and then his expression darkened. “No, you wouldn’t. My mistake, Petty Officer.”
My jaw tightened. He thought he was so slick, didn’t he? “That’s not even my title anymore, Arthur. I’m not part of this crew. Tomorrow, I’m getting off in Port des Morts. If you have anything you want to throw at me, now is the time to do it.” I crossed my arms and jutted out my hip. “Lay it on me.”
But both Peggy and he startled. “You’re leaving? Why?” Commander Hollander’s surprise sounded genuine.
Sea of Lost Souls Page 9
