Final Crossing (2014)

by Sean Rodman

  It’s lined with two metal shelving units. Shadowy shapes are scattered across the shelves, and a big pile of tarps is crumpled on the floor. More fast-food wrappers have tumbled into the far corner.

  “This is worse than my old room,” I say. Crinkling my nose against the smell, Final Crossing

  I work my way out of the driver’s seat and shuffle into the back of the van.

  “Your power within! Change your thoughts, change your life!” Big O says loudly, then starts laughing to himself.

  I stop. “What the hell? Keep it down!”

  “Dude who owns the van seems to be into self-help in a big way. All of these cds are like that—101 Habits of Powerful People, Make Yourself Better Every Day. Waste of my time.” I hear the clatter of plastic cases as he tosses the cds back into the glove compartment in disgust.

  “This waste of time was your idea,”

  I mutter and start to search through the clutter on the shelves. Then my foot catches on the pile of blue plastic tarps and I sprawl forward, landing heavily.

  Something grunts. Under the plastic sheets.

  My first thought is that it’s another Chihuahua situation. I scramble to my feet, ready to run. But then I hear the sound again, and it doesn’t sound like a dog. There’s something about the noise that makes me carefully peel back one edge of a plastic sheet.

  Something small in there. I lean in close, trying to figure out what I’m looking at in the half-light. It takes a minute. Then, like a camera snapping into focus, I see her.

  It’s a girl. My age. Long blond hair in a ponytail. Rag tied around her mouth.

  And panic in her eyes.

  Chapter Four

  “Don’t tell me,” says Big O from the front. “You found some more self-help cds back there.”

  “Not exactly,” I say and start pulling back the tarp. As I’m doing this, the girl is wriggling on the floor and grunting.

  Her hands are tied together with silver duct tape. Same thing with her feet.

  She’s frantic, and I’m freaked out. I start making shushing noises, like she’s an upset baby or something. That seems to make her madder.

  “Holy crap!” Big O crouches beside me. “What’s she doing hiding under the tarps?”

  “She wasn’t hiding.”

  The girl keeps shaking her head, trying to get rid of the red rag that’s gagging her. I reach out to untie it, and she calms down. I pull it away, and she starts coughing and making croaking noises. Big O grabs my shoulder and pulls me back to him.

  “She is bad news, man. We don’t want any part of this,” he whispers.

  “She can hear you, dude,” I say.

  Big O hesitates, looking down at the girl on the floor.

  “You seriously saying that we leave her here?” I say.

  “I’m just saying she’s not our problem.Let’s cut her loose and then get out.”

  The girl stops coughing and looks at us. She tries to say something, but no words come out. It looks like it hurts her to try and talk.

  “We can’t just walk away,” I say.

  “No, but we bring her to the cops, and what happens to us?” Big O shakes his head. “They’re not going to give us a medal for breaking into a bunch of cars and then finding— this.” He motions vaguely at the girl.

  “They’ll ask a lot of questions, then put the cuffs on us. And who knows what’s going on here? Maybe she’s a biker’s girlfriend or something and this is part of a gang war.”

  We both look down at the girl.

  “She looks too nice for something like that,” I say. “She’s not a biker chick.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “She’s got a nice haircut. Plus, those jeans are really expensive, I think.She’s rich.”

  “You think? How can you tell?” says Big O, intrigued. “How much are the shoes worth?”

  “What, now I’m a fashion expert?I’m just saying—”

  Before I can answer, the girl coughs again, then speaks in a gravelly voice.

  “He’s coming back,” she rasps and holds up her bound hands. “Please.”

  Screw it.

  “Give me your knife,” I say to Big O.

  He frowns, but pulls a battered jackknife out of his pocket and hands it over. I saw away at the duct tape around her feet. It feels like ages before the tape frays, then snaps apart.

  The girl slowly sits up, wincing. She must have been tied up for a long time. She tries to say something again, fails and licks her cracked lips. I lean in close.

  “Run,” she says. “Now.”

