The Bar at the Edge of the Sea

by Tom Abrahams

  Zeke’s Superbird sat parked on the sand. Beside it was a jacked-up Ford F-150, black with large thirty-seven inch tires. The wheels were scuffed and scratched, revealing the steel underneath.

  Gabe loaded gear into the back of the truck. Phil leaned against the passenger’s side door, checking his appearance in the side-view mirror.

  Zeke motioned to the water with an exaggerated sweep of his hand. “So how do we do this?” he asked. “The Superbird doesn’t float.”

  Phil glanced up from the mirror. “Neither does the truck.”

  Lucius took two steps forward, his feet sinking in the coarse sand, which sloped to the water. Then he spun around and retraced his steps. He did this several times before stopping and throwing up his hands.

  “I don’t understand this,” he said, desperation bubbling in his voice. “How are we supposed to save my daughter? You don’t have boats? You have these machines, which you say can’t float, and that’s it?”

  He threw up his hands twice more, then regarded each of them with a mixture of confusion and disappointment.

  Uriel was the first to speak. “You’re welcome.”

  Lucius’s brow twitched. “What?”

  Uriel took four confident strides toward the newcomer. She appraised him with an elevator glare and repeated herself. “You’re welcome.”

  Lucius shook his head. “I don’t understand. For what?”

  Uriel moved close to the rear of the Superbird. Her fingers ran along the distinctive spoiler’s vertical strut before she leaned on the passenger-side door. She folded her arms lazily across her chest and crossed her legs at her ankles.

  “You’ve got a team of badass warriors ready to go to battle for you,” she said. “We’re doing this of our own volition despite not knowing you or your precious daughter. And I say precious because I assume her to be so. Otherwise, why would you leave the relative sanctity of here to go back there? Then again, every father should think his daughter precious. And you know what they say about assuming anything…”

  Lucius contorted his face and shook his head. “No. What do they say about assuming?”

  Uriel smirked. One corner of her mouth lifted higher than the other. It was an odd-looking expression.

  Zeke found it endearing.

  She noticed him staring, with a sidelong glance his way. He cleared his throat and averted his eyes. She answered Lucius. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that we’re helping you, and all you’ve done is whine about it. If this is how it’s going to be, I think we should quit. There are others we could help.”

  Zeke didn’t know who the others she referred to were. Lucius Mander was the first arrival since he’d returned with Li. He did know he didn’t like Uriel taking control of his mission.

  Sure, she was more experienced with these things. She’d performed countless assignments to various versions of Earth. But this one was his. Pedro gave it to him.

  “He doesn’t need to say thank you,” said Zeke. “We’re not doing this for a pat on the back or appreciation. We’re doing it because it’s what we’re called to do. Okay? Let’s figure this out and get going. I’m sure time is important.”

  Uriel glared for a moment before the hard look softened into something closer to admiration. He hoped. She shrugged her shoulders.

  “Okay, boss,” she said.

  Zeke nodded, then faced Lucius. “I’m sure we have a way to get to where we need to go.”

  “We do,” said Pedro. He emerged from the bar and into the daylight. He shielded his face with his hand at his forehead. His knuckles glinted in the sunlight, and Zeke realized he wore something on his hand.

  The barkeep walked with his usual powerful stride toward the team. He squinted despite the shade on his face.

  “It’s a hot one today,” he said. “That sun is bright, isn’t it?”

  “Always is, Pedro,” Gabe answered for the group. “What I’d give to be a weatherman in these parts. Easiest job in the world.” He sat in the truck’s bed now, legs dangling over the edge and his feet almost touching the hard-packed sand.

  Zeke wondered what a weatherman was. He decided not to ask for clarification. Instead, he stared at the identical rings adorning Pedro’s fingers.

  “The water does present issues for traditional transportation,” Pedro said, motioning to the water. “But we are anything but traditional.”

  “What does that mean?” Zeke asked.

  “It means, Ezekiel, that your fine automobile will function in the water. So too will the truck. You’ll be able to drive as normal to the gate. Then you’ll find…modifications…which will allow the proper travel.”

