by Alton Gansky
Red looked my direction. “Do any of these images mean anything to you?”
“Sorry, no.”
She posed the same question to Grumpy. “Nah.”
I cleared my throat.
Grumpy gave one of those theatrical sighs that people use to show annoyance. “Okay, a couple of them make me feel something. You know, a little emotional twinge.”
“Why do I feel you’re holding back something?”
He shrugged for effect. “Beats me. Maybe it’s your time of the—”
Sketch pivoted and raised a finger as if it were a knife. “So help me, if you finish that line I will drag your skinny butt up the stairs and throw you overboard, and I’ll be smiling the whole time.”
She was loud. Her words were hot. And she scared me a good bit. It was a little hard to tell in the dim light, but Grumpy seemed to shrink by a few inches and his face turned pale.
Grumpy, to his credit, used his brain and took a step back, hands held at half-mast. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. This whole thing has me off my game.”
Red cocked her head. “You can remember your game?”
Girl doesn’t miss a trick.
“No, I just meant… I’m gonna shut up now.”
“Before you do,” Red pressed, “tell me what you meant by a twinge.”
“Most of these seem somewhat familiar. Some more so than others. And there’s one—” He pointed down the hall to the spot where he had crumpled to the deck. “There’s one down there that frightens me.”
“Show me,” Red said.
“I’d rather not.”
“Show her,” Sketch said.
He moved the few steps that would take him to the image that undid him. I noticed he walked near the opposite wall, as if a coupla feet of distance would protect him. He pointed.
The image of the old man with the horrible grin and evil eyes stared back at us. The hair on my arm stood up.
“This?” Red pointed.
“Yeah …that’s it.”
Red put her face close to the drawing and shone her light on it. “Ugly cuss.”
“You should have known him when he was alive.” Grumpy’s tone was softer than usual.
“You know who this is?” Red straightened and turned her gaze on Grumpy.
“He’s my old man.”
“And you’re afraid of him?”
“If you knew him, you’d be afraid too. He was a monster.”
“Interesting,” Red said.
“I don’t think so.” Grumpy kept his back to the opposite wall.
“You don’t get it.” Red stepped to the center of the corridor. “Does anyone else remember their father? Or mother? Or pet dog?”
I said, “No.” So did Sketch. Red admitted she couldn’t remember any family members. She felt sure she had them, but she couldn’t summon a name or conjure up a face.
“Why is it, Grumpy,” Red said, “that you can remember your father?”
“You don’t forget an animal like that,” he said.
“Could it be because his dad is dead?” I wasn’t sure that had any bearing but it was all I could muster.
Red thought for a few moments. “I want to say no, but I don’t have a clue. I’m just trying to find a pattern. You know, make connections.”
A couple moments of silence filled the space between us.
“I have an idea.” Red moved back to the bulk of the sketches. “Gather round. I want to try something. Hold your questions until I’m done. Agreed?”
We agreed.
“Okay, I’m going to point at images at random. You tell me what you feel. Does the image make you feel good or bad; positive or negative. Clear?”
I had no idea where she was going with this, but she seemed like a pretty smart lady so I and the others went along with it.
“First, an easy one.” She pointed at the drawing of the sphere thing.
“Bad.” We said it in unison.
Next she pointed at a sketch of an eyeless man. Again, “Bad.”
She thrust a finger at odd drawing of a little girl superimposed over an adult woman. I hadn’t noticed first time I saw it, but the little girl was barefoot.
“Good.” Again, we were in agreement. I had more than a good feeling. I felt sadness, longing, maybe even a family kinda love.
The test continued. Red pointed at what looked like large, flying things that were human-like but had a stinging tail, at a man in some kinda cloak (that one kinda freaked me out), and critters that looked to be swimming in the air and had a head full of sharp teeth. That one made my stomach turn.
