8
“YOU READY FOR THIS?” Ace asks me, handing me a knife that I am beginning to think I probably wouldn’t be able to use, but I am hoping it doesn’t come to that.
“Not really,” I say. “But I won’t let you down.”
“Just do what I say, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I whisper.
“I’m headin’ to the wreck now,” Kellen announces. “Give me an hour and then get moving. I’ll see you all back at the ship.”
I hope he’s right.
I really do.
Is it too late to pray?
Rachel and Tati have already started gathering what they can, packing it.
They can’t get water, as the pirates are staying right near it again, but they are ensuring what we have comes with us.
They are going to raid our fruit supply, near the shack, and rescue what they can.
Kellen has given them strict instructions to go the long way around, so they have left.
Aggie is preparing Adrian, ready to start making their way towards the ship.
It’s now or never.
Ace and I vanish into the wet blackness, not a word said, just a press of his hand into my back, his breath at my neck, the only thing keeping my bones from shaking me apart.
I follow him through the bush toward the waterline.
The trees clear and the sand here is colder, the white grit packed hard by the tide.
The ship is anchored in the cove, just floating there. Quiet, eerie, as if it knows just how much evil it holds.
There are two men on the beach in front of it.
A small lantern is all that lights up the darkness, but it is enough for us to see them.
One is standing, cigarette dangling between his fingers, staring out at nothing.
He has a bottle of alcohol at his feet. The other is on the ground, I’m assuming sleeping as they take turns.
Ace gestures in their direction and then turns to me, whispering, “There are only two, we can take ‘em out.”
I nod, even though my throat has stopped working. I can’t really feel my arms, but I hold the knife like it is the only thing keeping me from death.
Hell, maybe it is.
“That guy is asleep,” he goes on. “If he stays asleep, you don’t need to do anything. If he wakes, I’m going to need you to ensure he doesn’t alert anyone that we are there. That’s a big ask, I know, but I need to know you can do this.”
I hold my breath for a second, then exhale. “I don’t... I don’t know if I can hurt someone, Ace.”
He reaches over, cupping my face. “Listen, I get what you’re sayin’ and I respect it, but right here, right now, this is life or death. It’s them or us. You have to decide which team you’re battin’ for.”
I inhale through my nose, and nod. “I can do it. I will...”
Gosh, please don’t let me have to.
Ace releases me and then bends, picks up a smoothed length of driftwood, then yanks some length of rope he stuffed in his pants.
He twists it, checks its strength, then looks at me.
There’s a question in his eyes, a haunted, ancient thing...
can I do it if I need to? Take a life? I don’t have any idea what kind of person I am anymore, but I nod, because the only thing worse than dying here is dying and knowing I didn’t fight.
I look right at him and say, “Just tell me what to do.”
He presses his forehead to mine, and the touch is so quick, and so desperate, it almost breaks me open. “Things get dangerous, you run. You hear me?”
I want to throw up. I want to run. Instead, I just close my eyes and say, “Okay.”
We move together, slow as the tide coming in.
Ace cuts sideways, keeping in the dark, then peels off toward the standing man.
I slide around the other side, keeping the men in my eyeline so I can see if they move.
It’s less of a mission and more like a nightmare—my legs don’t always work, and I trip and almost drop the knife, but I catch myself before I crash into the sand.
Nobody moves.
Fuck.
I get closer and can smell the man. Yuck.
Rum and BO, like he hasn’t fucking showered in a year.
Fuck, maybe he hasn’t. Using the ship as a cover, I have to take slow steps through the water to get into the position I need.
My back pressed against the damp timber of this rancid ship, peering around, getting myself ready.
The second Ace has the man standing, I have to move.
No hesitation.
I peer around, fingers curled around the front of the ship.
The man is still on the ground, snoring.
His chest rises, falls, then sputters and shudders like a dying engine.
He looks dead, I kind of wish he was. I wait, holding my breath in increments, as if that is going to change whatever is going to happen here.
A scuffle has me peering around again, just in time to see Ace launch the makeshift choker over the man’s neck, then he starts twisting so quickly I just know this isn’t the first time he has done this.
The man has no hope, the rope around his neck is now so tight that he has zero chance of escape.
