by Jake Bible
“I don’t have any details,” Kinsey said. “I just know that all the good islands are wiped out. All we’re left with are the nightmare islands. And those all scare the bejesus out of Ballantine.”
“More awesome,” Shane said. “Hear that, bro? You totally picked the wrong time to get wounded. Now you can’t see the nightmare island that scares even Ballantine.”
“I’m good with that,” Max said.
“Pussy,” Shane said.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Gunnar snapped as he tugged hard on the sutures.
“Ow!” Max cried.
“Yeah, come on,” Kinsey said to Shane. “Where’s Ronald?”
“With the science nerds down in the Toyshop’s lab,” Shane said. “I locked them in there when Darby went on her rampage. I should probably tell them the coast is clear.”
“You haven’t told them yet?” Kinsey asked. “You’re evil.”
“We have to find our fun somewhere,” Shane said, grinning. “Plus, they’re nerds in a science lab. I doubt they even know how long it’s been.”
***
“We have been waiting forever!” Carlos growled as the door to the Toyshop—a tech laboratory and workshop hidden deep inside the B3—opened and Shane came sauntering in. “What took you so long?”
“I had to poo,” Shane said. “Sorry.”
“He was being a jerk,” Kinsey said, following after Shane. “He’ll apologize later. Right now, we need Ronald so he can help rig the sails.”
“Yes, of course,” Carlos said. “Lake called down. I should have asked him if the coast was clear with Darby, but he wouldn’t let me talk and only wanted to know if I had the new sails ready. You know, I am getting pretty damn tired of the way everyone treats me around here.”
“Blah blah blah,” Shane said. “Sails? Ronald?”
“I am here,” Ronald said, coming out from the back of the shop, his arms laden with thick, folded material. “Carlos has instructed me on the proper installation of these sails. I will be able to direct everyone in their labor as we set them up.”
Ronald was not human. He was a gigantopithecus. The common name being a Bigfoot.
“Uh, need some help there?” Kinsey asked, nodding at the load Ronald carried.
He smiled at Kinsey, and she had to fight the urge to cringe at the sight of his huge canines.
“Oh, no, no,” Ronald replied. “For you or even Shane, this would be heavy. For me, it is nothing. If you could get the hatches for me, though, as we ascend to the main deck, that would be immensely helpful.”
“I can do that,” Kinsey said.
Far above, ringing down through the decks like a warning bellow, a clap of thunder roared.
“Shit,” Kinsey said. “The storm is moving faster than we thought. We need to hurry.”
“Those sails can handle hurricane force winds without a problem,” Carlos said as they left. He waited for a response, but none came. “You’re welcome.”
He sulked his way back into the stacks of shelves that filled the Toyshop.
Chapter Three: Tempest In A Bottle
She’d soiled herself. Despite the toilet being only a few inches away, she’d soiled herself. The smell of her bodily waste and the thick fear sweat that coated her skin was what woke her from the nightmare.
Not that being awake was any less terrifying.
She’d managed to keep her eyes open while the night wore on, the sounds of insects coating the yacht almost too much to bear. By the time the sun came up, her lids were so heavy that even forcing them to stay open with her fingers was pointless. She had to sleep.
It was from that fitful sleep she awoke and the reality of what happened raced into her brain, causing her to choke and gasp with sorrow while her body shivered in the shower stall.
The yacht was rocking steadily, the waves outside rolling it from side to side in an ever-increasing rhythm. It took Nivia a few moments to realize what that meant, and when she did, she bolted from the shower and hurried out of the master cabin. She froze when she saw the damage done to the main cabin.
The hatch was wide open, the beetles having forced their way in. They had then proceeded to gnaw away every bit of leather in the cabin. Most of the wood was chewed up, but still somewhat intact. The leather upholstery was just gone. Stuffing covered the cabin floor.
Nivia kept moving.
