by Sara Clancy
Racking her clouded brain, she hurried closer.
“Have you seen Anna?” Jezebel called out while there was still a large distance between them.
It still got the guide’s attention.
“Jez, right?” the woman said. “Please, join the group. I’m trying to get a head count.”
“Where is my sister?”
“We’ll find her,” the guide placated Jezebel like a child. “Just stand over there for now.”
Visibly, there was no mistaking Jezebel for a child. There was no hiding the ample curves of her figure. Her voice, however, hadn’t matured. Most people assumed that she was putting on a cute kiddy voice and instantly started questioning her intelligence. Fueled by a lifetime of resentment, Jezebel leaped over the gap separating them and grabbed the woman’s arm.
“Have you seen Annabel? Yes or no?”
The guide watched her with large dark eyes, clearly trying to school her features into an authoritative but non-threatening mask. It was an impressive poker face. Had Jezebel not grown up with Annabel, it might have worked. As it was, she could read everything that crossed her face, including her answer.
“I’m finding my sister. I’ll come back after.”
“I need to take a head count.”
Jezebel didn't bother to answer. She was already working her way along the length of the ship. It took all of her effort to keep her mind blank. She could feel the thoughts pressing on the edge of her awareness. Knowing that, if she let those thoughts in, her mind would be flooded with images of her little sister crushed under the hull of the ship. It would break her. She'd be useless.
Desperate to fight them off, she cupped her hands around her mouth and screamed. “Anna!”
A mix of noises met her call, and it was almost impossible to pick them all apart. Hopping from one stone to the next, she felt an iron bar wrap around her lungs and squeeze.
“Anna!”
While the guide fought to reclaim control, chaos continued to ravage the survivors. Those who could run, did. Searching for someone to help them. With night quickly closing in and the layer of clouds choking off the sunset, it was getting harder to spot the wounded. Jezebel could hear their screams. Bloodcurdling and shrill. She clenched her fists, trying to hold back the urge to clamp her hands over her ears and tune it all out.
“Anna!”
Jezebel couldn’t think beyond the overwhelming, driving need to find her little sister. That had always been her role. Her duty. She looked out for her. Panic became thick in her veins, burning her from within.
“Take your sister.” Jezebel snapped around, the sudden motion making her brain slosh against her skull. That was mom’s voice. Too real to be a memory.
The ghostly voice came back. A crisp whisper that was as real as the rain upon her skin. “Jez, take your sister and hide.”
“Mom?” Jezebel mumbled.
Her arms felt heavy, as if her mother had bundled the baby Annabel into her arms. The broken fragments of her mind struggled to sort memory from reality.
Hide, her mind whispered. Get Anna away from dad.
Her father was obsessed with the idea of family. The Hallmark commercial version, where children were silent and obedient, and constantly smiling at their daddy. Jezebel had learned quickly how to pander to his whims. But Annabel had come into the world stoic and silent. She didn’t giggle at his jokes or smile on command. For their father, that was the equivalent of spitting in his face.
“Jez, take care of your sister.”
“Mom?!” Jezebel’s scream shattered the illusion.
It broke away like glass, leaving her panting and rattled.
“Anna!”
Mixed within the other noises, she picked up a familiar unwavering monotone. Annabel’s voice. It was weak but there, and a flood of relief made Jezebel giggle. Moving faster, she called over and over, chasing down her sister’s responses. The deep tone of her voice led her to a fissure between two cracked boulders. Shadows gathered in the pit. It took time for her eyes to adjust and notice the figure curled up within. Annabel’s dark hair bled into the shadows, camouflaging her as she sat with her head flopped forward.
“Anna,” Jezebel said, her heart lodged in her throat. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, a jerky motion that clearly said she was in pain, and rested her head back against the stone.
“The fall rattled me,” she said. A sharp focus entered her eyes and her body jerked. “The baby?”
“It’s okay. Crying and stuff. Someone else has it.”
