The question—softly spoken but with an air of bewildered disgust—surprised her. “What do you mean?”
“With this Asian guy on our side, we outnumber these pirates now. One of them is even shot. We can get away from them. So why are you going along with what they say like we’re all best friends, and calling their captain on the radio? Hell, they even gave you a gun.”
“Justin…we…we need them, all right? If we’re gonna survive, we all have to stick together.” The words came out like an excuse. It was embarrassing to admit, but she’d all but forgotten that just a few hours ago, these people had taken them prisoner.
He shook his head. “I heard you and Cherrywine talking back on the raft. You actually like that Lito guy, don’t you? Don’t deny it, I can tell. Jesus, I think everybody can.” He held up a shaking hand. “I don’t care about that—well, I do, but I don’t want it to seem like this is some jealousy thing. I just want you to consider what’s gonna happen if we make it out of this. You think they’re just gonna let us go? This may be our only chance to get away from them. We can find a way back to the Asian guy’s ship on our own, and lock ourselves in. Or you and Cherrywine can go in by yourselves and lock me out, if you want.”
Amber listened to everything he had to say, her tongue sitting dead in her mouth. She felt ashamed and embarrassed, but also a little scared.
Because she’d noticed something while Justin was talking.
His irises had a faint blue ring around them, a smear across the whites that almost seemed to glow.
Justin reached out and gripped her shoulders, squeezing painfully. “I’m gonna protect you from them, no matter what. I won’t let them or anybody else hurt you.”
Ray saved her from having to answer by calling out, “Let’s go!”
She and Justin made their way to the only door leading out of the small craft launch bay and into the interior of the cruise ship.
3
Lito could barely see as he piloted the speedboat into the driving rain, which was why he almost missed the cruise ship in the dark. They hadn’t seen another derelict for a good ten minutes; he was beginning to think they’d driven right out of the grouping, gotten lost in the storm, when a sudden wave swelled in front of the boat before he could turn. They hit the inclined plane of water on their port side at close to fifty miles an hour.
“HANG ON!” he yelled to Eric.
The uneven ramp popped them completely out of the water in a lazy corkscrew. The boat slewed onto its starboard side in midair. Lito clung to the steering wheel. For a second it seemed as though the boat might tumble over all the way, dumping them out and surely snapping their necks in the process, but then it evened out and came down hard. Both he and Eric were thrown forward by the impact, falling to the floor. Another wave crashed over on top of them, filling the boat with salt water and seaweed.
“Get some of this bailed out!”
“With what, my goddamn hands?”
“Just do it! We gotta keep movin!” It seemed like the squall had reached its zenith, the water starting to calm, but Lito figured it was still more than enough to drown them.
He slid back into the driver’s seat. The engine sputtered as it spun them around in a weak circle. According to the compass, their bow was turned to the north now.
Eric leaned over his shoulder and pointed along the sharp wedge of the speedboat’s front end. “What is that?”
At first, Lito could see nothing in the swirling murk of the storm…but then his eyes picked it out, a slightly lighter shade against the darkness. A pulsing glow in a very familiar shade of blue. It looked like a lighthouse flame, coming from almost dead ahead.
Weren’t there old ghost stories about that, too? Blue flames on the Sargasso, another part of the Bermuda Triangle legend? Or did that have something to do with swamps?
He throttled up and headed toward it, at a reduced speed. He couldn’t tell if they were getting any closer. That sickly light—a few shades darker than the iridescent vines back on the yacht, but the exact color of the flashes in the sky—looked like the neon glow of Vegas on the horizon from miles away. It was so bright he had to wonder why they hadn’t seen it before the storm, either from the Steel Runner or the field of derelicts, but a few seconds later he had his answer, when the huge shadow of the cruise ship’s port side appeared off to the east. They had somehow circled all the way around the big bastard in the storm. From the opposite side, its enormous silhouette would’ve completely hidden the strange beacon away.
