by Alton Gansky
He pushed the flashlight away. “You’re blinding me, moron.”
I moved the light back up the stairwell and addressed the stranger. “That’s the problem, ma’am. We don’t know who we are, or where we are. We don’t have any answers.”
“You don’t know who you are? You expect me to believe that?”
“Do you know who you are?” Grumpy said.
She didn’t answer.
“I didn’t think so.”
I thought it better if I continued to do the speaking. “I know this is a little strange, ma’am, but do you know your name?”
She shook her head.
I nodded mine. “I guess we’re all in the same boat.” I cringed at my own words. Of course we’re all in the same boat—literally. “What I mean is, we’re all facing the same problem. May I come up the stairs?”
“I don’t own the ship. You can climb any stairs you want.”
“Thanks.” Grumpy and I climbed the treads. I held out my hand for a friendly shake. The woman looked at it like I had leprosy. I lowered my hand.
She studied me a little more. “Wow, you’re built like a tank, aren’t you? I assume the most expensive bill in your house is the one from the grocery store.”
“I’ve never been to a grocery store that sent bills. At least I don’t think I have.”
“What’s going on here?” she asked. “I want to know what you know.”
I guessed her to be a little older than me, but not by many years. She was pretty in her own way and came loaded with attitude. I told her what little I knew, what we had been doing, and finished with the ghoul in the corridor.
“Didn’t see no ghoul. I’ve been up here for a while, but I was in a room before…I don’t know how to describe it.”
“Before you were miraculously transported someplace else.” Grumpy smiled. I could see the smile because the woman blasted him in the face with the beam from her flashlight.
“Yeah, somethin’ like that.”
Grumpy turned to me. “Hey look, Big Guy, there is someone on a deck you already checked. It appears that I was right—again.”
The woman looked at me. “You’re a big guy, why haven’t you squashed this jerk yet?”
“I’ve been wondering the same thing. It just doesn’t seem to fit who I am—whoever that might be.”
“Well, if you ever change your mind,” she said, “let me know. I’ll lend you a hand.”
Grumpy snickered. “You don’t scare me, lady.”
She turned and closed the yard that separated them in one stride. I could tell she had no respect for personal space because her nose was an inch from his. “Really? And here I was thinkin’ you at least had some brains.” The words were cold enough to give me a chill.
Grumpy backpedaled. “Ease up, woman. I’m not your enemy.”
“Yeah? We’ll see about that.”
Grumpy looked at me and all I could do was shrug. I managed not to laugh and that was no easy task. Truth be told, I started to feel sorry for the guy.
Several unusually long seconds passed before the black lady stepped away. She seemed to soften as she moved a few steps down the corridor and stopped to study one of the walls. I moved in her direction and shone my light on the wall. We had some light from a window at the junction of hallway and stair landing, but I wouldn’t want to try and read a comic book in it.
My light revealed a series of drawings on the walls. They reminded me a little of those wall drawings in Egypt—hieroglyphs. Yeah, that was it: like hieroglyphs in a pyramid. “You do this?”
“Yep, but I don’t know why.” She extended a hand to touch one of the sketches. It was the image of a boy. The kid looked like he was maybe ten years old. I don’t know how much a man can glean from watching someone touch something, but I got the distinct impression that she was feeling a strong emotion. If I had to guess, I would say she gave it a loving touch.
At the base of the wall were several pencils and pens. A quick look at the number of drawings made me think that she had been at this for some time, but that didn’t make sense. I had been in this hallway not all that long ago and she wasn’t here. That meant she was fast, and to be that fast meant she had been drawing stuff most of her life.
Grumpy joined us but stood on my left with the woman on my right. I guess I make a pretty good obstacle.
I tried to take in all of what I was seeing on the wall: a boy, a woman, a house, what looked like the exterior of a school or an institution, a few people and animals without eyes—that creeped me out—and some sharped toothed monsters. There was a tall, scary looking man similar to what we had seen a short time before.
