Aiko slipped out of her sweatpants and rolled Jeremiah over. She unbuckled his pants before straddling him and then throwing off her shirt. “Careful.” She smiled as she guided him inside of her. “For a second there, you almost didn’t sound like a robot.”
~~~
Trix’s bar was a packed house, as usual. The Pepperbush survivors—those that were giving their new lives a real shot—mingled with the excursion team and many other like-minded inhabitants of Haven. Trix bounced between bartending and playing the piano while Ahole sang as loud as he could for a group of onlookers. He didn’t exactly have the voice of an angel, but it was all in the presentation. What he lacked in natural singing ability, he more than made up for in sheer confidence. But it was a front. When he finished his song, instead of entertaining his admirers with stories, he simply sauntered back to the bar with his head down. It still didn’t feel right to celebrate in light of Bull’s accident.
Sam hauled a bus bin of used glassware back to the wet bar for a quick clean before they went right back into use. He gracefully navigated Vanessa, Lillian, and Trix behind the cramped bar as they mixed and poured drinks for an eager crowd. He enjoyed helping his friends—new and old alike. It gave him a sense of purpose. Nights at the bar were a far cry from the days he and Markus spent locked away in the hot stowage area, needlessly taking inventory of mostly useless stock. His typical daily grind was the definition of busywork.
Alex wasted no time integrating herself into ship life. At first glance, one would be excused for not recognizing her. Gone were her road leathers and countless straps and buckles. They were replaced with a tank top cut a few inches down the middle and a pair of hastily fashioned short shorts that she made herself from an old pair of jeans she had been lugging around for months. She wore no shoes; going barefoot was a luxury Alex thought had long passed. She enjoyed herself immensely aboard Haven, especially at the parties. She quickly realized that being an excursion team member had its perks, and she used them to the best of her ability. She floated from one group of admirers to the next, happily accepting any and all free drinks and offers to dance. Alex was accustomed to life on the road; she was living it long before the crisis. For her, Haven represented a dream long ago forgotten, and Alex would take full advantage for as long as she was here.
Markus and Samantha sat alone in a private corner. They were close enough to the action not to be ignored by the servers for too long, but the spot was just private enough. They held hands from across the table and smiled as they spoke. There was talk of them finally moving in together now that Casandra was back on her feet. In those early, uncertain days aboard Haven, Samantha thought it best if she roomed with Casandra while the girl recovered. Markus found himself living alone after Damon’s sudden relocation to Underworld; he still hadn’t visited his friend in the seedy underbelly of the ship.
Casandra arrived, and the mood soured. It wasn’t that they didn’t enjoy her company—they loved her. It was just that she was relentless in her conviction that there was more to Bernie’s disappearance than they were led to believe. They missed Bernie dearly, but for them, it was time to accept what they were told regarding Bernie’s fate and move on.
“Hey, guys,” Casandra said through a forced smile as she took a seat.
“Hi, sweetie.” Samantha took her friend’s hand.
“I hear Samantha’s been showing you the ropes.” Markus waved for the attention of the bar staff.
“She has, and Paula’s a joy to work for,” said Casandra as she began to loosen up with tales of her new job in housekeeping.
Trix waved to Markus, letting him know that his drinks would be right over. She had been a bartender for so many years that reading people had become second nature. Ahole was in pain, so instead of running drinks to her patrons, she asked Sam for a little help so she could comfort a friend. “Sam, would you mind running this over to Samantha and Markus?”
“On my way,” said Sam as he delicately handled the three drinks. Two he was just getting comfortable with; three was pushing it. Balance wasn’t exactly his strong suit. After he successfully arrived at their table, Sam briefly joined Markus and the girls. By that point, Casandra was in the middle of one of her tirades concerning Bernie’s disappearance.
“It’s just not right, Sam,” Casandra insisted. “Everybody tells me the same thing. I know Bernie wasn’t bitten. I know it.”
“It was chaos back there, darlin’. So much was happening so fast he very well may have been bitten.”
“You don’t sound so sure.”
