by Jake Bible
“Dornan,” Max replied.
“I had Bisher,” Shane said.
“No wonder,” Max said. “Bisher censored everything. She probably skipped that part.”
“Probably,” Shane said.
The ship took a sudden plunge. Shane held up his arms and screamed, “Wheeeeee!”
“No fair!” Max yelled, struggling against his restraints. “I can’t hold my arms up! Set me free, bro! Set me free!”
The plunge ended with a bone-jarring crunch and the world went completely silent for a split second.
“Whoa,” Max said as the ship shuddered then began to climb. “We just went all the way underwater, didn’t we?”
“Yeah,” Shane said. “We did.”
“Big waves,” Max said.
“Big waves,” Shane agreed.
“You think Lake is keeping it together?” Max asked. “Poor guy is all alone on the bridge.”
“I could call him on the com,” Shane suggested.
“Yeah, do that,” Max replied.
“No!” Gunnar barked. “Do not do that! Don’t distract the captain while he’s trying to pilot the ship and keep us from dying!”
“Jazz hands and show tunes, man,” Shane said to Gunnar. “So much better.”
“So much better,” Max echoed.
***
The harness around Lake’s torso pulled tight as he was pushed backwards while the B3 climbed the next wave. Lake couldn’t even see the top of the wave from inside the bridge. The ceiling cut off his view until the ship was almost straight up and down.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!” Lake screamed as he kept his hands firmly on the wheel, making sure the bow was pointed dead ahead and the ship didn’t get off course and end up rolling down the face of the wave. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!”
He’d ejected the sails minutes earlier. They had been useless and only threatened to capsize the B3. He’d humored Carlos for as long as he could. The second he’d tossed them, he’d gotten a com call from the Toyshop, but he couldn’t understand the words being yelled at him. The call ended almost as soon as it had begun. Lake was pretty sure someone may have punched Carlos.
He hoped someone did. Just like most of the B3 crew, Lake couldn’t stand Carlos. The guy was just abrasive and a total ass.
But, Lake did have to admit the sails had been genius when they were up and attached. Maybe Carlos had another set. He doubted it since the elves in the Toyshop usually only had prototypes ready. Team Grendel, and everyone on the B3, were pretty good about destroying the prototypes well before Carlos had other working models ready.
One thing that wasn’t a prototype was the mustache attached to a clip on Lake’s belt. It wasn’t an actual mustache, not something made of hair, but a compact rebreather that fit just under one’s nose so that tendrils could slide up through the sinuses and down into the trachea, allowing the wearer to breathe underwater as well as communicate via com due to the tendrils that also sat close to the voice box.
Lake had no idea what the science behind it was. He didn’t really give a shit. All he cared about was that it worked when he needed it to work. At some point, the bridge was going to fill with water. There was no two ways around that. The Toyshop was sealed, the infirmary was sealed, although not as well as the Toyshop, which rankled Lake since shouldn’t the wounded be more important than Carlos’s precious inventions?
Didn’t matter. Folks below were safe for a long time if the ship sank. Lake, on the other hand, was not. The B3 was well built, but the windows on the bridge were not indestructible. They’d pop free with the right amount of pressure.
The B3 reached the peak of the wave and Lake looked out over the ocean, seeing nothing but massive wave after massive wave, all covered over by the thickest, darkest storm clouds he’d ever seen on the high seas. Lightning flashed everywhere, making the scene even more terrifying.
Then the view was gone as the B3 crested the wave and dove down to the bottom of the watery trough.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!” Lake screamed as he reached for the mustache and attached it under his nose.
His scream was cut off as the tendrils worked their way up his nose then down his throat. He gagged for a couple moments, afraid he’d throw up right there on the bridge, then the mustache regulated and settled into place. It was an uncomfortable tickle in his throat and nose, but better than drowning when the ship hit the water.
Which it was seconds from doing.
Lake locked the wheel then tugged at the ropes that held him and his harness in place. He made sure the clips were securely fastened, the lines were tight, and that he was braced for impact.
