Piracy: The Leah Chronicles (After it Happened Book 8)

by Devon C. Ford

  “How do I turn it off?” I asked in exasperation.

  “Hit that little button on the long handle there,” called a voice from behind them.

  I pressed the button on the steering arm, killing the frantic sound of the engine immediately, and looked up to see Joshua nervously smiling at me from behind his filthy beard.

  “Thanks,” I said as I held my hand out to be hauled back onboard the bigger vessel, “so what now?”

  “We have a look at what they’ve got, obviously,” Dan said.

  What they had was a collection of badly maintained and ancient weaponry. Mitch lectured us again, or at least me again, about the likely source of the guns being Russia and that they were probably from the seventies or eighties.

  “East Africa by way of the Middle East is my guess,” he said as he wistfully inspected the second large machine gun he had captured that day. “Now, I’ve never been on the receiving end of one of these until today, but I can attest that they truly do sound like the hammer of god.” He turned to Dan and smiled. “Can we keep them, Dad? Can we? Please?”

  Dan seemed to think about it before answering.

  “The PKMs yes,” he said, meaning the huge guns similar to the big GPMG we once owned and mounted in the back of a Land Rover, “dump the AKs though.”

  “What about this?” I asked, hauling up the bulbous RPG and seeing the instant reaction of the others as they began to raise their hands to take the rocket gently out of my grip. I stuck out my bottom lip and pretended to sulk at having it taken away from me.

  “And what about this?” I asked, gesturing at the deck of the boat to change the subject.

  “Is it worth keeping?” Adam asked. “It looks a bit shit to me.”

  “Ask the mechanic,” Mitch opined.

  I turned to see where Joshua had gone and saw him sitting a short distance away and staring out over the prow of the boat absently, just letting the sun soak into his skin. I walked over to him, mindful not to startle him as I had made the mistake of doing with Lexi too often.

  “Hey,” I said softly as I approached, still making him flinch as he whipped his head around to see that it was just me and that he hadn’t been dreaming of a rescue which hadn’t happened.

  “Hey there,” he answered weakly, still smiling but seeming exhausted beyond comprehension. I’d seen this before, the sudden tiredness that came with no longer having to be on your guard and protect yourself. It got to you after a while, being permanently on guard, and it was only when you felt safer that your mind gave your body the bill.

  “I’ve got to ask,” I said in an apologetic tone, “is this boat worth keeping?”

  “This hunk a junk?” he said with a smirk. “Hell no. It’s trash. I’ve been tryin’ to fix the engine for a week now, but the damn thing keeps dyin’ on me.” He paused, hesitating, before he asked in a soft voice, “What’s goin’ to happen to me now?”

  “Happen?” I shot back. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, what are you going to do with me?”

  “For a start,” I said, “we’re going to get you to a doctor, put you in a shower and feed you. It looks like you need it.”

  He chuckled. “I’m so skinny I can’t even see my own shadow,” he said enigmatically as he scratched a hand at his dirty beard. “Hell, I bet I look like I’ve been chewed up and spat out.”

  “I’m sure I would too,” I told him, trying to ignore the thoughts about what they would have done to a young girl instead of a navy mechanic, “but we’ll get you fixed up.”

  “I sure do appreciate that, ma’am,” he said quietly, almost as though the tears threatened to take him over again.

  “Leah,” I reminded him.

  “Excuse my Southern manners,” he said, “it’s just how I was raised.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, reaching out a hand to his shoulder and placing it gently despite the flinch, “it’s all going to be okay now.”

  ~

  We loaded up the skiff so much that it sat low in the water with all five of us along with the recovered machine guns and ammunition. Mitch said that the bullets wouldn’t fit our own weapons of that calibre, explaining that we had the NATO chambers as though that made sense to everyone, and Joshua had recovered enough to offer the simplest way to sink the pirate boat. He had made a comment about pulling the plug, and checked that we were ready to depart before going below and coming back up a minute later at double the pace.

