Wake of the Sadico

by Jo Sparkes

  Her hand clasped her valve. Jill slowly ascended.

  Gleefully it swooped, it spun. The spin frenzied, whirling so fast the carcass exploded. Bits of dead manta scattered to oblivion.

  He was stronger now. Fear had fed him, though less nourishing than pure hatred. He thirsted for more.

  Revenge on the warrior had satisfied his spirit on a deep level. But it hadn’t sated him - in no way was he done. And he’d seen the traitor’s anguish.

  He thirsted for more.

  The Vortex swelled at an idea. And then ebbed, to gather its strength.

  Trapped

  Jon hunched on the dive platform, legs dangling in the water. His gear was off - but he couldn’t remember removing it.

  Mike’s dead.

  Wall had kept his tanks on, only removing his mask when Jill surfaced. Now he remained at the platform edge, tank on his back, waving her out of the sea.

  “But he’s still…” she began.

  “Let’s get Jon below,” Wall cut her off. He seemed to think Jon incapable of moving.

  Am I capable? Jon mused, and found he didn’t care. His best friend was fifty feet below the Sadicor, stuck on a stupid piece of wood like a bug in a spider web.

  Mike’s dead.

  Jon said the words aloud, trying to make them mean something. They were just echoes bouncing through his brain.

  He saw Wall take Jill’s fins, her mask. Reluctantly she climbed up the ladder, bursting with the need to voice her thoughts. Shock, Jon realized. Jill was in shock.

  “We can’t just leave him,” she whispered urgently. Talking to the Brit, ignoring Jon completely. He’d take her to task for that, if he could find the energy.

  “I’ll do it,” Wall murmured.

  “Not alone! I’m your buddy…”

  The tall man touched a finger to her lips, silencing her completely.

  Something about that gesture seemed familiar. Deja vu, goose-over-the grave familiar. His spine actually tingled, his heart ached. Overwhelmingly so.

  To his horror, Jon realized he was openly weeping.

  It was midnight.

  Wall woke with a start. He must have dozed off, lying on a cockpit bench propped against the cabin. Sprawled as he was on the seat beneath the moon, he’d earned a crick in his neck. He stood and stretched long and full, needing to release the tension.

  It didn’t release.

  Mike lay in the compressor room, wrapped in an old tarp. Oddly, Wall had had no difficulty lifting him - his tanks had been caught in a notch under the bowsprit, not tangled in any rope. All he’d had to do was push down, and the body was free.

  Strange that all his struggles hadn’t dislodged him.

  Everyone else - everyone alive - was sleeping. Or had been sleeping - he should probably check in on them. And then he’d make a bed for the night in the galley table again. Melanie had locked the cabin door, but she needn’t have bothered. He was done with that.

  Wall climbed down the ladder.

  A single light cast weird shadows. Glistening teak stood out between black flickering lines near the compressor room door. Surreal.

  Jon hunched in the booth, an open book before him, a bottle of Jack Daniels on the table and a glass in his hand. Wall thought him comatose until the man spoke.

  “Thank you,” he rasped. “For…getting Mikey. Bringing him home.”

  Wall nodded. “I’m guessing we head to Antigua tomorrow.”

  “Best friend and partner. And I let him down. I let him drown.” Jon emptied the contents of his glass in a single gulp.

  The title of the book loomed large, easy to read despite being upside down. Revisits: Theory of Soul Returns to the Earth Plane.

  “You really subscribe to the theory of reincarnation?”

  Pushing against the table top, Jon straightened his back. “We sail at first light.”

  Wall sat opposite him, tugging the book across the table, spinning it round. Chapter 7 Karmic Debt. A tiny chill pierced the spot between his shoulder blades.

  “Jon - do you think this is true? That we get trapped in old patterns…repeat our mistakes?”

  Slowly Jon squeezed out of the booth. And staggered off.

  The words of the text seemed to dance before his eyes. The true flames of hell lie here on earth.

  “Wall?” Jon’s voice drifted from the compressor room alcove.

  Sighing deeply, Wall toyed with the whiskey bottle.

  “Hey, Wall?”

