“February at an outdoor pool bar. Who would have thought?” she said with an ear-to-ear smile as she greeted Julius.
“Ah, one of the many perks of a subtropical cruise. It never really gets that cold. As a matter of fact, I’m willing to bet that in a few days we’ll have our first brave pioneer test out the pool waters.”
“Shit, it may be me if the air warms up just a little bit.”
“I grew up in the islands. It never really gets too cold, comparatively. For us, a seventy-five-degree day is cold. We’ll be bundled up, but you mainlanders—especially those of you from the more northern climates—a mid-seventies day is pool weather.”
“I hadn’t thought of it like that.”
Julius smiled. “Here, let me take that for you.”
Lillian placed the bin of bottles on the bar top. “Here you go, Julius. This is everything Trix borrowed. This should keep your inventory topped off for a few days.”
“Thanks, Lil. So how goes everything?”
“Oh, you know. Another day, another—” She was interrupted. For a time, Lillian had completely forgotten about the gaggle of mean older women who frequented the pool bar. Regardless of the colder winter air, it seemed these ladies never left this place.
Lillian’s favorite trio of assholes appeared to have thrown off winter’s bonds. Here they were, already in their familiar spots at the pool’s edge. As per usual, they were gossiping and laughing—clearly at someone else’s expense. Lillian was convinced that they were talking about her, but she ignored it as she had grown accustomed to doing. Lillian would avoid conflict when she could.
She lowered her eyes and gave a silent farewell to Julius before making her way back whence she came.
Julius’s smile faded when he saw her spirits dashed. He yearned to tell those women off but knew from experience that intervention on Lillian’s behalf would only serve to prolong the ribbing.
As Lillian neared the exit, the women’s jeers became focused, pointed. Lillian’s fears were manifested. They really were mocking her; she wasn’t imagining things.
“There goes the little dyke. Run off to your girlfriend.” It was unclear who said it as the trio laughed in unison.
Lillian stormed into the ship. Out of sight and earshot, she slammed her back against the wall. She dug her thumbnail into her palm enough to draw blood. She was seeing red. Lillian imagined herself storming back out there and beating all three women unconscious when suddenly she had a flash of what her mother had become. The thought terrified her.
For the briefest of moments, Lillian hung her head. Self-pity wasn’t a good look. Nevertheless, she found herself at a crossroads. As far as she could surmise, she had two and only two paths ahead of her: continue being someone’s punching bag or stand up and do something about it. Her mother might have become unhinged, but Lillian didn’t have to follow in her footsteps. She could stand up for herself and not become a monster in the process.
Lillian wiped away the tears; they would be her last. As she stormed past the pool bar, Julius asked if she was alright. She answered in the affirmative with a sense of direction, a sense of purpose not felt in ages. She tore across the deck and passed revelers and even the rude older women without so much as a sideways glance. The women ceased their heckling and tensed up for an altercation that never came. As a result, they snickered as Lillian went by.
For those older, cruel women, the young girl had been put in her place; their harsh lesson had taken. Lillian had other plans that didn’t include a gaggle of bigoted assholes and their antiquated views on life, end of the world or not. She marched through hallways and down maze-like corridors. She navigated the busier parts of the ship while weaving in and out of fellow workers and guests until her destination was reached.
Lillian stood just inside of Genevieve’s dojo. Here, the excursion team co-leader taught her classes on self-defense. At the head of the class, Genevieve smiled and nodded as Lillian took a spot with her students.
Lillian wasted no time joining in and mimicking their movements with a newfound determination.
Genevieve continued the lesson. “Okay, class, I want you to each choose a partner. Size or weight difference doesn’t matter for this next exercise.”
Lillian chose someone of equal proportion to herself. Her first lesson had begun.
~~~
Jeremiah waded through Underworld. He passed the River Styx; it was crowded, as per usual, but a cursory glance didn’t reveal his target. Deeper in, near the fighting pit, he found his prey. Disguised as a resident of Underworld, Jonah lingered near ringside. Smart, Jeremiah thought. With all eyes on the fight, no one would take notice of a member of the medical staff selling his wares right out in the open. If Jeremiah registered the combat happening only a few feet from where he stood, it wasn’t apparent. Two men were beating each other senseless. Every landed blow or drop of blood sent the crowd into a frenzy, but not Jeremiah. His focus was on a single man.
Jonah was meeting with a shady-looking man in a purple hoodie; his face was mostly obscured under his hood. He carried a large duffel that appeared unrelated to the transaction. It pulled his right arm down to the floor. The shady man and Jonah had just exchanged smaller bags.
“I’ll take that.” Jeremiah seized the satchel from the shady man, who quickly snatched his bag back from Jonah before disappearing into the crowd without a sound.
“Hey, that doesn’t belong to you!” Jonah said in a panic with as much authority as he could muster.
“Actually, it does.” Jeremiah scanned its contents. The bag was full of bottles of medication, needles, bandages, and other medical supplies. Jeremiah zipped the bag closed and gripped it tight.
“Who do you think you are?”
Jeremiah ignored Jonah’s inquiry. “You are putting the lives of every man, woman, and child aboard this ship at risk. And for what?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“You’re right, and I don’t care. Your services will no longer be required at the infirmary.”
