Ship of the Damned

by James F. David

  “I’ll explain when I can, Wes,” Elizabeth said, knowing that Compton and the others were preparing for attack and ignoring her.

  They heard more running, and then men with spears and crossbows crossed in front of Evans, hurrying somewhere. Suddenly, the men were knocked down like bowling pins, tumbling back down the corridor and out of sight. Evans turned and put up one finger, the others tensing, getting ready. Suddenly a fireball streaked past, and they all turned their heads reflexively to protect their vision. Anita whimpered, and Elizabeth hugged her close, comforting her as best she could, her own voice trembling. Then there was an earsplitting “whump” from down the corridor, followed by a loud sizzling.

  “Time to move,” Compton whispered to Evans. “I’ll take Dawson down the stairs first, then Peters, then you.”

  Evans stared back defiantly, and Elizabeth feared he would refuse. Evans wanted to fight.

  The corridor was quiet now. Then Elizabeth heard footsteps on the metal deck. Compton pulled Elizabeth to her feet, signalling with quick motions to Peters, who nodded, then turned back to cover his end of the corridor. Now Compton leaned close to Elizabeth’s ear, whispering.

  “If you want to live, keep your mouth shut and come with me.”

  Compton brought her gun up to Elizabeth’s eye level, and Elizabeth nodded. Then Compton pushed her toward the stairs.

  “Go down, and if any of your people start shooting, you’ll be the first to die,” Compton whispered.

  Elizabeth started down, trying to climb softly, but the metal stairs rang with every step. The deck below looked like the one above, nothing but intersecting corridors. There were hatches down the corridor, but none were open. Far down the corridor she saw a leg and arm protruding from the wall, but thankfully no head. She found that Anita was with her when she reached the bottom, and she comforted her as best she could, the little girl staring down the corridor at the body parts sticking through the wall.

  Compton came down right behind her, gun pointed at Elizabeth, her eyes sweeping right and left. As soon as Compton was down she snapped her fingers and Peters followed. With a hand motion she sent Peters forward to check out the next corridor junction. He approached cautiously, finding nothing and signalling Compton. Compton snapped her fingers again, the signal for Evans to climb down. When Evans didn’t appear, she snapped her fingers again, but there was no Evans. Then she pointed her gun at Elizabeth.

  “If you move I’ll kill you,” Compton whispered.

  Anita was invisible to everyone but Elizabeth, so only Elizabeth saw her recoil at the threat. As Compton climbed back up to the deck above, Elizabeth knelt and whispered to Anita.

  “It’s just a dream, Anita. She won’t really hurt me.”

  “She’s so mean,” Anita said.

  “She’s scared, just like you and me. As soon as we find Ralph we’ll go home, I promise.”

  “I don’t know how much longer I can stand this, Elizabeth,” Wes said.

  “Wes is watching over us,” Elizabeth said to Anita. “He just talked to me.”

  Anita nodded, and Elizabeth stood again, watching Compton, who had reached the top and was whispering to Evans. Elizabeth couldn’t hear what she said, but suddenly all hell broke loose.

  The first thing Elizabeth heard was a sputtering sound, then screams and shouting. Suddenly the opening at the top of the stairs lit up and Compton ducked, sliding recklessly down the stairs. A fireball flashed across the opening, followed by a loud thump and sizzling sounds. Now there was the clang of metal on metal, a hundred tiny metal sounds as if it was hailing nails.

  “Where’s Evans?” Peters shouted loud enough to be heard over the din above.

  Suddenly sounds of the metal hail could be heard directly above them, moving toward the stairs.

  “Get back,” Compton shouted, and shoved Elizabeth against a bulkhead, holding her there with an arm across her chest.

  Then the hail reached the staircase and a dozen small objects shot through the opening, ricocheting off the stairs and walls. One hit the wall next to Elizabeth with a metallic thunk, dropping to her feet. It was a jagged piece of metal.

  “Let’s go,” Compton shouted, pulling Elizabeth from the wall and shoving her toward Peters, who still guarded the corridor.

  “Evans?” Peters said when they reached the junction.