  “Clock’s tickin’,” he said as he stepped onto the boat with a practiced skill which we all lacked.

  He said nothing more on the journey back to our own boats, electing instead to watch as the rusty tub he had been imprisoned on sank ass first. The only sign he gave that he was even conscious was to raise a one-fingered salute to the vessel, holding it high and proud as it sank.

  And like that, or so I thought at the time, our pirate problem was over.

  Naughty Children

  Marie wasn’t impressed. As far as understatements went, that was a huge one. Marie was livid. She was like a miniature rooster on the opposite side of the fence to a bigger, younger bird who was eying up his chickens in a way the rooster didn’t like much at all.

  She paced the sea wall like a caged cat as the two fishing vessels chugged into the bay in line, and I cast a look back over my shoulder at Dan in time to see him duck inside the cabin so as not to get yelled at in public.

  He was like that. He didn’t want the whole town knowing his business but when Marie wanted to say something to him she gave not one single shit who was listening. As the boats throttled back to bump gently against the harbour sides I hopped down while the ropes were still being lashed to hold us firmly against the artificial shore. Being the outstanding wing-woman I knew myself to be, and not really relishing the uncomfortable time spent waiting for my adoptive parents to stop rowing, I decided to cause a small fuss to change the subject.

  “I need Kate!” I yelled with far more drama in my voice than was necessary. Marie’s face changed from horrible temper to horrified fear and I felt a little guilty for it. “It’s okay,” I said with my hands up, “nobody’s critical, but we’ve rescued a hostage.”

  It worked.

  “A hostage?” she cried. “Who? Where? How?” I tried to wave off her questions as I turned to help Mateo place the wooden ramp to span the gap between pier and deck. Gasps sounded behind me when Joshua appeared and he tried to stand tall to wave away any assistance he was offered to step ashore.

  “I ain’t no first-timer,” he complained kindly to the big fisherman without any force in his words. The prideful statement was undermined by his faltering feet. Somehow, the ordeal of being saved from his ordeal had weakened him; as though he was only being held together by the stress of captivity and routine. Now that he was safe, his mind had released those bonds over his body and he seemed to weaken with every minute spent free from his tormentors. As his right foot first hit the ancient cobblestones of Sanctuary his legs gave out and he crumpled to dry land for what he later said had been the first time in many months. He was helped up by more people rushing to his aid than could easily get their hands on him, despite the smell, and he wept openly as the relief of so many years spent being a slave flowed out of him.

  I watched him being helped towards the big central keep, the castle that I lived in, as word had already spread to Kate and Sera that medical attention was needed at the docks. I watched Kate lugging the heavy and battered red bag that had so long ago been liberated from an unused ambulance way back in the UK. The red was faded to a dull pink in places through overuse, more like a white bag bearing a large bloodstain than the original red it had been, which I thought was probably just as possible given what they, and the bag, had been through over the last seven years. My reverie was shattered by the pointed noise of Marie clearing her throat. I turned to see her, arms folded and mouth pursed into a tight line as she waited impatiently for an explanation.

  “Hi,” I said innocently and tr
ied to walk quickly away before she realised I had blown her off.

  “Err, I don’t think so,” she said sternly, somehow nailing my feet to the ground with her tone of voice alone. I sighed and turned back to her, just as a welcome interruption stopped my interrogation. Nemesis’ claws clattered on the cobbles as she snaked her way through the gathering crowds like a furry eel to get to me. Behind her, being far more polite and apologetic about forcing his way through, came Lucian with the long barrel of his big rifle extending above his shoulder like an aerial.

  I bent down, letting the desperate dog lick at my mouth which I kept tightly shut to prevent the slobbering tongue from finding its way inside, and ruffled the thick fur at her neck in greeting. Another noise, that of Marie clearing her throat so intentionally that it was like a command, forced me to stand just as Lucian, Dan and Mitch joined us. Marie opened her mouth but Dan silenced her.

  “Not here,” he said quietly, “please. I don’t want the others hearing this, not yet.”

