Ship of the Damned

by James F. David

  “I found it,” Ralph said.

  “Found what?” Wes asked him.

  “The way to the ship, Wes. You gots to buy me a Slurpee.”

  “There’s nothing there, Ralph,” Wes protested.

  “Sure it’s there, Wes, but you can’t see it from here.”

  Wes looked across the flat field. None of the vegetation was more then a foot high.

  “Can you point to it?” Monica suggested.

  Ralph raised his hand, pointed his finger, and then said, “It’s down this way, and then that way, and then this way, and then that way, that way, then that way and then that way …”

  With every “that way,” Ralph’s finger twisted to a new direction.

  “Maybe it would be easier if you showed us,” Monica said.

  Ralph folded his arms across his chest and leaned back, pelvis thrust forward, shoulders back. It was his serious thinking posture.

  “I dunno, I’m getting kinda thirsty.”

  “Show us and I’ll buy you a Slurpee today and a rootbeer float tomorrow.”

  Ralph snapped upright, his face one big smile from chin to hairline.

  “It’s a deal, and a deal’s a deal! Follow me.”

  Monica walked behind Ralph while Wes paralleled Ralph until he turned sharply left and then a few yards later made a similar move. Wes cut across the angle, easily keeping up with Ralph, who was walking twice Wes’s speed. When Ralph saw what Wes was doing he stopped and put his hands on his hips, puckered his lips, and scolded him.

  “You can’t get there that way.”

  “I’m with you, Ralph,” Wes protested.

  His lips still puckered, Ralph wrinkled his brow as if he was thinking deep thoughts. Then he spoke like a patient kindergarten teacher.

  “It’s like follow the leader, Wes. I’m the leader and you have to follow. Let’s do it again, but this time we’ll hold hands.”

  “I’m not going to—” Wes sputtered.

  “Play along,” Monica said. “What have we got to lose?”

  Ralph reversed his meandering pattern and then came straight to Wes, Monica following.

  “Okay, now let’s hold hands,” Ralph said.

  Ralph reached for Wes’s hand, but Wes stepped behind Monica, letting her take Ralph’s hand; then he took hers. Ralph led the way, walking straight for the distance and then turning a sharp right. Monica followed Ralph as precisely as she could, stepping exactly to the farthest point Ralph stepped before turning. Wes made a reasonable effort to copy Ralph, feeling foolish as they meandered through the lot.

  Lopez remained where he was, watching intently. Wes wondered if Lopez was seeing any similarity to the pattern his pastor had walked.

  “Do you see it now?” Ralph said suddenly.

  “There is something,” Monica said.

  Wes’s heart skipped a beat and he caught his breath. Trying to stay in line, he looked past Monica and Ralph. Ralph’s broad shoulders blocked most of the view, but Wes could see a greenish glow. Realizing that Ralph had done it, he tried to stop their march. Only he and Monica were to go to the ship if they found a way.

  “Wait, Ralph,” Wes said.

  “We’re almost there,” Ralph said, trudging ahead.

  Before Wes could shout again, Ralph made a sharp left turn and disappeared into the green glow, pulling Monica and Wes with him.

  VANISHED

  “Mr. Daly, this is Miguel Lopez.”

  “Something’s happened?” Daly said into the receiver.

  Daly started a digital recorder, checking the display to be sure the conversation was encoding. Lopez might know a route into Pot of Gold.

  “It was just like before with Pastor Rivera. Those people you sent, the man and woman and that other guy, they just vanished.”

  Daly turned, sliding to the edge of his chair and leaning on the glass surface of his desk. He could see his feet tucked under his chair, the toes of his shoes pressed into the plush carpet as if he were ready to leap to his feet.

  “Tell me how they did it.”

  “They asked me to show them where Pastor Rivera disappeared and then they started walking back and forth just like the pastor did. They tried for a long time but then gave up.”

  “Doctor Martin didn’t find anything?” Daly said.

  “No. The woman didn’t either. That’s when they asked the retarded man if he could do it.”

  “His name is Ralph.”

