The Uncharted Series Omnibus

by Keely Brooke Keith

  Shep moved from his place on the steps. The dog’s tongue lolled to the side as it leaned against Levi’s thigh. He gave the dog a pat on the head then descended the steps and walked across the road to his property. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he looked at his half-built house. With its exterior walls and roof finished, it appeared to be complete, but the inside still needed much work.

  * * *

  Justin Mercer sat at the lobby bar in the one-time Falkland Island tourist lodge and waited for the South African who went by the name of Volt. The first part of Volt’s plan had worked: the computer codes he gave Mercer had successfully sabotaged the icebreaker’s engine readings. It bought them the time needed to put together a crew and wait for the island’s imminent evacuation. Volt’s plan provided the best chance of getting to the coordinates of the uncharted land, and Mercer was beginning to trust him.

  As Mercer waited at the bar, his eyes darted—to the front door, the hallway, the lodge’s office—after every extraneous sound. Being part of a criminal scheme made him nervous, no matter how much he believed it was essential for his survival. Volt had reassured him no one would be left to care about a missing ship before much longer.

  The British Forces’ plan to use the icebreaker was public knowledge in the Falklands and made it a challenge for Mercer to furtively find able seaman willing to steal the nuclear-powered ship. The task became even more challenging as illness spread throughout the barracks and lodges. Most of the remaining population in the remote port town consisted of Royal Navy crewmen suffering from a mutated strain of tuberculosis. Inviting a known renegade like Volt to his military-controlled living quarters worried him, but the thought of venturing into a town where most of the people were dying of a communicable disease terrified him even more. If it weren’t for that disgusting illness, he would spend his every evening at the bars in town. He missed socializing, and he especially missed women. He needed a drink and rapped his knuckles on the bar’s black enamel surface. A glance in the cracked mirror behind the bar confirmed he also needed a haircut. He ran his fingers through his hair a few times then watched the lodge keeper step out of his office.

  The lodge keeper wore ladies’ glasses, walked with a limp, and was about ninety-six years old in Mercer’s estimation. The old man pointed his arthritic finger as he lumbered behind the bar. “What have you got to trade?”

  Mercer glanced at the empty shelves behind the bar and back at the old man. “What have you got to drink?”

  “Home spirits. I’ll pour two fingers worth in exchange for your wristwatch.”

  “Forget it.” He looked away and the old man hobbled back into his office.

  Mercer turned on his barstool to face the glass front doors. The lodge keeper had the building locked down even though it was broad daylight. The old man would have to let Volt into the lodge and would probably ask too many questions.

  Soon the spiky-haired man with tattoo-sleeves walked up to the door and pressed the buzzer. The old man in the office did not let him in. As Volt shook the locked lodge door, the old man raised his voice. “Is that bloke here for you?”

  “Yes, sir.” Mercer grinned, ready to give the old man a diversion. “He’s delivering my vitamin order.”

  “Vitamins, ha!” The old man choked on his laughter. “Nobody has vitamins. He’s a dope dealer is what he is. I knew it the moment I saw him.”

  Mercer stood and hid both hands in his pockets. “Yes, sir. You’ve figured me out. He’s my dealer. Now let him in or I’ll die from withdrawal.”

  The old man murmured something about punk drug addicts, and then the front door buzzed. The click of the lock inside the door echoed in the small lobby, and Volt pulled the door open. He stepped into the lodge and wiped his sandaled feet on the hibiscus-print welcome mat then walked toward Mercer. Volt smiled as if it were a social engagement. It would have perturbed Mercer, but he had learned Volt was genuinely friendly—an attribute that came in stark contrast to his life work of causing great ruin for the highest bidder.

  As Mercer started walking to the tiled hallway that led to his room, he motioned with his finger for Volt to keep silent. Volt nodded and walked a pace behind. Once in his room, Mercer closed and locked the door then turned to Volt. “You can’t speak in front of the old man. I don’t trust him.”

