Sara couldn’t get up that ladder fast enough.
Twenty-Five
Kaahin watched the fish swallow his man and disappear.
Again.
The awe and wonder of its appearance turned very quickly to horror as he and his men realized in unison that the fish had two choices.
It was going to come for one of these ships.
The American and his one surviving man took off below deck. Kaahin started to lift his weapon and thought better of it. They were going to need every bit of ammunition to kill that demon.
And even then, it would probably not be enough. Imani was right, after all.
“Now you’ll come,” Kaahin mumbled. “Won’t you?”
As soon as he finished speaking, the fish lifted out of the water and charged straight for the Frozen Cocktail’s hull.
Twenty-Six
“Where’s the gun?”
Before Sara could interpret that question, the blonde seized her by the shoulders and shoved her against the cabin wall. A vanity sculpture that was bolted into it drilled against the small of Sara’s back, bringing tears to her eyes.
“Where is the fucking gun?” the blonde repeated.
Sara couldn’t remember. She was petrified by the thing that had popped out of the water back there. Trauma that followed Blake being hacked to death, and of course the warzone on the deck of the Frozen Cocktail.
The blonde continued to demand answers Sara couldn’t give. Sara only shrugged along, hoping it might take some of the heat off.
It did.
The blonde let her go, mouthing “fuck” while she zipped around the room searching out a weapon. “There’s at least one man left aboard this boat,” she said. “We’ve got to kill him.”
Sara dropped to her knees and retched. Projectile nerves splattered onto marble finish. Even in panic, Sara understood why. The man aboard this ship was probably already coming for them.
When the blonde’s search was unsuccessful, she returned to Sara, sidestepping the pooling vomit in order to help her up. “We have to keep moving.” Her voice was gentler now that the adrenaline was beginning to drain. “If they catch us, they will rape us until we’re dead.”
Sara might’ve been lost and miserable, mostly hysterical, but she couldn’t bring herself to give up. There would be time to mourn Blake later. But as she thought on that, she realized there was nothing for her back home anymore. Emptiness grew in the pit of her stomach, a stretch of darkness she didn’t think she could weather.
It was just easier to keep moving for now.
So they moved. Quiet steps on bare feet through the entertainment area, where carpet bolstered their stealth. A winding stairwell up to the staterooms. To the one pirate who was surely steering this ship. The blonde took a corkscrew opener in her fist and held it like brass knuckles. Her breathing was raw and shallow.
“Arm yourself,” she ordered.
Sara was distracted again. Only this time it had little to do with the situation that surrounded them. It was instead about the décor of this living space. A large antique globe of the Indian Ocean was straightened and spread across the wall, encased in Plexiglas and surrounded by sea fearing trinkets. Antiques bolted into place to form a loose border.
Sara stumbled toward them, entranced, while somewhere behind her, the blonde sighed and stalked off.
But Sara knew she couldn’t leave her fate to chance. For all they knew the helmsman was already steering them right back toward the Frozen Cocktail.
She wondered briefly if Holloway and his mate were still alive, realizing that she would probably never know.
Another thought to push off as she turned and hurried to catch the blonde, pausing once more to yank a fire axe off the stairwell wall.
Sara caught up to the woman standing against an entry space. The blonde noticed what Sara had clenched in her hands and gave a quick smile. “He’s never going to come out of there,” she said. “They need this boat.”
Sara eyed the door with the axe heavy in her fist, wondering if they could “Here’s Johnny” him to death. But it was metal so that was a no go.
The ship continued to traverse storm waves, rising and falling. The women steadied themselves in the constricted hall space searching each other’s war faces for signs of trust. Something in the blonde’s cool eyes was centering. Words weren’t necessary. They understood the only path forward.
These men were cowards who attacked without warning. They could be beaten.
The blonde crept into the kitchen and moved low behind the granite counter while Sara broke away and headed down the hall, toward the door that led into the whipping wind. She passed through and was lashed by constant streams of splashing water. The deck was slippery and that went double for the rail, which wouldn’t prevent her from crashing down onto the main deck below if she took a spill.
Machine gun fire popped in the distance. She hadn’t realized until now the Frozen Cocktail was probably still nearby. A ladder led straight to the helm, and each metal rung felt slathered in bacon grease. Sara hooked an elbow around each as she scaled it.
The hull was glass on three sides. Rain sloshed against it. The interior lights were dim, filling the cab with impenetrable darkness. Sara stayed low and kept her distance from the door because the next time lightning lit the sky, she’d be center spotlight.
She wondered if it hadn’t been a mistake to leave the blonde. They’d been safer together.
The long-awaited lightning set fire to the sky and Sara caught shifting motion in her peripheral. A black man knelt among supplies spread across the upper deck, just a few feet away. He’d been there the entire time, rising now and lifting a shotgun away from his chest.
Sara swung for him, her blade scraping the steel gun barrel. It batted the weapon away from the pirate’s hands.
He knew this was life or death and charged like a bull, head pointed at the floor. His arms clamped around her waist and flung her against the half-rail. The small of her back smacked for a second time, sparking her nerves and making her howl.
