Libby slid the screen door open. Just long enough to slip through. Carrying a plate of hamburgers and sausages. “Thank you for gracing us with your presence, your Majesty.” She kissed the top of the girl’s head. Set the plate down. Continued into the kitchen to wash her hands.
“Well, I do like to give the commoners an occasional thrill. See how the other half lives. Do a little slumming. You know how it is.” She smirked at the boy. Including him in on the joke. He squandered the opportunity. Uncertain how to respond. Ultimately contributing nothing at all beyond an awkward smile.
Jocelyn set her wineglass by her plate. Took her seat. “So, you two know each other from school?” She addressed the question to the boy.
The girl answered: “Until he stopped going.”
Jocelyn arched an eyebrow. Aimed it in the boy’s direction. A question implicit.
“Got my GED early. Anxious to start working, I guess.”
“No desire for higher education, then?”
Libby re-enters. Bottle of beer in hand. “No need. He joined the family business.”
“Ah, yes. The Circle... I often wonder how much longer it might continue, if it wasn’t being carried on genetically.”
“Joss...” A warning from Libby. Now, not the time for waging battle. Clearly: An old fight whose embers never died out entirely.
Jocelyn surrendered. Raised her hands. “I’ll be good.”
“You always are...” Libby leaned over the table. Doling out the meats. “Chaotic-good.”
“One cannot fight one’s alignment, Elizabeth.” The women both laughed.
“Ugh!” The girl rolled her eyes theatrically. “They’re such nerds.” An aside to the boy. He didn’t let his own roleplaying game history stop him from laughing along with her.
“All right kids, dig in before it goes cold.”
Everyone dug. Silent for the moment. But for the chewing. Then, between bites, the boy threw in: “I had been considering engineering.” The first he’d shared this with anyone. Ever.
His hosts paused. Looked at him blankly. Was there a connection they should be making? He elaborated: “You asked. About higher education? That’s what I’d been considering, anyway... But I’m needed here, so...”
Ah. They understood. Jocelyn chewed faster. Finished her mouthful. Replied: “Engineer. Now that is a useful occupation. Productive and rewarding.”
“Joss...” Libby’s mouth not quite emptied.
Her partner ignored her: “You have the grades to pursue it? Math? Science?”
“Oh, he’s got the grades all right.” The girl was apparently familiar with his transcripts.
“Now you see? That’s my own biases laid bare. I hear ‘left school early’ and I assume that means a person was a poor student. Allow me to apologize for my unfair generalization.”
The boy shook his head. “It’s not an--”
“None of that matters, ladies.” Libby wiped her mouth. “He’s already found his calling.”
“The Watch? Isn’t that his father’s calling?”
“Jocelyn!”
“I’m sorry, Libby, but it’s how I feel.” Jocelyn took off her glasses. Cleaned them with a shirt sleeve. “Seeing a promising young person, poised to make a valuable contribution to society, but instead? Wasting his potential. Throwing it all away.”
“Maybe we don’t see it like that, Joss! Maybe we both understand that someone has to be willing to make the sacrifices required to keep the island safe.”
The boy frowned. How much had Libby shared with her family? They were outsiders, after all. Neither part of the Circle. Like every member of the Watch, she’d pledged to keep Circle business confidential. Were those vows meaningless to her?
“Oh grow up! You know as well as I do: He’ll be dedicating his life to staring off across the ocean, on the lookout for nothing at all. He’s only sixteen, and already, he’s inducted into Mossley Island’s secret war against the invisible fish-people.”
Jocelyn’s words iced the boy’s mind. She knew Circle business. But she didn’t believe. Her skepticism was an option he’d never before encountered. All at once, it was a confirmation of doubts and fears he’d never dared express. Not even to himself. It was almost too much to handle.
“That’s so... Disrespectful! Are you seriously going to sit there and label my beliefs - shared by all my coworkers and teammates, mind you - as nonsense?”