I also saw the figure of a very normal looking man. There was enough detail to make me think he was older than us. He looked confident, proud, and a little superior.
Nearby that sketch was another of a woman and superimposed over that was the image of a girl. They looked an awful lot alike, as if the woman was the little girl all grown up. There was a spooky mansion and even a pirate ship.
“It looks like you had a few things on your mind,” I said.
“Maybe. I don’t know.” All the bluster had gone from her voice. She touched the old man image then moved back to the boy.
“What’s that?” Grumpy pointed at what I first assumed was a basketball but under my flashlight beam I could see it was some kinda mechanical sphere. She had drawn it so that it looked like it was flying.
“I don’t know. I don’t know what any of this means.” Her voice trembled a little. “I just had to draw the images. They’re important.”
“Important how?” Grumpy spoke softly, a skill I didn’t know he had.
She put a hand to her mouth. “I don’t know. I keep askin’ myself that question but I come up empty every time. Why can’t I remember? Why? Why? Why?”
I put a hand on her shoulder, slightly afraid I’d pull back a stump. She allowed it. “We’ll figure it out.”
She drew a hand under one eye. “You really believe that?”
“Yes. I choose to believe that. Believin’ otherwise won’t help.”
“They look like tattoos.” Grumpy leaned closer to one of the drawings. “These are pretty good. You show some real talent—”
He snapped up straight.
I had to ask. “What?”
“You did all of these?” Grumpy sounded a lot less cocky.
“Yes.”
“Every one of them? There were no drawings here before you began defacing the walls?”
“Watch it, pretty boy.” Anger had replaced the woman’s softer moment.
“Not everything is a confrontation, lady. Answer the question. Were there drawings on this wall before you started drawing?”
“The wall was blank, I tell you.”
Time for me to speak up. “What are you getting at, Grumpy?”
He pointed at one of the images I hadn’t seen before, and I coulda swore his hand shook a bit. I looked to the spot on the wall where he was pointing. I saw it: a dragon. I moved my eyes from the wall to Grumpy’s arm where the same tattoo glared back at me. The woman saw it.
I don’t know what I expected. A gasp? A cry of surprise? A question? An accusation? Instead she swore. I don’t mean she let slip a bad word. No sir, she spit out curses like a machine gun spits out bullets.
Grumpy appeared stunned, but managed to move down the wall. I walked with him, shining my light on scores of sketches. At one, he stopped, stifled a scream, backpedaled to the other side of the hall, then dropped to the floor. He pointed a finger that looked like it had palsy. He could barely speak. I had a feeling I had seen terror before, and this was it.
I redirected my light to the drawn image of an old man; a man with the devil’s own smile, and hatred in his eyes. I don’t know how the woman did it, but I could have sworn the evil image moved.
“Run! RUN!”
A woman’s voice rolled down the corridor. I glanced to the far end and saw a young woman with wild red ha
ir speed around the corner of the T-intersection of corridors.
We stared at her as she sprinted toward us. “This isn’t a drill, people. Run!”
All this would be strange in anyone’s book, but what I saw next kicked strangeness up a notch. Not far behind the woman was one of those flying basketballs I had seen on the wall. It carried too much speed and slammed into the corridor wall. It slowed for a second or two, then picked up the chase again.
I grabbed Grumpy’s collar and lifted him to his feet. “Go. Get.”
He didn’t argue. The redhead shot past us and he was right on her heels. The wall artist was on the move, too.
I decided on a different approach. I might be able to outrun the thing, but sooner or later it would run us down. So I ran—straight at it. When I was in tackling distance I leapt forward, arms out wide and tried to take the thing down.
There was a flash and I landed face down on a hard floor.
The carpet was gone.
The hallway was gone.
The people were gone.
I was alone in a wide room. A glance around told me what I suspected to be true: the ship had shuffled again.
