Rough hands threw me down, and pain shot up my kneecaps.
Dozens of crew members crowded around with a few subdued snickers at my discomfort. Now that I was face-to-face with them, I realized that they were almost all children, with a few older kids of perhaps 16 or 17 in the mix. Each wore the same strange blend of pirate attire and modern clothing, many too small for the items they chose. Some of the children couldn’t have been any older than ten or eleven, and yet they glared at me with primal distrust, their hands gripping sharp axes and gleaming handguns that were almost too big for them to hold. Painted designs adorned every face, odd zigzags and swirls that depicted ocean waves, burning ships, and stick people killing various monsters. Scars were the norm too, real scars, some of which looked like they’d just begun to heal, stitches and bandages on more than one skinny arm or leg.
They shoved Chris to the deck beside me, Jamie on the other side of him, and a cold gun barrel pressed against the back of my head. Out on the water, the flames leapt higher as the boat that had saved our lives burned, and it threw a bright orange glow over the surrounding area with pitch black clouds of smoke roiling into the sky. I could taste the plastic-stench of burning fiberglass and wanted a drink of water more than anything. Coarse ropes were wound tight around my wrists, and I could only stare with desperate longing at my canteen, which lay with the rest of our gear at the captain’s feet.
He stood with his back to us, one boot propped on the ship’s rail, watching our little sailboat sink into the waves with a final gasp of fire.
As soon as it slipped beneath the waterline, he turned, and fixed us with a toothy, smug grin. “Always love watching the expensive ones burn. Thousands of dollars some rich fool paid, and I get to send her right to the bottom with naught but a match.”
His crew chuckled along with him, hearty laughter that held no remorse for the implications of what that meant. I had a hard time convincing myself these were children, but some of the sword-points at my throat served as solid reminders.
Unsure of what to do, or how to react, I snuck a sideways look at Jamie, who had her eyes fixed on our weapons stacked a few feet away.
Pirates. Somehow, we managed to run into a boat full of child-pirates. This whole place is like one bad fever dream.
Pacing up and down in front of us, the boy in the captain’s hat held up our driver’s licenses as if he were reading off a bingo card. “So, who do we have here? Miss Jamie Belladona Lansen. A fancy name for a fancy lass.”
Jamie didn’t react, and I glimpsed her hands behind her back, the fingers trying to pick at the knots with stubborn patience.
Unabashed by her silence, the captain tossed the ID card in Jamie’s face, and moved on, the strange Caribbean-style accent rolling off his tongue with effortless fluidity. “A Mister Christopher Rodrick Dekker, from Pennsylvania no less. How’s the lip?”
Chris spat blood onto the deck, his lower lip split in two places. They’d been rough with Jamie and I, cuffs and kicks seeming to bring them joy, but for some reason the crew had taken special delight in beating Chris, no matter how much I’d pleaded with them to stop. He had a black eye, and blood ran from both nostrils over his upper lip, Chris’s already stained shirt spotted with droplets of fresh crimson.
The captain paused, eyed the spit on the deck, and his smugness faded into a cold, hardened frown. “Still full of fire, are ya? We’ll sort that out, later. Who’s left?”
His dark eyes fixed on me, and I gulped, a shiver moving down my spine. “One Miss Hannah Elizebeth Brun. My, my, a Kentucky girl. You’re far from home, aren’t ya lass?”
Do I answer? What will he do if I don’t? I don’t want them to hurt Jamie or Chris.
Dropping my gaze to the oaken plants under my knees, I cleared my throat. “W-We got lost.”
Silence.
Everyone stared at me, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I’d screwed up. I wasn’t supposed to respond, it had been a trick question.
Deep in the captain’s throat, a sound came, louder and louder by the second until he burst into unrestrained, boisterous laughter. The rest of the crew did the same, and I didn’t know whether to relax, or worry.
“I’ll say you did.” The captain flicked my ID into the bridge of my nose and rested his hand on the hilt of his beautiful silver cutlass. “Do you know where you are, lass? You have the faintest clue?”
I dug my teeth into my lower lip, desperate to distract myself from the hurricane of anxiety in my chest. “Maple Lake?”
“Not anymore.” The captain drew himself up with pride and swept a grandiose arm at the rolling waves around his ship. “Behold, the sea of Sargosia, and the great pirate kingdom of Captain Grapeshot Roberts.”
His crew erupted with cheers once more, their weapons raised in the air, each blade glinting in the firelight.
Chris lifted his head and coughed. “We don’t mean any harm. If you let us go, we could—”
Whack.
With a harsh swing of his hand, Captain Roberts slapped Chris so hard across the face that some of his blood flecked onto my cheek. “Keep yer trap shut, ya scurvy landlubber! Ye’ll speak when I let ye. Boatswain Emelia!”
A girl with a short brownish-blonde bun stepped from the crowd, two swords hanging from her belt, a black pistol with the word ‘Uzi’ on its receiver clasped in her hands. “Aye sir?”