  “What I have to say is no secret: the cruise ship is almost here. I heard it over the radio this morning.” Volt played with the small patch of whiskers below his bottom lip as he spoke. “People are packing their bags and coughing their way to the pier.”

  “It’s about time.” Mercer walked to the window and put his hand to the blinds. He spread his fingers and widened the space between the plastic slats to get a clearer view of the pier. “The officers are anxious to get to Valparaiso. They won’t do a thorough evacuation.”

  “People in town are saying anyone who doesn’t make it to the dock will be left behind to die.”

  Mercer let go of the blinds and brushed his hands together as he turned to Volt. “You should stay away from the people in town before you catch it, too.”

  “Don’t worry about me, mate.” Volt sat in the wicker chair and crossed his legs at the ankle. “I never get sick.”

  Mercer thought of the few civilians still on the island, now ill and soon to be stranded without medication. He rarely entertained humanitarian concerns because it immediately turned his thoughts to his parents and brother. He had lost contact with his family during the initial stages of the world war and assumed they were dead. He had found the grief distracting while in the cockpit until he trained himself not to think of them. Once he disciplined himself to put aside the thought of the dead and dying, he learned to focus on his survival. Now his work was securing a ship to get to the uncharted land before he lost the chance, and he intended to keep his focus under control. He walked to the unmade bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. “I know you get more information than just what comes over the radio. What’s really going on out there?”

  “With the rest of the world, you mean?” Volt uncrossed his ankles and began to bounce one leg at the knee with rapid, anxious movements. “The Arab communication reports estimate ninety percent of Earth’s pre-war population is gone. The Chinese claim victory over Russia. The Russians claim victory over China.”

  “What about the States? Anything from the States?”

  “No, mate. Communications aren’t getting through.” Volt seemed to realize his work had affected Mercer’s people and his tone changed. “But Americans don’t need satellite communications to survive. You Yanks find a way to get back on top—refuse defeat, never surrender, vow to rebuild and all that. The important thing is you have a new land to search for. It looks like we will be on our way any day now.”

  “Yeah,” Mercer mumbled. “Any day now.”

  Volt picked at the loose strings hanging from the torn fabric on the knee of his jeans. “We will probably rock up to that land and surprise the blazes out of your aviator friend. He’s been there, what, two years now? He’s probably made himself a grass skirt and has a coconut for a girlfriend.”

  The imagery made Mercer chuckle. “Maybe.”

  “What’ll you name the place—Mercerland?”

  Mercer’s gaze became fixed on the strings hanging from Volt’s jeans, but his vision blurred as if his brain had briefly lost function. Maybe Lieutenant Bradshaw was the only person on that landmass, or maybe a whole civilization already lived there. Maybe there were women in grass skirts. He wouldn’t know until he got there, but he hoped there would be women.

  Volt continued his glib chatter. “Name it after yourself, mate, after all you’ve done to find it. I won’t mind a bit. As long as I can build a hut with an ocean view and there’s no more talk of a world war—that’s all I want.” Volt rolled a piece of the bluish-white string and dropped it to the floor. “So what’s he like?”

  Mercer watched the string fall to the floor. “Hm?”

  “The aviator—what�
�s his name?”

  “Lieutenant Bradshaw—Connor Bradshaw.”

  “What was he like?”

  “Connor was an excellent aviator. He was smart and controlled. We flew several missions together in the weeks before the crash. He was a year ahead of me at the academy, so I knew of him before I was assigned to his squadron. He was a good guy too—had a lot of friends, liked to play cards, got along with everyone, but he never drank or slept around. He was the type who was at the gym early and at the library late.” Mercer was shocked by his own words. He looked Volt in the eye. “I’m talking about him like he’s dead. He isn’t. I watched his parachute drift toward the land. I know he’s there, alive.”

  Volt nodded and shifted in his seat. “Yeah, mate. He’s there and he sounds like a cool bloke. I can’t wait to meet him.”

