Blood Memory: A Post-Apocalypse Series (Book Five)

by Perrin Briar

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  Details can be found at the end of the BLOOD MEMORY.

  Blood Memory

  Book Five

  Perrin Briar

  Off the coast of Baltim, Egypt

  1.

  The next ten hours passed with little incident. Hope Tomorrow maintained its course toward the Suez Canal, banking sharply around the long curved protuberance of flatland called Baltim. They were on the home straight.

  The waterway was becoming busier, with large trading vessels moving from port to port. It took more than the end of the world to cease trade. The rich always wanted their pleasures.

  “Guys?” Jessie said, coming up the stairs. “He’s waking up.”

  Jessie took the helm as Jordan and Anne descended into the main cabin. The man was sitting up, his hair askew. He looked exhausted, with grey bags under his eyes. But there was a natural colour to his skin now that had not been there before.

  “Do you know where you are?” Anne said.

  “Are?” the man said, before shaking his head like it was full of water.

  He fell forward, but Jordan was there to catch him. He sat him back on the sofa.

  “Careful,” Jordan said.

  “No,” the man said. “I do not know where I am. I am on a boat?”

  “You’re on Hope Tomorrow,” Anne said. “We’re on our way to the Suez Canal. We found you floating at sea. Do you know how you got there?”

  The man frowned, thinking deeply, and then shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “No, I don’t. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” Jordan said. “It’s not your fault you can’t remember. What’s the last thing you do remember?”

  He frowned again, and it was a full minute before he answered.

  “I was on my boat,” he said. “I was a fisherman. I think we got into a storm. I remember waves…”

  He shook his head.

  “But I’m not sure,” he said. “It’s difficult to recall.”

  “Do you remember your childhood?” Anne said.

  “My childhood?” the man said. “Yes, I remember.”

  “Do you remember your name?” Anne said.

  The effect on the man’s face was fascinating. He frowned, eyes flickering around in his head like he was trying to manually arrange his thoughts. Then he looked up at Jordan and Anne.

  “Yes,” the man said after a moment. “My name is Yosef. Yosef Cohen.”

  “I realise you must be scared, Yosef,” Anne said. “But you don’t need to fear us. You can stay with us until we get to the Suez Canal, then we’ll let you off and you can go to a hospital and try to figure out where you came from, how you got here.”

  “Yes,” Yosef said. “Thank you. Thank all of you. Thank you so much for your kindness. If there is some way I can repay you…”

  “There’s nothing to repay,” Anne said. “Please, rest. You’ve been through a lot.”

  Yosef laid his head down and within moments he was snoring. Jordan and Anne went back up onto the deck.

  “He has rope burns on his hands,” Anne said, keeping her voice low. “He’s obviously used to handling them.”

  “And he had the knife at his ankle,” Jordan said. “A useful tool for a fisherman.”

  “He doesn’t seem to remember much of anything,” Anne said.

  “I know how he feels,” Jordan said.

  “I was thinking about that,” Anne said. “Do you think you could speak with him? Try to get to know him a little, jog some of his memories?”

  “Why me?” Jordan said. “You’re the psychologist.”

  “But you’ve been through this,” Anne said. “You can help him.”

  “Help him how?” Jordan said. “The only way I remembered anything was by visiting the places where I’d been.”

  “Just talk with him,” Anne said. “You might be surprised how much you’ll help.”

  “I certainly would be surprised,” Jordan said.

  Anne folded her arms, the way she always did when she was settling into argument mode. Jordan sighed.

  “Fine,” he said. “I’ll try my best.”

  2.

  Jordan spoke with Yosef many times over the ensuing hours, but every time he did he was met with the same response: “I don’t remember.”

  Jordan took to recycling the advice Anne had given him when he was suffering from the same condition: “Try to calm your mind. Your memories will come to you.”