In the face of Libby’s dangerous question, Jocelyn did not back down: “Of course I am! None of it warrants any credence at all. Just lies and superstitions cooked up and perpetuated by the Old Men to benefit themselves. To preserve their power over the island. To create an excuse to assemble and maintain a private army.”
The boy is torn. Things he’d simply never questioned were suddenly being called into doubt. Things which - he was now realizing - had never quite sat right with him. He wanted to hear more. To understand this opposing viewpoint. But at the same time, knew he couldn’t be a part of the conversation. Not without betraying the promises he had made. Because Jocelyn was openly arguing about things she had no business knowing. And there was no mistaking it: She knew everything. Everything he knew, certainly. Undoubtedly more. And the girl... Listening in with no sign of shock or dismay... She’d heard it all before, too. One thing was definite: Libby hadn’t kept her vows. She’d broken the Circle. By staying? He’d only be putting himself at risk of doing the same.
“And I’m sorry, Libby, but there’s no evidence of any sea monsters out there. No evidence of any attack on the island. Neither now, nor ever. So playing soldier? Defending the island against non-existent enemies? It’s--”
“Moms!” The girl had seen the boy’s reaction, even if no one else was paying attention. “Is this maybe not the time?”
A chair squealed across the floor. The boy stood up. Face red. Lips drawn tightly together. “I should go.”
“No, don’t.” The girl grabbed his hand. Sent goosebumps tingling up his arm.“Please. They don’t mean anything by it. They just like to argue. You shouldn’t take it personally. Really.”
She thought he’d been offended. By being told his life would be wasted... But his feelings weren’t hurt. Quite the opposite. Jocelyn had reminded him: He had options. He could examine the evidence. Consider the arguments. Belief didn’t have to be a foregone conclusion. It could be a choice.
“It’s okay, Antoinette. I just... Need to go.” He pulled his hand away. Addressed the room. “Thanks for dinner... For the invitation, Libby. I’ll... I’ll see you on Watch.”
Backing out, the boy headed for the door. With a lot to think about.
~
His fall stops suddenly. The impact jarring Ren’s spine through the suit.
He hadn’t dropped far. As hard as he’d been struck, his heavily weighted boots had dragged him straight down. To a ledge. Little more than an outcropping, but enough to keep him from the abyss. Looking over its edge proves pointless. His helmet’s light not cutting more than a few feet into the void. The chasm as good as bottomless.
Terrified, he whirls. Searches the water for his attacker. Catching sight of... What is that? In the space of a moment, Ren’s entire belief system suddenly tips. Upends. On seeing the creature. Just as it loops around. Palest white. Powered by long twin tails. Rimmed by spiny fins. And coming back in his direction.
His father... The Watch... The Circle... They’d been telling the truth all along: Gillies really do exist. No further questions. No doubt. One of them is rocketing toward him at this very moment. Talons bared.
It must be a mirage. It has to be a hallucination. Doubtless brought on by anxiety, coupled with his rapidly depleting air supply. He can prove it to himself. If he remains where he is. Simply allows its attack. No dodging. No defending. Then - when nothing happens - he can comfortably return to his previously rational mindset.
But at the last moment, he rolls away. Just before the gilly swoops past. Narrowly escaping its razor claws. Nearly toppli
ng off the narrow ledge. Knowing: It’s all true. Every war story his father or his cronies ever told. Every interview his mother ever documented. The proof of it was currently doing its damnedest to murder him.
Any compunctions he’d had about removing the weighted boots have now vanished. Even without the monster swinging around for another attack, they hold him earthbound. Trapped on the outcropping. He clumsily works the suit’s simple tools. Shifting joysticks inside the spherical hands to open and close each clawed pincer. With little grace or precision, he grapples with boot buckles. Claws at the straps.
Then, it’s there again. On top of him. Its claws raking across his chest plate. Leaving dents. Gouges. Without thinking, Ren pounds upward with the bulbous sphere surrounding his left hand. Feeling the double-clawed tool dig into the thing before it thrashes away.
In the beam of his helmet light: A black fluid disperses in the water. He’d drawn first blood. Not likely to improve the creature’s temperament.