  It surprised Mercer how easy it was for Volt to get him to talk. It had been two years since he had met anyone he considered a friend, and he never thought he would be comfortable around a man like Volt. Mercer cleared his throat. “Have you secured any of the crew yet?”

  “I’ve got eight men who are definitely in.” He counted on his fingers as he named off positions. “I’ve got two marine engineers, an electrical engineer, a guy who was a chief mate on a merchant ship for thirty years before the war, and a couple of other crewmen.”

  “Eight? I thought you said the skeleton crew on that ship was twelve. We could leave any day now, and we need a minimum of four more men.”

  Volt pointed at himself then Mercer. “The two of us can handle most of the bridge operations.”

  “I don’t want to get five miles out of port and lose power. There’s a lot about this ship I don’t know.”

  Volt went back to picking at the strings on his jeans. “I’ve made off with older, bigger ships on my own. This will be a picnic compared to most of the jobs I’ve pulled off, believe me. With the computerized propulsion control system and the self-maintaining fresh water generators in that ship, it practically runs itself.” He stood to leave. “I’ll keep a look out for a couple more men, but the ten of us can handle it just fine on our own. Believe me, mate, this will be like taking a luxury cruise.”

  Chapter Eight

  Levi wiped the raindrops from his forehead with his sleeve as he stepped inside the Foster house. Roseanna closed the door behind him and giggled when droplets from his wet hair misted her cheek. He chuckled at her as he took off his overcoat and hung it on a brass hook on the wall. Then he pointed at the hallway. “Is it all right if I go into her room?”

  “Of course.” She gave him a wink then stepped toward the kitchen. “I’m making your favorite tonight, Levi. Mutton!”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Foster.” He walked down the hallway and knocked lightly on the frame of Mandy’s open bedroom door.

  “Come in.” She smiled and sat up in bed. A red curl dropped in front of her eye as she leaned against the headboard. “I hoped you would visit me this week.”

  Levi grinned, happy to hear she wanted his company. He pushed his damp hair away from his forehead and stepped inside. Her bedroom was girly with pink ruffled lace around the edges of the quilts and the curtains. He had not been in there in years, possibly not since childhood, and then it was only momentarily as Everett’s guest. When they were children, she used to scold any boys who got near her room, and it pleased him that she now invited him in. The feminine room held an arcane quality and Levi felt suddenly privy to some mystery of the opposite sex by being welcome there.

  He slid his hands into his pockets and studied her. The color of her skin had improved—though she was naturally pale enough that most people would not notice, Levi did. Red curls sprang from the crown of her head. Each ringlet made a distinct trail until it disappeared behind her back. A few strands framed her face and fell in front of her shoulders. Her eyes were wide and clear. She looked like her old self but without the sultry pretense.

  He stepped closer. “How are you feeling?”

  “Much better, thank you.”

  “Lydia said she’s confident you will fully recover.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m pleased to hear it.”

  She gave a slight smile then looked toward the hallway and back at Levi. “Are you staying for dinner?”

  He nodded. “I’ll be here awhile. Your father asked me to come. The elders are gathering this evening, and Everett has work to do in the barn.”

  “Ah.” She frowned and adjusted the pillow behind her back. “So you’re here as my protector?”

  “Yes.” Levi searched her face. She sounded disappointed, though he did not understand why. She had at first seemed happy to have him there, so the change in her demeanor confused him. He turned and walked to her window, then he peeled back the frilly curtain. Rain splattered the glass and ran down in quick, jagged streams. He saw the thick patch of forest between the Fosters’ front yard and the road. The same amount of vegetation stood between the road and his house. The Fosters’ house was not visible from his, but still he wondered if he might see his house from her window. He strained his eyes looking for it.

  “You don’t have to stand guard, you know.” Her voice lacked its regular fullness and gave away her incomplete healing.

  “I promised your father I would.” He turned to face her. “Would you like me to leave your room?”

