“Nah uh.” Carlos shook his head. “Everybody knows the jolly rogers was a skull and crossbones. What kinda pirate are you?”
“The bones were just one kind. A jolly roger represented death. And to people who lived in a time when disease or famine or war could wipe you out any minute, an hourglass pretty much said it all. Lito…” Ray paused to swallow, but looked like he had trouble getting his throat to work. “This is a pirate ship from the 17th…maybe 18th century at the latest.”
Lito shook his head. “It’s a replica. Something that floated away from a movie set or a museum. Has to be.”
“Like that Viking boat those kids crashed into? That come from a movie too? Maybe Erik the Red Gets Lost in the Bermuda Fucking Triangle?”
“What Viking boat?” Amber asked.
“I told you to knock off that Triangle BS.” Lito retrieved one of the bags they’d brought with them from the Runner, unzipped a flap, and brought out a tied bundle of heavy twine. “All right, you want an explanation, let’s go have a look.”
Ray shook his head. “I never said I needed an explanation.”
Lito tossed one end of the rope over the prow and caught it when it came back down. “Okay, then I do.”
“Why waste the time? I’m pretty sure this thing don’t run on gasoline.”
Lito didn’t answer, but Amber snorted as he tied the rope to one of the docking eyelets on the pontoon boat, securing the two ships together. “He wants to see if this thing has any gold doubloons on board.”
Ray slung an arm around Lito’s shoulders and steered him away from the others. “That it? You wanna go treasure huntin?”
“We’ll just go up and have a quick look around. If it’s really what you say, then we can’t afford to pass it up.”
“Give me one of those paddles and watch me.”
From the far side of the pontoon boat, Cherrywine gave an excited, “Oh!” The blonde clapped her hands and bounced up and down, jiggling her breasts. “This is just like the boat in Eric’s story!”
“What is this story you keep talkin about?” Lito directed the question at Amber, hoping for a coherent answer.
“Eric told us about some guy that found a ship like this in 1970. He boarded it, got attacked by something, and escaped. The story goes that when he got back he was sick, and the government put him into permanent quarantine.”
“What did he get attacked by?” Carlos asked.
“He didn’t see it. He dropped his flashlight and ran. And for some reason, Eric thinks that makes the story gospel truth.” She looked from him to Lito. “Don’t go on that ship.”
“You scared?”
“Yes. But not because of some stupid story. We don’t have time for this.” She inclined her head toward Justin, standing in front of her.
Lito might’ve caved at that—he didn’t want the white boy dying on their watch any more than Ray did—but the kid looked better, on his feet and with a little more color in his face, so maybe the situation wasn’t as dire as they’d thought. “It’ll take two minutes, I promise.” He checked the revolver in the back of his waistband and gave the rope leading up to the deck of the sloop an experimental tug. “Ray, you’re with me. Jericho’s in charge down here. Everybody just sit tight and we’ll be right back.”
With that, he hoisted himself off the ground and began shimmying up the rope.
5
Amber watched first Lito and then Ray climb the rope and disappear over the side of the old boat (old in style, she had to remind herself, and not necessarily in age), trying to bring her blood temperature back from the boiling point that Lito’s stunt had sent it to. The man viewed the world as nothing but one big joke for his own amusement, and, to make it worse, his sleeves had slid down as he climbed, revealing muscular biceps. She looked away, refusing to watch as they reached the top. The sounds of their heavy feet treading the wooden deck above were surprising crisp and clear.
After that, the group drifted apart. Amber approached Justin and held up the pills Lito had given her. “Some antibiotics, aspirin, and painkillers. Maybe they’ll help.”
He held out a hand and said nothing.
“Not here. Come inside the cabin to one of the bunks. Some of these could knock you out.”
“And leave you alone with these guys? I don’t think so.”
“What?” Amber lowered both the medication and her jaw. “You honestly think I’d…sleep with one of these scumbags?”
