The Blue (Book 3)

by Joseph Turkot

  He had started toward me, explaining how the trade would work. Just a little pain and I’ll fill you up. No problem. And he’d been direct. Because as I splashed into the three-feet of water and he knew I had stumbled, he sped up and told me that he’d helped a lot of girls like me. And all they ever had to do was put up with a little pain for him. Nothing that you’ll regret, he’d said, That won’t be worth it for both of us. But something awful and unexpected had changed in the voice as he rushed down into the water after me. I didn’t even know what the hell he really meant then. All I knew was that I’d never heard of such a trade. I had heard of sex trades, and every kind of supply trade, and guarantees upon profit, but never pain. And if I hadn’t made one good shot—my right hand springing like a coil in the dark, unloading each can I had—and dented his head, heard him roll back in the dark into a metal bracket, hollering in agony while I ran, I probably never would have made it outside. Russell knew as soon as he saw me that something had happened, without a word from my mouth, and together we waited for fifteen minutes for the man to come outside. And when we walked back to camp that night, Russell walked mostly backwards, gun pointed, waiting for a head to show up, in case he was following us. In case he wanted to figure out where our camp was set. He never came out of that supermarket though and he never came to our campsite. I don’t know if he crawled out the back or if he died right there, drowning in the few feet of mud and water.

  “He made it home,” Russell told me that night by the fire. Like he knew somehow. He snuck right out the back, he must have seen me from the windows, he said. And then he told me what it was: Tanner, the rain’s brought out the worst in a lot of people. You’ve seen it for years now. That was the dumbest thing you ever did.

  I felt like he was right, as much as I wanted to blame him for leaving me alone in there. But it was standard routine—we always hunted the abandos apart from each other once we did a sweep to make sure they were empty.

  “But there are even worse things,” he’d gone on, throwing on another piece of wood. And then he’d told me that the rain brings out every sadistic son-of-a-bitch and every sadistic personality in the whole god damn world. But I didn’t get what he meant. He had to explain to me that for some people, for a sadist, he’d said, there is nothing they want more than to torture you. Not kill you, not even rape you. But to keep you alive as long as possible and make you feel pain. I asked him how the hell that was possible, and what the hell it meant. He’d just told me that without the law, it all comes out. Each and every person’s real desires overtake them. And with nothing in the world in their control, and everything gone to hell, they can control that. If they get you, they’ll have control over you. And then, when I told him about the man’s bunker, where he claimed to have all that food and supply, Russell told me it was probably true. He probably did have a place like that not far from where we were. But only to keep his victims alive long enough to get off. That’s how he gets off, Russell said, and that was the end of it. He stayed up the rest of the night, not sleeping a bit until the daylight came and I could give him a fair warning if someone showed up on us.

  My head falls out of the flashback and back into the dark rocking cell. And I know for sure that that’s what the man with the flashlight had been. The same kind of person. Because he wants me to know ahead of time what’s coming. What he’s going to do—how it’s going to hurt me. A jolt of terror runs through me as I recall that afternoon in Sioux Falls and make the connection. But even still, knowing what he is, it’s better that he comes alone than all four of them together. Because I just might be able to kill one man. And as I’m sure I’ve figured out the mind of the flashlight man and I hear the storm shrieking and trying to bury us, and Voley starting to whine again, I hear the hatch open again. Then it shuts but there’s no light. And no sound of stepping. No one’s coming down the steps below the deck. But someone opened the hatch. And I think for a moment maybe someone is here, somehow walking so softly that I don’t hear a thing. I wait for the sound of a footfall, or even the metallic click of the lock on my cell to open, but there’s nothing. I wait and wait and wait but no one comes. No one is down here with us.