  “He’s decided to do a Custer on us,” Compton said.

  Peters shrugged, and said, “Then it’s just you and me and the Dawson-Elizabeth-Anita thing.”

  “And Jett,” Compton said.

  “If you say so,” Peters said with a wink.

  The deck above them, where Evans fought, now glowed as if the noonday sun was shining through. Heat was flowing down through the opening, the temperature quickly rising ten degrees.

  “Let’s go,” Compton said.

  Peters took Elizabeth now, pushing her into the corridor.

  “Which way?” Peters asked.

  “I don’t know,” Elizabeth said.

  There was a loud thump, and then clanging from above. Now Compton pointed her gun at Elizabeth’s face.

  “We don’t have time for this, Dawson. Which way?”

  “I’m not Dawson,” Elizabeth said. “I’m Elizabeth. I tried to explain.”

  “Fine, Elizabeth,” Compton said. “Take us to wherever Jett is, or you’re no use to us.”

  “Let’s just go, Elizabeth,” Anita said. “I don’t like it here.”

  Elizabeth closed her eyes, trying to let the Dawson part of her take more control. A vague sense of direction came to her.

  “I think they went to the right,” Elizabeth said.

  “That’s better,” Peters said, shoving her down the corridor.

  Compton followed, watching their backs to make sure they weren’t pursued. It was unlikely. The battle in the corridor above continued to rage.

  BARRIER

  Dr. Kellum led them through engine rooms, boiler rooms, the hangar deck, and then up through crew berths, a mess, and the fire control room; then he repeated the trek with a slight variation. Jett understood that he was leading them through a pattern that was the equivalent of twisting a combination lock in the right order. The corridors were rarely wide enough to walk two abreast, and most of the trek was spent going single file. Sailors carrying crossbows and spears led, followed by Kellum, Jett, and Ralph, and then more guards behind. Without being obvious, Jett studied the weapons of Kellum’s soldiers. Most were cutting or stabbing weapons: short knives, machetes, and spears. The long-range weapons were crossbows. They were all homemade, of course; the Navy didn’t issue medieval weapons.

  Crossbows had changed little in design since their invention, the only modern improvements being in materials. The type of weapon carried by Kellum’s men was basically a carved wooden stock shaped like a rifle stock and designed to fit against the shoulder. The crosspiece was a bar of metal like one leaf of a car spring, and it varied in length and thickness. Jett estimated that the thickest might draw eighty pounds. The crossbows had metal stirrups mounted at the ends of the stocks. To draw the crossbow, the archer would have to step in the stirrup, then use both arms to pull the bowstring back and set it in the notch. There was a simple trigger mechanism, with a small leaf spring that kept the notch up until the trigger was pulled, the notch dropping down into the stock and releasing the bowstring. The bolt the weapon fired rested in a groove carved into the top of the stock and projected through a hole in the metal crosspiece. Kellum’s men carried their crossbows cocked, a quiver of bolts on their belts. The bolts were fifteen inches long with fletching only on two sides. The bolts were tipped with broadhead arrow points, designed to penetrate flesh and do as much damage as possible—even more as the arrow was removed. Based on what Jett could see of the weapons, he judged that they would be effective for only forty or fifty yards, which was more than enough in the confines of the Norfolk. He knew there were more powerful versions of crossbows, called “arbalests,” that required pull
ey systems to cock them. These were slow and cumbersome, but had a range of two hundred yards or more. The absence of arbalests, and the quick-fire long bow, was probably due to the narrow confines of the corridors and compartments of the Norfolk. Long-range weapons weren’t needed.

  After ten minutes of walking up and down in the ship, Jett turned to Ralph, who trudged along with his own peculiar posture, seemingly fascinated by every hatch they passed.

  “This is very confusing, Ralph,” Jett said. “I don’t know if I could find my way back.”

  “That’s okay, Nate, I could show you,” Ralph said.

  “Are you sure, Ralph?”