Once on deck, she immediately knew what was going on. The line of dark clouds that filled the horizon told her that a whopper of a storm was on its way. She turned in a circle, surveying the cove, and was relieved to see it offered quite a bit of protection. It was still going to be bad, but she was fairly sure the yacht could ride it out. The first step was getting the yacht deeper into the cove and away from the cliff it was anchored next to.
She moved to the open cockpit then froze as she saw the bones.
A skeleton, stripped completely clean, lay across a gnawed bench. The bones were almost bleached white, not a scrap of flesh on them. The beetles had been thorough with Kyle.
Nivia hurried to the side of the yacht and barely made it in time before vomiting. She emptied her stomach then dry heaved for a couple minutes until her legs went weak and she collapsed to the deck. The smell of her own sick and filth filled her nostrils and she dry heaved some more as she sat there sobbing.
By the time she had herself under control, her body was almost useless. It took all of her willpower to get to her feet and strip off her disgusting clothes. She threw them into the water then dove overboard after them.
Nivia let her clothes soak while she rinsed her body. The warm salt water cleansed her, removing the fear sweat, washing away the filth. She ran her hands over herself again and again, making sure every single inch of her was clean. She didn’t have soap, but that didn’t matter. She felt renewed.
Wanting so much just to float on her back and rest, Nivia fought that urge, then swam after her floating clothes, rinsed them as best she could, threw them up above onto the deck, having to chase down her shorts a couple of times before getting them over the railing, then climbed aboard and got to work.
The engine started without a problem. Nivia let it idle as she brought up the anchors and secured them. She surveyed the cove once again then hurried to the wheel and throttle. The clouds off in the distance were filling the sky fast, and she knew she didn’t have time to play around. She needed to get the yacht in the best position possible then get below and ride out what promised to be one hell of a tempest.
The cove was deep, with a sharp drop off before the shallows. She needed to center the yacht so it wouldn’t be buffeted into the cliffs on each side nor end up run aground if heavy waves came in. Right then, the water was simply choppy and chaotic, but that could turn to deadly swells quickly depending on how close the storm got to the island.
She cut the engine and hurried back to the aft anchors. There was one on each side, and with the waves getting choppier, it was hard timing the dropping of each. She let one go then rushed to the opposite to let the other one go. She waited until they hit bottom then tightened the chains.
Nivia performed the same tasks on the fore anchors then returned to the open cockpit. She had suddenly realized she hadn’t performed a basic task that she should have done the second she came up on deck. She grabbed up the radio handset and switched the transmitter to an open channel.
Nothing but static. She rolled the dial through the channels, but there was only white noise, except for the occasional pop and hiss.
She didn’t panic. She knew her brother had a satellite phone stashed somewhere. The problem was she had no idea where. He’d hidden it because Frank and Bart kept wanting to call their friends to gloat. She and Van may have come from money, but a satellite uplink from the middle of the South Pacific was still not cheap. And it went directly on her parents’ account, so the sat phone had been carefully stowed. Too carefully.
Nivia set about strapping down all loose items on deck then made sure the
sails were secured and all portholes were closed tight. She gave the horizon one last look, not liking what she saw at all, then hurried below and battened the main hatch, thankful the beetles hadn’t done too much damage. She locked all cupboards and latched the cabin doors then went into the main cabin and laid down.
She realized she’d forgotten her clothes up on deck, but she didn’t care enough to go get them. She wrapped her naked body in the bed’s comforter and closed her eyes. She was almost instantly asleep and didn’t wake up until a thunderclap over the yacht nearly burst her eardrums.
***
Everyone except for Gunnar, Shane, Max, and Darby sat on the floor of the Toyshop, their backs against walls, shelves, crates, whatever they could find to get comfortable against. The storm outside the B3 raged with a fury that none of them had ever experienced. There wasn’t a calm face in the bunch.
Except for Carlos. Although his face wasn’t calm so much as thoroughly pleased. He was staring down at a tablet and smiling at the image.
