14: Sabrina

Sabrina

 

 

          "Michael, no!"

          But it was too late.

          She wanted to run after him, to push him over, to stop him and make him run the other way. Instead, she just stood there and watched.

          Stood and watched like a coward.

          Her throat squeezed nearly shut, tightening like a Chinese finger trap pulled taut. Choked gasps barely escaped from her lips as Michael, mounted on the bulky lump near the bushes, froze helplessly.

          There was a bright flash and a loud resonating pop and Michael's figure toppled over.

          "Michael!" she cried out, gasping heavily with beads of sweat dotting her forehead near her hairline. Underneath her the floor swayed gently. The bushes, the darkness sky, the humid air, it was all gone yet the gunshot still reverberated in her ears, an echo that slowly faded. She swallowed and let out an involuntary and shuddery sigh. Her hands were bound behind her back with heavy cloth. She moved them weakly, flexing her fingers.

          The room was windowless and constructed entirely of wooden planks bolted together. At first it had appeared simplistic, but the more she had observed the precision and craftsmanship of the supports and walls, the more she realized how incredibly complex the woodwork was. From the rafters hung lanterns from heavy links of chain. Their light danced in rhythm with the rocking of the ship they had become captives of. There was no way to gauge time except by the reception of meals or escorts the  ship's shitters, which were nothing more than glorified chutes that ran directly into the sea.

          Sabrina adjusted herself, stretching her stiff neck. They had been provided with large chunks of sea sponge to use as pillows, but the dried creature was only barely softer than the wooden boards around them. She looked to her left where Michael lay slumped against the wall. Dried blood was blotted in the bandage taped along the left side of his chest, but it wasn't nearly as bad as she had thought it may have been. The bleeding didn't last long and their captors had put in the effort to ensure the fresh splits were cleaned and bandaged. For the most part, she marveled at the treatment they received from their captors once they were brought aboard the massive vessel that was anchored off the ice. Their meals were decently portioned, they were kept in storage hold within the interior which was both warm and well lit, and they were even given the decency to use the same chutes as the crew instead of being made to stay in their own filth.

          A metal thud followed by the sleek hiss of a sliding iron bolt indicated someone was coming in. It seemed a little too early for them to be receiving their next meal. "Michael," Sabrina whispered. "Michael, wake up."

          The door whined as it was pushed open. Michael's eyes fluttered open, and he pushed himself back against the wall to straighten himself a little. His eyes were bloodshot and full of just-awoken confusion. A tall, gaunt man with short hair touched by grey at the sides and hints of a white beard growing took a few authoritive steps into the room, his heavy boots drumming on the wooden floor. His clothing was relatively simple and practical: thick cloth pants, furred jacket, and fur-lined boots with an exterior that appeared to be made of shark skin. All of this was offset by the one strange, flashy article he had with him. A bright red shoulder cape of silk hung over him. It was fastened in the front with an elongated skull of some creature. The large eye sockets stared blankly forward. At his right hip dangled a thin sword.

          The gaunt man took several more strides forward. Sabrina could tell by the way his shoulders were drawn back and his unwavering gaze that he carried some type of authority on this ship. She began to feel slight fear prowling within her.

          The man said something in a tongue she didn't recognize. His voice was deep and smooth. Sabrina shook her head, eyes wide. "I can't understand you," she said so meekly it was barely audible.

          For a moment, the man's dark blue eyes gazed into Sabrina's, and she felt the hairs on her neck prickle. Then he called something out behind him. Quickly another man shuffled in, a bit stouter and much shorter. The tall man said something to the short one, who nodded and turned to Sabrina and Michael.

          "This is the ship's captain, Captain Assad of the Dreadfish." The stout man gestured to the skull brooch fasted over the captain's chest. "As I'm sure you guessed by his trophy, the elusive dreadfish."

          Michael turned to Sabrina and she returned his look of perplexion.

          The captain murmured a few words to which the stout translator nodded again.

          "The Captain does not believe that you are soldiers, as you were taken unarmed and underdressed for the North Shores. He wants to know who you are and why we found you so close to an Imperial outpost."

          There was a stint of silence. Sabrina opened her mouth to speak but Michael beat her to it. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

          The translator cast a weary glance at him. "Are you soldiers or are you not?" he asked firmly.

          "I'm a soldier in the United States Army," he grunted as he pushed himself against the wall straighten a little more. "I don't know of any outposts or shores or any of that s**t. I don't even know where I am."

          A large frown came over the translators face. He didn't seem to notice that the captain was becoming a little impatient. "And what army is this? I've never heard of the Unified States."

          "United," he corrected. "The United States of America?"

          The translator shook his head, clearly irritated with the fabrication of information.

          Michael looked to Sabrina. "This isn't Earth, so where are we?"

          "What did you say?" came a surprised, almost defensive voice.

          Sabrina looked away from him to the translator and the captain, who now appeared very interested.

          "We aren't on Earth anymore," she said softly. "It was just us holding on to some kind of hope."

          The translator's complexion paled, and he turned tentatively to his master who took a few slow steps forward. "Earth," he said in a heavy, almost clumsy pronunciation. "You are Earth?"

          Michael shifted, grunting as he did. "No. We are from Earth. Do you know what Earth is?"