  Zeke didn’t question Pedro’s assertion. His hand brushed the revolver at his hip. His eyes drifted to the tattoo at Uriel’s midsection. In the space between her low-slung pants and the bottom of her cropped leather top was a flaming sword that ran across a two-dimensional sun. It was positioned diagonally from above her hip to her navel. It was the source of her power.

  He remembered the way she’d dispatched threats with lightning speed and magnificent force. The colorful ink on her body glowed and pulsed blue when she was energized, harnessing the invisible force of good or evil. It was the same hue that emanated from his gun, from Gabe’s Escrima fighting sticks, and from Phil’s malevolent-looking flail when engaged.

  Pedro was right. There was nothing traditional about him, this place, or any of the Watchers.

  From his hand, Pedro removed the rings, and Zeke realized they weren’t pieces of jewelry. The brass-colored adornment was a single piece. The barkeep offered it to Lucius. The newcomer eyed the gift with suspicion before accepting it.

  “This is yours,” he said. “It’ll add a kick to your punch, Lucius. Use it wisely.”

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Pedro sighed. “Depends on where you’re from. Knuckledusters, an English punch, knucks, or just plain brass knuckles. Whatever you call them is less important than how you use them.”

  Pedro’s hands were much larger and thicker than Lucius Mander’s. But when Lucius spread his fingers and slid the weapon onto them, they fit him like a glove in the same way they’d snugly wrapped Pedro’s.

  Lucius made a fist. He raised his prize in front of his face and then feigned a swing. A weak jab. A lazy uppercut. A lolling roundhouse. Lucius wasn’t a fighter any more than Zeke was an expert shot. It wouldn’t matter once the glow took hold.

  Pedro slapped Lucius on the shoulder. “I’ll see you on the flip side.”

  With that, the barkeep spun to return to his bar. Over his shoulder he called back to Zeke, “You’ve got this, Ezekiel. I know it.”

  Zeke opened his mouth to thank him, but hesitated long enough that Pedro was back inside the bar by the time any real words came out. The rear door to the building clattered shut.

  “That was an endorsement,” said Uriel.

  Zeke shrugged. He didn’t know whether to be encouraged or overwhelmed. There was a lot of pressure inherent in someone else’s confidence. He motioned to Uriel to get in the car and walked around the driver’s side of his 1970 Plymouth Superbird.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  He climbed in behind the wheel and ran his hand along it. It was comforting. A relic from a past life. And unlike Adaliah, it was unwaveringly dependable. He knew everything there was to know about the late-twentieth-century muscle car: its modifications, its strengths, its weaknesses. He couldn’t say the same for Li.

  To his right, Uriel folded her seat so Lucius could climb in the back. The newcomer shot her a wary glance but squeezed himself into the cramped rear seats.

  Zeke’s mind drifted to the room Li refused to leave. She hadn’t said more than two words to him since their arrival. Unlike Lucius, she couldn’t function. She was a ghost of herself. She didn’t eat. Zeke wasn’t sure if she even slept.

  Here, in this place, people didn’t actually need to eat or sleep. They were time wasters, things to do that helped one hang on
to a sense of mortality, to familiar habits from a past life. Drinking or playing games were good ways to do that too. Li tried none of it.

  He loved her. Or rather, he thought he did. He’d risked damning his own soul to save hers, after all.

  Now, however, he wasn’t sure if he’d made the right decision. Her wish that they spend their lives together was just that, a wish they spend their lives together. She likely hadn’t understood the only way they could be together was to spend their afterlives together. When Zeke had put the final bullet in her, when he’d killed her to fulfill that wish, he’d gone too far. At least that was what he was beginning to realize. Perhaps it was mercy. Instead it was selfishness. It was rash. He should have let things happen as they were meant to be and not played God. The longer Li stayed in her room, the longer she refused to accept her new reality, no matter how surreal it was, the more convinced he was that he’d made a mistake.