For a long moment, he kept their course locked between the glow and the ship, trying to decide between the two. He knew they needed to get to the cruise liner and find the others (if they’d even made it this far, which was a big if on that rattletrap pontoon), but he suddenly really wanted to see what that light was all about. He wasn’t drawn to it, as those mutant pirates had been—in fact, it made him feel a little green around the gills just looking at it—but intuition told him whatever answers were to be had about this whole mess would be found out there.
The question is, do you actually want them?
Before he could answer that, Eric slapped him across the face, hard enough to rattle his teeth. “What are you doing, dickhead! Wake up and get us outta the storm!”
That decided him. That, and Carlos. There was no time to go exploring; he had to save Ray and Jericho (and Amber, don’t forget her) from Carlos before he made his move. The boy had probably only waited this long because he was trying to secure a ride out of here first.
Lito coaxed a little more speed from the Jamaican’s boat, turning away from the blue glow. The gas needle on the gauges behind the wheel read less than a quarter of a tank, but that would still get them back to the Steel Runner. Now they just needed a way to get on board the cruise ship.
As they got closer, he spotted the solution. The entire liner was rust-eaten and rotting away. Huge chunks of steel siding were missing, including one long ragged section at the waterline that had penetrated all the way through the double hull just about midship, forming a neat little cove in the side of the boat between two girders of its massive frame. It probably led into a sealed bulkhead or else the entire ship might’ve sunk by now, but if they could get the door open…
Lito aimed for this. He slowed their speed. Even with the waves tossing them, he was able to maneuver the boat through the hole in the cruise ship’s hull. Something metal squealed against the underside of the boat, and they had to duck their heads under the maroon-colored upper edge of the hole, but in the end, the speedboat fit into the space as neatly as a gun in a holster. The wind and rain were blocked, and the walls even kept the worst of the waves away. Lito stood, shrugged out of his shirt without unbuttoning, and wrung as much water out as he could while he checked out the place.
The light from outside was just sufficient to see that the room was part of the maintenance corridors deep in the bowels of the ship, filled with rusty pipes and barnacle-encrusted machinery.
He wondered briefly how long it would take for a vessel of this size to reach such a deteriorated condition on the open seas, to the point where the hull—a slab of metal several feet thick—had been eaten straight through. Thirty years? Forty? Even longer?
Cruise liners of this magnitude had only been built in the last decade.
It was the exact opposite of the flashlight conundrum; instead of something that hadn’t logically aged enough, it was something that had aged more than was even possible.
The interior area was sealed, just as he figured. A catwalk led up to a heavy, watertight, steel door with a wheel release in the center. Lito dabbed at some of the worse of the cuts from his plunge through the glass bulkhead, then pulled his shirt back on over his head and did a quick inspection of the speedboat, pocketing the ignition keys. In a storage area under the back bench, he found enough gas reserves to get this boat pretty much anywhere on the eastern seaboard, a waterproof flashlight still in its original packaging, and a fully loaded Walther PPK.
Kind of a weird choice for guys that had been carrying submachine guns, but maybe it was a backup piece. After cutting open the flashlight with his knife and popping in the batteries that had come with it, he pulled out the radio he’d been carrying this whole time, removed it from its waterproof bag, and switched it on. “Guys, you read me? Jericho? Ray? Anybody?”
“They’re dead,” Eric said from behind him. He’d settled down in the leather captain’s chair. “All dead. Storm had to’ve killed ‘em all.” It was stated as a fact, without the slightest bit of concern. You’d never know the asshole was talking about people that were supposed to be his friends.
“Doesn’t mean anything. On a ship this big, they could be out of range. Or it could be all the steel blocking the signal.”
“Okay, let’s talk about this ship, since we’re on the topic. No cruise ship has ever disappeared in the Bermuda Triangle; trust me, I would know. So how the hell is it here?”
“You’re preachin to the choir. I’ve already covered this with people I like a lot more than you. Now get up, we need to find a way to get inside.”
