Atlantic Pyramid

by Michelle E Lowe

  “Why these particular guns?” I asked as he took down another rifle for himself. “Why not newer ones?”

  “’Cause there are more bullets available for these, lad. During the war, Liberty ships got stranded here with whole cargos full of ammo.”

  I held an M1941 semiautomatic rifle. My grandfather on my mother’s side had owned one just like it. I was thinking that firing it might be fun when Travis said, “At least we won’t be using the guns from my time. Trust me when I say that reloading a musket during a life-or-death situation can turn your hair gray in seconds.”

  We slung the rifles over our shoulders, along with lengths of coiled rope. I didn’t look forward to seeing Gavin’s dead body but I was excited. I was really in the Bermuda Triangle, on an island no one knew existed. Most of the islanders were people from the distant past, a handful of them from an era that existed before the first civilization.

  As we walked along the beach, Travis grumbled, “Bloody hell, look who’s coming.”

  “Good morning, common people,” a man said as he drew nearer. A beautiful young woman carrying a tote bag walked beside him. “Going hunting?”

  “Yeah, for bloody wankers named Neal Gibbons,” Travis said sarcastically. “Looks like our hunt is over.”

  “Very funny,” Neal sneered, stepping directly into Travis’s path. “Why don’t you take your act on the road?”

  Neal looked to be in his twenties, with light blond hair and hazel eyes. He wore no shirt, showing off his six-pack abs and firm biceps. He had a beach towel draped over his shoulder and a small toiletry bag. To me, Neal was nothing more than a spoiled, cocky little bastard. I disliked him immediately.

  “Ain’t no road here, love,” Travis returned. “Why don’t you do something useful and build one, eh?”

  “Speaking of building, I hear your little Doozers are planning on building a dock for the ships.”

  “That sounds awesome,” the young woman said breathlessly. “When will it, like, y’know, be done?”

  “Give your mouth a rest, Sandy,” Neal snapped.

  “We could use an extra ‘and,” Khenan said flatly. “After all, it concerns you too.”

  “I’m not risking my life for an idiotic project like that,” Neal snarled. “It’s all Eleanor’s idea, and I like my yacht exactly where it is—away from the likes of you.”

  “You know,” Travis interjected firmly, “you act like you’re something special just ’cause you beat out all the other sperm your pappy pumped into your mum. I got news for you, lad. That’s a race we all won!”

  “You must be the new guy,” Neal said, shifting his condescending gaze toward me.

  “Yeah.”

  “Why wasn’t I invited to the Welcoming?”

  “Assholes aren’t invited,” Travis said bluntly, making Khenan laugh.

  “Whatever,” Neal dismissed, not even bothering to look at them. To me, he added, “Word is you’re an Indian.”

  “Half Native American,” I answered grudgingly. “And half Caucasian.”

  Neal raised his hand. “How, half-white man.”

  My eyes narrowed. I didn’t waste my time explaining how offensive his remark was.

  He threw up his hands. “Whoa, no need to get pissed. I don’t want you scalping me or something.”

  Sandy giggled. “That’s so funny!”

  “Bloody hell, Neal, what are you doing here, anyway?”

  “Just came to bathe, chump,” Neal said derisively. “Would you like to watch?”

  “Blimey, that’s a ghastly image.”

  Neal said nothing in reply, but as he and Sandy continued toward the pier, Khenan said, “Don’t take what ’e said to ’eart, mon. Neal’s like dat wit’ everyone.”

  “Aye. He needs a good kick in the arse, he does. He thinks he’s bloody well better than everyone else.”

  Neal’s insults had angered me but I wasn’t going to let him get under my skin. To elevate my mood, I raised my eyes to Eleanor’s house. Neal’s insults faded and we resumed our walk toward my plane.

  Chapter Twelve

  The fog grew deeper as we made our way across the wing of a plane and started our long and dangerous journey through the wreckage. We used Lafitte’s planks to move across the ocean, while the sky became dark with storm clouds. They eventually shed heavy drops. When the planks ended, we were on our own.