  He rose to his feet, suddenly feeling the need for a glass. And glanced at Jon, wobbling before the open doorway of the compressor room. Bathed in that peculiar, flickering light.

  Shielding his eyes, the small man edged closer.

  Wall sprinted for him.

  A muted roar filled his ears before he saw the actual fire. Flames racing along the far wall, seeping across the floor. For precious seconds he could only stare.

  Sweet Jesus. “Extinguisher? Jon - where is it?”

  But Jon merely stood, gazing at the inferno. And anyway, it was too far gone. Bloody hell - fire and machinery rarely went well together. Whatever fuel there was…

  “JON. Go wake Melanie,” Wall commanded, banging on the wall by Jill’s curtained cubby hole. “NOW!”

  If Jill responded, he couldn’t hear it. Jon remained beside him, frowning as if trying to decipher a puzzle.

  “Bugger this for a game of soldiers.” Wall shoved Jon towards the ladder as he yanked the curtain aside. Jon staggered back; the curtain came off in his hands.

  Moonlight through the porthole revealed Jill sitting up, loosely holding a sheet to her body. She wore some sort of t-shirt, and he vaguely thought how fortunate that was.

  Jon staggered against him. “Can’t…go. Can’t abandon the Sadicor. Dad’ll kill me.”

  “Get Melanie.”

  Whirling, Jon bounced off the door frame before vanishing in the smoke.

  “Wall?” Rubbing her eyes, Jill resembled a sleepy toddler. She made no move to rise.

  Scorching heat flicked his back, spurring him on. He snatched her up, sheet and all, spinning as he tossed her over his shoulder and sprinted for the ladder.

  Either she weighed next to nothing or adrenalin pumped his strength. Wall flew up the steps, feeling her head bounce off his back.

  Stumbling out into the night air, he saw the inflatable already in the water. Melanie perched in the front seat, calmly munching an apple. The blonde actually smiled at him.

  Jill wiggled. “Put me down! Wall! Put me down and go get Jon!” He dropped her, rather abruptly, and dove back down the ladder.

  Below deck, he found the man standing in the middle of the cabin. “Not here,” he frowned, eyes fogged from smoke and alcohol.

  Wall yanked him out, shoving him at the ladder. When Jon made no move to climb, he hoisted him over his shoulder and sprinted up out of the boat, chased by heat and smoke and the rising roar of flame.

  Staggering onto the deck, Wall nearly tumbled them both into the sea. He dropped Jon hard, seeing the unholy glow from the compressor room porthole.

  “Jon!”

  Jon leapt, landing awkwardly in the launch. Wall jumped for the stern seat in the now wildly rocking the inflatable.

  “GO! GO!” Jon cried.

  It took two nerve-racking tries before the motor roared to life. Leaping across the waves, the boat veered madly before taking aim at the island. Over his shoulder, Wall saw the painted ‘SADICO’ blazing out at them.

  They were halfway to the beach when the night exploded.

  Flaming debris flew overhead, fiery threads outlining their path. He could feel the heat, and braced for a more fiery impact that somehow by the grace of God never came.

  In the bright flash his companions’ faces were etched forever in his brain. Jill horrified, Jon in shock. Melanie smiling like a child at a fireworks festival. And he suddenly thought of one item he shouldn’t have left behind.

  The radio.

  The swirling mist receded.<
br />
  Standing before Nita with a warm smile curving his mouth, Mike drew her close into such a gentle embrace. The kind of embrace she’d always known he was capable of.

  “I love you, my witch woman,” he murmured against her temple.

  His ebony skin gleamed in the first light of dawn, eclipsing the white-skinned man. The redneck Mike, as her aunts labeled him. His muscles stood out, different somehow. Muscles garnered through genuine work, she thought. Not artificially cultivated.

  Here was her warrior.

  “I wanted to bear your children,” Nita whispered. “I wanted…”

  At the touch of his finger against her lips, her words died.

  “Heaven makes room for every dream,” he told her. “Some just take longer than others.”

  She relaxed, sinking into his warmth. Bathing in his love.