He is fighting, clawing at Ace’s hands. They crash into the sand, a mess of elbows and knees, and for half a second I lose my nerve.
Snapping out of it, I rush out and over to the man on the ground.
This absolute idiot is still out of it, completely unaware that his friend is being choked to death right beside him.
Does that mean I don’t have to hurt him?
What will we do with him? I make a quick decision and take out the rope I also have with me, just in case.
I tug it from my pants and carefully bind the man’s hands and feet.
He doesn’t move.
By the time I’m done, Ace is kicking the now very dead man over as he slowly turns towards me.
I look up. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“I’ll deal with it. I need you to gather anything you can, weapons, light, money, whatever they have on them.”
“Deal with it?” I croak, pressing my lips together.
“Gracie, I’m going to need you to do as I’m asking, yeah?”
Right.
I turn away, what other choice do I have?
Leaning down next to the man Ace just killed, I grit my teeth and pick up the gun he dropped.
Turns out you can win bare-handed in a gun fight if the other person doesn’t see you coming.
I flick the safety on and shove it into my pants and then take anything else I can find.
For someone who is defending against pirates, I am feeling a whole lot like I am no better...
Survival.
That’s what we’re doing.
Turning, I see Ace straightening, the man on the ground is no longer breathing. I don’t ask questions, I just pull the gun out and hand it to him. “It’s loaded.”
He takes it, almost looking relieved, then shoves it in his jeans. “You hear anything on the ship while you were waiting?”
I shake my head. “No, I actually don’t think there is anyone on there, but if there is, it would only be a few people.”
Ace nods. “Then let’s check it out before someone comes down here and figures out what we’re doin’.”
I tip my head back and stare up at the ship.
Well, this should be fun.
THE SHIP IS EVERY CLICHé movie’s worst nightmare.
It’s not a classic wooden galleon, but a retrofitted old cargo trawler, paint blanked out ages ago by salt and caked rust. The hull is pitted and covered with weird graffiti—none of it friendly.
As soon as we’re right against her, the stench just slaps me: diesel, blood, and something way less natural, like the ghost of a sewer.
Ace points to the ratty ladder hung over the side.
Fabulous.
He takes the lead, hauling himself up over the side.
His boots barely make a sound, which I’m not quite sure I can match.
I follow, careful not to let my knife catch in the rope or bash against the metal.
At the top, I haul myself onto the deck, which isn’t even a deck, just a slapped-together plywood platform, tacky and slimy under my hands.
Immediately, every horror movie I’ve ever watched floods my brain.
There’s a coil of thick rope, stained dark—please let it be engine oil—and some dried something on the deck that looks black in the moonlight.
There are spent bullet casings rolling around like confetti.
Past the ropes is what I guess is a hatch to below, wedged open with a wrench.
That’s the first moment it really hits me that people have definitely died here.
A lot of them, if I were to guess.
Ace moves quietly along the starboard rail.
His eyes are everywhere, and I do my best to keep up, even though each breath I take tastes like rot and iron.
There’s a large open crate, and I peer in it, expecting a body, but it’s nothing more than jerry cans and old food tins, though one can has maggots crawling out the top.
Someone’s tried to burn something here—there’s singed fabric and a partial shoe.
I don’t want to think about what was in it.
We pass a small, dark cabin on the upper deck.
The window’s cracked and the other is broken completely.
Ace signals for me to cover him while he slips inside.
I keep the knife in front of me, even though my hand shakes so bad I almost drop it.
There’s a bang and a crash, then the door scrapes open and Ace steps out.
“Fuck, dirty bastards. It’s clear in there. ”
I glance in.
This has to be the captain’s area—a stained mattress shoved into a corner, a metal desk bolted to the floor and covered in empty food tins and a crusty plate.
The walls are smeared with something dark and greasy, and torn-out pages of porn are everywhere, some so waterlogged they’ve bled into pulpy messes on the floor.
It’s the least sexy thing I’ve ever seen, but the pathetic human-ness of it—the sheer pig filth—somehow makes it worse.
Empty pill bottles litter the desk; one rolls off and clatters across as the boat rocks.
What a pig.
A dirty pig.