Blackbeard's Family

by Jeremy McLean

  Grace looked into the eyes of the two remaining attackers, followed by Edward, John, and Herbert, one by one. "Let this be a lesson to each of you. I'm the captain here, and I don't take kindly with my crew trying to kill each other. Or being a cunt. Don't be like Nigel," she said, waving a hand at the splayed viscera on the deck and over her copper greaves.

  Satisfied with the looks of shock plastered on the faces of her audience, she gave a curt nod before she turned and walked away from the scene. The slamming of her copper boots echoed down the deck, cutting through the growing crowd's animated questions about what had happened.

  The whole event was so quick, the only remnant left of the fight and of Nigel was his knife still lodged in the wood beside the surgeon's room.

  7. For Whom the Golden Bell Tolls

  The crack of the pistol awoke not just Anne, but most of the men on the upper floor of the general store. That sharp, whip-like sound touched at the inner parts of the mind that controlled urgency like no other, and for those with the sense, it stripped away all tiredness in an instant. Those without the sense were not long for this world that Anne and company found themselves in.

  Anne glanced at William, who also awoke just as she did, and then she jumped from her bed and over to the window overlooking the hamlet. William was but a half-step behind her, and the rest of the men a few steps behind him.

  Anne scanned the small crossroads of the hamlet below for signs of the fight. She only allowed herself a few seconds before she began to turn around and head outside, but William stopped her with a point of his finger.

  She looked back to see two of the crewmates who were out on watch retreating to the general store as they loaded pistols. Another crack sounded, and a puff of dirt shot into the air a few feet from one of the crewmates.

  Anne had seen all she needed to see. "To arms," she declared.

  Before the last syllable left her lips, the crew were on the move. William wasted no time in procuring his sword and slinging a musket over his shoulder. Anticipating her need, he tossed her golden cutlass and a rifle to her. Anne caught the two as she rushed to the stairs to the main level of the general store.

  She jumped down the steps two at a time and passed through the storage room with a tied-up Jules sitting in the chair where she had left him earlier that night. Alexandre and Victoria were at the front of the store, observing the crewmates losing ground outside as they prepared muskets for an offensive.

  Anne slowed her pace for a moment as she took the rifle off her shoulder and handed it to Alexandre in exchange for the loaded musket. With a practiced hand and a bit of black powder from Alexandre, she readied the musket with a few flicks of her thumb. Walking sideways with the musket aimed towards the unknown assailants, she exited the store, found her mark, and shot.

  After the shot was away and the acrid smoke surrounded her, she ducked back into the store, confident she had hit her mark, and not wanting to risk getting shot in return.

  William was next out the door with a loaded musket in hand. He fired, sending more smoke into the small space, with no wind to take it away. He moved outside the store to a nearby pillar keeping the roof of the store's deck aloft.

  Alexandre handed Anne her rifle, now loaded, and took back the spent musket. She bent down below the window of the general store for a moment and closed her eyes. She counted the shots and where they were coming from.

  Only two men remained by her estimation, and they were staggering their shots to keep Anne, William, and the others at bay. They were skilled in battle. Three bangs. A thud. Only one man left.

  Anne counted down the seconds. She knew the approximate time the last man took to reload based on the time between previous shots. There would also be a momentary hesitation when he moved out of cover to take aim. She aimed for that hesitation.

  Anne sprang from her cover like a snake from between two rocks. She flew through the smoke, forcing her eyes open despite the burn and the watering. When the smoke broke, she saw movement to her right. She aimed down the centre of her rifle at the movement and pulled the trigger. The bullet, more accurate than the musket she'd shot before, hit the target right through the neck. The man, just in the middle of aiming, reared back, firing wildly into the air. The last crack sent a wave of smoke in front of the man. Spurts of blood from his neck broke through the grey cloud and splattered on the dirt road.

  Anne relaxed but remained on alert. "Any others?" She didn't look away from the direction the enemy had come from but said the words loud enough for her crewmates to hear.

  "Two more, headed to the bell tower," one of the crewmates said.

  The bell tower. The unknown element. The trigger for something unknown. An alert to others?

  Anne's mind raced with questions, but a single thought rose above them all: Stop them.

  She dropped her spent rifle and stole William's loaded musket before gliding into a sprint towards the bell tower. She caught a glimpse of the other crewmates coming out of the general store, armed to the teeth, before everything turned into a blur.

  Anne was faster than the rest of the crew. Lighter in step, lithe, and catlike, she ran like the wind of a storm beating close to the ground as it swelled up a narrow street. Her feet were a flurry on the dirt road, the sound of a mad dance on the cobbles.

  She passed the silent houses with the dead-still villagers resting inside. She fought the silence of that stillness with her beating feet and pounding heart in her ears. She would stomp away that silence any way she had. Until she finished the job, she would not brook any silence.

  Figures in the night cut moonlight shadows onto the ground forty paces in front of her, and twenty from the bell tower entrance. The figures, cloaked in brown, ran toward the bell tower at a quick pace, but Anne was quicker.