“I told you the sails would hold,” Carlos said. “They are adjusting their density as needed to match the force of the wind. If at any time the wind gets too strong and threatens the ship, the sails will automatically detach and that will be that.”
“Pretty damn proud of yourself, aren’t you?” Popeye snapped. “Got yourself a fun little toy to play with while those of us that know what’s really happening are just praying we don’t end up on the ocean floor.”
“I wouldn’t call any of this fun,” Carlos whined, looking about the cramped aisles of the Toyshop. “I could be getting work done if you people weren’t here bothering me. But since I can’t do that, I can at least confirm that the sails are working properly. This is not a sailboat, so my having even figured out how to attach sails that are actually functional is quite an achievement.”
“Yes, we’ll be sure to get you a cookie for being a good boy,” Popeye said.
Carlos glared for a moment then went back to staring at the tablet.
The ship rocked hard to one side and more than a couple of the crew had to grab onto whatever was closest to keep from sliding. After a few minutes, the ship righted itself. Then rocked hard to the other side.
Stomachs lurched into throats, faces turned green, all struggled to keep their composure.
“Peak then trough, peak then trough,” Mike said. “Not good.”
“Lake has it under control,” Darren said, looking a little less green that the other, but not by much. “Right, Carlos? Lake can control the ship even with those weird sails?”
“If he’s any good at his job,” Carlos replied. “I can’t really speak for his skills.”
“He’s got it,” Darren assured everyone.
“I have all the confidence in the world in Captain Lake,” Ballantine said. “I also have a lot of confidence in Mother Nature. We’ll see which one wins the majority of my confidence.”
“It ain’t a contest, Ballantine,” Chief Engineer Morgan “Cougher” Colfer snapped. “Don’t you put any jinxes on us!”
“Ingrid? Moshi?” Thorne asked. “I know we are out of fuel, but if we survive this, will we have enough power in the generators to perform basic functions until we can sail to Ballantine’s hell island and refuel?”
“I never said the island had fuel,” Ballantine responded.
“What?” Thorne growled.
“Yes,” Ingrid said, cutting off the inevitable fight. “I have worked out a power source that can keep the generators going. It can’t run the engines without frying them, but the ship will have enough power to perform all normal functions. Except moving.”
“That’s what I needed to know,” Thorne said. He turned to face Ballantine fully, who looked like he wasn’t being tossed around by a massive South Pacific maelstrom at all. “You. What’s this about no fuel?”
“Oh, I didn’t say there wasn’t fuel, either,” Ballantine replied. “I’m only saying that I can’t tell you with any certainty that there is fuel. The island we are heading towards, with any luck from Poseidon, or Neptune, depending on whether you prefer Greek or Roman gods—”
“Ballantine,” Thorne snarled.
“The island we are heading towards,” Ballantine continued, “should have fuel. It did at one time. What condition that fuel is in, is anyone’s guess. If there is fuel.”
“We’re risking our lives for a wild goose chase,” Mike stated.
“We’re risking our lives because we’re out on a ship in the middle of the South Pacific and a giant storm is kicking our ass,” Lucy said. “Doesn’t matter what kind of goose we’re chasing.”
“You think the boys are alright?” Kinsey asked, leaning in close to Darren. “The infirmary isn’t as secure as down here.”
“I’m sure they’re fine,” Darren said. “They’re probably having the time of their lives. You know how your cousins are.”
“This sucks!” Shane cried. “Totally sucks!”
“I know!” Max replied. “The best roller coaster ride of the year and we’re out of weed!”
“Can we get some of Darby’s sedatives?” Shane asked Gunnar who was busy white-knuckling the chair he was strapped into against the infirmary wall. “Just a taste to make this a little more fun?”
“Dude, we smoke pot, not take pills,” Max said.
“It’s an injection,” Gunnar said through gritted teeth.
“Nope,” Max said, shaking his head. “No needles. Not cool.”
“Sorry, didn’t know it only came in needle form,” Shane said. “No bueno.”
