A heap of old planes and ships stood twenty or so feet from the shore. A dock, starting at the beach, wrapped itself around the heap where people fished. We walked past pigsties built on a short platform covered in mud for boars to wallow in. A man near the back of a small slaughterhouse was in the process of skinning one. As we drew closer, someone yelled, “Halt!”
A man in cutoff khakis emerged from the thicket, holding a rifle against his shoulder.
“Oi, Salinger!” Travis called. “They got you on guard duty again, boy-o?”
“Yeah, it’s sinks,” Salinger complained. “All I do all damn day is sit around scratching my balls.”
Salinger was definitely a soldier. Although short, he had the muscle mass of an athlete. The World War II eagle tattoo on his broad chest dated him.
“What’s with the gear?” Salinger asked. “You boys going somewhere?”
“We’re gonna climb the island,” Travis explained.
“You’re going up the mountain? Jasper and Tony went up not long ago. Haven’t seen ’em since.”
His cavalier manner made it seem like people vanishing into the woods was a common occurrence.
“Ya wanna come wit’ us, mon?” Khenan asked hopefully.
“Hell no!” Salinger decried. “I don’t have a death wish.”
We left him at his post and headed for the massive pile of steel. In the distance, I could see the U.S.S. Cyclops, the vessel that had three hundred and nine souls onboard when she’d vanished without a trace, making her one of the world’s greatest Bermuda Triangle mysteries. She wasn’t hard to spot. Her massive body was tilted on its side like a beached whale. She didn’t appear a century old. She looked fresh and ready for battle.
The heap of ships and planes actually seemed organized, as if they’d been crammed together deliberately. As we got closer, I realized we approached a village made of steel and iron. When I asked about it, Khenan said, “It be Worley’s doin’. Over da years, ’e an’ ’is crew took ships and planes apart and ’auled dem near shore to build da village.”
“As more unfortunate blokes came,” Travis added, “the village expanded. Goes to show what a band of bored soldiers can do over the course of a hundred years, eh?”
“You ’elped ’em build part of it, remember?”
“I rest my case,” Travis said with a smile.
“Maybe they can help us bring the ships to our docks,” I suggested. “At least it would give them a new project to work on.”
“That ain’t a bad idea, mate,” Travis said. “I’ll suggest it to ole’ Carlton.”
“How long did you live here?”
“Not long. A bunch of me ole’ crew mates are still around, though. I suppose soldiers like to stay close to each other, no matter what time they’re from. I just got sick of all the bollocks we’d put up with when Worley was in one of his moods.”
I wanted to ask about Worley but we were close to the village. Travis wasn’t shy about speaking his mind, and if someone related ill words to Worley, it might jeopardize our mission or make for an uncomfortable encounter.
Several people recognized Travis and Khenan and greeted them by name, but they didn’t ask mine. I didn’t care. I wasn’t here to make new friends. Travis asked someone wearing a World War I cap where we could find Worley and we were told he was at his place.
The dock spread out like a spider’s web, branching off in different directions like a maze. Each plane and boat had been renovated to serve as a house, shop, or pub. Doors had been added to the sides of U-boats, and there were patrol boats with army green or camouflage tarps over them to serve as roofs. Warplane wings sheltered other boats. No plane was larger than a B-24 and all were bolted together, keeping each craft upright and securely in place.
Travis led the way through the village. We walked through a U-boat with a perfect passageway cut through the middle. A sign above the lintel read: South Village, Home of the Lost but Not Found.
As we entered the passageway, I began second-guessing my decision to climb the island. After all, a village full of soldiers with all their skills and training hadn’t reached the top. Was I leading my friends—and anyone else willing to come with us—into real trouble?
My mood brightened a bit when a far-fetched idea popped into my head. Suppose the people who’d gone missing had actually found a way to escape? Maybe they’d found a portal that took them out of the Bermuda Triangle and back to where they’d come from, with no memory of what had happened. Maybe we’d be searching for a doorway to another dimension, just like Inglewood had suggested. It was a long shot but I needed to hold on to something.