Quickly, he pulls off his boots. Ties their straps together. Bracing himself. Widening his stance. Feeling exposed. The suit’s much smaller built-in footwear insubstantial against the rocks. Like ballet slippers in comparison to the heavy-duty monstrosities he’s now removed.
The thing is coming for him. He faces it. No intention of dodging this attack. With seconds remaining, he draws back. Heaves the boots by the straps now connecting them. The hefty makeshift bola catches the creature head-on. Swings around its torso. Binding its arms. Locking together behind it.
The sudden weight yanks it off its course. Drags it down. Directly into the abyss.
Ren doesn’t wait. He leaps forward from the ledge. Fighting the suit’s still considerable remaining bulk. Working against its design. Stroking for all he’s worth. Aiming for the other side of the underwater canyon.
Eyes locked on his goal: The glowing lights of the third bell.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Sylvie signs her name. Jams the cheap ballpoint beneath the clipboard’s mighty pincer. Done with the stupid medical history and even stupider insurance forms.
She rises from the molded plastic chair. Looks across the waiting room. To the admissions desk. It’s empty. So... Who’s she supposed to return the clipboard to?
It had seemed pretty urgent when the nurse had intercepted her. Stopped her from following the stretcher. Insisting it was crucial that Sylvie fill out the forms while the paramedics passed her father into the waiting hands of the emergency room doctors. Even as she struggled to interpret their abbreviations and medical jargon, the nurse was guiding her to a seat.
Was any of this information remotely necessary? Or was it simply busy-work meant to keep anxious family members occupied? Screw them! He’s her father. She has every right to know what’s happening.
She carries the clipboard into the corridor. Looking for the nurse. Or anyone, really, who might take the forms from her. On the off-chance the information might actually prove useful. Instead, she runs into a convention of empty gurneys. Gathered in rows along each wall. More than she’d expect the hospital would ever need.
“Okay, that’s it, then. We’d better clear the hallway.” No one manning the admissions desk, but voices are audible behind it. Coming through the open door to the file room.
“What happened to all the others we were prepping for?”
“They’re coming. They just won’t be ringing our doorbell.”
“NSN?”
“Yup. No Siren Necessary. Straight to the fridges.”
“All of them?”
“So I’m told. Seven men. Five women. No survivors.”
Sylvie reels. Focused on her father, she’d forgotten the enormity of the scene she’d left behind. All the people left on the beach. Wiped out by those... Worm things.
“They say what did it?”
“Fragmentation grenade, I think. Everyone struck by shrapnel. Little bits of scrap metal. Tore right through them. They didn’t even have a chance.”
“Think it was those anti-bridge lunatics who planted it? That’s what they’re saying.”
“Who else could it be? I swear: That bridge has already been more trouble than it could possibly be worth.”
Sylvie shakes her head. The Circle disinformation engine already hard at work. Protecting itself. Insulating the Old Men. Maintaining their iron grip. Suckering the populace completely. Doing nothing at all to keep anyone safe.
If she had any guts, she’d just tell the world herself. Before any autopsies are performed. Before the injuries are explained away. It wasn’t shrapnel. It was worms. The idea warms her core: She should break the Circle. Spill everything. About the true threats facing Mossley Island. The gillies. The saboteur.
Sure... That’s a great idea. And everyone would definitely believe her. Just as they’d accept any other nutjob with a bonkers conspiracy theory. No way anyone would suggest she might be looney-tune crazy in shock from the sudden deaths of her comrades and hospitalization of her father on the heels of losing her son and separating from her husband.
“Hey!” She slaps the clipboard down on the desk.
One of the nurses pokes her head around the edge of the doorway. Not the one who’d given her the forms. “Yes?”
Sylvie does not break the Circle.
“Somebody needs to take this goddamn thing.” She slides the board to the woman. It teeters on the far edge. Doesn’t quite fall. “Now, tell me: Where are your stupid washrooms?”
~
Though no feet are visible under the door, the third stall is occupied.