There were two special images. The first was the one of the old distinguished-looking guy. Red paused on that one, then touched it. “I feel like this guy is important. Very important.” We all agreed with that. Then…
“Anybody feel like we should know the kid?”
I said yes. Sketch could only nod. She looked heartbroken. To my surprise, Grumpy seemed moved, too. Truth be told, I felt very strong emotions, positive emotions, when I looked at the image. There was love there.
“We have to find the kid,” Red said. “I can’t be sure, but I have a feeling he may be the key to everything. Him and this gentleman.” She pointed at the old guy again.
I had a question for Sketch. “What made you draw all this?”
“I don’t know. I kept seeing images and it seemed the right thing to do, like it’s natural to me.”
“That fits,” Red said.
“Fits what?” I asked.
“I’m not sure yet. I’m starting to sense a pattern, but I need more time to percolate. My brain is still in first gear.”
“Wow,” I said, “if that’s first gear, I can’t wait to see fifth.”
Grumpy cleared his throat to get our attention. “I have a suggestion. We should have a place to meet. I don’t know how or why the decks shuffle, but we have to assume it’s going to happen again. If we get scattered again, then we could all meet in the bridge. It’s an easy place to find.” He turned to Red. “If you want, I could hold your hand.”
“I don’t want.” Red picked up the discarded pencils and pens. “Let’s go where we have more light. I have another idea.”
Chapter 9
RED HAS IDEAS
RED IMPRESSED ME big time. She was smart and wasn’t afraid to show it. I was going to have to defer to her in the brains department. Still, I couldn’t figure out why she picked up the pencils and pens and carted them out of the corridor.
We went topside where the light was bright. Still gray, mind you, but brighter than what we had available in the corridors, even the ones with windows at their ends. I was glad for it. I needed a breath of fresh air, but the air never seemed fresh on this tub. For the first time I noticed that it smelled like day-old bread.
Red didn’t lead us far once we got on the main deck. “I’m going to run off at the mouth for a minute. Just let me do it without interruption. We can discuss later. Okay?”
I saw no reason to disagree. “I’m good with that.” Grumpy and Sketch just nodded.
“Good. That’s good.” Her eyes danced around as if reading something only she could see. “Here’s what we’ve got so far. The best we can tell, we may be the only ones on this ship.”
“We haven’t searched the whole ship yet—”
Her head snapped up and she shot me a harsh glance. “I thought we agreed I wouldn’t be interrupted.”
“Yes,” I said. “Right. Correct. Sorry. I didn’t mean— This is me shutting up right now.”
The corners of her mouth ticked up a notch. What a relief.
Again, she tilted her head down a few degrees and I could tell she was wandering the corridors of her mind.
“Big Guy is right, there might be more people to find. My gut tells me that at least one other person is onboard. The boy.”
Sketch started to say something, but reigned it in. I had already come to the conclusion that very few things frightened her, so I had to conclude s
he was being polite.
“I can’t be sure, but our response to the image makes me think we know the kid. I also think we know each other. Maybe we’re friends, coworkers. I don’t know, but we’re all connected by something.
“We saw some strange images down there,” Red continued, “but there’s something stranger still—the fact that we didn’t find the images strange. Okay, that’s a lousy sentence, but you get my point. We should have been repulsed or, at very least, questioned Sketch’s sanity, but we didn’t. We accepted it all as if it was nothing new. Why is that?”
Red began to move her head back and forth like a metronome. The movement was subtle, but noticeable. She was weighing heavy thoughts.
“We each have amnesia. A specific kind of amnesia. There are a dozen or more types of amnesia. Most are caused by physical trauma or a disease like Alzheimer’s. Our heads look to be in pretty good shape and it’s doubtful we would all manifest the same form of amnesia at the same time or the same place. So, what does that leave?”
Grumpy took the question to mean the silence law had been lifted. “Drugs. Like what they use for some surgeries.”