Chapter 7
PUTTING HEADS TOGETHER
I PUSHED TO my feet and took a quick look around for that globe thing, that—sphere. I didn’t see it. “Thank God.” I took another look around. No ghouls either. All I saw was the wide, raised wood floor I stood on, a bunch of rows of padded seats, and some musical instruments on stands. There was also a drum kit.
The light was dim—nothing new there—so seeing detail was tough. Still, enough light pushed through partially open curtains along one wall. The curtains looked heavy and thick. It all made sense: I was in a theater of some sort. Didn’t cruise ships have a place where bands played or entertainment personnel put on shows? I was pretty sure they did and this last shuffle had dropped me center stage.
The nausea I had felt the first time I was teleported or whatever you call it came back with a vengeance. I had been a little too frightened when I first hit the floor to notice anything but my heart pounding like an airplane piston. With no sight of the flying metal basketball thing, my belly decided it was safe to complain in the only way it knew how.
I sat on the stage for a moment, then lay on my back. A few minutes of slow, easy breathing calmed the storm in my stomach. I tried closing my eyes, but I was afraid I’d open them and see the hallway critter drooling on my face. That did nothing to soothe me.
Fortunately, I was very much alone and I’ll admit—for a few moments if felt very, very good.
Once I knew my stomach was settled enough not to embarrass me again, I sat up. “What to do now?” I had no answers for myself, but sitting around waiting for something to happen didn’t seem all that wise. I rose and walked to the windows, most of which were shrouded with heavy curtains. I figured that curtains were needed to darken the place for whatever kinda shows they put on in here.
I glanced back over the seating and guessed that the place could hold maybe five hundred folks or so. It kinda reminded me of a church, but with more comfortable chairs. Dim as the room was, I was able to make out two pair of double doors on the far wall.
I turned back to the window and stared out. A face was staring back in. I let out a whoop and jumped back. A hand that I assumed belonged to the face waved. The face smiled.
“Grumpy!”
He held up a finger then disappeared. Two other bodies passed by the window: a black woman and a redhead. It appears they had found each other after the shuffle.
“Big Guy!” Grumpy was all smiles as he entered the theater through a pair of double doors. “Did you miss me?” He came to a sudden stop and held out his arms to hold back the women. “You didn’t… I mean…” He studied the floor.
“No. Not this time.”
“What are you goin’ on about?” The artist pushed past him.
“Turns out, Big Guy here has a sensitive tummy. Last shift, he puked his guts up. You should’ve seen it. It was amazing. A guy his size—”
“We get the picture.” The red head glanced around the room like she was scanning it for clues. She looked at me. “You okay?”
“Yep. Thanks. You?”
“Peachy. Ended up in the men’s bathroom. Never been in a men’s bathroom. Don’t want to go back, either.”
I looked at the graffiti artist. She shrugged. “Kitchen.”
It was Grumpy’s turn. “Atrium, I guess you’d call it. Skylights. Wide room where people can gather and move around.”
Red had a question: “Exactly where did you end up?”
I thought I had answered that. “Like I said. I ended up here. Well, specifically, I ended up in about the middle of the stage.”
“Interesting.”
“What’s interesting, Red?”
She glared at him. “My name’s not Red.”
“Okay, what is it?”
She inhaled deeply and exhaled loudly. “You got me there.”
“We gotta have some kind of name.” Grumpy looked from person to person as if seeking agreement. “I mean, we can’t keep saying, ‘Hey, you.’”
Grumpy stepped next to me and faced the women. “Look, I call him Big Guy. Why? Because he’s a big guy. Get it?”
“Don’t patronize us,” Red said.
“Fine. He’s Big Guy. I’m Spartacus—”
“I’ve been calling him Grumpy.” I tried not to smile when I said it.
“I don’t deserve that name. I want a new one.”
“Okay,” the hall artist said. “We got Big Guy, Grumpy, Red, and me. Maybe you should call me Queen of Sheba.”