He frowned in confusion. “To protect you. Both you and Cherrywine. We still have no idea what their plans are for us.”
“Oh.” She felt heat creep into her cheeks, and hoped the darkness hid it. “I don’t think they’re gonna do anything until they find these parts they need. We can take care of ourselves for a couple of hours. You’ve got to rest or you’ll just get worse.”
“Fine.”
He allowed himself to be led into the cabin. Cherrywine followed, cringing when she caught sight of the skeleton in the corner. Amber gave Justin double the recommended dosage from the bottles, hoping there would still be enough active ingredients in the old pills. He stretched out on the bunk, and she spread an old wool blanket over him that smelled like fish.
“I’m sorry about throwing the ring,” he said. “And buying it in the first place. It was stupid.”
“Just get some sleep.” She turned down the lantern to a low glow, then glanced at her watch. Almost twelve-thirty; hard to believe how far they’d come in a little over three hours. “We can talk about all that later.”
He nodded, rolled over to face the wall, and fell asleep almost immediately.
On her way back out, she met Cherrywine in the kitchen and said, “I can’t stay in this stinking room. Would you mind keeping an eye on him?”
“No problem. So…you told the truth, huh?”
“Yeah, and you were right. It was the best thing to do.”
“It usually is. That’s what I’m gonna do with Lito. Cross your fingers for me!”
Amber spun back around at the edge of the door. “Huh?”
“Lito. You know, their captain?”
“Yeah, I know who you mean, Cherry. What am I crossing my fingers for?”
Her eyes lit up with excitement as she grabbed Amber’s shoulders. “Isn’t he cute? And did you see the way he stood up for me back on their ship? I think he likes me! Maybe he’s my Prince Charming!”
“More like Quasimodo,” Amber said. There were too many high school flashbacks hitting her all at once. “They’re pirates, Cherry. Criminals. Try to keep that in mind.”
6
Raymundo Vargas had been raised by two of the most devout Catholic parents a boy could dream of murdering in their sleep.
The slightest transgressions had been catalogued by his mother, so his father could deliver long diatribes on the value of one’s soul and the fires that awaited those who didn’t appreciate them. The constant dogma had resulted in an absolute rejection of religion and everything it stood for, which was probably why Ray was now a wanted man in at least three countries.
But he’d never quite gotten rid of the habit of crossing himself when he got spooked, an almost subconscious response to fear.
And, as he and Lito reached the top of the sailing sloop, his hand began to make the furious circuit between forehead, chest, and shoulders.
The deck was clean though, as new as the rest of this relic from a much simpler time, the wood beneath his sneakers gleaming with fresh varnish. A moment of surreality passed over him as he craned his neck back to take in that dark sail again, with its blood red emblem. Everything looked so authentic—from the lanyards threaded through the side rigging, to the crow’s nest high above their heads—that it was easier to believe they’d wandered onto some pirate-themed carnival ride, where the guides wore eye patches and said ‘Avast ye mateys’ every five seconds. As he and Lito crept across the deck, the other man peeled away and climbed the short staircase to the helm on its upraised platform, and went to
stand behind a massive, spoked steering wheel whose top reached his neck.
“Check it out, Ray,” he whispered in Spanish. “I’m Blackbeard.”
Ray scowled at him. “Stop playin, fuckhead, or I swear I’m goin back.”
“Yeah, but just think: if we’d lived two hundred years ago, this coulda been our ship!” A doofy, boyish grin spread across Lito’s face. Ray understood. Hard to be a pirate if you didn’t get excited about swashbucklers and sea battles as a kid, before you found out that the reality of early high-seas life was all scurvy and syphilis. He had to admit, he was more than a little curious at what might be on board, but that didn’t stop his hand from continuing to sketch lowercase T’s on his chest.
He continued on to a long rectangular hole cut into the deck and shone his flashlight inside. A simple wooden staircase led to the lower decks. Lito joined him a few seconds later.