  Marie shut her mouth wordlessly, stopping herself from exploding at her husband in public - not for his sake, but for the sake of the others around them. His tone told her that what he had to say was serious and that small ruse, much like my own distraction technique, seemed to work.

  We went up the long, sweeping stone ramp towards the main keep as the hubbub behind us grew. Mitch had unveiled the captured weapons and asked two of the militia to take them to the armoury, where I knew he would spend meticulous hours taking them apart piece by piece to clean every last trace of neglect from their components before rebuilding each weapon with painstaking care and attention. By the time we got inside, startlingly cool under the cover of the medieval stone in contrast to the warmth outside, I was sure that half the town would already know what had happened.

  Marie couldn’t wait much longer and led us into the nearest unoccupied room to whirl on Dan and demand an explanation for how a simple guard duty had resulted in us bringing back a rescued hostage. Dan gave her the bullet points, leaving out names and specifics which resulted in full responsibility resting on his shoulders.

  “It was my call,” I told her, “I wanted to take on the bigger boat.” Marie looked at me and blinked as though she had only just noticed I was there. She turned to Dan and elevated her eyebrows accusingly.

  “And poor little you was powerless to stop her from forcing you to come along, was it?” she asked dangerously.

  “I’ll be off then,” Mitch said quietly as he backpedalled with slow, exaggerated steps and tugged at Adam’s sleeve to indicate his recommendation to withdraw. Marie ignored him, simply keeping her eyes on Dan’s and said nothing until he broke first. The door shut and Dan seemed to relax.

  “No,” he admitted, “and I don’t know why you’re being such a bi—”

  “One more fucking word,” Marie interrupted, “I dare you.” Dan returned her look blankly and breathed in to speak again.

  Less sense now than the day he was born, I thought to myself, echoing one of Neil’s sayings.

  “Marie,” I said, feeling the cold stare turn on me slowly, “I’m sorry I dragged everyone into this, but we saved someone’s life and killed more of them. They’re almost a dozen fighters down,” I explained, “and they’ve lost one of their boats. I doubt they’ll come back our way now. Not after this.”

  “Are you even hearing yourself?” Marie asked. “You two are like a pair of naughty children who keep sneaking off and getting into fights. Answer me this: if you knew there was an enemy out there somewhere”—she pointed at the wall, meaning to indicate inland I think, but the direction she had chosen actually pointed directly along the coastline—“and had a large force allowing you to send almost a dozen of your people out in a big vehicle, and they failed to return, what would you do? Give up? Say, ‘oh well, I’m sure they’ll be alright wherever they are’?” She said his part in a mocking tone before switching back to her own piercingly angry voice. “No. You’d be exactly like you were after you found out someone had tried to kill her in Andorra a few years back and go storming off like an ape to find someone to punish.”

  I was reeling enough from her words to be openly shocked as the finger she had pointed at me still lingered like the ominous barrel of a gun wavering in my direction.

  “Marie,” Dan said with exasperated resignation, “just calm down…” He realised his mistake as soon as he had uttered the words and tried to pull it back by speaking fast. “They don’t know who we are, they don’t know where we are, they won’t be able to trace their people or their boats, and the sea is a pretty big place. So is the coast, really.”

  “And,” I added gently whilst trying not to sound like I was ganging up on her, “we have a defended position with fortifications both inland and seaward-facing. We’re safe,” I added pleadingly.

  She seemed to bubble for a few seconds as she considered our words.

  “And how long is everyone going to last on edge like this?” she asked in a softer voice. “The constant threat of being attacked will start to unravel people. It’s unravelling me!” I bit back the comment that she was already showing higher than normal stress levels even before anyone said the word ‘pirates’.

  “What would you prefer?” Dan asked her. “That we ignore the threat? That we just bumble along like trusting idiots and hope that the baddies won’t come?”

  “Obviously not,” Marie said, “we… oh, forget it!” she snapped as she walked away. We watched her go, only then realising that Lucien was in the room behind us having remained utterly still in case he came to bear her attention.