He threw his arms across his face when the ship hit the bottom of the trough and the windows popped free. Lake had no idea if it was the windows or the water that slammed into him. Either way, it felt like he was hit by ten trucks followed by a hug from an angry, wet giant. His body was thrown backwards, but the harness kept him upright as the ship continued to dive, playing at being a submarine when it was never meant for that purpose.
Lake said a quick prayer to every ocean god he knew the name of, asking that the B3 would right itself and come up for the next wave. He wasn’t a religious man, but he was a sailor, so he knew sometimes imaginary gods weren’t so imaginary.
***
Equipment crashed down from the Toyshop’s shelving.
“Why the hell wasn’t that stowed?” Popeye barked. “I ordered all loose equipment to be stowed!”
“I didn’t know it was loose!” Carlos snarled. “If I did, it would have been stowed!”
“You know how you know? By doing your goddamn job and checking every goddamn piece of equipment when you’re told to!” Popeye yelled.
“There wasn’t time!” Carlos yelled back.
“There’s always time!” Popeye shouted. “You just have to get off your lazy ass and make the time!”
“Will you two shut up?” Kinsey bellowed. The two men closed their mouths, each with an audible snap. “Good. Shit being stowed or not, time enough or not, none of that matters. Right now, we need to keep cool heads and ride this out.”
The ship leveled out then dove fast. Everyone held on tight to the shelving. They had harnesses, they had tethers, they were clipped in, but nothing said security like gripping onto something with your hands until your knuckles cracked.
There were a lot of cracking knuckles at that moment.
“Ingrid?” Ballantine asked, his voice as calm as ever. “Shouldn’t the Toyshop have directional stabilizers?”
“Not to this extreme,” Ingrid replied through gritted teeth. Her eyes were wide with fear, but it was obvious she was fighting it as she struggled to answer Ballantine’s question without crying out. “The space can handle a shift of twenty-five degrees at the most. We appear to be at a ninety-degree angle.”
“Straight down,” Moshi giggled. She was the only one besides Ballantine that looked to be having fun. She must have been to speak, which was something she rarely to never did. “Wheeee.”
“Oh, Moshi, you are always such a delight,” Ballantine chuckled. “A constant delight and surprise.”
There was a jarring bang and then the Toyshop seemed to be upside down. The screams, shouts, yells, bellows, were almost deafening. The lights in the Toyshop flickered, flickered, then went completely out, replaced quickly by the dull red glow of emergency lighting.
“I will assume that is not good,” Ballantine said as the room slowly righted itself. He waited for the floor to be where the floor was supposed to be before speaking again, “Carlos, I want a damage report. Now.”
“We’re on emergency power,” Carlos complained.
“Is that an excuse?” Ballantine asked. “Would anyone care to guess how I feel about excuses?”
“Give him the report, Carlos,” Dana said, her first words spoken since entering the Toyshop. “Stop being difficult.”
“Difficult?” Carlos replied. He looked to have six
or seven responses all forming at once, but he only shook his head and tapped at his tablet. “Power sources are rebooting. We’ll be back up in five, four, three, two, one.”
The emergency lights went out and the Toyshop was fully illuminated again.
Everyone waited as he studied the tablet’s screen.
“Hull breach,” Carlos said after several minutes. The ship had begun to climb again. “Minor, but could be made worse.”
“Everything can be made worse,” Thorne said.
“That is true,” Ballantine responded with a nod. “Are we in danger of sinking?”
“That depends,” Carlos said, hurrying his words so he couldn’t be interrupted. “It depends on how long this storm lasts and how many more hits the specific hull breach takes. Another factor is whether or not more breaches occur.”
“So, you do not know,” Ballantine said.
“I do not know,” Carlos agreed.
“Fair enough,” Ballantine responded. “No one is a fortune teller.”
“Are all hatches by the breach sealed?” Thorne asked.
“Yeah, they’re sealed!” Popeye snapped, answering for Carlos. “I made sure of that shit before I came to hide with you all!”