“Good,” Annabel said.
Despite everything, Annabel looked remarkably intact. Her long dark hair was still confined to perfect, tight twin braids. And while she looked pale, there was never a flush to her face anyway. Annabel’s fingertips left bloody paths over the stone as she forced herself up onto her feet. Breathing a sigh of relief, Jezebel dropped down onto her stomach and prepared to pull her little sister up. Climbing down herself was a colossally stupid idea. Small quakes randomly zipped along her abused muscles, making her shake and twitch. Annabel stood on her toes. Jezebel stretched until her shoulders throbbed. Their fingertips slipped over each other. Neither could get a proper grip.
“Is there anything you can stand on?” Jezebel asked.
A near death experience was enough to rob her younger sister of her piercing stare.
“Attitude isn’t going to get you out of the pit,” Jezebel said.
While she arched an eyebrow, she didn't comment and took to jumping to try and get a grip. Jezebel didn’t hear anyone coming up until the man almost stepped on her.
“Can I help?” His dark hair flopped across his forehead, the tips smearing water across his glasses with every swipe.
“My sister,” Jezebel said. “I can’t reach her.”
Instead of reaching down to grab Annabel’s outstretched hands, he sat down and slid into the pit. It seemed like a stupid decision until he was standing next to her. The man had to be over six feet tall. With his back pressed against the stone and his knees bent, he was essentially a ladder. A foot on his thigh. A step on his shoulder. The sisters took it from there.
Even though he was a sentient beanstalk, the man was heavy. Even when Jezebel shared the weight with Annabel, it was up to him to do most of the work. Once they were all back up, Jezebel latched onto Annabel and pulled her into a crushing grip.
“You’re okay, right?” Jezebel said, voice cracking with suppressed tears. “You’re alright?”
“I think so.” Swallowing thickly. She tried to pull back but Jezebel wasn’t letting her go. It took a bit of shoving and a protest of, ‘your eye’ for Jezebel to loosen her grip.
“What?” she touched a finger to the soft skin of her under-lid. It came away smeared with something black. Black as blood in the dark light. She released a breathless chuckle.
“It’s just my makeup running. Not blood. I’m okay.”
They both seemed to remember the man at the same time.
“Thanks,” Jezebel said for them.
“No, of course,” he dismissed, still having trouble keeping his hair from his forehead.
Annabel was already sprinting away before the end of his sentence passed his lips. Without hesitation, she began to bark orders. Some of it was first-aid instructions. Other comments focused on getting the wounded into the windbreak created by the deserted ship.
“She’s a med student,” Jezebel explained.
Watching her sister run around, alive and relatively well, stifled the fire that had fueled Jezebel to this point. Her knees buckled. She would have crumbled completely if it weren't for the stranger's quick reflexes. It was a moment of exhaustion. Relief and all of the things she had been suppressing rushed upon her in unison. Once the man had helped to right her, she wasn't about to drop again. The stranger didn’t comment on it. Instead, he just lingered close, silently offering her help to get across the more difficult parts. One hand on her elbow and the other around h
er waist, he helped guide her over the stones. Already, Annabel’s voice carried over the crowd, trying to create some order out of the chaos. The controlled urgency of her voice left no room for argument. Not everyone was quick to follow her advice. Jezebel suspected that it had something to do with fact that Annabel looked like a teenager going through a goth phase.
Chaos had a way of multiplying numbers. The sheer volume of their bloodcurdling screams made her assume that most of the forty must have made it to shore. Eyeballing the survivors now, it seemed that there was only approximately half of that number. Annabel was quick to put the few people that were still able-bodied to work. Not sure what else to do, Jezebel took to following her sister, carrying out her orders as they were given. Holding people down when she needed to reset bones. Helping others to get closer to the guides. CPR and tourniquets. Blood and sweat. None of it seemed real. Just an illusion playing across her haze-filled mind.