  She slowed a step to aim the musket and fired at the closest figure. Her aim was true, and it hit the man in the back. The man staggered, turned around, and drew a pistol. She ducked, and the bullet rushed over her head. She ran, pulling her cutlass from the sheathe. The man pulled out his own blade, but he was too slow. She sliced his gut open in passing. She moved forward, not looking back and not losing stride, her golden weapon outstretched and gleaming in the moonlight as she ran.

  The second man busted through the door of the bell tower and tried to close it behind him. Anne leapt, her legs thrusting at the door just before it closed. The planks splintered and the door burst open, the cloaked man behind it staggering back into the bell tower.

  The man fell, grasping for purchase. He found it on the bell's thick rope. His gaze shot up as he realized what his hands gripped. Anne rose from her jumping kick and thrust her blade at him before he had the chance to gain his wits. The man jumped into the air. Her cutlass pierced his chest with a soft thunk. He held tight to the rope, despite the wound, with a preternatural strength for a man soon to be dead. He pushed his full weight back down to complete the pull on the rope. Anne, holding fast to her blade in his chest, couldn't hold his weight.

  The rope came down with his desperate pull, and the golden bell sounded overhead, its tone unlike anything Anne had ever heard before, and she was in the centre of it.

  The chime was low and reverberating, and louder than all other sounds. It overpowered her heavy, frenzied breaths for air, and it seized the beating of her heart in her ears. She felt as though she were a sail held taut.

  The low reverberation echoed in her bones, rattling her chest and legs and arms as though she had whacked a heavy stick with all her might against a metal beam. She let go of her sword, still stuck in the chest of the man who rang the bell, and staggered back from the pain of that noise.

  As the bell rang, the low unnatural tone shifted and changed into a high pitch. The slow change could have been beautiful, as though she were present in the most compelling and evocative opera she had ever had the privilege of attending. Instead, the high pitch split her skull in twain with its crescendo. The noise became Anne's world. There was nothing but
her and the noise.

  The instinct to stop the noise subdued all other thoughts and overpowered her self-preservation. It compelled her to cover her ears, fall to her knees, and close her eyes to quell the melody of that bell.

  After a moment, after an eternal, painful moment, the din subsided, and Anne opened her eyes and unclamped her ears, the world returning to her.

  Silence had fallen in her absence from the world. Silence of the dead, or the soon to be.

  The man Anne had killed inside the tower held fast to the rope with his death's rigour, keeping the striker of the bell at bay. Her golden cutlass still protruded from his chest, drops of blood pattering to the wooden floor. She eased him up gently to allow the striker to stay at rest before she cut him down so the bell could not sound again.

  She stepped outside to see William and some of the other crewmates scattered about on the road leading back to the general store, eyes flickering back and forth. From the looks on their faces, even William's, the bell had rattled them just as much as her.

  In that confusion in the wake of the bells cresting, Anne needed to be the rock that held the crew together. She took a deep breath, held in her frustrations, anger, and questions, and snuffed them out.

  Just as she was about to issue orders to scout for more of the enemy crew, she swallowed her words when a tone similar to the golden bell rang out from the interior of the island. Though far off, it was clear and just as strange and ominous. Thankfully the volume of the ringing was low and didn't have the same effect as it had earlier.

  A signal then, Anne thought. Some of the tension left her shoulders as she understood the reason behind the bells. It didn't change the fact that they had been found out by the enemy, but knowing what the bell was for eased some worry in her mind.

  A few more tones sounded from different places on the island, one after the other. From what Anne could tell, there were four distinct rings, which meant there were at least four other bells. After another moment, the sounds faded, and silence returned.

  The second element that robbed Anne of her speech was something altogether different. A door of a nearby home opened, and one of the residents of the hamlet stepped out. His slow, shuffling feet broke through the silence once more.

  Anne moved to meet him. "You should head back inside," she said, and then she remembered the strange way they had been acting earlier. She gripped her cutlass tighter. "It's late, sir, you should be in bed."

  He took another shuffling step forward. His face was pale in the moonlight. The shadows of some trees overhead shaded his eyes.

  Another door creaked, splitting the silence again. Anne saw motion at another home down the dirt road.

  She gripped her cutlass tighter still. Something wasn't right. "Back to the general store, now!" she ordered.

  The man came closer, and Anne saw his eyes. They were hollow and lifeless, and there was no recognition of a spirit within them. Anne had only seen something similar in the eyes of men and women broken in one way or another through trauma, left in the world like husks, their bodies and minds forever torn.

  The crew were stuck in place, watching the man as he came closer and closer to them, as though caught in the trance of those dead eyes. They couldn't tear themselves away from the spectacle, invisible tethers holding their feet in place.

  The hollow man sprang into action, sprinting towards Anne, William, and crew. He moved quicker than Anne would have thought possible. He burst through the wooden fence between his house and the road, sending wooden chunks flying away with force.

  The crew were too slow to react, and before they could move, the man hit a crewmate in the chest with a punch. The sailor toppled backwards as though hit with a cannonball, and Anne heard the distinct pop of bones breaking. The crewmate rolled back onto his side, clutching his chest and gasping for breath.