  “Yes, Ralph. He walked back and forth just like they did except after a while he said he found it. Then he made them hold hands and follow him and then they walked back and forth until they vanished, just like Pastor Rivera.”

  “Ralph too?” Daly asked.

  “All of them.”

  “Did you try following their path?”

  “Yes, but it was too complicated to remember. I must have tried fifty variations before I gave up.”

  Daly sighed with disappointment. Ralph had found the aperture either because of his unique directional sense or because he could home in on dimensional openings. Without Ralph there was little chance of stumbling across the route in. There was movement below, and through the desk he saw his feet come out from under his chair. He was relaxing, his best hope gone. Leaning back, he considered his options.

  He could use the foundation’s resources to find someone else with Ralph’s location sense, but there was no one like Ralph in the foundation’s extensive records of people with unique abilities. Without Ralph, Daly couldn’t send reinforcements. But at least it wasn’t a total loss; he had succeeded in getting Monica inside.

  ELIZABETH’S LINK

  Elizabeth was dreaming with her eyes open. She was on the ship and staring at something she couldn’t quite see, but she knew it was horrible. She was in an empty compartment with hammocks hung from the walls. Without the link to the other dreamers the scene lacked detail. Some hammocks hung without support, floating in the air in defiance of gravity. Texture and color were missing, but it wasn’t the lack of detail that bothered her. There was something cold and pervasive, like the chill from a plunge in a winter lake, that caused her to shiver with dread. There was death in that room, and the man she linked with was in the middle of it.

  Anita came in then, distracting her. While the scenes on the ship continued, Elizabeth focussed on Anita and the real world. Elizabeth was lying on Anita’s mother’s bed. The room was decorated in pink, the quilt covered with bouquets of roses. The headboard, bed tables, and dresser were white wicker. Everything else in the room was selected to match the decor—it looked as if it could grace the cover of Better Homes and Gardens.

  Anita sat on the edge of the bed, wearing a pink sweatshirt covered with small bunnies hopping in all directions. Elizabeth could see the little girl’s own exhaustion, understanding now how draining the ship dream was.

  “You’re there, aren’t you, Elizabeth?” Anita asked. “You’re on the ship.”

  “Yes.”

  “Is something bad happening?” Anita asked.

  “Yes, but I can’t see it.”

  “Good,” Anita said, and then lay next to her, head on her shoulder.

  A phone rang in the living room, and then Anita’s mother came in, handing the phone to Elizabeth. Dr. Birnbaum was on the line.

  “It worked, Elizabeth. They’re inside—they’re there,” Birnbaum said.

  Elizabeth sat up, the image of the ship still with her, but pushed now to a corner of her mind.

  “They found a way to wherever Ralph came from?” Elizabeth asked.

  “I think so.”

  Elizabeth was afraid and hopeful at the same time. If they could stop the dreams, then Anita and she would be saved, but to stop them Wes and Monica would have to put themselves in danger. Terrible things were happening on the ship.

  “Tell them not to go,” Elizabeth said.

  Elizabeth’s mind was fuzzy from lack of real sleep and distracted by the ship images still running in the background.

  “
But they have gone, Elizabeth,” Dr. Birnbaum said. “They disappeared just like the pastor.”

  “All of them? Ralph too?”

  “Yes.”

  Groggy and distracted by the images tucked away in the corner of her mind, Elizabeth couldn’t concentrate. She had been afraid that they would find what they were looking for, and hadn’t wanted Wes and Monica to go in the first place. Now those who were dear to her were in that nightmare world.

  “Don’t worry, Elizabeth. Ralph found a way out once and he can do it again.”

  Elizabeth thanked Dr. Birnbaum and asked him to call if he heard anything else. Then she handed the phone back to Anita’s mother, who waited expectantly.

  “They may have found a way to the ship in Anita’s dream. It means they might be able to stop the dream, but it also means they are in danger. We need to know what is going on. We might be able to help them in some way.”

  “You want to dream with Anita again?” Anita’s mother said.