  When this didn’t work, Jordan said: “You mentioned you were a fisherman. Try to remember what the rope felt like in your hands, the waves beneath your feet. It could help jog some memories.”

  But this didn’t work either.

  “You have the patience of a saint,” Jordan told Anne after one such encounter.

  “What do you mean?” Anne said.

  “How could you stand to be around me when I couldn’t remember anything?” Jordan said. “I was a charity case and there was no reason to expect I would get better.”

  “You tried your best,” Anne said. “I just had to wait, that’s all.”

  “But I might never have recovered,” Jordan said.

  “Either way, you were the man for me,” Anne said.

  That made Jordan smile.

  “Look,” Jordan said, “there’s only one way Josef is going to remember anything, and that’s by visiting familiar places from his past. It’s up to him to help himself.”

  Several hours later, Jordan came down from outside to find Anne and Yosef cooking a meal. It smelled great, rich with herbs. What wasn’t so great was Yosef teaching Anne how to dance, feeling it necessary to run his hands all over her body.

  Anne laughed and threw her hips out.

  “And then I go like this, right?” she said.

  “That’s right!” Yosef said. “You’re a natural!”

  “I just have a great teacher,” Anne said.

  “Believe me, you are easy to teach,” Yosef said, leering at her body.

  “Nice to see your memory’s coming back,” Jordan said, cutting through the merriment.

  Yosef and Anne started. They didn’t know anyone had been watching. Anne realised what it must have looked like. Her cheeks coloured and she turned to the pot, stirring it.

  “Little by little,” Yosef said. “There’s something about this food that reminds me of home. Here, try some of this. It’s cholent, traditional Israeli food.”

  He held a wooden spoon up and approached Jordan, blowing on it to cool it down.

  “I’m okay,” Jordan said.

  “Go on, try a bit,” Yosef said. “Trust me, you haven’t lived until you’ve tried my cholent. We don’t have half the ingredients, but I improvised.”

  Yosef wasn’t going to leave off until he tried it.

  “All right,” Jordan said.

  “Careful, it’s hot,” Yosef said, angling the spoon toward Jordan.

  Jordan tried it. It wasn’t that hot, barely lukewarm. Then his tongue felt like it was burning. By ‘hot’ Yosef meant ‘spicy’.

  “Good, no?” Yosef said.

  Jordan nodded. His eyes turned red and tears ran down his face. Yosef smacked Jordan on the back.

  “I knew you’d like it,” he said.

  Anne handed Jordan a cup of water.

  “A tad too much spice?” she said.

  Jordan nodded and started coughing, unable to stop.

  “You’ll be converted yet,” Yosef said. “Excuse m
e for a moment, if you please. I need to use the little boy’s room.”

  He went into the small cabin they used as a bathroom.

  “Is there something about men with amnesia that attracts you?” Jordan said.

  “I guess,” Anne said. “It must be the built-in mysteriousness of them.”

  She grinned at Jordan, who didn’t find the comment funny.

  “Are you jealous?” Anne said.

  “I’m not jealous,” Jordan said.

  “You are!” Anne said. “You’re jealous!”

  She cuddled up close to him.

  “You don’t need to worry,” she said. “There’s only one forgetful man in my life that I care about.”

  Jordan squinted out of mock suspicion.

  “Is he handsome?” he said.

  “Devilishly,” Anne said.

  “Is he funny?” Jordan said.

  “Hilarious,” Anne said.

  “And stupendously well-endowed?” Jordan said.

  The bathroom door opened and Yosef stepped into the main cabin.

  “Whew!” he said. “I would not go in there if I were you! I’d give it some serious time.”

  “Just when we were getting to the good part,” Jordan grumbled.

  “Shall we tuck into our meal now?” Yosef said. “I’m very excited about trying it.”

  Footsteps came thudding down the stairs and into the main cabin.

  “Someone’s coming,” Jessie said.

  “Who?” Jordan said. “Another trade ship?”

  “No,” Jessie said. “They’re coming faster than that.”