  “No.” She smiled again. “You appeared to be taking my father’s command to stand guard literally. I meant that you may sit down if you like.”

  He picked up an armless side chair that was against the wall near the window and carried it close to her bed. He sat and mindlessly brushed lint from his pant leg. It was hard to figure out what she wanted. He laced his fingers together in front of him then looked at her but did not know what to say. “Can I get you anything?”

  “My workbench.” She grinned at her own joke.

  “I would, but if Lydia found out you were up and working, I would be in trouble.”

  “Right, well, let’s not vex the good doctor.” She still smiled, but her joyful expression froze for a moment. She touched her sternum with her fingertips and took a deep breath.

  “Are you still in pain?”

  She dropped her hand and seemed embarrassed to have drawn attention to her injury. “No. Not really.” Her eyes cast downward to her hands on her blanket. He realized she was not looking at anything in particular, but some dark thought had claimed her attention internally.

  “Mandy?” Her seriousness drew him. She was still broken and he wanted to fix her but did not know how. He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “You will heal from this.”

  She nodded in agreement, but her gaze did not meet his. Her silence emanated a sense of despair, and his heart mourned with her. He wanted to heal the hurt for her, if only he knew how. He would have taken it on himself if it were possible.

  She slid down beneath the blankets. Her hair fanned out over the pillow. Then she lay under the covers, motionless. “What did people say at church yesterday?” Her quiet voice sounded glassy.

  He watched her pull the covers up over her chin, concealing most of her face. The room was warm; she was not burrowing for heat but for security. “They were concerned for you… and for Bethany. The people who hadn’t heard about your return were glad to hear the news.” He thought about the Sunday service and the palpable air of tragedy that had prevailed, but he could not tell her. “I think everyone will be relieved to see you next week.”

  “Did they ask the details of what happened to me?”

  “Some did.”

  “What were they told?”

  “Only that you and Bethany were attacked, and you were taken by force but later escaped and we brought you home.”

  “People will want to know more. They will ask the same question you and Everett asked.” She was concerned an abundance of questions would expose her past. Her reputation was at stake and—knowing her secret—he understood her fear.

  He reached out and pulled
the edge of the blanket back so he could see her face. She looked at him, impassive. He wondered what depths he had missed by spending years distracted by her surface. “You don’t owe anyone an explanation.” He watched her eyes, wanting acknowledgment she understood him. “People are concerned about you. They need to see that you are well, but you don’t have to tell them anything. I certainly won’t.”

  Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes then broke free and rolled down her cheeks. She immediately reached up with the edge of the bedsheet and wiped them away. “I’m sorry for crying.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “No, I am. I’m tired of crying and I should be able to stop it.”

  “Your tears are beautiful. Let them come.”

  Her hand halted its dabbing. “I thought men were repelled by crying women?”

  He grinned. “Remember, I grew up with four sisters.”

  “Yes, you have encountered plenty of crying then.”

  “And it was usually over nothing.” He shook his head at the thought. “But it gave me plenty of practice discerning when tears mean something.”

  She looked down. “It means I’m weak.”

  “It means you’re alive. You’re home and safe. If you hadn’t made it home, we would all be crying. I assure you, no one is offended by your tears, especially me.”

  Mandy held a hand out from beneath the blanket and Levi took it. Her small gesture was not a coy desire for touch, but simply a friend’s request for comfort. He watched her face as she looked at his hand and they sat together, quiet and connected. Her hand felt small in his. She had always seemed strong, but it was a self-assurance only fueled by the constant validation her beauty afforded. Though her outward loveliness had in no way diminished, he found her transparency far more powerful.

  His thumb skimmed over her delicate fingers and he thought of the moment when he lifted her broken body from beneath the rain soaked tree. He would give her whatever she needed—and now she needed his comfort and protection. Though she may not want anything else from him, he had never loved her more. He recognized the process from his experience with tragedy and understood this time together—quiet and allowing tears—was reserved for those whom she trusted most.