Anomaly

by Scott Prussing

  Waiting for us at the edge of the water are two inflatable rubber dinghies, each manned by a pair of sailors at the oars. We all take our shoes and socks off and wade out the few steps to the boats. My dad, Radar, Rerun and I climb into one, while the rest of my friends get aboard the other. We’ve barely sat down before the sailors begin rowing out toward The Star of India.

  The rubber craft lurch and heave as they fight their way through the churning two and three foot breakers, but once we’re clear of the waves the ride becomes much smoother. Our rowers begin pulling hard and fast on the oars and I wonder what the hurry is—it won’t take more than five or ten minutes to reach the Star even at a more leisurely pace. When I see the sailors making repeated glances at the other dinghy, I suddenly understand. Our guys are racing their guys.

  For fifty yards or so, the boats stay remarkably even—we gain about five feet on the other guys. But then their boat begins to make up ground and pull away, leaving our oarsmen with puzzled looks on their faces. It doesn’t seem possible our competition could be going that much faster than us, until I see a smile on Plush’s face.

  “Plush is using her Power to help move their boat,” I tell the two sailors. “That’s why they’re going so fast.”

  Rerun glances over at the other dinghy and grins. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.” A look of intense concentration replaces the grin on his face.

  I’ve never seen him do this before. Somehow, he manages to turn back time for the other boat but not ours. Since we’re all sitting so close together, everyone in our boat can see the effect of his Power. The result is quite comical—the other rowers appear to be rowing backwards, sending their boat backwards as well. It only lasts for fifteen or twenty seconds, but it’s enough to give us a lead the other craft cannot overcome. We’re all smiling, even my dad. When he’s in colonel mode like he is now, he usually won’t brook much fooling around, but any way the Miracles can use and practice their Powers without causing trouble is okay with him.

  “I didn’t know you could do that,” I say to Rerun. “Target your Power that way, I mean.”

  “It’s something I’ve been working on,” he says. “It’s really hard to do, but it may come in handy.”

  “It sure helped here,” Radar says as we bump against the metal hull of The Star of India a good twenty feet ahead of our friends.

  While the other dinghy is covering the last bit of water, my boat mates and I begin climbing up a pair of rope ladders onto the ship. When we reach the top, two muscular Marines help hoist us up onto the deck.

  Lieutenant Gregerson and a man in a blue and gray camouflage Navy uniform greet us and salute my dad. The wooden deck is crowded with Marines and sailors. Standing a short distance behind the lieutenant I see Jordy. He and Radar immediately lock eyes and smile at each other.

  “Welcome aboard, Colonel,” Gregerson says. “I believe you know Captain Spiby?”

  “I do,” Dad replies. He smiles. “But let’s have that be your last salute until we’re standing on dry land again.”

  Gregerson grins. “You got it, Sir.”

  My dad extends his hand to the captain. “Good to see you again, Norris.”

  Captain Spiby shakes my Dad’s hand. “You, too, Colonel.”

  By now, the other Miracles have joined us up on deck. Gregerson turns and motions Jordy over.

  “Jordy, show our guests their quarters,” he says. “I’ll take care of the colonel.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Jordy says. He crosses to us and links arms with Radar. “This way, guys and gals.”

  Jordy leads us toward the stern of the boat. Now that we’re onboard, a flurry of activity begins to take place on the ship. The anchor is hoisted and sailors start unfurling the sails.

  Jordy stops next to an open hatch in the deck. “Down here,” he says.

  He descends the wooden ladder first, followed by Radar and then me. The rest of our friends climb down behind us.

  Below decks, a large, dimly lit open space stretches toward the front of the ship. Faint light filters in through a row of glass portholes on either side. The place smells and feels damp, which should come as no big surprise to anyone.

  The space is crammed with triple-decked net hammocks and soldiers’ packs. More than a dozen of the hammocks are filled with sleeping men—I’m guessing they’re the night crew, catching some winks while they can. My friends and I all exchange glances with one another. It’s clear no one is looking forward to spending much time down here.