  “If there was another way …” Elizabeth said.

  “Anita, go get yourself a snack. There are chocolate chip cookies in the jar.”

  Reluctantly Anita climbed off the bed and left. When she was gone, her mother sat at the end of the bed, running her hand across the rose-covered bedspread, smoothing out wrinkles. Anita’s mother was meticulous and tender. Watching her daughter slowly deteriorate was painful for her.

  “Anita is going to die, isn’t she?”

  Elizabeth hesitated. The truth was cruel, but Elizabeth knew it was time to be brutally honest.

  “Yes,” Elizabeth said softly. “Unless the dream can be stopped she will die.”

  “You’re dying too, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. I don’t have much time left. Not as much time as Anita.”

  “Every time you share Anita’s dream it makes you worse, and now you have the dream too.”

  “Whatever it is about Anita and Wanda—and Margi—that makes them receive the dream was latent in me. By sharing the dream we activated the receiving part of my brain. Every time we share the dream I become more sensitive. I dream about the ship even when I’m awake now.”

  Anita’s mother was a strong woman who had explored every avenue to help her daughter. She was also a realist, knowing when the battle was nearing an end.

  “Are we shortening Anita’s life when you blend the dreams?”

  “I don’t think so. Wanda isn’t physically affected by the dream at all, and I’m particularly sensitive. Anita falls somewhere between the two extremes. If sharing the dream is accelerating her decline, it’s a small effect.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Anita’s mother said.

  Her face softened, sadness settling in.

  “Her slow death is slow torture for me. A quick death would be kinder for both of us.”

  Then her face hardened again as she controlled her grief.

  “Anita is still frightened by the scarred man she saw on the ship, and the people in walls and other terrible things. The dream is bad enough for her alone, but when you share the dream with her it becomes a nightmare. I’m willing to let her help, but not if she has to see those things again.”

  “It may be possible to keep her from seeing details on the ship. I’m a strong receiver now, so we might be able to set the parameters so that she helps receive but doesn’t perceive the dream.”

  Satisfied, Anita’s mother stood.

  “I’ll ask Anita if she wants to help.”

  When she was gone, Elizabeth picked up the phone and punched in Shamita’s number to tell her to prepare the lab. As she listened to the ringing, she realized that the ship dream was still running in a corner of her mind, and it was growing, threatening to take over her consciousness. One way or another, with or without the other dreamers, she would soon be back on the ship.

  CAPTURED

  “Uh-oh!” Ralph said. “We’re not supposed to be here.”

  Wes and Monica looked around in wonder. One minute they had been walking in a field on the outskirts of Las Vegas, and the next they found themselves standing in a compartment—a ship’s compartment. The door they had come through was open, and there was no sign of the green glow. They were in a control room with old-fashioned equipment—radios, radar, sonar, Wes guessed.

  “A radio room?” Wes asked.

  “Fire control center,” Monica said confidently. Then, pointing through the windows, she said, “They directed the fire of the five- and eight-inch guns from here. With later designs they moved fire control below decks. This was too exposed.”

  Surprised by her detailed knowledge of warships, Wes’s suspicions grew. He stepped to the windows that ran the width of one wall and saw the bow of the ship stretched out below. Three turrets were mounted there, one in front of the other. Each turret had three large gun barrels pointed at the bow.

  “This is incredible,” Wes said. “How is it possible?”

  Wes stepped back through the door he thought they had come through and found himself in a chart room. There was a large flat table in the middle and racks along one wall filled with rolled charts.

  “Flag plot,” Monica said as he came out.

  “We’re not getting home that way,” Wes said. Then to Ralph, he said, “Can you find another way back?”

  Ralph folded his arms and leaned back, looking serious, his lips puckered.

  “I’ll buy you an ice-cream if you do,” Monica offered.

  “Chocolate dip?” Ralph countered.

  “A large one,” Monica said.

  “Well okee-dokee, then,” Ralph said. “It’s a deal and a deal’s a deal. Let’s go.”

  “Not yet, Ralph,” Wes said. “We need to find the man called Dawson. Can you take us to him?”