“They’re sealed,” Carlos confirmed. “We should be good for another couple of hours. We’ll need to bail as soon as possible, but we aren’t going down right now.”
“Excellent,” Ballantine said. The ship leveled out, held, then dove quickly. “Oh, dear. I’m feeling this one. Even I’m not immune to nausea.”
“Good for you and being human for five seconds,” Thorne said. “Welcome to the club.”
***
“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!” Max and Shane yelled in unison.
When the ship hit the bottom of yet another trough, they both made explosion noises with their mouths then started laughing maniacally.
“You two are so fucked up,” Gunnar said, but he was laughing too. It was hard not to. Between the fear response, the adrenaline rush, and the fact the Reynolds brothers were just total goofballs, Gunnar was bound to start laughing at some point. “Completely fucked up.”
“No argument there,” Shane said, catching his breath as the ship started to climb.
“Nope,” Max agreed. “We embrace the fucked upedness that is our curse.”
“Is it a curse if we embrace it?” Shane mused.
“Good question,” Max replied. “We should ask Ronald. He’s like the philosopher of the crew. Or Ballantine. He likes word games.”
“Nah, Ballantine would just turn it into a confusing riddle,” Shane said. “Ronald’s a good idea, though. That hairy guy is pretty deep for being a Bigfoot.”
“He keeps insisting that his kind are quite the intellectuals,” Max said. He paused. “What do you think female gigantopithecuses look like?”
“Gigantopitheci,” Gunnar said.
“Don’t get all plural grammar on me,” Max said. “No one is expected to know what the plural of gigantopithecus is. And I’m not agreeing with your correction until I hear it from Ronald. Not all sciencey plural names end in an ‘i.’”
“You want to know if the females have hairy boobs, don’t you?” Shane asked.
“You know it,” Max replied.
“What if they aren’t hairy at all?” Shane asked. “What if their boobs are hairless and just stick right out from their chests? Like two booby islands on a hairy sea.”
“I don’t,” Gunnar said. “I can’t. You two… I swear.”
The lights flickered then went out again. It took longer that time for the emergency lights to kick on.
“I bet Carlos is catching all kinds of shit from everyone right now,” Shane laughed. He waited for Max to laugh or comment, but when his brother was silent, he looked over at the exam table. “Max? Bro?”
“Oh, this isn’t good,” Max said.
“What isn’t good?” Shane asked. “What are you looking at?”
“Where’s Darby?” Max asked. “Her table is empty.”
“Oh crap, crap, crap!” Shane cried. “She’s awake!”
“What? That can’t be,” Gunnar exclaimed. “She shouldn’t be able to wake up yet. No one could with the amount of sedative she has in her. Her straps must have come loose and she fell off the table.”
“Dude, Gun, I strapped her down myself,” Shane said. “You checked the straps, I double checked the straps.”
“And I gave you shit until you triple checked the straps,” Max said. “They didn’t come loose.”
“They didn’t come loose,” Shane echoed.
The lights came back on, and Max stifled a scream as he saw Darby down against the far wall, her eyes locked onto him.
“Hey, baby,” Max said as casually as he could. “Darbs? You wake up from your nap?”
“Who am I?” she hissed.
“Oh, man, not this again,” Max said.
“What? Is this a thing?” Shane asked. “Tell her, bro. Tell her she’s Darby.”
“Won’t work,” Max said.
“Oh, really?” Shane scoffed. “Hey, Darby! You’re Darby! Darby is who you are! Get it? Darby. That’s you.”
“Who am I?” Darby snarled.
“How’d that work out?” Max asked. “She buy it? Oh, wait, no she didn’t!”
“Seemed like a logical thing to do,” Shane said and shrugged.
“Yeah, one I already tried, dude,” Max said.
“I should have guessed that,” Shane replied.
“You didn’t need to guess because I already told you it wouldn’t work,” Max said.
“Boys,” Gunnar snapped. “Shut up and focus. Darby is loose. What do we do about that?”