Annabel’s voice was the only thing that this fog didn't touch. It was crisp. Clear. Direct. A firm anchor that Jezebel latched onto like a life raft. There was no need to think. Everything that had just happened could be put aside for now. There was no need to contemplate how they might die here. Or acknowledge the torments that she was helping to inflict upon innocent people. If they die, is it just torture? She pushed the thought down with everything else. They could all stew there for a while. For now, she could just follow Annabel’s orders and let her mind go blissfully blank.
For all of the tour guide’s efforts, the wounded were still scattered across the beach, littered amongst the other jetsam.
Annabel ran from one to the next with a resolute purpose. After checking each, she seemed to sort them into two groups. It didn’t take long for the friends and family of the wounded to pick up on the tendency. From there, it was just a matter of time before they figured out that life expectancy was far better for one group than the other. That’s when the arguments began. No one wanted to admit that their loved one, or themselves, were a lost cause. Annabel didn't help to quell their fears. Naturally monotoned, directly honest, and with a limited range of facial expression; they took her to be cold, unaffected and cruel.
Demands turned to bellows. Roaring voices morphed into threats. Annabel straight-out refused to give the disgruntled people any more of her time and attention. She seemed completely unaware of the physical threat closing in on her like a hungry beast. Jezebel hurried through her tasks. She was more concerned with getting back to her sister than with the people she was treating.
Completing her most recent order, helping to arrange a woman’s arm in a sling, she spotted the trail of desperate people following along behind Annabel like a wolf pack. Tension turned the air like tar. For all she had prepared for it, the first attack still shook Jezebel to her core. Grasping hands. Hard shoves. Clenched fists. Half the size of most in the pack, it didn't take long for the crowd to swallow Annabel.
Jezebel didn’t possess much upper body strength. But determination and long fingernails worked wonders. People flowed into the conflict. Spurred on by the raw, primal need to survive trumped common sense and decency. The pushed back against Jezebel’s attempt to get them to retreat. She was vaguely aware of others coming to Annabel’s aid, but it was impossible to see whom.
“Enough!” Annabel bellowed, her anger turning her voice into a crack of thunder. “If any of you have medical training, I’ll be happy to let you take the lead. If not, shut up and do as you’re told!”
Not many listened to her. That didn’t matter. For every person that was ready to protest, there was another set to argue the point. Contradicting each other kept the most volatile busy, and she was able to slip away.
“Jez,” she called blindly, her attention already on the group of wounded lined up alongside the ship.
There wasn’t much wind left to cause trouble, but it was the promise of shelter that was alluring.
“Right here, Anna.”
Kneeling down next to the first person in the line, her hands already searching for injuries, she didn’t look up as she spoke.
“I need you to check out the boat.”
“Boat?”
“Boat. Ship. Whatever you want to call it,” Annabel said. “It should have a first-aid kit. Supplies. Flags we can rip into bandages. Something.”
Jezebel lifted her eyes to look at the massive, broken structure. If there had ever been an area that promised disaster for anyone who stepped inside, this was it.
“We’ll also need wood,” Jezebel said. “Something we can make stretchers out of.”
“Right,” Jezebel said, still eyeing the ship with dread swelling in her stomach.
“Is something wrong?”
“No.”
Annabel spared her a glance, barely able to do more while she was trying to carefully brace a woman’s ankle. It was broken bad enough that the toes pointed in the wrong direction. Jezebel’s stomach rolled at the sight of it.
“I can’t trust anyone else,” Annabel whispered. “You see how they are. If there’s anything useful in there, they’ll probably start hoarding it.”
“I get it.” Jezebel took in a deep breath and lifted her chin.
“And,” Annabel looked at her meaningfully for a moment. “You always see more than I do.”
Jezebel smiled weakly.
“I’ll do it.”
“Now is better, Jez,” Annabel said, the corner of her mouth ticking up.
