“For dropping you?”
“For
She didn’t, but she nodded sympathetically “So they tried to take you away—like they did Wes’s sister.”
“Wes’s sister?”
“He said they took her away because his parents hadn’t applied for the second-child license.”
“That what he told you about Eliza?”
“Yeah.”
Shakes didn’t say anything. He only looked confused. “But I thought . . .”
“Thought what?”
“That they got a pass on it. You know, the law makes an exception in their case. Because Eliza and Wes . . . they were twins.”
“Huh.” She didn’t know what to say to that.
“He always told me that . . .”
“That what?”
Shakes tossed the twig away. “Nothing. Forget I said anything,” he said, looking nervous.
She saw his discomfort and changed the subject. “So what are you guys going to do after this?”
“After we drop you off? Go back to working casino security I guess. Maybe by then, they’ll have forgiven old Wesson.”
Nat smiled. “Thanks for the bark.”
“Anytime,” Shakes said, giving her a salute.
27
DARAN WAS TRYING TO TAKE THE STONE, and she was struggling, but this time, there was no escape, and he was jeering at her, and laughing, and she was so cold, so cold, and there was nothing she could do, the fire would not start, and the little white bird was dead, and there was no one to help, no one to break down the door, she was all alone, and he would take it away from her and then he would toss her overboard to die, and she was angry, so angry, but there was nothing, she could do nothing, and she was weak and helpless, furious and frightened and she was calling . . . calling out . . . and there was a terrible noise, screeching . . .
She awoke to the sound of loud shrieking echoing through the cabin walls. Nat fought through the haze of sleep and saw Wes standing, paralyzed in the middle of the room, shirtless in his pajama bottoms, listening.
“What is it?” she whispered. It was a long, high screech, a ghostly howling, unearthly, like the sound in her dream. She was cold, so cold, like in her dream, so cold.
Wes shook his head and pulled on a sweater, and she followed him as they walked out of the room to find the rest of the crew standing stock-still outside their quarters, listening to that strange, horrible sound.
“Wailer,” said Zedric, his voice cracking.
The shrieking continued, and Nat thought Zedric was right, there was something about the sound that felt like grief, the sound of keening—later, she would liken it to the moans of a mother who had lost her child—it was a whining, a doubled-down sort of pain.
“Wailer. Like funeral wailers,” Nat said, thinking of the elaborate funeral rites that had become the norm for those who could afford it, where professional mourners were hired to wail and cry and pull their hair to show the level of wealth and the depth of bereavement of the family. The more elaborate the show of grief, the more expensive. Like everything nowadays, it was a tradition that started in the Xian and trickled out to the rest of the remaining world.
Nat had worked as a mourner once, walking in front of the funeral casket of a high-level casino boss; she’d learned the tricks to faking a good cry—a few drops of Nutri to start the tears flowing, then a little imagination— and she was soon sobbing away. It wasn’t that hard to tap into the sadness she carried inside. The pit boss who’d hired her was impressed, offered her a steady gig as a griever, but she was done. She’d been emotionally exhausted after the experience, had wrung her soul dry for some exec who didn’t care that his staff had to pay the cost of their own uniforms and housing from their tiny paychecks.
“It’s out there,” Zedric repeated, then crossed himself. “Coming to get us—”
Daran smacked his brother on the head. “Get a hold of yourself, man!” He turned angrily to Nat. “I told you—I told you that bird would call it! That bird was a bad omen!”
Even Shakes and Farouk looked nervous, but Wes scrunched up his face with disdain. “Wailer’s just another bogeyman story. To keep people out of the waters.”
“Just because no one’s seen it doesn’t mean it don’t exist,” Zedric said sullenly.
“You’re right, people have only heard the cries.” Wes nodded. “The wailer is a myth as old as this dead sea.”
“What is it?” Nat asked.
“Some kind of animal, they say, like a dinosaur, a Loch Ness thing, although it would be a miracle if there’s anything that’s survived in this ocean.” Wes mimicked drinking a glass of water. “If you swallowed a pint of that poisoned water every day, you’d screech like that, too.”
The sound continued to grow louder, and Nat thought she could make out words in the awful noise, that the wailing made sense somehow, that it was communicating, sending a message across the ocean. Then it was silent, and Nat held her breath, hoping it would go away.
The sound was so familiar . . .
“And if it’s not an animal, what is it then?” she asked.
“People. Dead people,” Wes explained. “Some say the wailer’s a phantom of all the spirits of those that have been taken by the black waters. The pilgrims the slavers deceived and dumped, or the souls of the slaves that were tossed overboard when they were of no use to their masters anymore, or they didn’t fetch a good price at the flesh markets. They’re trapped together, cursed to haunt the dead oceans forever.”
Nat shuddered at the thought. So the wailer was just another type of thriller—except one that could swim. So why did she feel as if she could understand it then—almost as if she felt its pain? She began to shiver violently, her teeth began to chatter, and she felt as if she might faint.
“Nat—what’s wrong?” Wes asked, and he held her, rubbing her arms with his, enveloping her in his embrace. “You’re shaking . . . you should go back to sleep.”
They stiffened as the air filled with long, low moans, echoing off the cold water. The screams grew in volume, and the sounds were no longer far away, but louder, closer and closer.
“It’s here!” hissed Zedric, just as a large boom resounded from the ceiling.
“Something’s hit the ship!” Farouk yelped.
“What now,” Wes muttered, releasing Nat and running toward the steps heading to the upper deck to see what had happened, but he was thrown backward as another boom echoed through the cabin, and now there was the sound of tearing—a ripping, horrible noise, loud and angry—as if the ship were being torn apart piece by piece.
“WHAT THE . . .”
The boat lurched as the first engine died, and started to spin in a broad arc, rolling hard to one side as the remaining engine drove them in an out-of-control circle. A moment later the second engine failed abruptly and the ship coasted to a stop.
“The engines!” Shakes cried as Wes leapt to run upstairs, but Farouk pulled him back. “Stop! We don’t know what’s out there!”
“Let me go!” Wes said, as he pushed Farouk away.
Nat followed him up the stairs.
“Stay back!” he yelled.
“No—if there’s something out there—I might be able to help!”
He shook his head but didn’t argue.