“Exactly. If we all had suffered some kind of injury, then we would be having problems remembering anything at all. As it is, we can’t remember ourselves or our past, but we can still think, reason, communicate, and—this is a big and—we still have impressions. All of us responded to Sketch’s drawings in the same way. We agreed on those images that represent something bad and those that represent something good.”
“I think I’m falling in love with you,” Grumpy said.
“If I’m lucky, I’ll forget that comment too.” Red got back on track. “Someone did this to us. I don’t know why. Maybe we all know something that someone wants us to forget. That idea has problems. It would’ve been easier to kill us than to get us on a ship like this. Missing. Too much missing stuff.”
“Yeah,” I said, “but you’re making sense. Some knowledge is better than no knowledge at all.”
“Why am I the only one who can remember his father?” Grumpy’s tone sounded a little more civil than I had come to expect.
Red stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to decide if she should tell him what was on her mind. “Trauma. You’re afraid of your father. That kind of lasting fear has to be rooted in something.” She paused then spat it out. “He abused you when you were a child. Does that seem right?”
“I-I guess.”
“I’m sorry to be so blunt, but I have a sense that things are going to get worse before they get better. If they get better at all.”
“No sweat,” Grumpy said. I didn’t believe him.
Red stepped to Sketch. “I need you—no we need you to do something.” She handed her a pencil.
“Where? I don’t have any paper.”
“You don’t need it. You’ve proven that.” Red pointed at a wall behind Sketch. It was metal, but had a thick coat of grayish-white paint. “Think of the boy. Keep him in mind when you draw.”
“Oh, come on.” Grumpy’s quiet moment had passed. “What do you think she is, some kind of psychic?”
“Yes, I do. Psychic might not be the right word, but she has some kind of gift. I’m guessing we all do. And don’t ask. I don’t know what they are. I’m working on impressions and patterns.”
“Pattern-girl,” Sketch said.
That sounded familiar.
Red cupped Sketch’s face in her hands like they were old friends. “You can do this. The boy’s life might be in danger. Go on. Give it a go.”
She did.
Chapter 10
IN THE BELLY OF THE BEAST
FIRST, A BOY appeared, then came details of a room. Sketch was amazing to watch. Once the pencil started moving along the paint, she seemed to be a different person, fully absorbed by what was happening in front of her. It took only ten minutes for her to complete the task, and only one minute for the rest of us to say, “Engine room.”
“I’ll lead.” I still had the fire ax and a flashlight. We had already seen a flying orb-sphere-basketball-thingy, a seven-foot-tall ghoul with big feet and a bad attitude, and Grumpy had seen his dead father. I had to assume that other creepy things waited for us. No one questioned my decision to take point. I guess it seemed as natural to them as it did to me.
We entered the innards of the ship and started down the stairs. Sketch’s drawing showed enough detail for us to know that the kid was in the engine room, and the engines in the engine room drove propellers, and propellers were at the bottom of boats so...what little logic I possessed said to go into the belly of the beast.
We had descended as far as we could and, as luck would have it—or providence maybe—there was a handy-dandy sign with an arrow pointing the way: ENGINE ROOM.
We found the door to the room. It was big, made of steel, and reminded me of a bank vault door. It also had a large padlock and hasp.
“That’s not good.” Grumpy took a close look at the lock system. “The padlock and hasp are new. I doubt it’s been open more than once or twice. No scratches, no aging. Yep, brand new. And worse, the hasps cover the screws that hold the backplate in place. It was designed that way, of course—”
“Everyone step back,” I said. “Grumpy, keep your light on the lock.”
“Sure, Big Guy, but you can’t cut through hardened steel with a fire ax—Whoa!”
I raised the ax and brought it down like someone’s life depended on it. For all I knew, it did. The sound of ax head impacting hasp assaulted my ears.
“Good try,” Grumpy said. “But the lock is still—”
I let the ax fly again, this time putting all my weight into it. On the floor lay the lock, still attached to the hasp. I didn’t break the lock or hasp, but I did break the screws that held it in place. Not my original goal, but I would take it.