“Take them to the brig.” Captain Roberts waved a hand at us in haughty disgust. “And stow their tack in the hold. The graybacks will pay a handsome price for these three.”
Delighted, the boatswain let slide a wicked smile, and yanked Jamie to her feet by her long blonde hair. “You heard the captain, on your feet!”
Graybacks? ELSAR. He’s going to sell us to ELSAR.
Four boys dragged Chris, and I yelped at another girl twisting her fingers in my hair to pull me along. Various members of the crew lashed out as we were paraded past them, some spitting in my face, others stomping on my feet, still more throwing sly punches at my ribs, arms, and face. Pain flared in every part of me, and I did my best not to show how much it hurt. Any sign of weakness or suffering only seemed to encourage them.
Down a flight of steps, through a cramped deck with cannons on both sides of the aisle, and down into yet another deck we went, until at last, our captors dragged us into the cavernous ship’s hold.
As my eyes adjusted, I gasped in wonder.
The hold had been packed with all sorts of containers, from old-fashioned wooden crates to modern plastic coolers, trunks, chests, and suitcases. A pile of shoes as tall as I was stood in one corner, and heaps of clothes were tucked next to it. There were stacks of mismatched metal ammunition cans, and a round oil drum with farming tools sticking out the top. Blue plastic totes held drinking water, canned food had been stacked inside a ring of suitcases to keep them from rolling everywhere, and bags of wheat, potatoes, and corn were piled in the center around the support beams. It looked as if the pirates had scrounged everything they could get their hands on, including useless items like gaming consoles, televisions, and an elegant golden chandelier that had been hung from the ceiling right above a large, wrought-iron cage.
At the sight of the rusted metal, the sinister red stains on the floor, and the iron manacles bolted to the wall of the brig, my insides churned.
How many people have they kept down here before us?
One-by-one, they pushed Jamie, Chris, and I into the cage, and untied our aching hands.
Slamming the door shut, the boatswain locked it, and picked up a nearby bucket with a cruel grin on her sharp face. “One last thing . . .”
She swung the wooden pail, and cold water splashed over the three of us, smelling of algae and mud.
“Sleep tight.” The boatswain cooed with cruel sarcasm, and swaggered off to the stairwell, already barking orders to her subordinates. “Gunners, stow those guns, and make ready to sail for Golgotha Bay.”
Shadows closed in, most of the light gone save for a single lantern hanging from a hook nearby, and I rubbed at the rope marks on my wrists, the skin red and tender. “You guys okay?”
Jamie leaned against the wall and massaged her bad shoulder with a grimace. “I’ve been worse.”
Chris sat on the floor, his head against the sloping hull that made the back wall of the cage and groaned. “It’s my fault. I should’ve made you leave while you had the chance.”
“It’s like you said.” I squatted next to him and waited until his eyes opened to meet mine. “Either we all go home, or no one does.”
“Looks like we’re going for no one does.” Jamie sighed and rubbed at her scalp with an irritated glower at the stairwell. “I swear, if I get the chance to get my hands on that pony-tail chick, I’m gonna ram those swords right up her—”
“Hi.”
Spinning on my heel, I peered into the gloom of the hold.
How hard did they punch me? I could have sworn I heard a little kid just now. Or did they leave someone to spy on us?
“Hello?” I rasped, my throat dry as a desert, and walked closer to grip the bars of our cage. “Who’s there?”
Little feet padded over the floorboards, and from behind the pile of clothes, a girl emerged.
She couldn’t have been very old, maybe eight at most, short and skinny, with her hair tied back in a frizzy brown braid behind her head. Unlike everyone else, she wore a simple green t-shirt with a shooting star emblazoned on the front, and a pair of ragged blue jeans on her legs. A tiny rope belt circled her waist, with a wooden toy sword stuck into it, it’s handle wrapped in purple tape with blue flowers on it. No shoes covered her feet, but the girl didn’t seem to mind, scampering over and around all the supplies with practiced ease.
Her head tilted to one side in curiosity at my stare, and the girl waved with an innocent smile. “My name’s Tarren. What’s yours?’
Stunned, I forgot how to talk for a few moments, but managed to pat myself on the chest as if speaking a crude form of sign-language. “I-I’m Hannah. These are my friends, Jamie and Chris.”
Tarren shuffled closer, and her eyes widened at seeing Jamie’s bleach-blonde hair. “Wow! You’re so pretty. Are you a princess?”
Her expression softened at the unexpected praise, and Jamie moved closer to the bars to crouch lower. “Depends on who you ask. I like your braid. Did you do that?”
Bringing one hand to her hair, Tarren shook her head, and glanced at the nearby stairs. “No. Sammy did it for me. He always braids my hair, so it won’t get caught in stuff.”
I couldn’t detect any treachery or angst in the child, as if somehow she had escaped the cruelty that had swept through all the other children onboard this floating crime tenement. Little Tarren seemed like a regular eight-year-old, and something about the way she hopped from pile to pile was disarmingly cute.
Smiling at her, I nodded at the toy sword on her hip. “Nice sword. Is purple your favorite color?”