  And right on cue, we hear the rattle of keys in the door. Driver’s side. A tall shadow on the glass.

  I grab the girl by one arm and haul her backward. Big O slams the rear doors open and we all tumble onto the deck. Big O is off like a rocket, sprinting away between the cars. The girl tries to run but stumbles immediately and falls onto her knees. I reach down and drag her after me as fast as I can. If I dropped her and ran, I’d be long gone, just like Big O. But after being tied up for so long, the girl can’t walk, and I can’t leave her. Whoever the bad guy is, he’s going to be on top of us any second.

  I can almost feel a hand on my back when I see Big O again. He’s crouched beside a silver minivan, waiting for us.

  He points under the minivan and we all scramble underneath. I try to breathe through my nose and keep quiet.

  Hoping the man following us can’t hear my heart slamming away inside my chest.

  I’ve ended up lying next to the girl, her face turned toward me. Just a couple of inches away. I can’t help but notice how pretty she is. I mean, she’s got a big grease mark on her cheek and looks pretty freaked out. But her eyes are a nice dark blue, like the deep end of a calm swimming pool.

  She looks at me, silently. Then we both hear a voice, over the wind cutting through the deck, over the creaking of the cars.

  “Marissa?” His deep voice gets louder, and I can see a pair of shiny black dress shoes right in front of us.

  Walking past slowly.

  “Marissa? I understand why you ran. I do. But it’s not what you think. Come back—everything will be fine.” His voice goes from sweet to knife-sharp as Final Crossing he says quietly, “Dammit.” He calls her name again and again as he heads across the car deck, his voice finally fading out.

  “That’s you?” I whisper to the girl.

  “Marissa?”

  She nods but doesn’t say anything, just holds a finger to her lips. Shushing me.

  “I think he’s gone,” I finally whisper.

  “Who was that?”

  Chapter Five

  “He called himself Mr. Blank.” Her voice still sounds rough as she whispers.

  “I never saw him before tonight. I was on the way home from my friend’s. About a block away, a van pulls over and that guy steps out. I froze up. It was so fast. He just grabbed me, hauled me into the van and tied me up. Told me that if I didn’t cause any trouble, I would be fine.”

  “So he was a psycho killer?” says Big O on the other side of her. I’m not sure what’s appropriate in this particular social situation. But I’m sure that Big O is being inappropriate. The guy has no manners.

  “You don’t have to answer that,”

  I say.

  “No, it wasn’t like that. It was a kidnapping. He took a picture of me, told me that my parents would pay up. Or he’d make sure that they would never find me.”

  “That’s terrible,” I say.

  “Yeah. It could have been. But then you guys showed up. I’d still be in that van if it weren’t for you.”

  In the dark, she can’t see me blush.

  I hope. “No big deal.”

  “How did you know I was in there, anyway?”

  Big O blows a breath out between pursed lips. “That’s an interesting story.”

  “We were just lucky,” I say, trying to sound smooth. “I was walking by and I heard some noises inside the van.”

  “Then we t
ried the door and it was open.” Big O continues the lie. “And there you were.”

  “Well, thank you.” Marissa peers out from under the van. “So, are we on a ferry? Where’s it going?”

  Of course—she has no idea where Mr. Blank was taking her. I explain about the ferry, that it has about an hour to go before we land on the other side. She thinks for a minute, then starts squirming out from underneath the van.

  “We’d better go.”

  “Wait, where are you going?” I say.

  “Upstairs. I need to find some cops or something.”

  I wriggle out too. Big O is a little slower off the mark—Marissa and I are crouched by the van while he’s still Final Crossing flopping around underneath, trying to get unstuck.

  “But the kidnapper—he might see you,” I say to her.

  “I can’t hide under here for long. I’ve got to get help.” She wipes her hands clean on her jeans, then reties her ponytail.

  She takes a deep breath, then stands up and turns. “Come on.”

  “Wait!” Big O is still wriggling under the van. I grab his foot and pull him the rest of the way out, then chase after her. She’s headed for a stairwell, with me two steps behind. I keep ducking and weaving, scanning the deck for the kidnapper. I have no idea what he looks like, just his shoes, but there’s nobody else down here except for us and him.