  “Sure, sure, Nate. It’s easy. You just go down there and turn right, and then down there and then through all those big machine rooms, and then up there and through that room with the swinging beds and then the one with the kitchen in it, and then back down to the machinery room. Course, I think it would be shorter if you went that way, and up them stairs and through the room with the big wheel that steers the ship, and then down to the rooms with the big machinery, and then—”

  “Fine, Ralph, as long as you know,” Jett tried to interrupt, but Ralph continued.

  “—and then left again, but don’t go right.”

  “Why not right?” Jett said before Ralph could get started again.

  “It goes outside,” Ralph said.

  “You mean on deck?”

  “I dunno. It’s not on Doctor Kellum’s map, but it’s just like the other doors. He should have a blue striped wire there and a cap thing, but he doesn’t. I could fix it, Nate. Really I could, and I wouldn’t break it or nothing.”

  Jett had seen Ralph’s special resistance to psychokinetic force in action with Evans. Now he was was coming to see that Ralph’s sense of direction was just as special. He suspected that Ralph really did know of an exit off the ship yet to be discovered, and more importantly, yet to be used by a Special and therefore not blocked by Dr. Lee at Rainbow. Jett checked behind him, making sure the guards were a few steps behind.

  “Let’s not tell anyone about that door, Ralph,” Jett said.

  “How come, Nate?” Ralph said too loudly. Ralph seldom tried to whisper, and when he did it came out louder than most people’s normal voices.

  “We don’t want them getting their hopes up. Not until we’re sure there’s a door there.”

  “Okee-dokee, I guess, Nate. I won’t tell no one if you don’t want me to.”

  “Thanks, Ralph. It’s for the best. Need some more gum?”

  Ralph did, of course, and Nate fished a pack of spearmint gum out of his silver suit.

  Dr. Kellum led them through what should have been an interior hatch, but when they stepped through the dark opening they found themselves outside on the deck of the ship between two of the gun turrets. It was another level of time, as Kellum had explained it, but in this moment there was a cargo net slung over the side. Dr. Kellum climbed over the side, the flab around his waist drooping as he awkwardly stepped over the rail onto the net. Two sailors climbed over on either side of him, arms hovering, ready to catch the ungainly professor.

  Ralph followed Jett’s example, and straddled the rail, carefully selecting a foothold before swinging over and starting down. Jett watched Ralph closely.

  “You don’t have to worry about me, Nate,” Ralph said. “I had a jungle gym in my backyard when I was little. My daddy built it for me. It looked like a pirate ship and there was rope just like this.”

  “Don’t talk, Ralph. Watch what you’re doing.”

  “I can talk and climb,” Ralph said. “I can talk and do anything.”

  “I know you can, Ralph, but I can’t,” Jett lied.

  “Well okee-dokee then, Nate. I’ll zip it closed.”

  Ralph stopped his climb, looped an arm through the ropes, and went through the motions of locking his lips with a key and then dropping the key in a pocket. After that they climbed in silence, Jett watching Ralph’s awkward moves, ready to help. Dr. Kellum waited at the bottom with his bodyguards. Four more sailors stepped off the net behind them, and more of Kellum’s clan waited on the deck. Kellum led them across the desert to where it ended in an opaque wall, then turned to Jett.

  “There is no way out for us, and if I’m right, no way out for you either.”

  Kellum motioned for Jett to step to the barrier and try his escape device. Jett hesitated, not sure he wanted to know.

  “It might only work once,” Jett said. “It has a limited power source.”

  “You don’t have to pass through the whole barrier. Just put your hand through. That should leave you plenty of energy in reserve.”

  Jett slid the switch to the “on” position and saw the ready light flash, just as Dr. Lee had explained would happen. He waited a minute as he had been instructed, letting the unit charge and generate a neutralizing field. Just as Dr. Lee had described, the light became steady, telling him that the field had reached sufficient strength. Dr. Kellum stood opposite him, and Ralph next to him, peeling the foil off another piece of gum. The sailors were standing around him in a semicircle, watching hopefully. He realized that they wanted the hip unit to work, since it would mean another way out of Pot of Gold.

  Jett reached out slowly with his hand until it was inches from the nothingness that was the barrier.

  “Do you know what you’re about to touch?” Kellum said.

  Jett paused, hand outstretched.