“This is some crazy shit,” Gavin exclaimed from behind me. I jumped like a scared cat.
“You awright, mon?” Khenan asked.
“Yeah, fine,” I said with a hint of agitation.
“These guys really know how to build a village,” Gavin said. “How long do you think it took to build it?” When I didn’t answer, he said, “Oh, I see. Can’t answer the dead guy, huh? It’d be too embarrassing. Well, thanks for reminding me that I’m dead by ignoring me when I ask one simple fucking question.”
I hated to admit it, but he had a point. After all, I was the one who’d turned him into a monster. The least I could do was talk to him in front of others. “I don’t know how long it took.”
“You talkin’ to yer ghost friend?” Khenan surmised.
“Yeah, I might as well get used to it.”
Travis had been to Worley’s place before. He never broke stride, even when ducking under clothes drying on a line. “Almost there, lads.”
The entire village was very animated. People all around kept busy. Some were cooking on grills, while others fished or played musical instruments. A group of children played tag. One woman was even painting. They must have been aboard the cruise ship Ramón and thought it best to keep their loved ones near the soldiers for protection.
We came to a short staircase at the end of the village, which led up to a door of an A-10 Thunderbolt.
“Well,” Travis huffed, “let’s see if the bastard’s home.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Once we reached the top of the steps, Travis knocked on the metal door. “Worley! Open the bloody door, mate!”
On cue, the door opened, and there stood a man of five-foot-seven with short blond hair and hazel eyes. He wore denim jeans and an unbuttoned shirt with a white undershirt beneath it. When he spoke, it was with a German accent. “Travis, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
“We’re going up the island.”
“So?”
“So, do you know anyone who might be willing to go along?”
The man scratched his head, then shifted his eyes to me. “Introductions are in order, yes?”
Travis turned to me, then back to Worley with a sigh. “Worley, this is Heath Sharp.”
“Hi,” I said with a wave.
“Guten abend.”
“Do you know anyone?” Travis cut in.
Worley glared at him. “You should come inside. We have some trading matters to discuss.”
I expected Travis to argue, seeing how aggressively he treated the man, but he said simply, “Alrighty.”
Worley stepped back inside the plane. Travis grabbed the door before it closed and followed him in. Khenan and I brought up the rear.
“Wow,” Gavin said, “is that really George Worley?”
“Yes,” I whispered back.
The plane offered little room for four grown men, but amazingly it had been hollowed out and converted into cozy living quarters. There was a cot in the far back with a small dresser. A ceramic bowl rested on top of it and a mirror hung on the wall above. Small nick-knacks sat on metal shelves welded into the walls.
What caught my attention the most were the metal sculptures. By the door stood a tree three feet tall. Thin pieces of metal used to make the tree were twisted in various ways to form the masterpiece. It reminded me of the village its
elf. A sculpture of a human skull, done the same way, sat on a shelf, and a full-sized person posing like Michelangelo’s David stood near it. The works were both impressive and eerie.
On a nearby table was a thirteen-gallon waterless fish tank with sculptures of fish suspended from thin pieces of wire tied to the tank’s lid. An octopus rested on the bottom, its tentacles reaching upward. To add to the effect of a real aquarium, fake plants and a treasure chest sat amid colorful pebbles.
Worley went around a small work desk under the cockpit. Gray light drifted through the glass canopy.
“You’re not proposing we use currency, are you?” Travis said, dipping his hand into a bowl on the desk. He brought out a handful of silver coins and allowed them to drop between his fingers.
“No,” Worley said, sitting behind the desk, “that would be obtuse. I was merely bored.” He shifted in his seat. “I need to inform you that I’m raising the price of a pound of our seafood to four pounds of your vegetables.”