Sketch started for the door, but I held out an arm and stopped her.
“He’ll be scared,” she said. “That was enough noise to wake up an entire town. So move it or lose it, Big Guy.”
“Not yet. Let me go first.” Part of my reasoning was to keep her safe; the bigger part was to shield her from the sight of a dead boy.
“Well, snap it up, or I’ll find a new use for that ax.”
I didn’t doubt her for a minute.
I retrieved the flashlight I had set on the floor before I began destroying private property, took one deep breath, and opened the door. The engine room was black as a tomb. Not very welcoming. I plunged into the dark, casting my light around as I did. Inside sat engines, silent and still, safety rails, pipes and things that a non-mechanical guy like me can’t name.
“Hey, little buddy. It’s me. I think we might know each other.”
Nothing.
“I’ve come to help. Sorry about all the noise.”
“Tank?” The voice was tiny but strong.
“Is that you, buddy? We’ve been looking for you.”
A kid I made out to be nine or ten appeared from a narrow space between two metal cabinets. I had the light in his face and he raised a hand to protect his eyes.
“Oh, sorry.” I shone the light at my face. “Recognize me?” I expected him to say no.
“Of course.”
He ran to me and threw his arms around my thick middle. Man, that felt good. It also felt familiar. I couldn’t tell you how, but I knew this kid. I knew him well and loved him.
“Let’s get outta here, kid. There’s more people for you to meet.”
When the boy saw Sketch, he broke into tears and ran to her. She dropped to a knee and pulled him into her embrace. The kid cried. Sketch cried. I might have cried a little, too.
“Mom. I was so worried.”
I looked at Grumpy. “Mom?”
He shrugged. “It’s the twenty-first century, man. After all we’ve seen and experienced so far, I’d say this is the least shocking.”
“Let’s get out of here,” I said. “It’s hard to fight in such an enclosed pl
ace.”
Ten minutes later we were outside on the upper deck again. Everything looked pretty much as it did before except for the fog. It was closer and denser.
After the kid hugged everyone two or three times, he settled down enough to field a few questions. I took the lead with that, too.
“Okay, little buddy, strange question. What’s your name?”
“You still can’t remember?” He seemed bothered, but not hurt.
I shrugged. “Sorry, but no.”
“I had memory problems too, but it didn’t stick. I’m Daniel. You’re Bjorn Christensen but everyone calls you Tank. You used to play football.”
Grumpy snickered. “Bjorn.” He snickered some more.
The sound drew Daniel’s attention. “Your name is Chad Thorton. You’re real smart. Mom calls you obnoxious because you are.”
“You know how to make a guy feel good, don’t ya, kid?”
Daniel ignored him and addressed Red. “You’re cool and really smart, too.”
“What’s my name, sweetie?”
The kid didn’t hesitate. “Andi Goldstein. We like to stay at your house in Florida.”
“What about me, kiddo?” Sketch asked.
The question seemed to make him sad. “I call you Mom now, but your name is Brenda Barnick.” He turned back to the rest of us. “She’s a tattoo artist. And a really good one, too.” Sadness covered his face. “She won’t let me get a tattoo.”
“You’re just a kid.” Even as I said that I knew I was wrong. He might be a kid, but he seemed a whole lot more.
Well, there it was. I was Tank, Grumpy was Chad, Sketch was Brenda, and Red was Andi. It was good to have real names.
The situation allowed me a moment to feel good; to feel like we were making progress.
Then Daniel screamed.
Chapter 11
OUTSIDE AND EXPOSED
I SAW HIS EYES widen and his face go pale. It was the scream, however, that hurt me the most. I couldn’t tell you how or when, but I had heard him scream like that before. Something about his back. Something was stinging him. The sound of it dredged up a whole lot of impressions. Not real memories, but the feeling that something bad had happened to the boy—to all of us.