  Zeke was knocked from his reverie by a punch to his right shoulder.

  “Earth to Zeke,” Uriel said. “You with us?”

  Zeke nodded. His hand went to the car’s ignition and he cranked it. The Superbird responded with a vibrating thrum.

  “I’m with you,” he said. “Just thinking. Sorry.”

  As if reading his mind, Uriel said, “She’ll be fine.”

  Zeke forced a smile. “Thanks.”

  “Or she won’t. Too soon to tell.”

  The smile evaporated. He bit his lip and shook his head. “Right. Whatever. You ready?”

  He checked the rearview mirror and saw Lucius Mander sitting in the middle, his knees tucked close to his chest.

  “Ready,” he said. His expression told a very different story.

  “Let’s do this, then,” said Zeke.

  He shifted the car into gear. And though no road lay before him and no signs offered direction, Zeke instinctively knew in that moment he should drive into the turquoise blue water in the center of the atoll.

  Uriel cranked down her window and stuck her arm outside. She twirled her hand in a motion signaling it was time to go. Behind them, the earthy rumble of the lifted truck drowned out the Superbird.

  Zeke shifted into gear and held his foot above the accelerator. Then he punched it.

  The car didn’t hesitate, responding with a quick jolt of speed. In an instant, they were at the water’s edge. From the back seat, Lucius gasped and closed his eyes. Uriel clicked the harness together at her waist and put a hand on the dash in front of her. Zeke gripped the wheel as tight as he could and braced himself.

  The water parted.

  It was as if giant invisible hands swept a clean path in front of the car. Fifteen-foot swells crested on either side, prepared to crash but holding their sway as if frozen in place.

  As they advanced, so did the walls of water, creating a topless tunnel forward. A constant, almost pleasant spray of ocean water misted through Uriel’s open window.

  Behind them, the truck plowed through the wash, and in the rearview, past the truck, Zeke saw the giant waves crash together. In his side view, undulating waves danced where a moment before he’d sped his car.

  “What is this?” stammered Lucius, peering through one eye. “Where are we?”

  Zeke exchanged a knowing glance with Uriel. Neither of them answered. Instead, she braced herself with both hands. Zeke pushed harder on the accelerator and the car shifted into a higher gear.

  The waves on either side rose higher. They were six meters at least now, their foaming crests suspended and churning. The salt air mixed with the Uriel’s citrus perfume, and the aroma filled the cabin.

  Lucius tried again. “C’mon. Give me something.”

  In the rearview, the man now appeared pained more than frightened. His face, gaunt and sallow, was twisted with bewilderment. Zeke wondered if that was how he’d appeared when he was in Lucius’s position not that long ago. He felt for the guy. Among all the other emotions, this overwhelming disorientation only served to complicate things.

  They likely would need his help when they got to their destination. It wouldn’t be smart to have him lost. Zeke relented, but did it in a way that mimicked Pedro’s style. He answered a question with a question.

  “What do you remember?” he asked.

  Lucius’s eyebrows twitched. They knitted together. His hand went to his gut. “What do you mean?” he replied.

  Zeke flipped the windshield wipers on to clear the ocean spray. They swiped back and forth, leaving a film only a bit more transparent than the saltwater sheen.

  “I mean…what do you remember? What’s the last thing you remember before you ended up here?”

  “I already told Pedro,” said Lucius. “I remember Desmond Branch and his pirates showing up at our island. We set up our defenses. They didn’t help. I know he wanted the map.”

  “The map your daughter has?” asked Uriel.

  Zeke took his eyes from the path ahead. He adjusted the rearview mirror. Lucius had his head in his hands. His elbows pressed into his knees. His face was squeezed tight and his eyes were closed.

  “I…maybe,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’m trying to think.”

  The Superbird plowed ahead. The parting waves towered, the whitecaps curling inward, threatening to crash and swallow them whole. They rose some fifteen meters above them now, and the higher the walls of water stretched, the cooler the air and the darker the sky.