“Wah?” Khenan exclaimed, stepping past me to approach the desk. “Dat’s two pounds more dan before. Why so much?”
“Because the demand for fresh vegetables is high, now that we have so many more mouths to feed.”
Their conversation brought me back to what Eleanor had said about how South Village supplied most of the seafood and meat. North Village traded their main resources, such as fruits and vegetables, for them.
“Fair enough,” Travis said. “I’ll relay the message to Carlton.”
“Splendid,” Worley said, pleased. “Ah, I see you’re admiring my chandelier, young man.”
He referred to me as I looked up at a small chandelier made from the same twisted metal as his sculptures. It hung directly above Worley’s desk from the canopy. Melted candle wax drooped from it like stalactites.
“Did you make it?”
He nodded proudly. “From manganese. We were transporting thousands of tons of it. I decided to make use of it.” He adjusted again in the creaky chair, propping his bare feet up on the desk. “So, you’re going up the island? What for?”
“What reasons would we have, mate?” Travis said.
The lieutenant cocked his head back and laughed. “Oh, another foolish quest to find freedom, eh? What makes you think you’ll succeed where others have failed?”
“Heath,” Gavin said, drawing my attention away from them, “look at all this stuff over here.”
He stood near the wall, looking at metal arrowheads and knives encased in glass frames. I assumed they’d been made by Worley.
“No worries ‘bout dat,” Khenan said. “We just need a few more strong backs, is all.”
Worley said nothing.
“Well?” Travis prodded. “We’re kinda in a hurry here, Frederick.”
Worley gave him a cross look. “Don’t address me by that name.”
“What? Johan Frederick Wichman has a nice ring to it, wouldn’t you say?”
“You’re fortunate, Mr. Livingston, that you were never under my command.”
“Ah, shit,” Travis cursed. “Here we go.”
Worley’s face blossomed into a glowing red fireball, his eyes nothing more than slits. He stood. “Go ask around for help. I’m sure you can find fools to go along with you.”
There was a long moment of utter silence. Travis and Worley didn’t move the entire time. Gavin whistled a tune from The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.
“Alrighty,” Travis finally said, walking away from the desk. “Cheers, mate.”
“What did he mean by you’re fortunate you were never under his command?” I asked after we exited the plane and headed down the steps.
“He isn’t too fond of Brits. He hates that a little British sailor like me doesn’t have to abide by his rules. But I’m old enough to be his great-great-grandfather, for Christ sakes.”
“Or,” Khenan cut in, “could be ’cause you called ’im a German sympat’izer.”
“Yeah, that too.”
“Is he?” I asked as we reached the dock.
“Doubt it,” Khenan said. “I mean, da Cyclops is ’ere an’ not someplace in Germany, right?”
“Then why did you accuse him of being a traitor?”
“To get under his skin,” Travis said. “When he first got here, he acted like he was cock of the walk and was nasty about it. I confronted him a few times and we ended up fighting. So, yeah, there’s history between us.”
I said nothing more about it and we went in search of soldiers. It surprised me how many young, able-bodied men hadn’t already gone up the island. Most flat-out refused to go. Twenty-two soldiers had gone up the island and only six had returned. None of them spoke about their journey or what had happened to the other sixteen. In truth, none of them really spoke anything but gibberish. One of them stood in the water and didn’t move. Travis told me that others cared for him by bringing food and getting him out of the ocean at night. Other than that, they let him be. A couple of others just walked around, muttering to themselves with wide cherry-red eyes, while another pair sat across from each other, staring down at an untouched chessboard. I was told that if anyone tried taking the board, the two would attack.
The sixth was the most disturbing case. He was completely clothed, gloves and all, which were strapped to him with duct tape. The reason was to keep him from eating his own skin. Travis explained that he and a few of his crew mates had the responsibility to clothe him that way. Back then, they’d only had rope to use, and for years, they’d tied him up so he couldn’t hurt himself.