  When her eyes fluttered open to the reality of a pale blue ceiling, she was still smiling.

  Even as the sobs racked her body.

  Something was different.

  As Jill slowly rose from a deep sleep, she felt the stillness. No gentle rocking of the sea, no sloshing of waves against the sailboat hull. Because, she realized, she was laying on cool sand.

  The fire.

  She sat up, blinking away the film in her eyes. Before her stretched the calm Caribbean, tickling the edge of the launch. They ought to drag that higher, before the tide could steal it away. The sun had already risen, but lingering dawn colors painted the sky.

  Red skies in the morning, she recalled the words. Red skies in the morning, sailors take warning.

  They should have checked the sky yesterday.

  Judging by the croak of Jon’s snoring, he slept nearby. A long, blanket-wrapped figure lay off to her right - near enough to make her feel safe, far enough away to observe the proprieties. Wall had said that hours earlier. She smiled at the memory.

  Missing a third blanket with a muscular form, Jill felt tears well even before her mind remembered.

  There was no Mike this morning.

  Waves lapped the beach; her cousin’s fitful sleep disturbed the rhythm. The Sadicor had burned last night. And her prized t-shirt sported a hole in the sleeve. At least the garment was big enough to cover her ugly red underpants. With little camels, no less.

  She didn’t realize a tear trailed down her cheek until Melanie touched it. “For the hero?”

  Jill recoiled - and scraped the moisture off her face. Scraping the sorrow away, she realized. Like she was seven again and her mother had just abandoned them.

  The green eyes narrowed, reflecting pity and amusement and something else. “We’re well and truly stuck here now. I wonder what will happen next?”

  Jill shrugged, staving off conversation while she cleared her throat. “Uncle Ray will find us. He’s smart. He’ll know where to look.”

  “But not for weeks, right? Not today…not tomorrow.”

  “They have to figure out we’re missing first.”

  Melanie shook her head. “That’ll be too late.”

  “What is with you?” Jill burst out. “You’ve gotten down right…strange. Cruel.”

  The green eyes turned inward, as if actually pondering the question.

  “It’s sort of like an amusement park ride. A roller coaster, maybe. Once you get in the cart, it goes where it goes. All you can do is hang on.”

  “Where is it going?” Jill heard herself whisper.

  The woman stilled beside her.

  “It’s arcing over the apex - at the highest point. About to rocket down.”

  Melanie walked away.

  When Wall touched her arm she barely contained a shriek. “Wall,” she hissed.

  And then saw the gentle concern on his face. It wasn’t nervousness, no matter what Mike said.

  Had said.

  “All right?” he asked.

  She nodded, forcing a smile that faded too quickly. “Wall, what happened? I mean - how did the fire…”

  “I have no idea.” He sat, sharing her blanket. His warm presence felt good beside her, making Jill feel guilty. It wasn’t right to feel good.

  “Short circuit, faulty something. I know it started in the compressor room.”

  “Mike…” she choked on his name, “He took good care of it. Couldn’t have just flamed out.”

  His arm went round her, pulling her head against his shoulder. Or maybe she did that all on her own.

  It was wrong to take comfort in anything this morning. But she couldn’t find the strength to move.

  Wall relaxed when Jon returned from his walk.

  “I sorted through the supplies as you asked,” he said, waving at the provisions scattered on the blanket. “Ten gallons of water, a few tins of beans, tuna fish. One unopened bottle of good tequila. A cylinder of potato chips, of all things, and dozens of tins labeled spam.”

  Jon lips formed the ghost of a smile. “Mike loved spam.”

  “I only knew of it from an old Monty Python song.” Wall found he couldn’t quite manage a grin himself. “Some of the expiration dates have passed.”

  “We used to diligently keep up the emergency rations. Even kept a bag of Oreos. But after a few years, it just slipped in priority.”

  “Also a mask, snorkel, and one dive light.”

  Jon nodded. He looked ten years older this morning.

  “There was an EPIRB on the boat, right? Will the Coastguard look this far from the equator?”

  Wavering on his feet, Jon shrugged. “We did buy one - years ago. And yes, those are monitored worldwide.”