  Zeke reached down to open his window. As he cranked the glass lower, he momentarily took his foot off the gas. The water walls shrank in size, dropping several feet like fountains losing pressure. He pushed the accelerator and they grew again in size.

  Uriel released the harness holding her in her seat and twisted around. She shot Zeke a sympathetic look, brow furrowed, before turning to Lucius. She put her hand on his knee.

  He flinched at her touch. His eyes opened. They glistened with tears.

  Uriel flashed a crooked smile. “Lucius, it’s okay. This is a confusing time. I’ve been there. Zeke’s been there. We all have. Your memory will come back to you. The gaps will fill, and the haze will fade. I promise.”

  Tears rolled down Lucius’s cheeks. He didn’t bother to wipe them away.

  Uriel’s voice softened. “We’ll get through this. We’ll find your daughter. We’ll stop Desmond Branch.”

  Lucius sat up. A tear dropped from his chin. His voice trembled. “How can you be sure?”

  She shrugged. “I have faith. In us.”

  “You haven’t met Desmond Branch,” said Lucius. “He and his people are…”

  He stopped mid-sentence. His expression shifted as he searched for the word. He wasn’t looking at Uriel anymore. His gaze was distant, detached. His brow twitched. His mouth hung open. Tears welled again and streamed down his face.

  Uriel touched his knee again. “Lucius?”

  His eyes fluttered and he refocused on the moment. “Vicious. His people are vicious.”

  He sank back into his seat. His shoulders slumped. It was as if some realization or memory had zapped him, left him feckless and without hope.

  Uriel opened her mouth to say something, but didn’t. Instead, she pivoted back into her seat and buckled her harness.

  They rode in silence, the sound of rushing water filling the spaces between their breaths. Zeke knew that none of them had any idea what lay ahead.

  Chapter Nine

  The sea was rougher today, and the Saladin pitched against the rise and fall of the onslaught of waves. Wind filled the sails, pushing them taut.

  Anaxi’s gut roiled and she imagined her insides resembling the churn of the ocean. Her hands gripped a railing on the port side of the ship, which heeled dramatically to that side as it plowed through the water with determined speed.

  In the distance, along the horizon, clouds plumed skyward. They were charcoal, almost black, and looked heavy. Curtains of rain poured from some of them, appearing to pull the clouds into the sea. It mesmerized Anaxi and helped keep her mind off th
e nausea threatening to buckle her knees.

  She longed to set her feet on solid ground. To curl her toes in the sand. To sit on the beach as the surf washed around her. To hold her father’s hand. To hear his voice. His laugh. To listen to the elders tell great tales around the fire. To play with other children. To feel safe.

  Anaxi tried to count the days since the pirates stole her life. Was it three? Four? Seven? Had it been a week? It couldn’t be a week already, could it?

  It was at least a day since she’d given the heading to the Saladin’s pilot, Pierre Le Grand. They’d wanted more than directions. She’d offered only what was necessary.

  The ship pitched wildly, the bow lifting skyward onto the crest of a large wave before settling with a deep drop into the trough. Water crashed over the ship, pooling on the deck. A heavy spray slapped Anaxi across her face. It was cold and sent a shudder along her spine.

  She tightened her grip on the railing and steadied herself as the ship pitched up again, suppressing a wave of nausea that threatened to crash against her insides.

  Anaxi had never suffered seasickness. She wondered if this was what coursed through her uneasy body or if it was something else. If it was knowing that with every bit of information she gave to Branch, she held less power over him. Another spray of water stung her face, and she turned away from the sea. In her peripheral vision, she caught movement. Desmond Branch approached her with the skill of a lifelong sailor. Her stomach turned over, and Anaxi decided the sea had nothing to do with her sickness.

  “Beautiful day,” he yelled above the wind and surf. “Don’t you love the open sea?”

  Anaxi shrugged. She thought the expression odd. The entire planet was open sea.

  The wind whipped against his shirt, flapping it back and forth against the sinews of his triceps. It was unbuttoned to below his chest. The definition of his pectoral muscles was clear. He was a strong man in every sense of the word.