  I’ve almost caught up to Marissa when I see her flatten herself against the steel-gray wall. She looks back at me and motions with her hand to get down.

  I drop to the deck and hear Big O do the same. A minute later, Mr. Blank’s voice carries over the wind and rattle of the ferry, calling Marissa’s name.

  He’s getting closer.

  I look around. Not a lot of options here. We could crawl under another car, which might help. Temporarily. Then I notice a steel door set into the wall.

  It has a big chunky handle on it and a bright yellow sign marked Crew Only.

  I hiss to get Marissa’s attention, then start crawling toward the door.

  “Marissa?” Mr. Blank is really close now. I reach up and try the latch on the steel door. Marissa and Big O huddle beside me. There’s a slight screech as the handle scrapes open and then sticks partway. I freeze. That was pretty loud, but the wind and the creaking of the cars around us might have covered it up.

  Then Marissa screams and points.

  Mr. Blank is running straight for us. He looks like he’s just attended a Final Crossing funeral—dress clothes, narrow black tie. And a long black raincoat flapping behind him, like bat wings.

  I shove the latch all the way up and swing the door wide open. A puff of moist warm air gusts out of the open door, and I can hear the roar of machinery down below. There’s a narrow set of metal stairs leading down into a brightly lit space.

  “Go!” Marissa takes the stairs two at a time, followed by Big O. I follow and yank the door shut behind me, seeing Mr. Blank’s face contort with anger as it slams closed just before he reaches it.

  Then I realize there’s no latch or lock on this side. He can open the door, no problem. I spin around and hurtle down the stairs.

  My shoe catches on something, and I sprawl to one knee.

  Looking up, I see the door start to swing open.

  I’m on my feet in a flash. I stumble, then jump down the stairs two at a time.

  When I reach the bottom, Big O and Marissa are waiting for me. The heat is almost overwhelming. I figure we’re in the engine room of the ferry. There are pipes and tubes everywhere, painted in bright primary colors. Huge green metal boxes vibrate—the engines, I guess.

  The room is arranged in kind of a grid, with four big engines spaced out evenly.

  Looks like there’s no crew down here right now—just machines.

  Big O and Marissa seem frozen, not sure where to go. I shove them between two of the vibrating green engines.

  We slip through to the other side, then start creeping forward. I peek around the corner. No sign of Mr. Blank. Big O taps me on the shoulder.

  “We can go back up!” He points at another ladder, leading to a metal catwalk that runs partway around the room.

  And at the top is another steel door.

  A way out, if we’re lucky.

  I creep to the ladder and look up.

  Maybe twenty feet of climbing. Not too far, but it will be impossible for Mr. Blank to miss seeing all three of us going up.

  Unless he’s looking the other way.

  I scurry back to Big O and Marissa.

  “We need a distraction. Wait a minute before you go up.” Big O looks concerned, but I try to be cool and calm. “Not a problem. Piece of cake, bro.” I hope he can’t see that I really feel like throwing up. That I wish someone else could go and do this. But I don’t want to put Marissa or Big O on the line. Before I can think too much about it, I slip around the corner of the thrumming engine. Away from the two of them.

  Mr. Blank is walking down the middle of the engine room, right toward me.

  Chapter Six

  My legs feel rubbery, but I force myself to run right across the open space in front of Mr. Blank. I disappear behind the next massive engine box and turn left, moving fast. I’m hoping he takes the bait and runs after me. Away from the others. Now the trick is to keep him from catching me. Giddily, I think of the games of tag Final Crossing

  Big O and I used to play. This is just like that. Catch me if you can.

  I dodge to the left again, tuck between two blue pipes, then pop back out into the main space. No sign of Mr. Blank. Now I run back the way we first came, toward the ladder. When my hand closes around a metal rung, I feel relieved—I’m going to make it!