  Anne's mind reeled with sudden realization. The golden bell was a trigger, a trigger for an even deeper trance, one that washed away all reason in the brain, perhaps washed away even the reason that kept one from utilizing the full power of their own muscles to avoid injury. And on top of that, these people with untold strength, stamina, and speed were hostile.

  "William, help James back to the store," she ordered. "Everyone, run! Run, you fools!"

  The crew, back in their right minds after seeing their mate attacked, followed orders and dashed back to the store. The hollow man, drawn to the movement, ran after the first who went into action. He leapt onto another crewmate and ravaged him with blow after horrifying blow.

  The crewmates ahead kept running, but those behind stopped and levelled their muskets. They each unloaded their shots at the hollow man, careful not to hit their now bloody crewmate. With each shot, the hollow man recoiled, but he didn't stop his assault. Crackcrackcrack, crack, crack. Fifteen shots later the man fell over, his body as dead as his mind.

  Anne pulled the hollow man off the crewmate, but it was too late. His skull had been bashed in with such force, it appeared as though he were the victim of a horse trampling.

  "He's dead," she said curtly. "Back to the store!"

  Anne took one look back to William to see that he was making along well and then hurried back to the store herself.

  Against the myriad of stomping boots, Anne heard more creaking as doors were opening across the hamlet. She didn't let up in her stride, taking note of the noises but not letting it draw her attention. She passed the crewmates who had gone ahead of her. She needed to get to the store first.

  On approaching the store, Anne noticed a few crewmates who had stayed behind, as well as Alexandre and Victoria. All were on alert from the activity they had heard and stood watch with weapons drawn.

  "Barricade!" Anne yelled when she saw them. "We need to barricade the store, we're under attack."

  Anne's words, urgency, and the crewmates just behind her flying towards them lit a fire under the crew's feet, and they ran into the store. Alexandre and Victoria seized the table holding the chessboard and the chairs from the deck, scattering the board and pieces across the dirt.

  Anne jumped up to the deck, sliding across the wooden boards as she stopped in front of the entrance. She took a moment to breathe as she entered the store, once more taking stock of the thousand items and sorting them for their usefulness in her mind.

  The crew brought boxes from the storage room, dense and filled with food or other items, into the central part of the store and began stacking them haphazardly.

  "Bring them to the front, cover the windows. Make sure there are no gaps. Put the barrels in front to secure them in place." The crew, with a sound mind directing the action, put more focus into their work. "And someone bring me rope."

  Just as someone brought her rope to work with, the crewmates who had joined her at the bell tower were making their way into the store again. She put the new men to work at once, forming a line from the storeroom to the side windows to bring the boxes forward.

  Anne put the rope over her shoulder and closed one of the store's double doors, sealing the locking latch at the top and bottom of the door. William and the injured crewmate had yet to return, so she left the other door open.

  Anne exited the store and peered down the road leading to the bell tower. William and the injured crewmate were slowly coming to the store, but behind them, the awakened townsfolk were gaining ground. Further to that, down each road leading to the store came more of the hollow people.

  "Hurry," she yelled to them, though she knew they understood the urgency all too well.

  The injured crewmate looked over his shoulder at the people gaining on them, but it didn't seem to give him renewed purpose. Instead, in his eyes, even at that distance, Anne could tell he had resigned himself to his fate. William pushed harder, taking on more of the weight, but his strength alone wasn't enough to make it in time.

  The injured crewmate pushed William away before he pulled out his pistol. "Go," he muttered. There was an absolute strength in his soft declaration. Willi
am faltered but for a moment, then thanked the man for his bravery, and ran at full speed to the store.

  The crewmate fired his pistol into the crowd as he did his best to back away, drawing the attention of the hollow people towards him instead of William and the general store. He tumbled over a nearby fence, lumbered to his feet, and pulled out a cutlass. He sliced wildly at the men and women approaching, a valiant effort against the storm, but they overwhelmed him. The hollow citizens tore the crewmate apart.

  William reached the store, and pulled Anne back inside, not sparing a look back to the crewmate who had sacrificed himself to buy them time. Anne snapped back to the moment, resolving, no doubt as William had, not to waste those precious moments given them.

  They closed the other door and latched it shut, but Anne knew it wouldn't be enough against the incredible strength that these entranced people were capable of.

  "Bring the heaviest barrels over here in front of the doors."

  The crew brought over three barrels so heavy they had to roll them across the floor rather than carry them. They placed all three directly in front of the two doors, flush against them.

  Anne took the rope from over her shoulder and wrapped it around the three barrels, pulling them tightly together. After the rope was secure, she tied both ends around the handles of the doors in a reef knot. The crew brought three more barrels and worked in pairs to place the new ones on top of the first, completely covering the door. With more rope, the six were secured into place as a unit and would be nearly impossible to topple.

  Nearly impossible for normal humans.

  "It's not enough," Anne muttered. "Is there more rope?"

  "More?" one of the crewmates replied as he looked at the massive wooden fortification they had made.

  "There is some left, though le patron is holding onto it at the moment," Alexandre said, though he trailed off as he seemed to realize something in his statement, and his gaze travelled to the doorway to the storage room.