Eric snorted and went about inspecting his fingernails. “Man, fuuuuck that. You may’ve dragged me all the way out here, but this is where I get off the insane train. There’s not a thing I need bad enough to set foot off this boat.”
Lito held up the pistol. “I’m not askin you, rich boy. I need your help.”
Eric gave the gun a passing glance, smirked, and shook his head sadly before going back to his manicure. “You know, your days of bossing me around at gunpoint are pretty much over, Captain. You’re not gonna use that. And even if you were, I’d rather get shot than be torn apart by one of those freaks, or eaten by goddamn plants. I mean, after what we just saw, do you really wanna risk going into a dark ship that’s been sitting here for God-knows-how-long?” He shivered, but it looked somehow forced to Lito, as if he were doing what he knew was expected of a normal person in a situation like this. The curious thought occurred to him that this was exactly what this young, rich gringo wanted, to see more of the wonders of the Bermuda Triangle, but only if his own life weren’t on the line, if he could view the monstrosities from a detached distance like they were no more than characters on a movie screen.
Lito stuck the gun in his waistband. “I don’t suppose you’re at all familiar with the concept of karma, are you?”
“Oh, what, the guy that robs people on the high seas for a living is gonna try to guilt me?” Eric shook his head and leaned back to prop his legs and bare feet on the dashboard. The position caused the little glass statuette to jut from the side of his back pocket. “I’m not getting killed for you, or Justin, or anybody. I’m gonna wait right here until the storm blows over, and then I’m finding a way to leave, with or without you. Deal with it.”
Lito lunged forward and wrenched the figurine from his shorts.
“You son of a bitch!” Eric spun in the chair and made to leap at him, but stopped cold when Lito extended his arm and held the narrow glass figure over the rough water beyond the cruise ship’s hull. “OH MY GOD, STOP, WHAT THE FUCK’RE YOU DOING?”
“Puttin you on a leash.”
“Be careful, do NOT drop that!” Eric fell against one of the seats and clasped his hands like a kid in Sunday school. Lito had to admit, it was satisfying to see the pendejo grovel.
“I don’t know what this thing is rich boy, but I know you seem more concerned with losin it than anything else in your life. So I got a deal for you. You stop actin like a spoiled brat, help me save my crew and your friends from Carlos, and you can have this back.”
Eric gave him a black look. His eyes were shiny with hatred. “That’s mine. It belongs to me. And I shouldn’t have to help you stop a mutiny by your own people to get it back. That’s your problem, shithead.”
Lito opened his hand, allowing the glass figure to drop, and then snapped it closed again, barely catching the statue’s head. Eric gasped. “It’s either roll over and play fetch on command, or this thing goes to Davey Jones’s locker right now. Your choice.”
For a second, it seemed the little cunt might keep arguing, but then a faraway look crept into his face, like he was listening to distant music. A grin—wistful and supremely creepy—twitched at the edges of his mouth.
“You okay, rich boy?”
Eric focused again, as though shaking off a daydream. “I’m fine. Lead the way, fucko.”
“Well…okay then.” Lito slipped the statue back into his own pocket on the leg of his khakis, buttoning the flap over it. “And if you try to get it back before we’re through, I’ll bash it to pieces.”
Eric didn’t answer, just stood aside to let him pass. Lito stepped out onto the flooded catwalk. The water came up to his hips and the whole structure creaked under his weight as he waded up to the stairs and then climbed to the bulkhead door to examine it with the flashlight. He gave the wheel in the middle a few experimental tugs, but it was rusted too much to turn.
His unwilling accomplice splashed up beside him. “Were you telling the truth to those assholes earlier? About the radiation?”
Lito reared back and kicked at the flat, metal crossbar that held the door closed. Red flakes rained down in the beam of his flashlight, and the thing snapped after the second time his boot hit it. “Yes and no. We met a couple of military boys out here after you ran off. They told us those blue bursts are some kinda weird radiation. The next one that hits is gonna be bad. We figure that’s what’s causin everyone around here to look…” A brief mental flash of the pregnant creature, and the horrors contained in its belly. “You know.”