  “Don’t worry,” Jordy says, reading our faces if not our minds. “You Miracles are special. Captain Spiby has set aside the captain’s quarters for you.”

  He pulls open a wooden door behind us, then steps aside. “After you,” he says, waving his arm gallantly.

  Radar remains next to Jordy, so I go in first. The room is pretty small, especially since it’s been fitted with seven hammocks. At least these are only double-decked, kind of like bunk beds. It’s a bit less dark in here than out in the bigger space—the portholes are larger and there are two windows along the stern. Thankfully, the windows are open, making the air quite a lot fresher. It’s just as damp in here, though.

  When all eight of us are inside, the chamber feels very crowded. It feels even more so when the ship suddenly lurches forward. Our journey has officially begun.

  “I don’t imagine you’ll be wanting to spend much time down here during the day,” Jordy says. “But at least you’ll have a bit of privacy when you’re sleeping, or any other time you feel the need.”

  I look at my friends. A bit of privacy is about all we’ll have, at least when more than just a couple of us are down here. I can see on their faces that most of them are thinking the same thing, especially Plush and Doc.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Jordy says. “Leah and Sneak, back up a step please.”

  Sneak and I have been standing in the middle. I back up to my left and he does the same to the right. Jordy reaches up and unwraps some twine from a metal hook on the wall. A canvas sheet unfurls from near the ceiling. If Jordy allowed it to unroll all the way, the canvas would divide the room in two, four hammocks on one side and three on the other.

  “Girls over there,” Jordy says, pointing the side with four hammocks. “Guys on the other side.” He grins. “Like I said, privacy.”

  I throw my pack onto one of the bottom hammocks, claiming it. Radar takes the one above me. The others each choose one for themselves. I begin unstrapping my machete from my back when Jordy stops me.

  “Keep your weapons with you at all times,” he tells us.

  We all look at him in surprise.

  “Really?” Radar asks him. “We’ve got forty of you big strong Marines protecting us. What are we going to do with a few swords and machetes?”

  Jordy grins. “You never know. Anyhow, it’s the Colonel’s orders. Besides, you’ll be doing lots of practicing—there’s not much else to do out here.” He pauses for a moment and then adds, “Oh, yeah, you’re supposed to wear your emergency pouches at all times, too.”

  I dig into my pack and retrieve the small, belted waterproof pouch each of us was issued last night. Inside is a compass, a lighter, some bandages, antiseptic cream, a small flashlight, some sturdy twine and few other items. There’s an ultra-light rain poncho that folds up into a four inch square thinner than a deck of cards, and a “Space Age” blanket that takes up just as little room. The blanket is fashioned out of some kind of flexible foil that’s supposed to keep us warmer than a wool blanket—from what we’ve been told, the central coast of California gets a whole lot colder than San Diego. To us Afters, the Space Age is a mythological period we can barely relate to—trips to the moon, c’mon? This is the first time any of us have even been outside San Diego. But if the blanket can keep me as warm as it’s supposed to, then I say hurray for the Space Age.

  The pouch also holds a bunch of specially formulated energy bars. My dad says just one a day will keep a Marine at full strength for at least a we
ek. If that’s true, then half a bar should be enough for me if I ever need them.

  In any event, all of us know that if we ever have to use our pouches we are in serious trouble, but none of us voices the thought as we fasten them around our waists.

  When we’ve all got our weapons and pouches strapped to our bodies, we head back up to the deck. For all of us but Sneak, it’s our first time aboard a real boat, and we’re eager to see what sailing is all about.

  CHAPTER 9

  OUR SEA VOYAGE IS GREAT FUN—until we leave sight of land, that is. When the coastal hills disappear below the horizon, my heartbeat suddenly quickens and I feel a lump in my throat. There’s nothing as far as the eye can see in any direction now but a seemingly limitless expanse of empty ocean. All of a sudden, I feel very insignificant.

  Thankfully, the sea is relatively calm, and the Star of India is gliding across the water with only the tiniest bit of up and down motion. If the water was rougher, I’d really be feeling anxious. Still, I’m not all that happy—I guess I had thought we would just follow the coast northward all the way to San Francisco.