  “Bloody hell,” Travis complained, struggling to maintain his footing on the slick surface of a C-19 tail section. “We’re gonna get ourselves killed. You picked a marvelous day to go out to your plane, lad.”

  “Sorry, but I didn’t get a chance to watch the Weather Channel.” I leapt off the wing, onto a small fishing boat.

  “Travis be right, mon,” Khenan said. “Da rain stirs tings up in da water. Look down tere.”

  I steadied myself and looked over the edge. A shadow glided just beneath the surface. It was soon joined by another, then another.

  “Shit,” Travis swore, kneeling down and holding onto the rudder. “They’re surrounding us. At some point, we’ll have to go into the water, and when we do, it’s off with our legs. We ought to do this another time.”

  I hated to retreat, especially after just starting out, but Travis had a point. It wasn’t worth dying for a toothbrush and a change of clothes. I could hardly see a foot in front of me. Yet something urged me on, pulling me toward the junkyard.

  I looked around for possible transport, then realized I was standing on what I needed—a fishing boat. I reached down and grabbed the motor cord. “You guys can head back if you want, but I’m going on.”

  I hoped they would. Instead, they watched in silence as I pulled the cord a few times, but the motor refused to come to life.

  “Won’t work, mon,” Khenan said. “Remember, nuttin’ mechanical operates ‘ere.”

  I tried a few more times, yanking the cord in frustration, then rose to my full height. “Damn it,” I grunted, giving the motor a kick. “I’ll have to find an oar.”

  “For Christ’s sakes, if it’s that crucial, I’ll give you one of my toothbrushes,” Travis offered. “I’ve got several. I’ll loan you some clothes, too, and throw in some mouthwash. There’s no need risking your arse over toiletries, lad.”

  “Where you get mout’wash?” Khenan asked.

  “I swiped it from ole’ Gibbons a while back, when he and his puppet came ashore.”

  “Wicked.”

  I thought about Travis’s offer but I couldn’t shake the compulsion that pulled at me. For some reason, I needed to reach my plane. It was more than just gathering my things. There was something else—something that tugged at me to continue into the dangerous sea. “I have to go out there.”

  “You have to go?” Travis inquired. “That sounds interesting. Okay, I’m in.”

  “Ah, so dis be some kind of mystery mission, eh?”

  “I don’t know.” I suddenly felt silly, even more than when I first realized I was about to risk my life for supplies. “I just…it’s…well, it’s hard to explain, but I have a strong feeling that I’m supposed to do something. Does that make any sense?”

  “Nope, but I’m in just the same,” Travis said.

  “Me too. We won’t let you go alone. But how are we gonna git past da sharks?”

  “No worries, lads.” Travis slung his rifle around. “I’ll get these bastards off our backs.”

  He fired into the water several times before pegging a couple of sharks. The remaining ones went wild and tore into the dead and wounded.

  “If we can get to a galleon, we can pull down a longboat,” Travis suggested.

  While the sharks were distracted, we scrambled over some wreckage, leaving them to their feast. In a short while, we stumbled upon a boat covered in lounging octopuses. Travis and Khenan proved there was nothing to fear by petting one. I didn’t want to look like a wuss, so I touched one’s smooth skin. It breathed heavily but did nothing. Travis explained that they used to lie on the beach until people star
ted killing them, then they found new places in the junkyard to inhabit.

  I led the way, hoping we were going in the right direction. The fog and steady rain made it difficult to distinguish any of the planes or ships I’d seen on my way to the island, but my plan was simple. We’d go straight until we reached the end of the junkyard. If that didn’t lead us to my plane, we’d follow the edge until we found it.

  The sharks followed us, even after shooting a few more. Yet we kept out of the water as much as possible.

  “I say, Heath,” Travis said from the nose of a Grumman F9F-2 Panther, “what’s your take on this bloody place?”

  I struggled to make my way up the slippery wing of a Star Tiger. “I don’t really have a theory.”

  “You said you traveled da world,” Khenan said. “’ave you ever seen anyt’ing like dis before?”

  I grabbed a propeller blade and extended my hand to pull him up. “Nope. And I hope there’s no other place like this anywhere else.”