“What is this?”
“You’re fired.”
“The captain will hear about this.”
“I have already informed him.”
“This is absurd.”
“By order of Captain Kayembe, I hereby banish you to Underworld. If you prefer to deal with the dregs of society, you can live among them.”
“I… Please reconsider. I wasn’t thinking. I…”
“Your belongings are being gathered as we speak. They’ll be dropped off near the stairwell. I suggest you await their arrival. You wouldn’t want anyone to steal from you.”
Jeremiah turned and left. He wasn’t one to gloat, even in celebration of an overwhelming victory. Behind him, the crowd closed in around Jonah. The disgraced pharmacist disappeared into the sea of unwashed masses.
Jeremiah was making his way toward the stairwell and his escape from this wretched place when he bumped into an old friend.
“Hey, Doc.” Radzinski was elated to see the medic. He was standing just within reach of the bar top at the River Styx.
“John. How have things been going?”
“Oh, you know. Just living the dream.”
“I can’t tell if you’re being facetious or if you actually prefer it down here.”
“What’s not to love, Jerry? Twenty-four-hour excitement and plenty to look at.” He motioned to a group of four scantily clad women dancing over near the main stage. They had encircled a young man who was trying his best to keep up. One of the girls slid out of her top; another nudged her bottoms to the dance floor. Not wanting to be outdone, the young man followed suit, and before long, the five of them were dancing naked to some form of music that Jeremiah couldn’t pretend to understand.
Radzinski put his arm around his old friend. “Why don’t you let me buy you a drink?”
“Another time, perhaps.” Jeremiah gripped the bag of medical supplies tight. “I’m transporting precious cargo.”
&nb
sp; “I see.” Radzinski was clearly disappointed, but Jeremiah took no notice. “Well, anyway, it’s good to see you, Jerry. Don’t be a stranger.”
“Take care, John.” Jeremiah continued on his way.
Radzinski watched him go. His shoulders slumped ever so slightly; the lines around his mouth fell a bit.
Mike leaned over from the bar. He guided a few patrons out of the way to better clear a path for Radzinski. “Can I get you a round, champ? On the house.”
“Not right now, Mike. I’ve got a meeting downstairs, anyway.” Radzinski watched as Jeremiah made his way across Underworld and out into the stairwell. He kept his eyes fixed on the exit.
Radzinski wasn’t even sure what he was waiting for. A part of him hoped that Jeremiah would have needed his help. Maybe some lowlife would attempt to hold him up and Radzinski could swoop in to save the day. Maybe then Jeremiah would let him buy him that drink. Not a single part of Radzinski yearned for life above deck or any of the brief acquaintances he made while there. He only sought like-minded companionship, and he always felt a kinship with Jeremiah, even though most times he could barely decipher what the guy was even talking about. Half the time he thought Jeremiah acted the way he did to purposely put people off. Radzinski turned and shot Mike a silent nod before heading toward the back stairs and below to Frost.
~~~
Electronic music thumped in rhythm with a series of strobes high above Frost’s main audience chamber. Colorful lights danced and shimmered around a sea of latex and leather-clad revelers. Frost, as per usual, was a universe unto itself. Secluded safely in the bowels of the ship, the nightclub remained a haven far from the politics and social structure of the above decks. Even as an offshoot of Underworld, it still mostly stayed independent from the dealings of Lady Setsuko and the various other gangs vying for power.
To live in Frost was to set yourself apart. It offered its denizens a sense of separation from the manufactured drama wracking the rest of the ship. Sona kept the grime at a distance, leaving her patrons, her flock, to live in relative peace. The spectacle was an extension of their desire to remain unique in a world where everyone had come to compromise, to concede, to conform in a desperate bid for safety.
Miller didn’t frequent this part of the ship often. Underworld in general wasn’t very appealing to him. The bondage gear and colorful outfits only served to reinforce his belief that he didn’t belong. He didn’t feel the need to understand. These people seemed happy; they didn’t need saving or protection, certainly not from him. Miller met Radzinski in a secluded booth, away from but still very much a part of the spectacle. Servers and patrons alike eyed him up; he was a stranger in their realm. Their attire and covered faces were in stark contrast to Miller’s fatigues and tight green T-shirt. He was different, maybe a bit vanilla for their tastes, but fascinating nonetheless. Captain Miller of the excursion teams had become a celebrity of sorts aboard Haven; Underworld was no exception.
He and his former road-mate chatted over a few beers. The conversation ran the gamut of reminiscing over lost companions to hopes and dreams for the future. They each remained tense around the other; they had erected walls that couldn’t be so easily brought down. The two of them weren’t anything resembling friends or even allies, though a mutual respect lingered somewhere just beneath the surface. There was a time when Miller would have demanded obedience of Radzinski. In retrospect, perhaps he could have handled things a bit differently. That was a different time; life on the road didn’t afford the luxury of second-guessing. Decisions needed to be made in the blink of an eye. Lives depended on it. Time apart did both men well in respect to understanding or at least accepting the other’s motivations or lack thereof.