She unleashed a flurry of fingernails in response, clawing his face and peeling little curls of flesh away like woodcarvings. The pirate barely recoiled.
The helm’s lights clicked on as the blonde appeared in the doorway. Sara watched her silent stride. She glided forward, rain dripping like she was fresh from the shower.
The pirate pulled a blade from a belt sheath and spun toward her, sensing her approach. He slashed through her ankle, drawing a line of blood. The blonde shrieked and fell and the corkscrew hit the floor with a clang, instantly lost beneath sluicing water.
Everybody was on the ground now, flailing and grabbing and punching and screaming. The pirate repelled their awkward fists with thrashing legs. Each of their efforts bought surface slashes on their ankles and forearms.
But the pirate also knew he couldn’t afford to stand. Not until the blade landed inside one of their bodies and bought him the necessary time.
The knife lifted high, its glint nuclear white while caught inside the glow of the motion lamp above. Nothing in this world could prevent it from landing, Sara knew.
And it did. It delivered a brutally cold slice that cut her belly and retreated just as fast. She could only watch as the blade scaled the sky once more.
The blonde crawled behind them, going for the gun, the axe, the corkscrew, whatever. No way she’d get to any of them in time...
“You want the treasure, right?” Sara’s voice sounded shrill and full of terror.
The pirate grinned gold. His tongue rested on his lips like a contented animal.
“Treasure.” Sara threw her forearms over her face. X marks the spot. “Kill me and you’ll never get it.”
The pirate lowered the knife just a smidge. Not in retreat. But to instead stick the blonde, whose arm was stretching for the gun barrel. The blade broke through the back of her hand and pinned her fingers in place. The blonde howled like a wolf caught in a snare.
<
br /> Sara and the pirate had the same idea. They both got to their feet. She was slower and caught a punch to the nose. Then he was squeezing the life from her throat.
“Show me, bitch,” he snarled, and then yanked the blade from the blonde’s hand.
Twenty-Seven
The cumulonimbus clouds above Kaahin were bleak and pulsing with bolts of lightning that threatened to strike them where they stood.
Below, a creature beyond anything he’d ever seen had declared war. It rammed their hull, rocking the ship with violence, and then swam out to sea and repeated the process like it knew exactly what it was doing. Like it had taken more than a few of these things down.
His men fired at it upon approach. The shots that hit had no effect in slowing it down.
It’s keeping us off-kilter, he thought as he went below deck to the hogtied prisoners. The American’s glare was no more threatening than a zoo animal. He was alone with the exception of a single remaining crewman, both at his mercy.
“Help me kill the fish,” Kaahin said.
“What fish?”
“You have heard of Death’s Head.”
On the far side of the bed, the American’s man, an island native, began a panicked chant. A Malagasy prayer begging the forgiveness of his ancestors. He was too far-gone to negotiate with. The American would decide both their fates.
“He has heard of it,” Kaahin said.
“It’s a fish,” the American said.
“Some say it is more than that.”
The American flashed a shit-eating smile and Kaahin had never wanted to slash any throat more. He leashed his temper, though, because the conflict aboard this ship was the last thing that mattered.
“I’ll take my chances,” the American said.
Kaahin reached down and sliced through his hogtie. The American sighed and scrambled into a sitting position, rubbing his rope-burned limbs.
Kaahin tossed the blade at his feet. “Free your friend and join us on deck,” he said. “You help me, I’ll put you on a dinghy and send you away from here.”
“Bullshit,” the American snarled.
“Believe what you wish,” Kaahin replied. “Once you see that thing, you will wish I killed you already.”
He left, eager to rejoin his men and the sounds of gunfire that raged above deck.
Twenty-Eight
Sara’s cheeks were scorched. Panic twisted her guts into knots she feared would take years to untangle.
The pirate had refused to kill the blonde. Sara thought she knew why, and the motive made her shudder. He had left the woman high above deck, her bikini stripped away in order to bind her to the rail. To ensure she remained neutralized, the pirate had tossed the fire axe and corkscrew overboard.
Sara moved through the yacht’s sprawling interior with cautious steps, shuffling to the entertainment deck while the pirate breathed down her neck. Whenever she moved too fast, he’d slap the back of her head and shout something in his native tongue.
She moved with molasses and when she got too slow, he shoved her along with hands that caressed her buttocks.
She led him back to the map wall without really knowing why.
The pirate gripped the blade with anticipation. He was torn between sticking the steel through her flesh and sticking himself inside of her.
Sara’s finger daubed the Plexiglas. “It’s there,” she said. “Don’t you see?”
The pirate stared gape-mouthed, eyes panning over the map and then falling out of focus.
“Look at the currents on the map,” she said, trying to keep panic from infecting her voice. “If you—”
His hand shot up to her neck, squeezing. The hysteria she’d been keeping at bay broke through. She begged. Cried. Didn’t want to die here. She saw Blake screaming as a machete hacked his head away from his neck, cutting away his vocal cords so that the pitch of his scream rose to an inhuman shriek before the abrupt silence. Sara, abandoned in bloodshed on her honeymoon.
Life couldn’t end now. Not for her. Not like this.