“I’d be lying if I said I was.” Sam paused for a moment before continuing. He wasn’t sure if he should burden his friends with the weight of his thoughts on the matter. “Something doesn’t sit right with me about de-cons. Other than Joelle and the fishermen, everyone down there comes off as shady, like they’re constantly hiding something.”
“And Krysler’s the worst,” Markus added. “Weaselly piece of shit.”
“Exactly,” Sam responded. “And who does he answer to? Todd and Todd alone.”
Trix wiped up a spilled drink from in front of Ahole before she attempted to break the ice. He sat alone, solemn. His usually larger-than-life persona was gone. He sipped his beer slowly, and he wasn’t even sure what he was doing here. His best friend in this awful world was laid up in the ICU. Bull had been in a coma for weeks, hooked up to one of Haven’s two respirators. The medical staff wasn’t sure if he was brain dead or not—they didn’t have the equipment. All they could do was keep him stable. Hopes and prayers were about all that they were left with at this point.
“Any word?” Trix finally asked as she reached across the bar and cupped her hands over his.
“Nah. Doctor Nazneen has done all she can. Jeremiah’s seen head injuries before, though. He says Bull could wake up tomorrow or never. They just don’t know.”
“I’m so sorry, honey. I know how much he means to you. We’re all praying for him.”
“Thanks, love.”
“Where’s your better half tonight?” Trix scanned the room for Genevieve.
“In bed. Probably where I should be, honestly.” He took a small sip of his drink. “She still thinks going out and enjoying ourselves is in poor taste. All things considered, I think she may be right.”
“That’s for each person to decide on their own, sweetie. You stay as long as you like. I doubt Bull would want you guys moping around on his behalf.”
Lora was constantly surrounded by a crowd of hangers-on. Life as the teenage daughter of Captain Kayembe and Raeni brought with it a particular brand of perks, not the least of which was complete strangers hanging on to her every word. The girl got what she wanted, and in the rare instance when she was denied, she threw a fit. Despite her station, Lora perfectly blended with the crowd at Trix’s. She went out of her way to dress in a similar manner as the “common folk.” Tonight, she wore a small yellow sleeveless half-shirt and short skirt in the hopes of gaining the attention of someone in particular.
Only a few feet away, Abayomi stood out from the masses with her wild hair and red suit. She was Lora’s personal bodyguard. She had been since the girl was a child. If you had eyes on Lora, you’d better believe Abayomi had eyes on you.
Catherine waded through the crowded bar. She was greeted with smiles and small talk. The attention was welcome after long days spent mostly below deck. Keeping the ship in working order behind the scenes could be lonely work. One of the guys from engineering always seemed to be at Trix’s when she was here. He would offer her drinks; occasionally she would accept, but usually she declined. She didn’t want to lead him on. He was a nice enough guy, but she just wasn’t interested. She had her eyes set on another.
Ames sat alone at the bar. As of late, he hadn’t been speaking with just about anyone; he would sit across from Trix or Vanessa and casually watch the new girl, Alex. She came in with the excursion team a few weeks ago, and Ames was immediately smitten.
Catherine had
her sights on Ames for months now, and frustratingly for her, he seemed oblivious to her advances. If Catherine was anything, though, it was persistent. “Hey, Ames, can I get you a drink?” Catherine asked. She was wide-eyed and full of vigor and she wore her best outfit tonight in hopes of gaining his attention. If he could see her outside of her drab blue work uniform, maybe—just maybe—he would notice that she could be something more than a coworker.
“Nah, I’m good, thanks.” Ames barely registered that she was even there. The mechanic’s eyes were locked on Alex. She was in a corner, furiously making out with some asshole from the casino. What the hell did she even see in that guy? he thought. By the time Alex led the guy out of the bar by the hand, Ames had seen enough. “I think I’m going to call it a night,” he said.
“Oh, come on. It’s early still.” Catherine tried unsuccessfully to pull Ames onto the dance floor. “Dance with me,” she flirted.
“I’d better get back. I’m pretty wiped out, and Danni might wake up,” he said like he was suddenly, inexplicably exhausted.