  Travis jumped on the wing and tried to maintain his hold. “I wore the wrong bloody shoes for this. I should’a worn me boots.”

  I tossed a rope down just as he lost his footing. He fell flat on his stomach and slid toward the murky water below, toward a pack of sharks.

  “Travis!” Khenan shouted.

  I thought about going after him but I’d end up in the ocean as well. Travis’s shoes screeched as he struggled to slow his descent, but they were unable to gain traction on the slick metal. Just before he hit the water, he leapt like a cat, propelling his body over a three-foot space to latch onto the nose of the Panther. The nose dipped under his weight, but he kicked his legs in the water to bring himself up.

  I handed Khenan the rope. “Tie this to the propeller.”

  I swung my rifle around and took aim.

  “Whatcha doing? You gonna shoot ’im!” Khenan cried.

  “I’ll do my best not to.”

  “Bloody hell, this isn’t the way I wanna go!” Travis hollered as an aggressive shark pounded against the plane, trying to knock him off.

  I squeezed the trigger and felt the rifle kick hard against my shoulder. There was a loud explosion first and then a spark next to Travis as the bullet bounced off the plane’s exterior. It startled the sharks enough to drive them back.

  “Who are you shooting at?”

  I aimed as a shark reappeared. It went for Travis’s foot but clamped onto the plane instead. Travis screamed and kicked at it, but its teeth were stuck in the metal. As it thrashed, Travis struggled to stay on the nose cone.

  I pulled the trigger and hoped for the best. There was another loud blast, then silence. The shark went motionless as blood trickled from the back of its head.

  Travis quickly stood up. “Bloody bugger.” He gave us a salute. “Cheers, mates. I got it from here.” He aimed his rifle at the water and began firing. “Get away from me, you bloody bastards!”

  Fins of several more sharks gathered for another feeding frenzy. As they tore at the body of the hanging shark, Travis pinwheeled his free arm to maintain his balance. If he fell in the water now, he wouldn’t last a minute.

  Khenan tossed the rope down to him. “Jump, Travis!”

  I held my breath as Travis leapt back onto the wing and caught the rope before he slid down. As we pulled him up, the rope burned my hands. When Travis came close enough, Khenan and I each took a hand and pulled him the rest of the way up.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, holding his arm.

  “Aye, I’m fine.” He heaved deep breaths. “Thanks, lads.” Then he looked up at me and said sternly, “You almost shot me, mate.” He patted me on the shoulder and continued climbing the plane.

  Travis almost getting killed for tagging along with me was one of the reasons I wanted to do this alone.

  We rested for a few minutes, gathering our strength and senses. I was about to call the whole thing off when Travis looked to our right and said, “Oi, lookie there.”

  My eyes followed to where he pointed and I saw the tall masts of a nearby galleon.

  “It’s not too far off,” Travis said. “Maybe there’s a longboat onboard.”

  As we climbed over a PBY Catalina, I noticed the galleon wasn’t alone. Leaning next to it was another galleon. The two ships held each other up in the shallow water. Their great masts mingled together, looking like two lovers.

  “Are either of these ships yours?” I asked Travis.

  “Nah, me ship ran aground on the other side of the island. These are warships from the 1800s.”

  “It looks like they arrived at the same time.”

  As we climbed onto the deck of a sailboat, a gunshot rang out, forcing us to duck behind a railing at the stern.

  “Shit,” Khenan whispered, squatting beside me. “Who’d be out ‘ere?”

  I swung my rifle around. “I have no idea.”

  “What if there’s more than one of them? They could be surrounding us right now,” Travis said fearfully.

  Before I could reply, a voice demanded, “Reveal thyselves!”

  “Travis,” Khenan said, “dat voice sounds old, like you. You talk to ‘im, eh?”

  “What do you mean I should talk to ‘im?”

  Before Khenan could speak, another shot rang out and a puff of smoke rose from a cannon window of one of the galleons.

  “I said reveal thyselves!” the voice thundered.

  “Talk to da mon,” Khenan insisted.