Flashpoints in her mind: Parents she’d never again see, an older brother preparing a run for state rep, and the family she had always wanted, was so close to getting, but would never have. Not with Blake. All due to a few sudden bursts of thoughtless violence.
Then Sara saw the body dropping into view on the yacht’s open deck, appearing just outside the open sliding door. The silhouette moved inward and shadows scurried off the blonde’s naked body. She stalked forward, soaking wet but somehow gliding with almost impossible stealth. Storm water had cleansed her body, though her stab wound continued dripping little red patters like a runny sink.
The pirate caught shifting light in the corner of his eye, began to turn...
The blonde brought the shotgun out from behind her back with her best Terminator 2, throwing the pump with one hard jerk of her shoulder. She tossed it an inch into the air and grabbed the stock before it got too high, sliding her finger around the trigger and lifting the barrel outward.
Sara shoved the distracted pirate away, knowing she needed to clear the incoming spread and uncertain that the blonde with crazed ice chips for eyes would care at all about collateral damage. She was surprised the woman seemed to anticipate this, dragging the gun barrel outward to where the pirate had stumbled.
The crack was louder than hell. The pirate’s head blasted to pieces like shattered glass. The body went sliding across the floor on a red slip and slide, pumping more blood out of its neck cavity than Sara thought could’ve been inside the human body.
The blonde threw the gun down at once and then fell to her knees, struggling to catch her breath.
“Thanks,” Sara said in complete disbelief. She planted down beside her. Her beating heart was loud enough for them both to hear.
“Yeah,” the blonde said.
A long stretch of silence, probably close to six or seven minutes’ worth. “I, uh, just realized where I know you from,” Sara said.
“Not going to ask for an autograph are you?”
Forced laughter followed by more long pauses.
“My brother used to have a poster of you,” Sara said. She left out the part about it being tacked up over his bed.
The blonde allowed a quick smile as she remembered scenes from her previous life. Then she extended a limp hand. “Carly Grayson. Guess you already know that.”
“Sara.” She hadn’t been Sara Jovish for a whole week yet. Hadn’t started the process of changing it over legally, and didn’t know now that she would. She could’ve just introduced herself as Sara Mosby, but for some reason she didn’t. Something about her mother’s lecture on the surname mattering more than the person who wore it. And she didn’t feel like getting into that, either, so she kept it as Sara and left it there.
Carly didn’t seem to notice or care. “They destroyed all forms of communication aboard this thing. Smashed the radios and tossed the phones overboard. So that’s out. Don’t suppose you know how to use the navigation equipment?”
“It’s a long shot,” Sara said. She thought about all the little lessons she’d been taught on all the different vessels she’d worked on, barely more than anecdotal asides, and realized she probably didn’t know the first thing about navigation. “But I might be able to figure something out.”
Sara was thinking there probably was some kind of autopilot. But a yacht’s autopilot was closer in function to a car’s cruise control feature, meaning she and Carly would have to take turns sitting up there and steering the ship. The only thing that autopilot actually managed was propeller speed. Not much help if they didn’t know in which direction to go.
“Hey,” Carly said with a faint sigh of relief. “I’ll gladly take might after all this.”
Sara helped the actress to her feet. Carly stood with her back arched, stretching her nude body like it was no big thing. And maybe it wasn’t. Sara thought about the small handful of Carly’s movies she’d seen and remembered how often she’d been nude i
n them.
“What day is it?” Carly asked.
“June thirtieth.”
“No,” the blonde sighed. “It’s been two months.”
It was weird for the actress to be so well groomed and kept.
Carly noticed that question in her eyes. “They were going to auction me off,” she said. “Demanded I kept body hair at bay ‘cause god forbid you remind men that you’ve got any.”
“I’m sorry.”
The actress shrugged. “I’m alive. The one in charge wouldn’t allow them to rape me, so I only spent the last two months worrying that they’d try. Each time he wasn’t here, I’d lay awake with my heart pounding.”
“What do you mean, auction you?”
“Happens out here all the time. To people all over the world. I guess the one in charge changed his mind when he decided to use us as live bait.”
“What was that thing out there?” She asked this as if Carly might have the answer.
“Tell you the truth, I sorta hoped you hadn’t seen it.”
“Shit,” Sara said. “Same here.”
“Been telling myself I’ve been out here too long. That I’m long off my meds so my eyes are beginning to play tricks.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“Que será, sera... Sara.”
Sara was back to staring at the map décor on the wall, but really at the trinkets bordering it. In college, she’d taken a course on oceanography in order to satisfy an elective. Because of it, she was certain now that she knew what Isabella and Roche had meant by the path of the plate.
Of course, she thought. It all fits. The tool. The time period... Isabella had crafted a riddle that had grown more difficult to solve with the passage of time. “I hear you, girl,” she whispered.
Carly didn’t question the way Sara’s fingers stoked the golden trinket fastened to the far corner border of the Plexiglas.
There was an ancient gold astrolabe there. Sara jiggled it with gnarled fingers until it snapped out of its cradle. The thick gold disc turned over in her hands, bringing with it an awesome sense of history. Who were the sailors who had used this very device to find their way along the stars? she wondered. What were their stories? Lost now to time?
Ocean Grave Page 13