Those six men were the reason why no one went too far into the forest. Hell, it forced me to rethink my plan.
But then we managed to scrape up some players, and by the time we assembled a team, evening had already settled. We decided to stay the night. The volunteers got us a few hammocks and we set them up wherever we found space.
The evening was fairly early. People were still out but the beach quickly became vacant. Travis joined some sailors for drinks and a card game, while Khenan turned in early and I went exploring.
South Village made me wish I had a workable camera. It was one of the most unique places I’d ever seen—and I’d seen a lot. I didn’t head in any particular direction, but I soon came to the dock and stopped by the railing overlooking the depressing ocean. Another guy wearing a plan T-shirt and plaid shorts was with me. We stood in deep silence for a long while.
“For the last time, stop bothering me!” he exclaimed. “I don’t have any food for you!”
I jumped, snapping my attention to him. “You have a ghost too?”
“Yeah,” he said with frustration. “Only they’re not men, but goats, chickens, and a pig.”
I blinked. “Animals?”
“Yep, several of them, in fact. I used to be a cook onboard The Wasp, and before we knew the rules about the dead, I killed some livestock. Now they follow me everywhere.”
I found that amusing but tried not to show it.
“They don’t bother me too much, save for one goat I call Pest. She keeps nagging me to feed her. I think she was hungry before I slit her throat.”
Annoying as it would be to have a goat constantly begging for food it couldn’t eat, I’d trade places with him in a heartbeat.
I wandered around aimlessly for a while until I found myself near Worley’s home. Even after the time I’d spent trapped in the Bermuda Triangle with all these famous people, it still left me star-struck to stand where the commander of the U.S.S. Cyclops actually lived. Hell, I couldn’t even wrap my mind around the fact that I’d met the guy. I became overwhelmed by it just to distract myself from the day ahead. I didn’t like the idea that I could end up standing in waist-high water for no reason or go barbaric on myself.
I didn’t plan to linger long. I wanted to find other ways to take my mind off what I might head into. Maybe I’d join Travis for drinks.
I turned to leave when I suddenly found myself standing face to face with George Worley.
“Guten
abend.”
“Lieutenant,” I said simply. I hoped he didn’t think me a weirdo for staring at his house.
He cradled a bag filled with items. “I got some beer. Care to join me?”
How the hell could I say no to what should be a ghost? “All right.”
Worley went first up the stairs. “Tell me, how did that British idiot convince you to climb the island with him?”
“Actually, it’s my idea.”
Worley reached the door and opened it. He looked over his shoulder. “Is that so?”
Once inside, he moved over to his small kitchen area, where a pot of boiling water simmered on a makeshift stove. “Travis mentioned he’d relay the new trading price to Carlton. Why not to Eleanor?”
When I told him of her death, he nearly dropped the bag before he got it to the table. “She’s dead? How?”
I told him.
He looked very upset, almost on the verge of crying. Before I finished my brief account, he collected himself and brought out a beer inside a water bottle. He untwisted the cap and handed it to me. “And the young man responsible was taken to Southern Districts, I take it?”
“He died before he made it to the ship.”
Worley nodded in approval.
“You knew Eleanor, then?”
“Ja. And I’m deeply distressed to hear of her death. Did you know her well?”
I nodded but added nothing personal.
He reached into the bag and pulled out another bottle of beer, only this one was in an old glass Coca Cola bottle. He brought out two more, one in a half gallon milk carton, the other in another Coke Cola bottle, and set them on the table.
“She was a good woman,” he said, taking out odd looking crabs. “She helped save many lives, including my own.”
He threw the crabs into a pot without a second thought and pulled the cork off the beer inside a Coke Cola bottle. I took a drink of mine. It tasted almost like beer except for a strange blueberry aftertaste.
“It’s the hops,” Worley explained when I smacked my tongue against my lips. “The ground makes them taste like blueberries.”
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