  “Not more pirates, I hope,” Jordan said.

  “I don’t know who they are,” Jessie said, “but they’re headed right this way.”

  Jordan moved to a sofa and lifted it up. He input the passcode for the safe. In one corner was a small plain box. The rest of the space was loaded with weapons. Jordan took out a pistol and a knife. He handed a pistol each to Anne and Jessie. He looked at Yosef, but did not hand him a weapon. Jordan shut the safe. It bleeped as it locked automatically.

  “Did they see you?” Jordan said to Jessie.

  “They would have seen someone on board, but they’re too far out to notice it was me,” Jessie said.

  “Good,” Jordan said, tucking away the weapons on his person. “You and Anne wait down here.”

  He turned to Yosef.

  “You too,” he said.

  “Shout if you need me,” Yosef said.

  Jordan doubted that very much. He took his binoculars from Jessie and went up the stairs and onto the deck. He aimed them toward a growing feather of waves kicked up by a power engine. The speedboat was heading right for them, all right. It was orange and green, shiny like it had just come from the factory. Two figures sat in the front behind the short windscreen.

  Jordan felt the reassuring press of the knife at his ankle and the gun in its holster under his sweater. He hoped he wouldn’t need them.

  As the speedboat drew closer Jordan could make out Arabic writing down either side. The speedboat slipped past Hope Tomorrow and for a moment Jordan thought they were going to keep going, but then the speedboat began to turn. It slowed down and sidled up alongside the catamaran.

  Jordan put on a congenial smile and waved.

  “Hello there!” he said.

  The two men stood up and attached a rope to the side of Jordan’s craft. They wore matching uniforms, orange and green like their boat. One man had long hair that was tied back into a ponytail. The man beside him was thick-limbed with a short cut. He wore sunglasses that hid his expressionless face.

  “Good afternoon,” Jean-Pierre said. He had a thick French accent. “Do you mind if I ask where you’re headed?”

  “Sure,” Jordan said. “Do you mind if I ask who you are?”

  “How clumsy of me,” Jean-Pierre said with a smile. “I’m Jean-Pierre, this is Aashiq. We’re part of the Port Fouad police force.”

  “Police?” Jordan said. “You’re a long way from Port Fouad.”

  “We’re on the lookout for a fugitive from the law,” Jean-Pierre said. “A man matching this description.”

  Aashiq held up a piece of paper with a crude drawing on. It depicted a man with a large nose and dark hair down to his shoulders.

  “I haven’t seen him,” Jordan said.

  “Are you sure?” Jean-Pierre said. “Take a closer look.”

  Jordan did. He shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “I would remember a face like that.”

  “Do you have anyone else on board we might be able to question?” Aashiq said.

  Jordan shook his head.

  “No,” he said.

  “Where did you say you were headed?” Jean-Pierre said.

  “I didn’t,” Jordan said. “But I’m going to the Suez Canal.”

  “Very good,” Jean-Pierre said.

  “Is it still open?” Jordan said. “I’d hate to get there to find it blocked or closed.”

  “It was this morning when we left,” Jean-Pierre said. “Though you might have to queue up if you want to use the canal. It can get very busy. All right, well, we’d best be knocking on. Just for your information, if you do see this man, please be careful. He’s very dangerous. It would be best if you could avoid him at all costs.”

  “I will,” Jordan said. “Thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome,” Jean-Pierre said.

  The two officers turned back to their boat. Jean-Pierre bent down to untie the mooring line.

  There was a thud from Hope Tomorrow’s main cabin. The two officers turned back to Jordan, their eyes drifting to the steps behind him. The lump at Jordan’s waist suddenly felt heavy.

  “What was that?” Aashiq said, his tone gruff.

  “What was what?” Jordan said.

  “That noise, in your cabin,” Aashiq said.

  “We were just cooking,” Jordan said. “Something must have fallen off the table.”