She beamed, and drew the wooden blade to swish at the air with it. “It is! Purple is the best color in the whole world. Sammy made it for me.”
Chris inched off the wall, though I could tell he hurt enough that he didn’t want to move far. “Sammy sounds real nice. Who is he?”
At that, Tarren frowned, and looked down at her bare toes. “He’s nice to me. But he’s really grumpy with everyone else. They have to do what he says, cause he’s the oldest, and he keeps us safe.”
She’s best friends with Captain Roberts?
I had a hard time picturing the arrogant kid who’d just had us beaten and thrown in a cell as a caring, protective type, especially where this little girl was concerned. My mind drifted to a few horrid possibilities, and I shuddered, praying his motivations weren’t that depraved.
“You mean the captain? Captain Roberts?” I kept my smile on, but let her see how confused I was, hoping to win some sympathy. “How come he was so mean to us? Look at Chris, see how hurt he looks? Why would Sammy do that?”
Tarren glanced at Chris’s bruised, bloody face, and her expression crumpled. “I’m sorry. Sammy says I’m not supposed to talk to bad people. He says anyone he puts in the box is a bad person, and they always lie.”
“No, no, no.” Jamie shook her head, and pointed to Chris and I. “We’re not bad, honest. We got lost in the woods, and monsters chased us into the water. We’re from a big zoo a long way from here. Do you like animals?”
Her cocoa brown eyes lit up, and Tarren bounced on her feet. “I love them! Elephants are my favorite. They have big feet and can stomp, stomp, stomp on anything. Someday, when I get big enough, Sammy is gonna let me steer the ship, all by myself, and I’ll go to the zoo. Then we can get strawberry ice cream with crunchy cones and there won’t be any monsters allowed.”
I hope so, kiddo. I hope you sail far away from this nightmare, and never come back. You don’t deserve this hell.
“Why is Sammy so nice to you?” I couldn’t help myself, the gnawing fear that this little girl might be just as much a prisoner as we were overriding my better judgment. “Does he ever hurt you? You can tell me.”
Tarren blinked at me, confused, her sword frozen in the air mid-swipe. “No. Sammy’s my friend because of Grace. Grace wouldn’t let anyone hurt me. Grace was everyone’s friend.”
Those last words came softer, sadder, and Tarren’s eyes drooped to make her appear older than she was.
“Grace?” He mustered enough willpower to crawl closer to the bars, and Chris coughed on a throat that sounded dryer than mine. “Who’s she?”
Heavy footsteps thudded somewhere overhead, and Tarren jumped, her eyes darting around the hold. “I gotta go. Don’t tell anyone I was here, okay? I don’t want to get in trouble.”
Without another word, Tarren stuck her toy sword back into her rope belt and scampered off into another doorway opposite us.
Disappointed, I let my hands slide from the cage bars, and turned back to the others. “Great. Now what do we do?”
Jamie stared at the door Tarren had left through and picked at her thumbnail in thought. “Did you happen to count how many of them there were? I’d say there’s maybe thirty or so, tops.”
“Still enough that we’re not getting out of here with our bare hands.” Chris grunted and poked at his bleeding face with tender fingers. “Little punks hit hard. Besides, there’s no telling if or when they’ll let us out of here. By the time we get a window to escape, we might be too dehydrated to run.”
I scooted over to him and pulled at the corner of my shirt to help daub some of the blood away. “You sure you’re okay? They didn’t break anything?”
He shook his head, but gestured to his ragged ear with a strained, cynical smile. “Figure I won’t win any beauty pageants though. How bad is it?”
For a moment, I debated what to say, the torn skin swollen and red from where the Crawler had snagged him, with scabs forming under the bandage Jamie had wound over it.
I’m just glad you’re still breathing.
The thought sparked a memory in my mind, and I let myself drink in the sky-blue of his irises with my own. “Looks like an ear to me.”
Chris smiled, his teeth starry white in the darkness, and that alone made the cramped cell a little less horrible.
Jamie sat down on his right, I on Chris’s left, and we put our backs to the curved hull of the ship. With no other options left, we huddled close to each other to try and keep warm, as our soaked clothes pulled the heat from our limbs. The ship creaked and rocked in subtle motion with the waves, and with my ear against the hull, I could detect the rush of water that slid past. Muffled footsteps echoed from the crew above, and strange, eerie calls snaked through the water outside, dozens of unknown creatures following in the depths below. My mouth burned for water, but exhaustion dragged my eyelids down in a rare form of mercy.
At some point in the long, arduous night, I woke to find my head resting on Chris’s shoulder. Just when I was about to straighten up in embarrassment, he laced his fingers into mine, and gave my palm a gentle squeeze.
It’s fine.
Lovely, silky-smooth warmth flowered in my chest, butterflies in my stomach, and in spite of the hopelessness of our situation, I put my head back down on his broad shoulder. Our hands stayed interlocked, and I let myself be swept away by unconsciousness, dreaming of Chris and I in a rowboat, adrift in an endless ocean of lemon-lime soda.