When Isabelle set her mind to a task, she had laser focus. Isabelle collected seawater every day in the aftermath of Soraya’s assault, and she used the dumbwaiter to haul the water up to the suite: two buckets per trip until Soraya’s bath was full. The process took hours, but even still, the task was something she continued for the duration of their stay. Isabelle helped Soraya cleanse herself daily during her recovery. She was concerned that Soraya would drown without her. On more than one occasion, Soraya drifted off while in the tub. She was grateful that Isabelle was there to catch her.
Soraya pleaded with her roommate to not put in so much effort. Her request fell on deaf ears. She appreciated what her friend was doing for her, but she wished that she wouldn’t go to all that trouble. Even in her weakened state, though, Soraya still managed a smile every time Isabelle entered the room. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed. Isabelle didn’t want to cause Soraya needless stress. So she would wait for her friend to sleep before she continued to haul buckets of water up to the suite as if Soraya had said nothing at all.
Isabelle prepared meals every day. During the night, she patrolled the abandoned halls of the Grand as the hotel’s lone sentry. In time, she helped Soraya recover her balance by taking her on walks through the hotel. Isabelle let Soraya use her shoulder as a crutch. As it turned out, she had a surprisingly pleasant bedside manner. After a few weeks under Isabelle’s care, Soraya was able to walk on her own. People were wrong about Isabelle, Soraya thought. It was a shame no one else was around to see it.
During this time, Isabelle scrubbed the blood from the walls and switched out the bloodied furniture with replacements from an adjacent suite. She even scrounged up carpet-cleaning supplies from a janitorial closet down on the first floor and was able to remove most of the stains. By the time Soraya was back on her feet and walking again, their hotel room looked nicer than it had since the Grand hosted legitimate guests before the crisis.
Soraya was quick to recover, but she knew not to push herself too hard too fast. She considered herself lucky; a serious brain injury could be fatal under the best of circumstances. Out here, with no doctors around, the next time she might not be so fortunate.
A few weeks later, a change in routine was in order. Soraya would walk with Isabelle to the beach each morning and watch her swim. Safety in numbers. Gratitude for saving her life notwithstanding, Soraya still refused to follow Isabelle into the surf. After the swim, Soraya would train Isabelle for an hour, then for another hour just before dinner.
The incident with Bonnie and Chase prompted Soraya to initiate a few upgrades to security, the first of which was a secondary apartment on a lower floor. The place was decorated with dozens of mirrors lifted from throughout the hotel. The mirrors were arranged in such a way that from any angle the women would have a clear view of the apartment while escorting potential roommates. No more sneak attacks. If that failed, secret caches of weapons were strewn about, usually just out of sight of planned chokepoints. Any newcomers would be allowed to settle here, where they would be vetted before being accepted and brought upstairs or sent along their way.
The final and most vital new security measure in her eyes was to begin a proper training regimen for Isabelle. The woman could take care of herself without a doubt, but some genuine training would ease Soraya’s mind should the two of them come across a threat more capable than a pair of desperate thieves. Learning legitimate combat techniques could be of use to Isabelle in the future and it gave them something to do to pass the time. Surprisingly, Isabelle was receptive to the idea—eagerly so—and she often woke Soraya first thing in the morning, ready to begin the day’s routine, though her swim always came first.
Soraya began the training with basic self-defense moves and proper stances, which Isabelle seemed to already have covered. These lessons were the backbone for the more advanced training that would follow. Over the subsequent months, Soraya taught Isabelle Krav Maga, an extremely efficient Israeli-developed defense system. Isabelle was a quick learner, and she was fast—surprisingly fast. No doubt that speed let her get the jump on their would-be attackers. Within a few weeks, Soraya was having a hard time keeping the upper hand in their sparring matches.