Eric rolled his eyes. “And yet you still wanna go wandering around this ship instead of getting our asses out of here? Sure hope the pussy’s worth it when you start growing a second head.”
“Hey,” Lito growled. “Don’t talk about Amber that way.”
“Amber?” Eric snorted. “I was talking about your friend with the ponytail. But if you think you can pry that ice queen’s legs apart any better than Justin could, be my guest.”
“So glad I have your blessing. Now gimme a hand with this.”
With the two of them putting their shoulders to the door and straining, they were able to shove it open enough to slip through. Stagnant, brackish water poured out onto their feet from the other side, falling through the metal grating to the open ocean and the hood of the speedboat.
“Jesus, that fucking stinks!” Eric pinched his nose closed.
Lito waded into the flood and found a partially submerged maintenance corridor on the other side. He shone his flashlight down it, but it only reached a few yards before the tunnel turned a corner to the right.
“Where to?”
Lito pointed. “Down there. We have to find a way to get to the top of this ship.”
4
Tuan and Jericho carried Ray through the dark bowels of the Atlantic Queen on his bunk stretcher, reinforced with metal kayak paddles. He said he could try walking, but they forced him to stay immobile. Cherrywine, Justin and Amber stuck close to them, hauling the last of the gear, Cherrywine with the electric lantern, which cast a weak circle of light around them like a shield. Amber clutched Lito’s revolver in one hand and the radiation detector in the other. The device gave off no readings except when she pointed the wand too close to Justin, and she was careful to keep it away. Carlos took up the rear, following like a sulky child, occasionally bounding forward to hurry them up. The Hispanic kid had suddenly become a cheerleader for urging them along on their mission.
The exit from the launch bay led out to a wide, two-story mall concourse running up the middle of the ship. The place had to’ve been opulent once upon a time, a huge shopping plaza designed to serve the tourists’ every need, but with no lights or people—not to mention the drip of distant water—it felt more like they were spelunking in a vast cave. There were several broad parallel avenues laid out like city blocks under a high, arched ceiling, and lined with defunct stores, gift shops
, eateries, and even a few small casinos, their front windows filled with dusty slot machines that glittered when the lamplight fell on them. Amber was able to read some of the faded names over their entrances. Even though she recognized the familiar logos of Gucci and Starbucks, the establishments were so old and dilapidated, they reminded her of the tomb of some ancient Egyptian pharaoh, uncovered by an archeologist. They had to watch each step also; the decay and corrosion in here was so bad, it had eaten straight through the tile and the steel deck below in places, leaving gaping black pits to the levels below. Amber got an image in her head of the Atlantic Queen as one gigantic block of Swiss cheese.
Besides what time had done to this place, it looked like a stampede had come through here. Or maybe even a war. Glass storefronts were shattered, doorways filled with wreckage—overturned tables, chairs, racks of goods and products, broken exercise equipment from a day spa—that spilled out into the walkway under their feet. A few of them were fire-gutted, nothing left but blackened, charred interiors.
And there were bodies also, lying randomly in the rubble or stretched across the tile floor, so shrunken and desiccated they looked more like skeletal rag dolls than human beings. Their condition made it impossible to tell how they died. In a place like this, you expected the air to be heavy with the smell of rot and decay, but it had no scent, as though everything organic—everything capable of stinking—had long since withered away.
The dust more than made up for it though. If it had been bad aboard the houseboat, it was absolutely epidemic here, a quarter-foot deep layer of micro-fine sediment that billowed up around each of their footsteps in lazy slow-motion eddies, reminding Amber somehow of an astronaut stepping on the moon surface. It followed them in a cloud like Pig Pen from the Peanuts strip, causing them all to cough and wipe at their watering eyes. Amber’s allergies, usually bad in the winter, kicked up until she was sneezing every few minutes.
Otherwise, the cruise ship was oppressively silent, and they did little to break it.
Sargasso Page 27