  “Think of it as a sheet of pure electricity.”

  Jett hesitated. He wasn’t afraid, but he was tense, like when he was tracking an escaped Special.

  Jett extended one finger and brought it slowly toward what Kellum called the amniotic field. The surface didn’t reflect, and he couldn’t focus on it to judge depth; he found that he had misjudged the distance and his reach was short. Now he leaned forward, misjudging it again, this time touching it with his finger before he expected. As soon as he did, his body became a conductor, and the electricity flowed through him. It scrambled his efferent nervous system and disrupted the messages that controlled his muscles, creating spasms. He jerked and writhed uncontrollably. Then the disruption reached the hypercomplex neural net that was his brain, overriding every neural impulse, firing every neuron. Awareness of the world went first, and then his sense of self. He had no complex thoughts now, only sensorimotor concepts of spasms and pain. Then he had no consciousness at all.

  CONCERN

  “How are her signs, Len?” Wes said.

  “Elevated. Whatever she’s dreaming is a real horror show.”

  “What about Anita and Wanda?”

  “Anita is as bad as Elizabeth. Wanda barely registers a pulse. Either she has the nerves of a lion tamer or she’s not in the dream.”

  Wes could only imagine what was going on in the minds of the three people stretched out on the cots in his lab, their faces passive. The unified brain wave pattern on his screen looked like so many others he had seen; they were uninterpretable except by Elizabeth, Wanda, and Anita, whose common experiences gave meaning to the electrical storms going on in their brains.

  Wes was at his station, watching his monitor, while Len and Shamita studied theirs. Monica was there too, walking from station to station, looking at the displays, occasionally walking past the cots to study the faces of the dreamers.

  Typing a few commands, Wes called up the physiological readings from Len’s computer. As Len had said, Anita and Elizabeth showed signs of extreme stress, while Wanda appeared to be sleeping normally. Shamita had Len’s displays on her monitor too, and chewed her lip anxiously. Shamita always dressed in bright colors—today she was wearing a bright pink-and-yellow top that looked like something left over from the tie-dyed days of the sixties. Despite her cheery clothes, Shamita was a serious person with a dry sense of humor. She was all business in the lab, unlike Len, who found humor in anything and everything.

  “Let’s bring them out,” Shamita said. “It’s too risky.”

  Having be
en reluctant to perform another integration in the first place, Wes was ready to pull the plug on the experiment.

  “Let’s not be too hasty,” Monica said.

  Monica had been standing by the dreamers, listening to the exchange, watching intently.

  “It’s not hasty,” Shamita argued. “Look at the pulse and blood pressure readings.”

  “I’m concerned about them, too,” Monica said, forehead furrowed with worry wrinkles. “But what’s best for them in this case is to let them finish what we sent them to do. Unless we can find the source of this dream and stop it, we can’t save Anita or Elizabeth. Give them a chance to tell Ralph to come home. It may be their only hope.”

  Wes waffled, torn in two directions. Elizabeth was more than a part of his life; she was the person who infused him with life. And he loved her. There was Anita to consider, too. Wes was uncomfortable with children, but he liked Anita, and the hope he saw in her mother’s eyes each time they met pained him. Anita’s mother was desperate because time was running out for her daughter.

  Wes still used “dream” to describe what Elizabeth and Anita were experiencing, but it was much more than a dream and more dangerous than a nightmare. Elizabeth’s cardiac distress had proved that. Somehow they were connected with something real in another place. Knowing that it was more than just a dream made him responsible for what happened to his dreamers. Still, in the final analysis, he had to choose between watching them die slowly or risking shortening their lives to save them. Then he pictured Margi’s bloated body floating in her own waste. He didn’t want the woman he loved to end that way.

  Wes walked to Elizabeth and sat so that his lips were near her ear.

  “Can you talk now?”

  “Quickly,” Elizabeth said.

  “Elizabeth, I can’t let this go on much longer.”

  “Don’t bring me out,” Elizabeth said.

  “What is happening?”

  “I’m with the people in silver suits.”

  “Like the one Ralph was wearing?”

  “Yes.”