  “Why are we going so far out?” I ask Jordy, who is hanging out along the rail with us. “Isn’t that dangerous? How do we know where we’re going if we can’t see the coast?”

  Jordy smiles at my unease.

  “Don’t worry, Leah. During the day, the sailors use the sun to tell direction. At night, they navigate by the stars.”

  Duh, I tell myself, felling incredibly stupid. I knew that from books I’ve read. I guess I’m even more nervous than I thought. I decide not to ask what happens if the sky turns cloudy.

  “As for leaving sight of land,” Jordy continues, “we don’t want anyone—or anything—outside of the barrier to see us leaving, or to know where we’re heading. I imagine we won’t see the coast again until we’re near San Francisco.”

  That all makes perfect sense, but it doesn’t make me any happier about not being able to see land for the first time in my life. I realize I’m gripping onto the wooden rail pretty tightly, so I ease my hold a bit.

  “How far out do you think we are?” I ask, still not quite ready to let the matter go.

  Jordy shrugs. “No more than a few miles, I expect. As long as we’re out of view from the shore, there’s no reason to go any farther.”

  Radar lays her hand on my forearm. “Don’t worry, Leah,” she says reassuringly. “These Navy guys know what they’re doing. Sailing is what they live for.”

  “I guess so,” I reply, wishing I had a bit more of Radar’s spunk and sense of adventure.

  Plush edges over next to me. Lights is close beside her, holding her hand.

  “I’m with you, Leah,” Plush says. “I’d be MUCH happier if I could see just a bit of land right now.”

  Lights lifts their clasped hands and shows them to me. “If you could feel how hard she’s been squeezing my hand since the land disappeared,” he tells me, “you’d know she’s not just saying that to make you feel better.”

  I smile, glad to hear I’m not the only one feeling uneasy.

  With nothing but an unbroken expanse of ocean surrounding us and a cloudless sky above, there’s very few ways to judge our speed. The wind blowing against our cheeks is one way, but I can’t tell how much of that is from our forward motion and how much is from the northwesterly breeze we’re sailing into. Looking down over the rail, I can see the froth of white foam the Star is churning up as it cuts through the water, but for all I know, we could be standing still and the water could be rushing by the ship, sort of like when Radar and I dig our feet into the sand and let the receding waves give us a feeling of motion.

  “Do you have any idea how fast we’re going?” I ask Jordy.

  He shrugs. “I don’t have a clue. I’m sure one of the Navy guys could tell us though.”

  He waves a nearby sailor over to us. The guy is smiling as he crosses the deck. I’m sure he’s thrilled to have the chance to be out at sea like this—every sailor’s dream, I suppose.

  When he stops in front of us, Jordy nods towards me. “My friend here is wondering how fast we’re going. You got any idea?”

  The sailor moves to the rail and looks down over the side, judging our speed by the size of the wake, I guess.

  “We’re sailing against the prevailing current and into a pretty stiff breeze,” he tells me when he looks back up. “I’d say we’re making only four or five knots. That’s a little slower than we hoped, but it will still get us where we’re going in plenty of time.”

  Unless something happens, I think to myself. I don’t voice my thought, though. Why be a downer to everyone else?

  The Navy guy smiles. “The return trip will be much faster,” he adds. “We’ll be sailing with the current. Probably with the wind behind us, too.”

  I hadn’t even thought about a return trip. I wonder if there will even be one.

  I’m pulled from my speculations by the arrival of Sergeant Moss, a stocky, grizzled Marine weapons specialists who’s been giving us extra training for the past week. His weathered face and deep-set dark eyes give his countenance a severe, don’t-mess-with-me look. Except when he smiles—then he looks like someone’s favorite grandfather. He’s the only one on the ship older than my dad, but I’m pretty sure there’s not a soldier on board who would mess with him. His skill with pretty much any weapon you can name is the stuff of legend in the Corps.

  “Enough sightseeing, boys and girls,” he says. “May as well put all this spare time to use, learning how to handle those shiny toys of yours.”