  Wall relaxed.

  “Pretty sure it was on board.”

  So much for relaxing, Wall sighed. “And if not?”

  “We usually tell the dive shop in Antigua where we’re going, when we’d be back. Hopefully Mike did that this last time. And if not, Dad should be looking for us within a week or two. This is the first place he’ll check.”

  He could understand Jon’s distraction and hated to badger the man - but the difference of a week was critical. Even with careful rationing, the water would be gone after ten days. The inflatable wasn’t exactly suitable for long distance on the ocean, but if some inhabited island lay close - or even one with nothing but fresh water, it might improve their odds over simply waiting for rescue.

  Jill strode up the beach to join them. She’d gone to find Melanie, but apparently had failed.

  “Shouldn’t we move up to the cave?” she touched Jon’s arm. He looked as surprised as Wall felt.

  “Why? The beach is pleasant, and we’ve got sand for a mattress instead of granite.”

  “No animals to worry about.” Wall tacked on.

  “But the weather,” Jill nodded toward the heavens. “Red sky in the morning?”

  Jon shook his head. “Forecast was clear. It’s June; we’re not in hurricane season.”

  She looked unconvinced. Jon moved on to inspect supplies.

  Wall grasped her hands. “I think we’ll be fine,” he smiled.

  Hours later he wasn’t so sure.

  The soft breeze had morphed into a gusting wind, forcing them to secure the blankets under water containers. The clear sky suddenly wasn’t; dark clouds swelled over their heads, appearing out of nowhere.

  Close clouds, as if they hung mere meters above the trees. And the rain was not far behind.

  As the first splatters drummed the sand, Jon shot a look to Wall before hoisting one of the two water jugs and heading for the cave. Wall yanked his shirt over his head and stooped to gather loose food cans into the material, creating a makeshift sling. Even so, he couldn’t quite manage it all.

  “Jill, if you can carry this - and Melanie, take as much as you can - I’ll get the water and return for any leftovers.”

  Standing, Melanie unbuttoned her shirt. He hoped she was wearing a bra.

  Apparently she gathered the gist of his thoughts. “Would you rather Jill remove hers?”

  Wall knew Jill’s clothing situation - or lack of it - f
ar too well.

  “I’ll get the water.” Cheeks tinged red, the brunette bent over the remaining water jug.

  “It’s heavy,” he warned, stepping to her with his makeshift carrier. Jill-like, she grabbed the handle with one hand and yanked, her eyes widening as it remained in the sand.

  He set his burden in her hands. “It’s a five gallon container, over forty pounds. Best let me carry it.”

  “I can manage forty pounds.”

  Wall thought of the distance, the rocky path and narrow ledge. Lifting the jug, he simply grinned. “But then I’d feel inadequate.” When he got his answering smile from her, he gestured the women ahead.

  Melanie had managed to gather the remaining supplies. Thankful there was no need to return - and that her bra was less revealing than her bikinis - he followed them up the trail.

  The upper ledge grew slick with wet. He learned this on his first step, dropping the carrier before recovering his balance. The plastic dented, but kept the water safe.

  Fortunately.

  If Jill or Melanie lost the food they carried they’d all still live, though less comfortably. To lose half their water would cut their survival time in half.

  Wall treaded more carefully.

  Foam specked his bare legs. Glancing down, he saw a churning sea pounding against the stone wall supporting him. The white caps rose higher as he watched.

  Dizzying fear rose apace with the ocean. A primal terror, threatening to swamp reason and drown him.

  Wavering on his feet, Wall realized how close he was to drowning literally. He tore his gaze away and forced himself on.

  When he knelt at last before the cave entrance, he gulped a calming breath of air before sliding the water container ahead and crawling through the short tunnel.

  Jon bore the water to the far side of the cavern, where Jill stacked food tins. Melanie donned her shirt clinically, no trace of taunt.

  Jon marched back to the tunnel, ducking down.

  “We got everything,” Wall told him.

  “I’m getting driftwood. For a fire.”

  The polite thing to do was help, so Wall followed. Being very careful not to look down a second time.