To Radzinski, Miller was an overachiever, a kiss-ass who came across as overzealous in an endless pursuit of righteousness. For Miller’s part, he saw Radzinski as a slouch, lazy and selfish, someone who always took the easiest route and would step on his fellow man to achieve his own ends. Both men woefully misread the other, though ego and pride blinded them to how similar they truly were. Miller assumed that Radzinski was doing nothing more with his time on Haven than wasting the days away, drinking and sleeping his way to an early grave. Truth be told, Miller could use some muscle on his planned journey with Soraya, and since in his eyes Radzinski was wasting away, why not offer the man another mission? At the very least, it was high time they attempted to put their differences aside.
For the better part of an hour, they argued the pros and cons of—in Radzinski’s words—Miller’s senseless journey to certain death.
“If you want to kill yourself, fine. But why drag Soraya down with you? That girl thinks the world of you. She’d follow you anywhere.”
“I’m not going to justify myself to you or anyone else, but I will say this. This trip, this mission, was entirely her idea. But if I had my way, I would have snuck off the ship and left her a dear John letter.”
“Hmm, that probably would have been worse. I could just picture her doing the same. Packing a bag and following you down an endless highway. Both of you are dumb as shit, you know that?”
Miller almost smiled. “There are worse things to be accused of.”
The conversation didn’t seem to be going anywhere, at least not where Miller had hoped, so he just came out with it. “Well. Do you want off this ship or not?”
Radzinski didn’t hesitate to answer a question he knew was coming. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You’d rather live down here and stay drunk?”
“Don’t act so sanctimonious. You don’t know what I’m doing, man. What are you going to do if beyond all likelihood you find your family? Keep roaming or settle down with Soraya in Bum-Fuck, USA? Two kids, a dog, and a white picket fence? I bet they have a paperboy and a milkman, too. You think your dad lives in the one utopia free from all this bullshit? You’re dreaming.”
“I have to try.”
“Maybe you’ll find them, maybe you won’t. Either way, the price is blood, but you’ve got that in spades, don’t you? Some of these idiots would follow you to the ends of the earth. It’s a pipe dream, Miller. At best. Suicide, likely. You’re going to get everybody killed.”
“We’re going alone.”
“Says you. A little birdie told me Soraya is putting together a team.”
“Who?” Miller was truly surprised by the suggestion that anyone else would be joining them.
“Does it matter? One by one they’ll all die on this mission. Every one of them will lay down their lives helping you. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not even a year from now, but mark my words, this mission will claim them all. Can you shoulder that weight?”
“I take it I have your answer then?”
“Like I said, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Then I guess we’re done here.” Miller rose. He squeezed through a group of brightly colored latex wearers, dropped his empty beer mug off for the bartender, and thanked her on his way out.
Radzinski watched the small kindness and sighed. “Hey, Miller,” he shouted from across the room as his former team leader neared the exit.
Miller almost kept walking, but he turned around anyway.
Radzinski raised his beer. “Be safe out there.”
Miller nodded. “You too. Take care of yourself, John.”
~~~
Mensa slunk through Underworld; its traffic and congestion were almost too much for his senses. His proximity to all these people was maddening. Their close contact with each other and all the skin on skin made him feel as if he could hurl at any second. If one more of these filthy people bumped into him or offered him drugs or propositioned him, he would have a meltdown. Mensa very infrequently ventured below deck for any reason much less stepped foot in Underworld with its sounds and smells. He had a purpose—a goal that superseded his animosity for these people. He was in search of a dealer who specialized in ill-gotten medication stolen from the infirmary. For that, he would suffer the masses.
A shady-looking character in a purple hooded sweatshirt and carrying a large worn duffel was whom the bartender at the River Styx told him to seek out. The man could usually be found mingling near the Pit, where the crowd was at its fullest. Mensa waded through the human detritus. People coughed in his direction, and drinks were spilled near or even on him. A fury seethed, and he longed for these people to cease their prattling. When it seemed that his search was for naught, a break in the crowd revealed his objective. The purple-hooded man looked to be finishing a transaction just across the room.
Mensa hung back; he waited for the transaction’s conclusion before approaching. No doubt someone in the middle of dealing with such a man would commit Mensa’s face to memory if he interrupted. The fewer people who noticed him down here, the better. Soon enough, he approached and wasted no time with small pleasantries. The purple-hooded man seemed to appreciate that.
“I’m looking for antibiotics, anything ending in the letters C-I-L…” He was cut short.
“I know what you’re looking for. I don’t need the grammar lesson. Can’t you just go to the doc?”
“Doctor Nazneen and the two soldiers who are fast taking over the infirmary keep the medication strictly locked down these days. So no, I cannot.”
“What do you need it for?”
“That is a private matter.”
The hooded man sized Mensa up and quickly determined that this transaction wasn’t some sort of ruse. “Yeah, I can take care of you. It’s going to cost you, though.”
“Price is of no concern. While I have you, I do need a few more things from my shopping list that I’d like to procure from a more discreet merchant.”
“Right this way.” The purple-hooded man led Mensa away from potential prying eyes and into the darkened passages behind the Pit.
The Roaming (Book 3): Haven's Promise Page 43