  “‘We’?” Jean-Pierre said. “I thought you said there was just you on board.”

  “I thought you meant anyone else on board,” Jordan said. “Besides us. We’re always on board.”

  He smiled, but it felt phony even to his lips.

  “Right,” Jean-Pierre said with a flat stare. “We’re going to take a look around, sir, if you don’t mind.”

  “There’s really no reason to,” Jordan said.

  But the officers had made up their minds. They reached for the lumps at their own waists.

  “Take a step back please, sir,” Jean-Pierre said.

  Jordan stepped back so they could step freely onto Hope Tomorrow’s deck.

  “Stay right there,” Aashiq said.

  Jessie poked her head out from the staircase.

  “Oh, hello,” she said. “I didn’t know we had guests. Jordan, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “They just turned up,” Jordan said, catching the slight wink in Jessie’s eye.

  The two officers relaxed a little, softening at Jessie’s appearance. This was not the embodiment of danger.

  “You ought to be more careful,” Aashiq said to Jessie, tucking his gun away in its holster. “We could have filled you with holes, and that would be a shame.”

  Aashiq’s attempt at charisma was nauseating.

  “Then thanks for not shooting me,” Jessie said. “We were just making some lunch. Would you care to join us?”

  “That’s very kind of you to offer,” Jean-Pierre said. “But we’re on duty.”

  Aashiq elbowed Jean-Pierre in the ribs and glared at him. He returned to looking appreciatively at Jessie.

  “But, uh, we could have a little food, if you can spare it,” Aashiq said.

  “Certainly,” Jessie said. “Please follow me.”

  Aashiq didn’t need to be told twice. He followed in close behind Jessie.

  “This is a beautiful boat you have,” he said.

  “Thank you,” Jessie said. “We try to keep her clean.”r />
  Jean-Pierre eyed Jordan, not so easily thrown off the scent as his comrade.

  “After you,” he said to Jordan.

  Jordan descended the stairs next. He placed his hand on the lump at his waist, heartrate racing. They were going to recognise Yosef the moment they laid eyes on him. He was the spitting image of the picture they had. The steps down into the cabin felt like the ten steps an amateur shooter took when challenged to a duel.

  “Oh,” Anne said, standing at the bubbling pot. “I didn’t know we had guests.”

  “They just turned up,” Jessie said. “Blame Jordan.”

  “Sorry,” Jordan said, distracted.

  His eyes scrubbed the cabin, but found no sign of Yosef. He took his hand off his gun and projected an aura of calm as he turned, his eyes catching on Jessie’s, which flicked toward the middle of the floor. Blink and you would miss it. Jordan didn’t check where she was looking. It would have been too obvious.

  “That smells good,” Aashiq said, breathing in the scent coming from the pot. “What is it?”

  “Cholent,” Anne said.

  “Cholent?” Jean-Pierre said. “Seems an odd thing to cook.”

  “It’s all the ingredients we had,” Anne said. “I took a course once in Middle Eastern food. I’d have made some hummus too if we had any chickpeas. Please sit down.”

  Anne led them to the small dining table they had at the back of the yacht. Jessie took a seat, Aashiq quick to follow. Anne moved into the seat facing them.

  “After you,” Jordan said to Jean-Pierre.

  “Where are you going to sit?” Jean-Pierre said.

  “I’ll sit on the end,” Jordan said.

  “No, no, no,” Jean-Pierre said. “I couldn’t possibly put you out. It is your table.”

  “You’re our guests,” Jordan said. “I insist.”

  Jean-Pierre didn’t like it, but he bowed his head slightly in thanks and then took the seat beside Anne. Jessie handed out chipped ceramic bowls and ladled the food from the pot into them.

  “So,” Aashiq said to Jessie. “Heading anywhere nice?”

  “Just to the Suez Canal,” Jordan said.

  Aashiq glanced at Jordan, annoyed at the interruption. His smile returned to his lips.