“Why do I listen to you?” Ray mumbled. “Goddamn, I don’t wanna do this.”
Judging from the stiff way Lito stood as he searched the darkness down there, Ray suspected he didn’t either. All that meditation he’d been trying to hide from the rest of the crew may have quelled the temper that used to get the better of him, but it hadn’t done much for his stubborn streak. “One quick look around, just to see if there’s anything worth takin back.”
“You don’t really think we’re gonna find the lost treasure of Atlantis on this thing, do you?”
“We don’t have to. If this thing is as authentic as you say, then it is the treasure. Hell, maybe we could even sail it back. Imagine the look on Dully’s face if we pulled into port on this thing.” He slapped at Ray’s hand. “And stop crossin yourself, you look like a damn retard.”
They pulled their pistols, held them in the opposite hand as their flashlights, which stopped Ray’s rogue hand from its frantic blessing. Lito went first, easing down each step. Ray followed until he could crouch and look into the room below.
What he saw, by the beam of his flashlight, was a cramped galley with cafeteria-style seating at crude wooden tables and stools. Food was still laid out for whatever meals had once been prepared on this vessel. Ray sniffed, searching for signs of rot and decay, but the air was only musty. They took the rest of the stairs and walked through the tables. The boards under their feet were so new, they didn’t even creak.
“Hey,” Ray hissed. Their voices were much louder in the enclosed space. He picked up a potato the size of his fist from one of the plates and held it out. “This is still good. Not even a spot of mold.”
Lito didn’t seem too interested. He pointed further ahead. “Do you see that?”
“What?”
“That light.”
Ray saw it now. The galley ended at a narrow doorway with a short hallway that would take them to the rest of the ship, most likely the crew bunks and holds. If there was anything of value on board, that’s where it would be. But a light shone on the walls beyond the door, gleaming off the glossed and polished wood, and not the shifting orange glow of fire from a torch or lantern either, but the clean, white radiance of modern electrical illumination.
Lito jumped around the corner, and Ray took the opposite side, half-expecting shaded lights from a movie set, and a director screaming that they were blocking his shot, but instead, what they found on the floor was a flashlight not too different from the ones they held. It lay on its side, rolling back and forth ever so slightly with the rocking of the ship, and projecting a wide, bright circle on the wall. Lito picked it up and thumbed the switch a few times, turning the beam on and off.
“Your girl’s story.” Ray tapped the device’s barrel. “She said that guy dropped his flashlight on the ship he boarded. Remember?”
“Yeah, but she also said it happened in 1970.” Lito unscrewed the base and let two fat Duracell D’s slide out into his hand. “How long you think batteries like this last in a turned-on flashlight, Ray?”
“Seven, eight hours, tops.”
“Then how could this one have been sitting here for close to forty years?”
“I got a better one: how can this ship be as new as the day it was christened, and that houseboat has fifty years worth of dust built up on it?”
A ragged, drawn-out moan came from the opposite end of the hallway leading deeper into the ship.
7
As Amber left the cabin, she almost ran into Carlos and Jorge just on the other side, looking up at the wooden ship and speaking in hushed tones. Funny; she’d gotten the idea these two didn’t like one another, but they looked thick as thieves now, in the most literal sense. They shut up in a hurry when they saw her, Jorge’s eyes blazing while Carlos ogled her up and down. She’d wanted to wait out here for Lito to come back, but she couldn’t do it around them.
“’Scuse me, fellas.” She squeezed past and went down the side of the boat toward the stern, where Jericho was just closing up the hood on one of the jet skis. She knew very little about this one, but he seemed friendlier than the other two. At the moment, that’s all she could ask for.
He swung his flashlight up when he heard her coming.
“You mind if I sit here?” She motioned to the scanner that was still playing softly. “I’d like to listen to that.”
He shrugged and turned up the volume, and she sank down onto the padded plastic bench beside him.