This would frustrate Soraya. It wasn’t the losing; she was proud of her student taking to the training so well. Ever since the attack—during most physical exertion—Soraya’s vision would become blurry at the edges until a black circle began closing in on her line of sight. When this happened, she would ultimately end the training session early and blame it on fatigue. Isabelle would tell her she knew it was the head injury, saying Soraya should not let it get to her and that it would pass in time. It was these small kindnesses that let Soraya know that Isabelle’s walls were coming down, at least around her. Why Isabelle chose Soraya to warm up to was never clear; she never asked, and Isabelle never offered.
Around day 120, the Clines moved in. They stayed for a few weeks before moving on. They were nice people, good people. Their teenage daughter took an immediate liking to Soraya and was especially fond of the fighting lessons Soraya included with her hospitality. The girl was the spitting image of the Israeli, right down to build and hair color. By the time the Clines left, the girl was dressing and wearing her hair like her new role model. Even Isabelle didn’t seem to mind these people. It was apparent that Isabelle was warming up to their guests because she mostly ignored them.
Soraya tried to convince them to stay. She even went so far as to set up a room for the daughter to give the girl a bit of space and privacy and a taste of freedom. Much to their daughter’s chagrin, her parents thanked Soraya for the effort but ultimately declined the offer. The Clines insisted that they had to keep moving. They never specified where they were going or what they hoped to find, only that they had to keep moving. Soraya understood and wished them well.
Now
Soraya leaned against the wall by a large window; she peered out over the city that had been her home for so long. “A few days ago, we went to the pizza shop. I wanted to sneak in through the roof, but Isabelle was impatient. She smashed the window with a trashcan.” Soraya smiled at the memory while she gazed upon Isabelle standing alone out on the balcony. She was quiet in the presence of these intruders in their sanctuary. Soraya knew that her friend’s walls had already come back up. She kept that to herself as she continued. “Miniature, handheld propane tanks from the hardware store and some bricks from the rubble outside make for a fine oven.” She looked over at the small kitchen area, makeshift pizza oven, and round serving trays with a fondness in her eyes. “That was a fun day. I will tell you all about it sometime.”
Soraya gazed out upon the ruined city she had come to call home. She hadn’t stayed in any one place for this long since before joining the IDF. Poseidon’s Rest had become her home, and if it wasn’t for her feelings for Miller, her home it would remain. “This morning Isabelle woke me up. I do not think the woman sleeps. She said there was a ship on the horizon and that you were on your way.”
Miller rose. He slowly crossed the room to join her near the sliding balcony doors. “I’ve missed you so much.”
Soraya smiled and stood before him; she was no longer the timid young recruit Miller met so many months ago. She took his hands in hers and said, “Let’s go home.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
A Calling
Isaac began each morning with a cup of coffee out on a side deck, away from the prying eyes of passersby and busy workers starting their days. He was mostly indifferent regarding the janitorial job he and Marisol were assigned. She had long since moved on, and good for her, but he really didn’t care what he did to make the days go by. Cleaning up after others didn’t bother him. He wasn’t in love with the position, nor did he hate it; it just was. At least it gave him something to do, something to pass the time. Truth be told, it was a relief to not have others depending on him for guidance. He just had to put his head down and get the job done. He would enjoy his coffee in the cool morni
ng air, then head below to the stuffy bowels of the ship.
There she was again, directly across from him at her own slice of secluded deck. Every morning like clockwork a young nun no older than thirty did the same—she sipped coffee and smoked cigarettes alone, blending in with the shadows. Her attire was far from the traditional nun’s habit. Her headpiece was crooked but looked the part and it framed her face, accentuating a septum ring and labret piercing. The dress itself was sleeveless and cut high up the sides, revealing arms and legs covered in wraps. Bare feet finished the look. It was practical if she had to move in a hurry, he thought. He was curious what her parishioners thought of the look, though—or the knife and flask strapped to opposite thighs, which showed through when she walked. She had clearly spent time on the road, unlike most people who lived aboard the ship.
Isaac approached. After all, it had been five months, so maybe it was time to form some new bonds. “I’ve seen you out here every morning for months now, sister. I think it’s time I introduce myself.” He offered his hand. “I’m Isaac.”