  I talk to Voley again, trying to get him to stop making noise so I can hear what’s happening above the deck. It’s no use. The ship is rolling too much now, and I give up. I just lay down in the corner and try to calm my own stomach, waiting for the sound of breaking wood. But the hull never splinters and I don’t hear anything but the steady thrashing. My mind returns to the conversation with Russell. I look for answers from the past, for some advice from him that will get me out of this. But there’s nothing. And I know that it’s just me. No help from any weapons or Voley this time. The hours go by without a change in the noise, and I almost become numb to the motion. Just a perpetual dark and a mind that won’t shut up and let me escape. My thoughts turn to jabbing the flashlight man’s eyes out. Taking his flashlight and caving in his temple. Anything to get free. But what happens when you get free? my head fires back. There’s nothing but darkness down here and three men above. All of them with guns. The restlessness continues forever until finally things seem to quiet down a little, as if we’re passing through the worst part of the storm. And then, after another endless stretch of waiting for the hatch to open again but nothing ever happening, and with Voley finally quiet somewhere out there in the dark, I fall into a fitful sleep.

  Chapter 26

  When I hear the hatch open again it’s like I never even fell asleep. The roar of the wind and the rain pierces the dark, and then come the footsteps and the slamming of the hatch. It’s just one person. And before I can even finish that realization, I see a beam of light cutting through the dark, revealing the cramped space below deck. I sit upright and watch, and as quickly as adrenaline dumps into my brain, he’s back. And ignoring Voley’s barks, the beam turns and rests again right on me. It only takes a second for the same, dry voice to shock me back to life.

  “You’re not going to be so lucky this time,” he says. And he doesn’t move in, just keeps the flashlight on me. He’s lying, I tell myself, they’ll know he came down alone again. That he disappeared. But no one comes down—the hatch doesn’t open again at all. Where the hell are they? I think, and somehow the same people who abducted me are now my only hope. No—this is what you wanted. Our best chance—just him and me. But he doesn’t move closer and he doesn’t say anything else. It’s as if he wants me to be scared—to show him I’m scared by saying something. I try to think of what I can say to stall for time. It passes through my head that I can go along with him, and tell him I wanted him to come back. Try to trick him. But I know it’s too naïve, as dumb as what I did back in Sioux Falls. That he’ll see right through it. I want to ask him why I won’t be so lucky this time, to see if he’ll spill some information about what’s happening above deck, but before I can answer him, the only thing that makes sense pops into my head: They’re all asleep. Or he’s already killed them all because they were interfering and wouldn’t let him come down alone.

  The thought terrifies me enough to ask him why. I say it loudly, like I’m not scared at all, and it seems to make him move. The moment the words come out of my mouth, he walks right up to the bars and shines the light in so that I can’t see anything and have to shut my eyes to face in his direction. But now that he’s heard me he doesn’t give a shit. And I hear the slide and clink of metal as he undoes the lock. And a few more metal noises follow, and then the sound of the gate swinging out. Voley barks loudly but still no one opens the hatch from above to check on us. I have to decide right now whether or not to try to bolt past him into the darkness, run right at the flashlight, or stay put and play along. And then, as he stands there, and I shove backwards against the wall and into a corner, there’s a different kind of clinking. Something like metal on wood, and I realize he must have placed the lock on the floor. Or a gun. I can’t tell which and I can’t see. And then, he ducks down low and the flashlight momentarily s
hines on the ground, and he’s inside the cell.

  The first thing I feel is the edge of a knife against my neck and hot breath. It happens so fast that I don’t have any power to react. To push away the rotten smell. Your screams are louder than the dog’s I’ll bet, he says, But they won’t hear them now. And it becomes clear to me that I was right—he did kill the rest of them. All so that he can have me to himself.