Grumpy laughed, his voice echoing in the theater. The laugh stopped abruptly when the woman slugged him in the arm. Grumpy screamed, “Ow,” then followed that with some very sour language. “What’s with you, woman? You some kind of female ninja? Man, that hurt.” He raised his hand and wiggled his fingers. “I can’t feel my hand.”
“Just for the record, gentlemen,” Red said. “If push comes to shove, I’m with her.”
“Me too,” I said.
Grumpy made the kinda face a man makes when he’s just guzzled sour milk. “Once again, it’s the good looking guy against everyone else.”
“Sketch,” the artist said. “I was sketching when I first heard you guys. I can live with Sketch, but the first one that calls me Sketchy gets a pencil up the nose.”
I believed her.
Red tugged at her hair. “You guys have a little more history together. That makes me the odd person out.”
“We haven’t spent much time together. We just met Sketch.” I glanced at Grumpy. “We met not more than an hour or so ago, I’m guessing. Time seems different in this place.”
Red chewed her lower lip for a minute. “I have a question for you, Big Guy.”
“Shoot.”
“Were you right behind us when we were running?”
“No. I ran the other way.”
Red raised an eyebrow. “It was in a hallway. Are you saying you ran toward the sphere?”
“I guess so.”
“You’re not guessing, Big Guy,” Red said. “That’s exactly what you did. Why would you do that?”
I shrugged. “At the time it seemed the right thing to do. Doesn’t matter. We shuffled before I could reach it—or it could reach me. Whatever.”
“Interesting.” Red looked at the floor as if someone had spilled a bag full of answers there. She looked at Sketch. “And they found you drawing?”
“On the wall.” Grumpy was still rubbing his shoulder. “Really, who draws on a wall?”
Sketch took a step toward him and Grumpy took three steps back.
“I need to see those drawings.” Red started for the door, then stopped. “Well, you guys coming or not?”
“Hang on,” I said. I jogged to one of the walls next to the door and found a metal case set in the wall. The case held a fire extinguisher and a fire ax. I helped myself to the ax. I l
ifted it for others to see. “Just in case one of those flying balls comes looking for us again. I want to give it something to remember us by.”
Chapter 8
A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS
I LED THE WAY, the others behind me. I had convinced Grumpy to take up the rear. He was antsy enough to be an alert rear guard, always glancing over his shoulder. That’s what we needed at the moment. I searched the corridor looking down connecting corridors to be certain seven-foot tall ghouls weren’t having a card came with flying spheres. All was clear. For the moment.
We made our way out of the theater and down stairways until we were on the deck where Sketch had been defacing the wall. Defacing might be the wrong word. There might be something to those wall tattoos.
Red wasted no time studying Sketch’s graffiti. We found and made use of more flashlights. The corridor wasn’t pitch black, but it was pretty dim.
While Red gazed at the drawings, I gazed at Red. There was something about her and I couldn’t deny feeling some emotion for the red-headed woman. I didn’t know why. If she felt any kind or warmth for me, she kept it under wraps.
“How long did it take you to do this?” Red kept her eyes on the wall. It looked to me like she was sucking in each image like a Hoover sucks up dirt.
Sketch shrugged. “I don’t know. I seem to have lost my sense of time. Maybe an hour. Maybe two. For all I know, I was up all night making this mess.”
“That couldn’t be,” I said. “I’ve been up and down the corridor a couple of times and I didn’t see you.”
“Maybe.” Grumpy didn’t seem convinced. “Remember, this ship shuffles. Maybe it does more than move us, it moves the decks and rooms too. This deck might have been higher or lower than it is now.”
I wanted that to be a stupid idea, but I couldn’t come up with any argument that would prove him wrong.
“Can’t be much lower,” I said. “The deeper we go into the ship, the less light there is. She had to have some kinda light to see what she was doing.”
“Maybe,” Grumpy repeated.