Always with the kid, Catherine thought. She didn’t have an issue with Ames’s daughter, far from it. She loved kids and hoped to have a few of her own someday, but Ames was constantly using the girl as an excuse to blow off Catherine’s advances. It wasn’t right to use his daughter like that, regardless of his feelings for Catherine or lack thereof.
Tate spotted Ahole from across the bar—he ignored all greetings or offers for drinks or to dance—and made a beeline straight over. He was popular around Haven’s nightlife circles due in large part to his fit young body, but more than that, he was a genuinely nice and caring person. He would actually listen and not just wait for his turn to speak, and he would give you the shirt off of his back, if he ever actually wore one.
The young mechanic had one thing on his mind. In fact, he had that one thing on his mind since the day Cortez and his team rescued him so many months ago. Tate wanted to be on the team. Life aboard Haven was easy, and it had become a grind for the young mechanic. He longed for a carefree life on the road, danger notwithstanding. Tate approached the lone excursion team member with ideas of a change. Tonight could be the turning point for him. He just needed an in. Since Ahole was the most lively of the bunch, he thought it best to go right to him to put in a good word with Cortez.
Tate took a seat at the bar beside Ahole. He was wide-eyed and exuberant when he asked right away, “Ahole, can you please talk to Cortez for me? I have got to get out on the road with you guys.”
“I don’t know, kid. It’s rough out there.” Ahole sipped his drink slowly. He was deep in thought.
The fact that Ahole’s disposition was at a complete one-eighty from the norm was lost on the kid. “I won’t get in the way. I promise,” Tate persisted.
“Listen, kid.” Ahole slammed his drink down and perked up. “My best mate is in the ICU because of this shit. They don’t know if he’s even going to wake up. Bleeding on the brain. It’s no joke out there, now piss off!”
Tate was dejected and nearly in tears as he wandered off, unsure of what he did wrong.
Lillian held up two empty bottles and shouted across the bar, “Hey, Trix, we’re almost out of wine. I’m going to go see if we can steal some from the pool bar.”
“Okay, sweetie, but hurry back.”
Lillian sprinted through the hallways as she quietly timed herself. She’d made the run plenty of times in previous weeks, but usually not so late. She was making good time when she flung open the stairwell door only to barrel directly into Elias. “Sorry, I didn’t see you,” she said as she tried to slip past.
Elias cornered Lillian in the dimly lit corridor. He was hammered drunk and sweaty; his breath was foul against her cheek. “You’re that new bartender chick, aren’t you?”
“I am, and you’re drunk. I have somewhere to be,” she insisted as she tried to nudge past him.
“Where?” he demanded as he pushed her back into the steel corner. “Are you running back to your girlfriend or that stupid piano bar with the rest of the trash?”
“Are you going to let me pass, or do I have to go around to the other stairs?” Lillian wasn’t intimidated by the aggressive drunk, but if she had to double back to the port stairwell to avoid this lout, it would take time. She didn’t want to leave Trix hanging, but more importantly, Vanessa might worry if she took too long. Then she might come looking for her and run into this piece of shit herself.
“People like you don’t belong on this ship. Better to flush you all. More for the rest of us. The people that do matter.”
“Yeah, you look like you contribute a lot. What exactly is it you do around here, anyway?”
“Fuck you, you uppity cunt. That’s what I do.” Elias straightened his tie—at least he tried to before he continued. “When the world gets back on its feet—and believe me, it will—it’s going to need guys like me, and then the trash like you and your friends can go back to where you belong: licking our boots.” Elias spat at her. In his drunkenness, he mostly missed his target but still sprayed the side of her face with his filth.
On pure instinct she lunged at him.
He grabbed her wrist mid-swing and with his free hand slammed her head against the unforgiving bulkhead. Lillian crumbled to the floor.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Elias muttered. “Hey, girl, get up. I was just kidding around.”
Elias gently pulled on her arm to help her up, but she was dead weight. Lillian was in a heap on the cold steel floor; blood dribbled from a head wound.
“Fuck, fuck.” He shook her, but she didn’t move.