  The pressure of the blade makes me draw in a fast breath and then hold it, anticipating the pain of the cut. But he doesn’t keep pushing it in, and instead his other hand works, groping over my body, and then quickly down to my pants. He works to take them down while keeping the blade pressed firmly on my neck, and I keep my eyes on him, the half-glare of the flashlight lighting up his monster face. He’s too big, I tell myself. There’s nothing you can do. Voley barks loudly from the other room, and then, together, we roll hard into the wall. But he doesn’t lose his grip on me. And then the ship rights itself and he goes back to work. I feel the awful breath and smell its horrible stench, even as he moves his face away from mine and down into my chest. And when for a moment he loosens up the knife, I try to push away so that I can sneak past him and race out into the dark and hide, but he catches me too quickly. He presses in so that we’re both pushing harder against the wall, and then he tells me to behave or he will make it all last longer. I numb myself to his wandering hands and the chill of the cold air on my naked legs. And then, just as he’s about to lower his head, away from me and somewhere else, the ship rocks violently again, and we both hit the wall. But he’s as strong as a rock, and he catches us both before we bang into the hull. And then he stops, listening. Trying to hear something. I can tell by the light that hits his eyes he’s waiting for a particular sound. He tilts his head up, and through the barks and the rain and the wind he’s trying to hear something different. And part of me thinks that maybe the crew isn’t dead. That he’s snuck down again on his own, the same as last time, and they’re just preoccupied with the storm. When he’s satisfied there is no sound to be alarmed about, he looks back at me. And in his glare I see deadness, and then he squeezes my leg with his hand. I scream in pain and he presses the knife back into my throat and up so that the point digs into the bottom of my jaw. The sharpness stings, and my panic level rises as I feel the skin cutting. Everything tells me I have to make my move, the last ditch effort, or there won’t be another chance. This is it. And it comes to me—wait, wait for the next time the ship rocks. I have to do it then, when he’s trying to stabilize us after the roll. If I help the storm, I might be able to bring us both down. I wait and wait, and ignore with all the power I can the pain as he starts to bite me. Each time hot and sharp, harder and harder.

  My mind flashes away from the bites to something else Russell told me, the night he told me about the sadists—that there were some worse than others. Some with a combined sickness—he called it a sickness—the face eater’s desire to eat people, and the sadist’s desire to cause pain, and the animal compulsion to rape—all of it bound up in one evil type of being. And more and more, with each progressively more painful bite, I’m convinced that this is just the same guy he told me about back in Sioux Falls—that kind of pervert who will eat me alive if I give him the chance, and he’s working up to it now, bite by bite, harder and harder. And it’s getting him off. I can feel it. And it’s all I can do to wait out each small jerk and roll of the ship for one that’s big enough to knock us both over with my help. And then, stronger than any rock yet, it finally comes.

  The ship rolls so hard that I almost don’t have to help it. I think maybe we’re going down because the floor drops so fast from under my feet. And the next thing I know, as the shock of what’s happening wears off and I realize I can make it happen, I pull with everything I have down toward the corner of the cell. His body slams off of me and the wall takes most of it. But I hear the rattle—the sound of his knife loose and bouncing against the floor. And next to him, when I jump up, my only chance, is the flashlight. Pointing at just the right angle I follow its light to where it exposes the silver blade. My hand dives to grab it but the man doesn’t even try to race me for it. And all at once, as I have the handle and then the knife in my hand, the sound of the hatch opens from the deck. The crew is alive and someone’s coming down. But I don’t let the guy warn his friend that I’m loose now, because just as he starts to sit up, grabbing at his head where it slammed the hull, I stab with everything I have. One and then two and then three, quick and powerful and right into his neck, pulling back fast enough so he won’t be able to catch my hand. Each of the first two times I get him he tries to sit up, to take hold of my arm, squeeze out the knife. But he can’t—he’s in shock and I’m too quick and he’s dying too fast. The noise of the scuffle attracts the call of his crewmate:

  “Hey, what the hell are you doing down here!” comes the voice from the steps. There’s new light coming from the center of the darkness now, the round glow of a shaky lamp. And I know he’s coming to see what I’ve done. But I don’t let him see me—I bolt out as the pervert gurgles, my feet stomping a little too loudly into the dark space, the first corner I feel. But the shipmate doesn’t even seem to pay attention to me—he just keeps calling his friend’s name, walking toward the downed flashlight in the cell. I watch him go, carrying the lamp and exclaiming in shock when he sees the body. I run forward and reach his back. Both of my hands bring the knife down together, just as hard as I learned it has to be to cut a dead man’s flesh out, and the knife locks in. I raise my right leg up through the pain and kick into his butt to push until the knife launches free and I go back with it. Voley barks in a rage, growling and fighting the bars with his nails. The hatch above slaps wide open because it was never closed all the way, and the rain and the wind deafens everything else but the barks. But the second guy isn’t dead. He starts crawling around on the ground, toward the flashlight. And then, when I see his hands going somewhere, for something I don’t see, I charge at him again. This time I go for the neck again, like Voley’s taught me to do, like the knife is one of his fangs, and I bite down again and again until all movement stops and no noises come from his throat anymore. Then, on the blood-soaked floor, I freeze, trying to hear anything through the frenzy of barks and the roar of the wind and the rain. But there’s only that—no new voices shouting, no sound of footsteps running along the deck to see what’s happened. The ship throws me up against one of metal bars and I grab on, holding tightly and looking down at the dead bodies. Two of them down and two to go.