“You’ve been watching me give her the sedative for hours now,” Gunnar said. “What did you think I was doing?”
“I wasn’t paying attention,” Shane said. “Totally spacing out. Med stuff is boring.”
“I know, right?” Max said.
Instead of being strapped into a safety harness and chair against the wall like Gunnar and Shane, Max was completely secured to an exam table right next to an identical one where Darby lay unconscious and oblivious to the storm raging around the B3. Max flexed his arms and frowned.
“Uh, how do I get out of this? I’m not like trapped, am I?” Max asked.
“You’re totally gonna drown, bro,” Shane said. “I’ll watch in horror, with a tear in my eye, of course.”
“Of course,” Max said.
“Then I will mourn you by smoking all of Jamaica’s weed,” Shane said. “It will be a fitting tribute, dude.”
“We will never see Jamaica,” Gunnar said. “We’re on the run, dumbass. Even if Max dies, and you live somehow, we are nowhere near Jamaica, and we will be going nowhere near Jamaica anytime soon until Ballantine clears up this mess and gets our lives back.”
“Captain Bummer over there,” Max said.
“You really bring things down, Gun,” Shane said. “Why can’t you be jazz hands and show tunes gay instead of practical and buzzkill gay?”
“Did you really just say that?” Gunnar asked.
“I said it with love,” Shane said.
“You are kind of a boring gay guy,” Max said. “All science this and medicine that. Where’s the flair? Where’s the fabulousness?”
“I’m more fabulous than you, Gun,” Shane said and tapped his eye patch. “See?”
“See. Good one,” Max said.
“What? Oh, right, yeah!” Shane laughed. “I tapped my eyepatch and said see!”
“I got the pun,” Gunnar said. “Is there a reason you two are picking on me right now?”
“Boredom?” Max asked Shane.
“Boredom,” Shane agreed.
“We’re in the middle of a seriously deadly storm and you two are bored,” Gunnar sighed. “Of course. Unless you have something to shoot, the Reynolds boys are bored.”
“And kill,” Max said.
“What?” Gunnar asked.
“Shoot and kill,” Max said.
“Yeah, you gotta have the kill part in there,” Shane said. “We’re sorta in it for t
he killing too.”
“Bad guys,” Max said.
“Oh, totally bad guys,” Shane responded.
“And giant sharks,” Max added.
“That goes without saying,” Shane said. “In fact, you can include all giant creatures, natural and unnatural, as well as anything else that tries to kill us first.”
“Croanderthals,” Max said. “Genetically mutated dinosaurs.”
“Those were giant,” Shane said.
“Not the small ones,” Max replied. “Remember the little ones? The biters? Those sucked.”
“Oh, yeah, those guys,” Shane said. “They did suck.”
“I’m trapped in Hell,” Gunnar muttered. “I am on the level with the babbling idiots.”
“Is that a level?” Shane asked. “I don’t remember that from Dante.”
“It’s on the level with the demons that fart,” Max said.
“Demons didn’t fart in that book,” Shane said.
“Like hell they didn’t!” Max exclaimed. “There was a whole level where demons were trumpeting out of their asses.”
“Gun? Is that true?” Shane said. “You’re all educated and shit. Was there a level of Hell where demons trumpeted farts out their asses?”
“Where else would demons trumpet farts?” Max asked.
“Quiet, you,” Shane shushed. “Gun? Was there or not?”
Gunnar rolled his eyes.
“Dude, this is important,” Shane said. “I don’t want to die down here without knowing if there was a level of Hell in Dante’s Inferno where demons trumpeted farts out their asses. Don’t leave me hanging.”
“Yes,” Gunnar snapped. “There was a level of Hell where demons trumpeted farts out of their asses.”
“Told ya,” Max said.
“Oh, I’ll concede just because that’s so awesome,” Shane said. “How did I not catch that in high school?”
“I don’t know, bro,” Max said. “It was a highlight of English class for me that year.”
“Who’d you have for English?” Shane asked.