She moved to the next person a half a second before the man with the floppy hair stumbled forward. Bracing his hands on his knees, he swallowed down a few breaths. The airborne mist perpetually clung to his glasses in droplets.
“What would you like me to do next?”
Annabel didn’t look up at him. With both hands busy, she used her chin to make a loose gesture in Jezebel’s general direction.
“Go with her. Bring back what you can.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said swiftly.
As lanky as he was, he could move fast. His pace forced Jezebel into a jog to keep up.
“And light!” Annabel bellowed. “Anything that makes light!”
Landing on the hard shore had splintered the hull. Cracks covered the surface, some barely the width of a finger while others were almost large enough to slip through. Those were the ones that bothered her. It seemed that the barest touch would finish the job and the whole thing would crumble into firewood. Upon closer inspection, the man came to the same conclusion and slowed his pace. With care and concentration, he assessed their options and picked one of the bigger holes. It was low but wide. Easier for her to slip through. Not so much for him.
“Ladies first,” he offered once their hesitation dragged out, becoming more of a moment.
A weak smile fluttered across his lips as she stared him down.
“I’ll just go first then,” he said.
He almost had to fold himself in two to get inside. For his complete lack of grace, he managed to get inside without touching any of the mangled blanks. Jezebel looked over the side of the ship. Time had withered what little decorative paint had crossed the side. Still, with a bit of squinting, she could make out the name of the ship. Wilhelmina.
“Um, are you okay?” the man asked, the deep pitch of his voice hiding most of the quiver that ran through his words. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“Jezebel,” she said on reflex. “Jez.”
His shadow crossed the opening, but he remained lost in the shadows.
“I’m Henry.”
She was starting to think that Henry was the type of person that longed to prattle when scared but never really knew what to say. So it all just became a series of stutters and throat clearing. Oddly, and perhaps not valiantly, knowing that he was scared as well helped Jezebel gather the few remaining shreds of her courage.
All traces of light were snuffed out the instant she ducked into the broken hull of the Wilhelmina. The noise from the outside world died. The screams. The crash of the
ocean. Her sister’s voice. All of it was gone within an instant. Jezebel lurched back to the gap and stuck her head through. The stifling silence shattered. Noise came rushing back with an intensity that stole her breath.
“Jez!” Annabel called, her voice sharp and crisp as it carried across the beach. “I really need you to hurry up!”
Swallowing thickly, she nodded and sunk back into the shadows of the Wilhelmina.
“I know that this sounds like a strange question.” Instead of completing his thought, Henry chose to fall into a tense silence.
His repeated glances to the gap in the hull made his meaning clear enough. He wanted to know if she had noticed it, too.
“This place must be soundproofed,” she said.
Her excuse fell flat. Mostly because they weren’t reduced to silence. The sounds of the outside world had been replaced by the creaks and groans of a ship at sea. As they stood still, it was possible to hear small waves lapping against the outside. She looked back to the gap. Just needing to reassure herself that fleeing was still an option.
“I’d really like to get out of here as quickly as possible,” Henry noted.
“I second that plan.”
Following through on their convictions, however, wasn’t so easily accomplished. Neither one of them wanted to leave the opening. Thin traces of light carded in through the slender openings in the hull. They sliced through the darkness while still offering little to see by. Drifting closer to each other, they took their first tentative steps forward. The floorboards moaned under their weight, and without discussion, they both came to the conclusion that faster was better. Each picked a side and began to search though the storage compartments. There were a few sacks that carried a rotten, musky stench. She wasn’t about to open them.
“This is a Spanish galleon,” Henry mumbled in awe as they worked their way down the line.
Jezebel hummed. More to say that she heard him rather than she was interested in the conversation.
“You don’t find that odd?” he pressed.
“Should I?”
They had reached a narrow staircase and were forced closer together again.
“They were mostly used in the 15th and 16th centuries,” he said, casting his eyes around. “That’s a long time to be lost at sea with no one noticing. Not to mention not sinking.”