  “What’s up with her?” I asked Dan. He pulled a face and gave a rapid shrug. “Come on,” I pressed him, “you’ve got to have at least some idea why she’s so pissed off with you.”

  “With me?” Dan complained. “She seems pretty pissed off with you too, you know?”

  “Fine,” I told him, “I’ll go and ask her myself, shall I? Do your job for you?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind,” Dan said seriously.

  I couldn’t find Marie, and the only place I hadn’t checked was the infirmary wing where I didn’t want to go and see our rescued hostage just yet. Partly out of respect for him probably not wanting me to see him in a state, and partly because I didn’t want to see more evidence of his mistreatment, I avoided the place and instead went to find some solitude to gather myself.

  That solitude, oddly, was found in the same way as another person. As I neared the armoury and saw the door open a crack I put a suspicious hand on my hip near the sidearm as I pushed the door open, only to stand tall and relax as I saw a sight I had grown accustomed to over the years.

  Mitch had converted the small, round room from the empty store it had been when we first arrived, to an ordered and full workshop. At some point someone had been asked to line the walls with timber to act as gun racks, and the bench he worked at was wide with an old hand-turned vice on one end. He was stooping over a white-ish cloth laid flat with all the parts of the PKM laid out like a kid with crippling OCD preparing to make a Lego model.

  “Velcome to my hhhumble abode,” he croaked in an appalling Dracula impression before turning to beam at me. He was happy; the disassembly of a big machine gun to him was as relaxing as a cocktail and a book on the beach to others. I had to admit, I probably preferred to field-strip a weapon more than I did read.

  My mind wandered off to television, something I hadn’t watched in years by then, and Mitch brought me back to the present with a scathing report on weapon maintenance discipline by the pirates.

  “The gas piston is bloody filthy,” he complained as he held up the part for my inspection. “I mean, look at it! Caked in carbon. I’d have had my arse and my face rearranged for that back in the day. Soldier’s gold, we called a bit of rust. Any of that shite on your weapon would cost you a pretty fine, I can tell you.” I took the small component and studied it, feeling the pitted metal where the residue had baked a hard green and would need scraping
off to return the part to a polished state.

  “You see,” Mitch went on, “no discipline. That’s what makes the difference between us and them; we have discipline and they don’t.”

  “Maybe not,” I said, “but they seemed to have done fine just like we have. Lucky bullets kill just the same as disciplined ones.” He made a noise in response, halfway between a grunt and a hmm which just gave him the impression of having trapped wind. “I’d really like to know how many of them are out there an—” I stopped, shutting my mouth as the most sudden and unexpected jolt of nausea hit me harder than I thought natural. It was a smell which had triggered the response, and as I focussed on the dirty piece of metal in my hands I could smell it again so intensely that I actually gagged and clamped a hand over my mouth and nose.

  “You alright, lassie?” Mitch asked, wearing a look of obvious concern on his face. I tossed him the part and stepped back, taking my hand slowly away as though I didn’t truly trust what would happen when I did. I took a few long, deep breaths and steadied myself against the doorway.

  “Yeah,” I lied, “too long on a bloody boat if you know what I mean. That oil stinks!”

  “Does it?” Mitch asked as he took a tentative whiff of the metal he had been attempting to clean and tried to detect any kind of strong odour from it. He laughed and recounted something relevant: “Remember how bad Ash got when we first crossed the Channel? Ach, that dog was a right mess…” He stopped talking as he grew concerned about me again. I tried to keep my breathing steady as I focused on a single spot on the rough stone floor and warned the contents of my stomach to stay where they bloody well were.

  “I’ll catch you later,” I blurted out as I fled the room, desperate to get away from the intense smell. I didn’t hear him shout after me as I was fast-pacing down the corridor in eager search of fresh air. When I reached it I rested my back against the wall and closed my eyes to suck in long pulls of air through my nose, which made a tickling whistle noise that only I could hear, and blew them out slowly through my open mouth.