  “You think he’ll calm down just ’cause he might be from the same time as me?” Travis protested. “He could be an American soldier who hates Brits. Did you think of that? Why don’t you talk to him?”

  “I got a cannon aimed on the boat you’re on,” the voice shouted. “I suggest you start talking!”

  “He’s gonna blast us to bits!” Khenan cried. “Damn it, Travis, say someting.”

  I decided to take matters into my own hands and rose to my feet, my hands in the air. “Ahoy there!”

  “What’s your name, my good fellow?” the gunman asked.

  “Heath Sharp, and with me is Travis Livingston and Khenan Evans.”

  “Is that all? Just the three of you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you from the island?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you friend or foe?”

  It was a simple question but it might be a trick. I hesitated a moment as I decided how to answer.

  “The answer is friend, lad,” Travis whispered.

  “That depends,” I called back. “Who are you?”

  There was a long, eerie silence, during which my arms grew tired and my nerves began to crumble. Khenan and Travis got to their feet and stood beside me.

  “Where is ‘e?” Khenan whispered.

  I slowly lowered my arms. “I think he’s in the hull.”

  “He’s probably loading the cannon,” Travis said, “while we’re standing here like dodo birds.”

  “Don’t you tink it’s prob’ly already loaded?”

  “I guess you’re right on that, mate.”

  “Ahoy,” the man finally called as he appeared on the deck and waved to us. “I’m John T. Shubrick. Welcome to my kingdom.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Oh, Lord,” Travis muttered, “it’s bloody John Shubrick. This is gonna be interesting.”

  “Wah did ’e say?” Khenan whispered. “Some’ting ’bout ’is kingdom?”

  “Shush,” I said sharply. I looked at the imposing figure on the boat and called, “Mr. Shubrick, permission to—”

  “It’s King Shubrick!” the man snapped. “King Shubrick, do you hear? I should have made that clear.”

  The man was obviously insane but we were in his territory. I would call him whatever he wanted me to—Jesus, Pablo Escobar, Santa Claus, it didn’t matter as long he didn’t blow us away.

  “Forgive us, King Shubrick,” I said apologetically. “I request permission for me and my comrades to board your vessel.”

  Shubrick strok
ed his incredibly long beard, then waved us forward. “Sure, come on up.”

  “Do you know dat mon?” Khenan asked Travis as we began our approach.

  “Aye, but I’m not sure it will do any good. Keep a sharp eye out, lads.”

  When Shubrick pushed a ladder over the side, we eased into the water and waded toward the galleon. It took two ladders tied together to reach the water, which only came up four feet on the tilted hull.

  I led the way, my rifle bumping against my back as I climbed. When I reached the top, the first thing that greeted me was the end of a musket, trained directly on my face. Shubrick commanded, “Keep moving.”

  I thought about warning Travis and Khenan, but I couldn’t think of a way to do that without alerting Shubrick. My only option was to let them find out for themselves and hope for the best.

  Once I was aboard, I raised my hands. When Travis appeared and saw the gun, he blurted, “Oi, lieutenant, put that gun away, eh?”

  “Do I know you?” Shubrick demanded.

  Travis and Khenan joined me, but it was Travis who said, “No, but I remember you from the ole’ days. You were the lieutenant of the U.S.S. Epervier.”

  Shubrick ran his hand through his dark hair, looking confused. He seemed to be more of a pirate than an honorable seaman. He was filthy and reeked like a homeless person dipped in sewage. Shells, feathers, and small wooden soldiers were either tied or just stuck in his hair and beard. He considered Travis for a long time before lowering his musket. As the rifle dropped, so did my arms. Only then did I take my first real breath.

  Shubrick’s expression changed when he asked Travis, “You said you’re from the island. How is Eleanor?”

  “She’s doing well. And you?”

  “Always could be better,” he said grimly.

  “Your crewmen are livin’ on the south end of the island.”

  “Are they? I hope they’re doing well.”

  “You left the village sometime during the twentieth century, mate. No farewell or anything. What happened to you?”

  “I wanted to kill myself.”