  I smile. At the beginning of every practice session, Sergeant Moss always acts as if none of us has ever lifted a weapon before. Compared to him, I guess he’s right.

  He spends a couple of hours putting us through our paces. In addition to pairing us up for practice fights, he goes over the special strokes and attacks necessary for the various kinds of creatures who may come through an Anomaly. Beheading strokes work on most of them, but are an absolute necessity against a vampire. Werebears and ogres are so huge that reaching their heads is usually impossible, plus their necks are so thick that a beheading blow would be unlikely to work in any case. For the more gargantuan creatures, some kind of attack at their legs is usually advisable, to reduce their mobility and make them more vulnerable to a follow-up killing stroke. Trolls and cyclops have hides so thick and tough that your best chance against them with a blade is to strike at a joint such as the back of the knee, where the skin is less thick, or to slash or stab at their eyes. Winged creatures like rocs require defensive forms performed up above your head. And so on and so on.

  We all always listen intently and practice diligently, though I’m pretty sure none of us really fancies our chances against any of the beasts should we actually have to face one. That’s what the Marines are for, with their automatic weapons, flamethrowers and hand grenades.

  Finally, we break for lunch.

  The afternoon is more of the same—two more hours of weapons drilling, plus a review of the things we’ve learned about the geography of the land between San Diego and San Francisco. Not that we can see one little bit of that geography from our spot out here in the middle of the ocean!

  With no clouds in the sky, there’s not much of a sunset. Still, we Miracles all gather on what I now know is the “port” side of the ship to watch the golden sun settle down onto the water and then sink below the horizon. Sunset is followed by a few moments of twilight before darkness envelops the ship.

  As the blackness deepens, I’m amazed by the night sky. The moon is but a tiny fingernail sliver hanging just above the eastern horizon, but more stars are twinkling in the dark canopy above than I ever dreamed existed. In San Diego, the bright lights ringing the District come on at sunset. Even in the middle of the city, the glare creates enough of a glow that only the brightest stars are visible—maybe a few hundred at most. Out here on the ocean with no ambient light to block them, seemingly thousands upon thousands of stars of
varying size and brightness bejewel the night sky. It’s a truly beautiful and awe-inspiring sight.

  And useful, too, I remind myself. The North Star provides a fixed point our navigators can use to guide us toward San Francisco even through the darkness.

  We marvel at the night sky for perhaps an hour before retreating below decks for dinner. Since it’s our first night, we’re able to dine on fresh meat and poultry kept cold by ice packed in coolers. We eat our meals cold—fires aboard ship are a no-no—but the food is tasty nonetheless. The ice may last through tomorrow, but after that it will be dried and salted meat for all of us. Luckily, we have plenty of fruit and vegetables on board—enough to last for the entire trip.

  After dinner, we head back up on deck for some more star gazing. Finally, tired by our early start and strenuous day, we head for our sleeping nets. I’m a little concerned about falling asleep in such a strange place, but the slight rolling motion of the ship is comfortable and relaxing. I’m soon fast asleep.

  CHAPTER 10

  THE SECOND DAY of our voyage is pretty much a repeat of the first. Weapons practice and studying mixed in with periods of boredom. You can only stare out at an empty ocean for so long. At least I’m getting used to the idea of not being able to see land.

  The only thing of note occurs an hour or so after lunch, when I notice that we seem to have changed direction in regards to the position of the sun. I’m pretty sure the ship is now heading more westerly than it had been. I’m no expert, of course, so I decide to go ask my dad about it. I tell my friends I’ll be back in a minute. I don’t share what’s troubling me, because most of them don’t seem to care how far from land we go, and I don’t want to alarm the ones who do, like Plush.

  Dad is sitting at a makeshift table fashioned out of two sawhorses and a wide wooden plank. Huddled over the table with him are Lieutenant Gregerson and Captain Spiby. They seem to be looking at something spread out atop the table. Since these are the three highest ranking officers on the ship, I decide maybe now is not the best time to interrupt my dad.