Elias grabbed Lillian underneath her shoulders and dragged her down a flight of steps, then another. He dropped her to the floor just outside of the exit and peeked through the door to deck seven. It was a straight shot to the railing and the end of his problems. Limp bodies were heavy and awkward to move alone, especially for a career day trader with no gym ambitions.
He struggled to get her up this time; his adrenaline was already wearing off. Two flights up, he heard the distinct sound of a pair of partygoers descending the stairs. “Fuck.” He looked up to the stairwell, then he looked over to the exit, and finally he looked up again. He had dragged Lillian almost to the door when he abandoned his plan. Elias withdrew from the stairwell and went onto deck seven. He straightened himself and did an immediate U-turn toward the aft of the ship, where he hit another flight of steps and walked casually in the casino’s direction.
In the stairwell, Lillian’s would-be rescuers came to the aid of a girl who seemed to have drunk a little too much and fallen down the stairs.
“Honey, are you okay? It looks like you took a nasty tumble.” The well-meaning couple helped her into a seated position. “What happened to you?”
Lillian sat up slowly. She felt the side of her head and pulled away a hand covered in blood; a trail of the stuff snaked its way back up the stairs. She blinked a few times before saying, “I don’t remember.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A World Beneath Our Feet
Ahole had a promise to keep to Miller, so he agreed to meet him around lunchtime at Sweet Lips’s restaurant. Miller wanted to get an early start, but Ahole insisted that Underworld was dead first thing in the morning. He said that for Miller to properly experience the place, it needed to be alive; sometime around noon was when things usually got going. What’s the point in showing you the place at all if you can’t experience it at its best?
The lunchtime crowd was significant, and the diner was bustling with activity. The air was filled with the aroma of fried fish and the sounds of plates clinking against each other over conversations from a myriad of diners. Over it all, Sweet Lips could be heard barking orders at the staff from the steamy kitchen. Miller tapped his leg as he waited for Ahole to finish his meal; he was anxious to finally see what this much-lauded Underworld was all about. Miller had finished his eggs and fish ten minutes ago.
Ahole pushed his empty plate to the ce
nter of the table and stood—slowly. He grinned; Ahole enjoyed making Miller wait, and Miller knew it. “You about ready?” Ahole didn’t wait for a response as he waved to Sweet Lips and made his way to the stairwell.
They went down and down, past a no-admittance sign and through a nondescript door that Miller would have otherwise assumed was used by the maintenance staff. They descended another flight of steps, through a heavy sea door, and out into Underworld’s main drag. There it was, spread out before Miller in all its glory: Underworld.
The time was barely past noon, and the place was already alive. A band was setting up on a makeshift stage past the bar. Miller took note of the bar’s name sloppily painted on a piece of plywood dangling above the patrons: The River Styx. Off to the side, a woman fed her children a portion of fish and bread—or at least they were someone’s children. On the other side of the room, a scantily clad woman led an eager man into a darkened corner. Ahole tapped Miller on his back, nudging him forward down the final step and onto the floor. He was officially in Underworld. Miller was speechless. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but it wasn’t this.
“Well, mate, here it is. Underworld in all its glory.” Ahole extended his arms as if basking in an imaginary glow.
“What is this place?”
“It’s a home for the downtrodden, a home for those of us who can’t find a place up above with the pretty people. Not everyone feels the need to fall in line or stick to a strict regimen of do-what-I-say-when-I-say-it. So they come live down here where the rules are a little more… lax.”
“Are they?” Miller was referring to a couple just a few steps out of the main drag. They were bathed in shadow but clearly having sex.
Not everyone in Underworld had the luxury of a private room. Darkened corners became synonymous with sex workers. Bartender Mike shooed them away whenever he noticed kids were around, but otherwise, no one really cared.
“Oh yeah, mate, modesty goes out the window down here. People don’t give a fuck, and I say more power to them. Look, this place might not be everyone’s cup a tea, but to each their own. Everyone aboard this ship has a second chance at life, and who are we or the captain for that matter to dictate how they choose to live it?”
The Roaming (Book 3): Haven's Promise Page 21