  I grab the flashlight and immediately look for the keys. On the first one I find a set in his pocket. There are about six keys on a ring. I grab it and step back through the maze of arms and legs and make my way through the cabin, pointing the flashlight as I go. And there’s Voley, his nose poking out between two of the silver bars just like I’d pictured, whining desperately now that he’s seen me, his paws working at the bottom, trying to dig a way out. Hold on boy, I tell him, and I get to work trying each of the keys on the lock. And that’s when it hits me, as I go through each key—the smell. It’s worse than ever, and when I turn my head around and point the flashlight where I think it’s all coming from, I find my answer. Four steel drums with lines of dark ooze coming from their sides. Some kind of body stew I’m convinced, but I don’t investigate. Instead I keep trying until I find the right key. But it’s not there. Nothing opens the cell and I tell Voley it’s okay, I’ll get him out. And then, I make my way back to check the other guy’s pockets.

  The light guides me through the darkness, away from the stench, and then, before I hit my cell again, I do a quick rotation, scanning the entire darkness and the shaft of light from the hatch. I brace myself against a pillar as the ship jerks again and then rights itself. But what I see takes me away from the pocket search—there on the wall are two of the guns, the same ones they had in their hands when they took me in from the boat. Machine guns. It doesn’t matter that I’ve never used one, I go straig
ht for it anyway. I lift it up off the wall and it’s so light that I think it might be a toy and not a real gun. But then I see the rounds, lying out in a tin on the shelf. Heavy and real. And the gun has a clip in it. I hold it for a moment, figuring out where the safety and trigger rest against my fingers, and then put it back down. I have to get the key first.

  My hands run through the second guy’s pockets but there’s nothing there. The spilled lamp lies on its side, illuminating the cabin ceiling. And just where I look, up at the deck floor above, I hear a sound. Something that isn’t the weather. A loud stomping. I know it must be another man coming so I run back out of the cell, gripping the knife and trying to decide if I should attempt to use the machine gun yet. Somehow I don’t think I should do it. That it might not work and then I’ll have given myself away. I have to stay hidden for this to work. So I find the stairs and get behind them and wait, watching for someone to come down. And then, when the footsteps get really loud, and I’m sure someone’s about to come down now, I turn off the flashlight. Each foot descends from the madness above, a black silhouette against the thin light of the storm sky above. He shouts as he makes his way down. “Selmin!” he shouts. And again he calls the name. Each time his foot hits a new lower step, he calls again, the same name, but then he stops when he sees the spilled lamp and the bodies around it. He freezes, like he knows I must be in the room. He doesn’t have a light though, and I’m behind the stairs, so I don’t even breathe. I just wait to see what he’ll do, the knife out and ready. And then, just that fast, he turns and runs back up to the deck, leaving the bodies and me down in the dark dungeon alone. I hear the name John shouted twice. Their leader. And I know they’ll both be back, and that I have to use the gun now. Have to hope I can fire it. That it even works. But maybe the storm will buy me time, I think, as I turn the flashlight back on and point it over to Voley. He’s quieted down now, but his nose still pokes through the bars, and he looks across the room at me sadly, his eyes glowing in the light. I want to tell him again it’ll be okay, but I can’t. I have to be completely quiet now. It’s the only thing I can do. But each time the ship rocks I know there’s no way I can get this thing through the storm by myself. Even if I somehow kill them all, the storm will finish the job for them. They took this thing in the wrong direction and now we’re getting sucked a thousand miles from Leadville into the heart of the Great Plains.