All eyes turned on the woman that was braced against the infirmary’s wall. The ship slammed into the trough and Darby was thrown halfway across the infirmary. The eyes followed.
“She dead?” Shane asked once they knew the ship was going to right itself again and it began to climb once more. “Dude? Can you see her? Is she dead?”
“Why would you go to dead?” Max asked. “That’s just cold, bro. Ask if she’s hurt first.”
“She got tossed like a rag doll,” Shane said. “That kills most people.”
“Do I need to say it?” Max asked.
“Nah,” Shane admitted. “Darby is not most people.”
The woman proved that by grabbing on to the edge of an exam table and picking herself up so she could slump against the cold, stainless steel surface. She gripped the metal tightly as the ship’s angle steepened.
“There she is,” Max said. “My gorgeous, little amnesiac psycho.”
“Who am I?” she croaked. There was a gash on her forehead and blood was starting to stream into her eyes. She wiped at it with one hand, but quickly stopped as her grip on the table became tenuous. “Who am I?”
“She’s persistent,” Shane said.
“And wounded,” Gunnar added. “That cut looks bad.”
“Ah, come on, Gun, head wounds bleed a lot, you know that,” Max said. “She’s fine.”
“There is no medical way you can know that,” Gunnar stated. “She could have a concussion. I need to check her.”
Shane raised his eyebrows and gave Gunnar a pitying look.
“I think you hit your head too, Gun,” Shane said. “No way you can unstrap and get to her. Even if you did, she’d probably kill you. Darby’s on her own until all this crap passes.”
“Cold, man,” Max said.
“Stop saying that, bro!” Shane snapped. “I’m just stating the obvious.”
The ship climbed, crested, fell once more, then hit. The lights went out. They didn’t come back on. Neither did the emergency lights.
“I’m scared,” Max whispered sarcastically.
“Who am I?” Darby asked, right next to his ear.
Max screamed. There was no sarcasm in the scream.
***
Lake actually preferred it when the bridge was completely
submerged. The mustache wasn’t as uncomfortable as Team Grendel bitched like they were. You’d think the things were made of razor blades the way everyone whined.
With water all around him, his body suspended and light as a feather, being submerged wasn’t half-bad. His muscles barely ached and the chill from the water, despite the ship being in the tropics, numbed some of the bruises and cuts he received when the windows smashed into him.
But when the ship climbed and the water drained out of the bridge, all those bruises, all those cuts, all his sore muscles, cried out in a symphony of discomfort. Plus, the mustache worked better underwater. It made him feel like he had a perpetual sneeze waiting to blow when there was no water over his head.
The ship crested the next peak and Lake was stunned to see something other than thunderclouds. Far off, almost hidden in the storm’s darkness, was what he thought could be the outline of an island. He waited for a lightning flash, but by the time one hit close enough to the horizon, the B3 was already falling into a new trough.
Lake frowned and waited for the impact. The hit always hurt. At least he had cold water to look forward to.
The ship slammed into the trough and things went very, very wrong. Not that Lake thought they were going well to begin with. But there hadn’t been the extreme sound of tearing metal before. Lake’s eyes focused on the few lights on the control console that had remained lit. They went dead, and the glowing red emergency light above the bridge hatch died as well.
Lake squeezed his eyes shut as the ship began to roll in the water like a surfer being pounded after a wipeout. The ocean floor was hundreds of feet below, so he didn’t worry about hitting bottom. He did worry about whether or not the ship would still be even reasonably intact when he decided to open his eyes again.
He breathed deep through the mustache, kept his eyes closed, and let fate handle what was going to happen.
***
Nivia was slightly embarrassed at the puddle of vomit by the toilet even though she was the only one in the head. She’d tried to hit the bowl, but the yacht had been rocking too hard for anything close to accuracy. It had been rocking hard enough for her stomach to rebel, which was a feat in of itself since she’d been on boats her entire life. Seasickness was not something she was prone to, but it had been quite a storm.