The nun looked the worse for wear. Her clothes were on crooked and she reeked of booze from the night before, even now in the early-morning air. The skin around her eyes and mouth was reddened. A rough night indeed. “Mara Nath,” the nun said as she held her cigarette in her mouth to free a hand for a shake. “Pleasure to meet you, Isaac. And please don’t call me sister. Mara is just fine. I’ve never liked the notion of labels.” She was kind, polite. Behind the disheveled appearance and an air of mystery, she had a warm smile and welcoming demeanor.
“Likewise, Mara.”
“You’re new here, aren’t you? I haven’t seen you around until recently. Probably came in with that big group a few weeks ago?”
“Newish,” he said. “It’s been five months already.”
“Has it now? Well, then a belated welcome aboard.”
“It really is amazing what you guys have done with the place. Absolutely amazing. I mean, you’ve given people a real shot here.”
“We try.” She puffed hard on her smoke and topped off her coffee from the flask before offering Isaac the same.
“Thanks.” Isaac poured a bit of the strong-smelling alcohol into his own coffee but refused a cigarette.
“I’ve seen you around, Isaac. Scrubbing toilets and mopping floors. How’s that working out for you?” she said with sincerity and not at all making light of his station.
“It passes the time.”
“That it does. You know, and I don’t want to come off as pushing, but if you’re tired of swabbing the deck, maybe I can help.”
“Oh?”
“Are you a man of faith?”
“I dabble.”
“Good. You’ve been here a while, so I assume you’ve heard of the Temple?”
“In passing.”
“You haven’t explored the ship much, have you?”
“I’ve always meant to, but I tend to get stuck in routine. I’ll wake up and come out here for my coffee, then go to work. Afterward I’ll have a couple drinks with my friends, then go to bed. Wake up, rinse, repeat. Next thing you know, months have gone by and I’m still doing the same damn thing.”
“I can relate, believe me.”
Mara wasn’t being a smart-ass or cynical like more than a few of Haven’s citizens whom Isaac had run into during his daily routine. She genuinely seemed to care, and he felt an immediate kinship. Two lost souls, as it were.
“What can you tell me about the Temple?” His curiosity was piqued by the odd woman.
“The Temple runs multidenominational services daily, and by that I don’t mean various sects of Christianity. All religions represented aboard the ship come together and pray side by side. The Catholics kneel beside the Jews and those of the Islamic faith. Native Americans pray alongside the Yogi and the Swami. We’re all in this together, Isaac. The time for superficial differences has passed.” She took another swig from her spiked coffee while gesturing to the horizon. “Out there—where you and I come from—people are tearing each other apart almost as fast as the dead can. For centuries, the religions have been at odds. My god is better than yours, infidels must die, yours is a false god. It’s all bullshit. At the end of the day, it’s as simple as we all believe in the same thing: a higher power is guiding us. We’re in the end days here, Isaac. If humanity is truly in its twilight, should we spend our remaining precious few moments at each other’s throats? Or should we come together as children of light and forge our own destiny, free from the mistrust and judgments of the old ways?”
Isaac remained silent; he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t intrigued.
“Maybe you’ll see the Temple and feel the calling yourself, or maybe you’ll tell me to fuck off. It’s entirely up to you.”
~~~
Vanessa and Lillian were sneaking in a quick bit of sunbathing before their shift at Trix’s bar began. It had become a weekly ritual of a sort. Around noon on a random day before work, they would lie beside the pool bar for some sun for an hour or so before their day began. One of the benefits of being so far south, even in December, was that there were a few hours most days when the temperature climbed to the mid-seventies. Plenty warm enough to enjoy the sun.
It was a Thursday. Vanessa was sure of it because the middle-aged women that had been hassling them at the bar always got their weekend started early with cocktails out by the pool. When the drinks flowed, so did the comments. It always started with hushed whispers, though lately the insults had escalated to veiled threats. This day was no different.