  Then I’m in the air and flying sideways into a very hard, round metal tank. My face plants itself right onto a bright-orange triangular sign. I slide to the floor, winded, gasping. I’ve never played on a football team or anything, but I’m pretty sure that was a really good tackle.

  Mr. Blank is standing over me, breathing hard. He has sharp features.

  Thin nose, dark hair. Intense, focused.

  Like he’s a highly trained specialist. I don’t think he specializes in nice things.

  His tie is gone. His collar is open.

  I can see sweat stains under his armpits.

  He kneels down next to me.

  “Where is the girl?” he says slowly and clearly, like he’s talking to someone stupid.

  I shake my head and shrug.

  “You know what your problem is? Not enough motivation. With the right motivation, anything is possible.”

  He swings at me, backhanded. My head snaps back, and fresh pain is added to the mix.

  “So there’s some motivation for you. Again, where’s the girl?”

  Mr. Blank looks at me expectantly.

  But all I can do is sit on the floor and shrug again. I really do not know.

  Although I’m hoping that Marissa and Big O are very far away by now.

  “That’s not working for you, huh? Let’s try another of my favorite inspirational quotes. This one’s from a Final Crossing hockey player, but I think it applies nicely here. You miss 100 percent of the shots you don’t take.”

  Mr. Blank narrows his eyes and pulls a heavy-looking handgun from his raincoat. He points it slowly at me.

  It gleams flat gray in the fluorescent overhead lights.

  I’ve lost my breath again. The world shrinks down to the muzzle of the gun. I instantly have a really clear picture of how this is going to go down.

  He shoots me—nobody hears a thing down here in the noisy engine room.

  He tosses me over the side of the ferry into the middle of the ocean—nobody misses me because there is literally nobody to miss me. Except for Big O.

  I really, really don’t want to die.

  I look around frantically. No crew.

  Just machines. But then I look straight up, at the orange sign Mr. Blank smashed me into. The one attached to the big metal tank I’m leaning agains
t.

  A bright-orange triangle with a simplified drawing of an explosion. The words HIGH PRESSURE GAS are stenciled on the tank itself.

  I drop my eyes back down to look at Mr. Blank. And I point up at the sign.

  His gaze flicks from the sign to me.

  He gestures to the left with the gun.

  “So move.”

  I shake my head. No way. He shoots me, that tank blows up and takes us both with it. That tank is my only protection right now. I slowly stand up, keeping my back pressed against the tank.

  Mr. Blank frowns. Waggles the gun again. “Move!”

  No.

  He rolls his eyes. “Seriously?” he shouts. “Really? This is ridiculous! You realize that I don’t need the gun to hurt you, right?” He stuffs the gun back into an inside pocket of his coat. He looks at Final Crossing me and smiles. A mean smile. And starts coming for me.

  Something comes flying down from overhead and tinkles onto the floor right in front of him. Mr. Blank looks at the handful of coins that has just landed at his feet. There’s another tinkle as more quarters and dimes bounce off the floor.

  Then we both look up. Just in time to see Big O leaning over the edge of the stairs with a fire extinguisher. The black nozzle points down at Mr. Blank.

  There’s a sudden stream of white fog that hits him right in the face. Mr. Blank stumbles backward, gasping and rubbing his eyes.

  I don’t waste any time. I’m up the stairs and out the door, right behind Big O. We run until my chest hurts.

  Once we’re up on the passenger deck, we try to slow down and look normal. Hard to do when it feels like there’s a big red glowing arrow pointed right at me, helpfully pointing out where I am to Mr. Blank. But I do my best.

  As we walk by the closed-up gift shop, I say quietly to Big O, “Where’d Marissa go?”

  “I don’t know. Once we got up that ladder, we were onto the car deck. I told her I was going back for you. That she was on her own.”

  “You left her alone?” I say. “Think she’ll be okay?”

  “Are you kidding? She’ll be great after she talks to the crew. The crew will give her to the cops, the cops will get her back to her parents and catch the bad guys. It will all be over by the eleven o’clock news. Happy ever after.” Then he stops and turns toward me. “And by the way, you’re welcome.”