Inside, Sylvie sits atop the tank. Hunched over her phone. Shoes leaving treadmarks across the seat. She scans through her notifications. Too many to hope to deal with directly. Every one of them asking the same question: What happened on the beach? If only she had an answer. Instead, she swipes past them all. Clicks an icon: A rusty orange bell. The phone’s little wheel spins. Loading.
Finally, the app opens:
THE BELL TRACKER
Proprietary software. Custom-built. The last new idea she can remember the Old Men springing for.
On her screen, Mossley Island fades into view. The ocean surrounding it. As seen from above. Well off the coast, a tiny red blip flashes.
Sylvie zooms in. The view submerges. Waves replaced by the topography of the ocean floor. A red dotted line shows the path the blip has followed. From the first orange bell icon to the second. Now on its way to the third.
Double-tapping the blip opens a window: VITALS.
Heartbeat. Rate of respiration. Air remaining.
He’s alive. Her brother is alive. And nearly to the third bell. A wave of relief washes over Sylvie. Strong. Unexpected. Knocking down her heaviest defenses. Those already lowered by the many stresses of the preceding hours and days.
Despite hating him for years. Blaming him for their mother’s sickness and death. Despising him for leaving home. For abandoning his duties. Nevertheless, it’s the news of Ren’s well-being... Not her father’s hospitalization... Not the gruesome deaths of her two best friends... Not her separation from her husband... Not the loss of her own son... Instead, this - the survival of her brother - is the thing which finally reduces Sylvie to tears.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Daggers of hatred fly. Thrown by each member of the crowd gathered around Lesguettes Lighthouse. Aimed at the woman being wheeled out. The red-headed saboteur. The one they’ve all been told is to blame for the deadly ambush.
She grins at the onlookers. Basking in their attention. If she wasn’t paralyzed, she’d be waving back.
Mrs. Chilton leads the way. Clears a path toward the black sedan waiting by the curb. Mr. Wynneau pushes the wheelchair. Their cargo slumps to one side. Unable to keep herself upright. Only the straps keep her from sliding from the seat entirely.
She takes a deep breath. Releases it. “Ahhhh! Smell that fresh ocean air!”
Mr. Wynneau sneers. “All I can smell is your incontinence.”
“
Surely you’ve gotten used to my aroma by now? If I can stand it, you can.” The captive inhales again. “Rejuvenating! Can’t you feel it? The salt and the sea? Taking us all back to where we started from.”
Mrs. Chilton glances down at her charge. “If I were you? I’d be more concerned about where you’re headed.” She waves the angry throng away from the car. Opens the back door. “Assuming you make it any farther without being lynched.”
“Now, now, Mrs. Chilton.” Mr. Wynneau spins the wheelchair. Bends to unstrap their prisoner. “She really should get her sniffs in while she can. Not like to be much more fresh air in her future.”
Facing the direction she came, the saboteur addresses her adoring public: “Lovely day, isn’t it? Perfect for a leisurely drive. Probably wouldn’t recommend a trip to the beach, though. That riptide can really tear a person up... Among other things.”
Barely held at bay by the Old Men’s presumption of authority, the crowd seethes. Mere inches from transforming into a mob. A fact not lost on Mr. Wynneau. “Come on. Let’s get her in before we end up with a riot on our hands.” He takes one side. Mrs. Chilton the other. Neither expends any effort on their prisoner’s comfort. Jerking her roughly from the wheelchair.
Halfway aloft, Mrs. Chilton’s arms start quaking.
Mr. Wynneau is concerned. “Olive?”
Perspiration dots her forehead. “I just need to...” She closes her eyes. “Put her down. Put her down.”
They plop the redhead back into her chair. She looks on with curiosity. A slow realization crossing her face as her captor waits for her own quivering limbs to calm. “Looks like you’ve got a need going unfulfilled, Mrs. Chilton. Did you not get your full morning cuppa?”
“Shut up!” Mrs. Chilton grips her own forearms. Quells the shaking.
FROM AWAY ~ BOOK FIVE Page 8