That horrible voice. Uninflected, but urgent somehow. Deep and growling, almost chewing each individual syllable and spitting them out. Her imagination conjured an image of the mouth that could’ve spoken these strange, foreign words, something with long jaws full of too much slobber and wickedly sharp teeth.
“De Voice of de Deep,” Jericho said.
The phrase startled her. “What?”
“Our cook, Mondo, dat’s what he called it. Said it wasn’t a god or a demon, but somet’in in between.”
She felt the short hairs at the base of her neck prickle in the night wind blowing across the water. The Voice of the Deep. It was silly, more fly’s eye, through-the-looking-glass fairy tales—but she was suddenly very claustrophobic again, trapped in the middle of the ocean.
“You supposed to be some kinda language genius, right?” he asked. “You got any idea what it’s sayin?”
“I would need something to compare it to before I could even begin to decipher it. Let me ask though: did the Indian girl sound like this?”
He seemed to tense up; she remembered that the girl was a touchy subject for him. “Never heard her say a word. I don’t t’ink she could speak. Whatever happened to her…she was barely human anymore.”
Amber switched off the radio and had to admit that, as fascinated as she was by the language it spoke, she felt relieved when the voice went away. “Well, whoever that is, they’re definitely trying to tell us something. Otherwise, why go through the trouble of broadcasting it over and over again?”
“Distress call. One of dese boats had a foreign crew and left dere mayday goin. Before…whatever happened to dem.”
Amber nodded, not bothering to point out that this crew he was imagining would have to be pretty damn ‘foreign’ for her not to have any inkling on the origin of their language. “So you haven’t tried using the radio at all since it started broadcasting?”
“Would you want to risk answerin whoever is sendin dat out?”
Amber said nothing. Some part of her would very much like to try speaking back to that voice, if only to try and garner more information. All of this was like pieces to a puzzle that didn’t fit together: the Voice of the Deep, speaking in a language no one understood…a hundred or more derelict ships…dazzling blue lights in the sky…freakish people and animals all tinted the same color…
And did it even have anything to do with the Bermuda Triangle?
Jericho had turned to watch her. Now his eyes flicked past her shoulder, and he raised his flashlight. “Lito back?”
Amber turned to find Jorge standing several feet away, by the back wall of the cabin. “Not yet.”
>
“Den whachoo want?”
Jorge’s hand twitched, and a silver switchblade appeared as if by magic. The blade glinted in the light of Jericho’s flashlight.
“To cut this bitch’s throat,” he said.
8
The pathetic moan startled Lito badly enough that the batteries to the amazing, never-run-down flashlight squirted through his fingers, clattering back to the floor and rolling away from him. He went after them, unwilling to let them go until the mystery was solved.
Something shuffled in the darkness down at the other end of the corridor, a shadow against shadows.
Ray grabbed his arm and pulled. “Still wanna try to sail this thing back?”
“Not so much.” He decided to let the batteries go after all, and even dropped the empty flashlight. “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”
They turned and bolted back through the galley of the ship. When they reached the stairs leading up to the deck, Lito chanced a look over his shoulder.
The narrow hall was full of shapes hurrying after them, a legion of dark, groaning figures with outstretched hands. His own flashlight grazed across them in his panic, giving him a brief impression of twisted faces and snarling mouths. Lito raised his revolver and opened fire while they were bottlenecked. He heard a grunt of pain, and the leader stumbled back into the others. It didn’t stop them for long.
“Move your ass, Porto!” Ray shouted from the top of the stairs.
Lito charged up toward him. By the time he got to the top, he could hear the stomp of feet ascending right on his ass. He was too terrified to look back again.
9
“Whachoo talkin ‘bout, Jorge?” Jericho came forward, moving to stand in front of Amber.
Jorge’s lips stretched back so he could talk through gritted teeth. “This bitch and her friends gotta die for what they did to Rabid. I owe him.”
“Jesus, for the last time, we didn’t hurt your friend!” Amber yelled around Jericho.
Sargasso Page 19