  “We gots to get out of here,” Ralph said, starting to walk. “This is where the not so nice people live.”

  “The Crazies?” Wes probed, remembering the term from Ralph’s disjointed description of his experiences.

  “They’re not so nice. I could talk to them if you want. Sometimes if you talk real nice to people they’re not so bad any more.”

  “Let’s go straight to Dawson,” Wes said.

  “That’s a good idea,” Ralph agreed.

  Ralph led them through the chart room and outside, climbing down a series of ladders to the deck below. Wes continued to be amazed by what he saw—it was a World War II—vintage warship, in perfect condition. Fascinated by the ship, he and Monica had trouble resisting the urge to explore. But Ralph left no time for side trips, setting a brisk pace.

  As they climbed down a ladder to the first gun deck level, Wes found himself staring through the rungs at a human face protruding from the steel of the superstructure. Startled, he jumped the rest of the way, landing with a loud thump.

  “Don’t be scared, Wes. He won’t hurt you,” Ralph reassured him.

  “I’m not scared,” Wes lied.

  “There’s lots more like him, but there’s no use talking to them cause they don’t say nothing.”

  “Let’s go,” Wes said, eyes on the face in the wall.

  Monica studied the face, too, reaching behind the ladder to touch the skin where it met the wall.

  “It’s warm, like he’s alive,” Monica said.

  Ralph took them through a dark hatch that logically should have taken them toward midship, but they found themselves outside. Ralph didn’t slow, seemingly used to the peculiar time-and-space-twisting geometry of the ship. Wes and Monica drifted toward the rail.

  “Slow down a second,” Monica said to Ralph.

  Ralph stopped to lecture them.

  “We should keep going, Monica,” Ralph said.

  “Just a quick look,” Monica said.

  Wes and Monica looked over the rail, still struck by the impossibility of this ship in the desert. Just as the dreamers had described, there was desert running a hundred yards from the ship and ending in an opaque wall. Wes looked up and saw nothing above. Looking toward the stern, he saw one
of the seaplanes mounted on the stern, and more big guns pointed aft. Then he saw four men emerge from behind the catapult. The biggest man was dressed. in jeans, denim jacket, and boots. His hair was long and black. The three men behind him were sailors, two carrying spears and one a crossbow.

  “We gotta go, Wes,” Ralph said. “The big one’s name is Mr. Cobb and he can hurt ya.”

  Wes believed Ralph. Cobb’s every move was menacing and his eyes were two coals that burned bright despite their blackness.

  They only made a few steps when more men and two women came from the bow, cutting off their escape. They backed under a turret, mounted midships, the twin barrels of the guns above them. Seeing no escape along the deck, Wes pulled the others toward a hatch next to the gun.

  “That’s not the way, Wes,” Ralph protested.

  “Hurry,” Wes said.

  Monica ran ahead while Wes pulled Ralph toward the hatch. Just as Monica opened the hatch, she was lit up with tiny lightning bolts. She fell to the ground, writhing and twitching. The air crackled with the high-pitched buzz of electric current, and the air smelled of ozone. Wes held Ralph back.

  “Stop it!” Wes shouted. “You’re killing her!”

  Cobb turned to Wes. Wes felt the man’s insanity and saw it in the slow way he moved. Then Cobb brought his hands up, his fingers extended and spread. wide like a magician casting a spell.

  “Hihowyadoin?” Ralph said, extending his hand.

  Sparks flew from Cobb’s fingers as if he were a human Jacob’s ladder, the bright blue arcs enveloping Ralph. Ralph collapsed, his body convulsing on the deck. Wes pleaded with Cobb, but the electrocution continued. Desperate, Wes jumped over Ralph, throwing himself into the electrical storm.

  Wes was being electrocuted. He lost muscle control and crashed to the deck. His heart, losing the steady rhythm it had kept since the womb, now beat erratically. His eyes teared, his body begged for oxygen, but he couldn’t breathe. His heart felt as if it was coming apart in his chest.