Lillian turned onto her back; her sunglasses-covered eyes hid the fact that she kept watch on the women. “I’ve had just about enough of these bitches.”
“Yeah, really.” Vanessa turned over as well. “Don’t they have anything better to do?”
“Shit, here they come now.” Lillian sighed.
The leader of the group walked with purpose toward the pair. As Vanessa rose in an attempt to defuse the situation before it began, the woman hurled what Vanessa thought was her drink at the two younger women. It wasn’t a drink. The full contents of the concoction caught Vanessa in the face and the excess spilled into Lillian’s mouth and eyes as well.
Vanessa lunged and was on her in a second. The woman fell to the floor and Vanessa straddled her. She grabbed two handfuls of hair and used them to bash the back of the woman’s skull against the unforgiving deck. The older woman’s friends were frozen in shock, appalled at Vanessa’s response, even considering the assault. Lillian stood between them and halted any attempt to rescue their companion; they would have to go through her first. Bystanders including the bartender, Julius, broke up the one-sided fight almost as fast as it began. A pair of large men escorted the enraged and bloodied older woman and her friends out of the area while Julius made sure that Vanessa was okay.
“What is that stuff?” Julius asked while he acted as a shield, preventing Vanessa from pursuing the women.
Vanessa spat. “It tastes like blood.” She was enraged; she hadn’t been this angry since Pepperbush, since Jim.
Julius dipped a towel into the chlorinated pool water and began frantically pawing the liquid off Vanessa’s face. He hoped the chemicals in the water would negate whatever filth was in that cup. “You two had better get to the infirmary. Have them check you out just to be on the safe side. I’ll clean this mess up and send word to Trix that you guys are going to be late.”
“Thanks, Julius,” Lilian said as she escorted Vanessa around the pool and toward the exit.
“I’ll get a hold of security,” he added. “See if we can’t get that bitch locked up.” Julius would follow up on his promise to inform security later in the day, only to have his request laughed off by Todd.
~~~
Jeremiah and Aiko had the infirmary well in hand. In the months since they were brought on, Doctor Nazneen slowly deferred to their considerable knowledge over her own. So much so that they were for all intents and purposes running m
edical now.
Soraya, Miller, and the rest of the excursion team were released from de-cons earlier in the morning. Aiko insisted that the ladies see her first thing for a clean bill of health and a bit of a reunion. Soraya sat in a chair, waiting on an IV drip to finish; fluids were always a good thing. Isabelle had a drip of her own, though she stood alone in a corner, as far away from everyone else as she could get.
Miller and Soraya spent the seventy-two hours of mandatory de-cons in adjacent cells, sharing tales. Their conversation at Soraya’s penthouse suite was brief; they had a lot of catching up to do and used their time in de-cons accordingly. After a quick checkup, they could officially begin their new lives together.
Near Isabelle, one of the nurses, Rodrigo, was seeing to a knife wound. Another ruffian from Underworld needed patching up. Rodrigo’s bedside manner matched his patient’s temperament.
“I got drinking and fighting to do, Doc. How long’s this gonna be?”
“Another minute, then you can get back to abusing yourself and we can do this all over again.”
“Then hurry it up. I got shit to do.” The ruffian caught Isabelle’s gaze. “See something you like, sweet tits?”
Isabelle pulled the needle from her arm. She marched to his bedside and stood uncomfortably close. “Take me to these fights,” she demanded.
“I don’t know.” He looked her up and down hungrily. “I think there’s a toll.”
“Lead the way,” she answered without hesitation.
“We’re done here, Doc.” The ruffian leapt from his chair mid-stitch and led Isabelle out of the infirmary.
Rodrigo threw his hands in the air. “Fucking Underworld!”
Soraya watched the exchange. She was saddened to see her friend leave without so much as a glance in her direction, but it was to be expected.
“You want me to go after her?” Miller asked.
The Roaming (Book 3): Haven's Promise Page 29