          The Captain of the Dreadfish turned to his translator awaiting the response. Nervously the squat man spoke. The Captain's eyes narrowed at the words. He walked slowly to the pair and knelt directly in front of them. Sabrina pulled her legs in close to her chest reflexively. She could see the Captain's shadow of stubble that darkened his jaw and gaunt cheeks. His eyes could have been chipped from the very ice they had awoken in. The ship captain's brow furrowed and his forehead wrinkled as he inspected the two weak captives.

          "Please," Sabrina said quietly, but was silenced as the deep blue eyes twitched to her. Long, rough fingers gripped her chin and held her face steady. Too frightened to resist, she only quivered as he manipulated her face with his callused fingers.

          In a low, rumbling voice that was tainted with just the slightest bit of fear, the captain passed on instructions to his translator who quickly scurried off. Sabrina stared into his eyes, and he stared right back. Then he released and she felt warmth surge into the long pallid marks on her cheeks where his fingers had been. Hesitantly, almost cautiously, the captain took a few steps backwards. From this new vantage point, he watched and waited.

          Several minutes later the translator returned, flanked by two stocky shiphands. Each one of the crew members held the contents of Sabrina and Michael's pockets. The captain motioned to them, and the two crew placed the items on the wooden flooring gently.

          "What are these...things?" the translator asked.

          Michael shook his head. "That's just our things. Phones and wallets that you stole from us. They aren't weapons."

          "Wallet? Like a coin bag?"

          "Yes," Michael sighed, "kind of like that, I guess."

          Unconvinced, the rat-like man grabbed Michael's wallet and threw it at him as if it would burn his hand if he held it too long. It struck him in the chest and flopped onto his lap.

          "Open it," demanded the translator.

          Had the situation been different, Sabrina might have laughed at the face Michael returned. "Yeah, I'll get right on that," he said, conspicuously jostling his bound hands behind his back. The translator turned tentatively to the captain who merely nodded. One of the heavy shiphands drew a rusty knife from his waistband and lumbered over to Michael. Gracelessly, he folded him forward and sawed at the rope. A muffled grunt of pain escaped the American but little else. Sabrina squirmed anxiously.

          With his bounds curled and frayed at his back, Michael brought his hands back around in front of him and rubbed at his raw wrists. "Appreciated," he said dryly.

          "Now open," said the squat translator.

          Michael's eyes flickered up to the man and challenged him. The short but thick translator puffed up in response, turning his head up to the captive.

          "First untie her," Michael said calmly.

          "Michael, don't," Sabrina started but he ignored her.

          The translator was aghast. "You dare make demands of me?"

          Michael grabbed the wallet and pointed it toward the captain. "He wants to see what's in this, you're too much of a p***y to open it, and I won't do it unless you untie her."

          For a moment, the translator was dumbstruck, but he regained his composure. "I am not a deck boy. You have no grounds to make any demands of me. I will simply have one of the deck hands do it." He took a few steps forward to make to grab the wallet, but Michael withdrew it.

          "I wouldn't do that if I were you. It's a good thing you didn't open it before. You see, if anyone but me opens it, it causes their faces to melt until nothing but their skull remains."

          The short man stopped. "You're lying," he squeaked, but his eyes yielded no confidence.

          Michael shrugged. "Fine by me. You're more than welcome to try it, but don't blame me if you end up a mess on the ground." He held out the wallet to the translator, whose eyes flicked to it and to Michael with agitated nervousness.

          After a few moments deliberation, the translator motioned for one of the crew members. Sabrina felt his meaty hand push on her upper back, folding her forward uncomfortably. The ropes chafed and scratched at her wrists until suddenly they were gone. She winced as she brought her hands in front of her. Her wrists were a raw pink colors with a few purple tints where skin and bone were close.

          "Now, the wallet," said the translator, his face growing a cherry red at the cheeks and forehead.

          Coolly, Michael nodded. Sabrina watched nervously as he undid the tri-fold of the leather. He removed his military ID, his driver's license, a twenty-dollar bill, and a debit card. "This was all that was really in it. Everything is just business cards."

          The captain stepped forward, much to the apprehension of his translator, and looked curiously at the items displayed before him. Then he held out a hand toward the government-issued military ID.

          But it wasn't a command, it was a question. The captain was asking permission to see it. Sabrina could hardly believe what she was witnessing.

          Michael placed the ID between two fingers and passed it to the captain, who nodded a thanks. The tall man turned the card, touched the picture, examined the magnetic slide on the back, and then he noticed the water marks that bore the seal of the U.S. Government. His blue eyes widened. He tilted the card and the water marks vanished. Then he tilted it the other way and the holographic, multi-colored seals reappeared and gleamed.

          Wordlessly, the captain pointed at the shifting holographs on the lamented card.

          "The United States Government, that's their seal. Their, uh, symbol. It's who I work for. I'm a soldier of that country on earth."

          Sabrina wasn't sure if the captain had understood any of that, but she watched as he continued to thoroughly examine the card. "Michael, " she whispered.

          "Wait," he countered.

          Finally, the captain beckoned his translator over and pointed at the top of the card, saying something in their foreign tongue. The translator squirmed nervously, then said very quietly, "United States of America."

          At that, the captain dropped to his knees in front of the pair who had been bound only minutes before. At the instant the captain fell, the translator and the two ship hands knelt as well. Sabrina opened her mouth to speak but no words would come.