Tankbread 02 Immortal (5 page)

Else took his head off with a wild swing of the machete. The dark-haired ball splashed into the water and sank out of sight. She dropped the blade and heaved the rest of his corpse over the side. Lowanna still howled, her angry cries not eased by the rocking of the boat. Else stared down at the tiny, blanket-wrapped form. The baby girl’s parents were dead, but she needed the same constant care of any newborn.

Else wondered how she could do that. If her boy died, there would be bloodshed. There would be no time for taking care of this little girl. There would only be time for killing until the very end.

Reaching down, Else scooped up the wriggling bundle. Stroking the tiny head, Else studied the baby’s features. She smelled wet. Else’s body ached to hold her own baby again. There was nothing she could do for Lowanna. The sea would take her as quickly as it took her father.

Else shivered in spite of the heat of the sun. The coastline was now a faded smear on the horizon at her back. Ahead there was only open water. A rolling carpet of jade green hiding horrors she could only imagine. She focused on paddling. First one side of the boat, then the other. Her oar dipped and stirred the water.

Lowanna had nursed at Else’s breast until she slept. Now the baby lay wrapped in a blanket, protected from the sun in the slight shade under the bench seat. Else didn’t know why she hadn’t simply dropped the girl over the side with her father.

The bite wound on Else’s arm had been bound with a torn strip of cloth and already it itched from the rapid healing of her cells. Lowanna’s life was her responsibility now and by keeping her alive, Else would have to take care of this baby and her own son when she found him. That, she told herself, were the rules.

She paddled until her arms ached and her head throbbed. The water bag that Jirra carried was almost empty. Else didn’t dare drink anymore. The salt in the air and on her skin dried her out. Her tongue seemed to swell and clog her mouth.

The heat of the day grew more intense, the glare off the water made her close her eyes and paddle. It would be so easy to lean over the side and slip into the warm water. Let the sea ease her passing and to float off into darkness. Else jerked awake and resumed paddling.
My son
, she reminded herself.
He is out here. Someone has taken him and I have to get him back
.

At first she thought it might be a rocky island, a long white blush on the horizon. Hard to see through the glare and the haze. Else focused on it, pushing herself towards this object. Willing it to come closer. The sun set behind her and a slight breeze came up, pushing the skiff closer. The white rock shifted and changed. Becoming clearer, more defined, and taking on the shape of a large metal ship. The massive white boat wallowed in the water, like a sow with a litter of piglets made up of smaller boats lined up, nose first, against her side.

Else pushed on. The ship was nearly three hundred meters long and towered over her tiny boat. She constantly scanned the rails and decks for signs of life or movement. Seabirds circled and landed on high perches. Soon she could hear the chatter of their scolding and smell the ammonia of their shit.

It was a cruise liner, Else decided. One of the white ships she had read about in a moldering magazine. They once took people on journeys around the islands of the South Pacific. Now it was a home to birds and, she hoped, the Sea People Jirra had told her about.

Mostly Else avoided other survivors. They wanted her to do things their way. Or they wanted to do things to her without her permission. That meant they ended up dead, and she didn’t like killing people unless they were already dead.

Paddling closer, Else let the skiff drift the last ten meters to the outer ring of small boats. They varied from rubber Zodiacs with outboard motors to an old fishing boat with masts for trawler lines and nets, sticking up like big insect antennae from its back. Along the rail of the ship a heavy rope net had been rolled up and tied off. Else could see no way to climb up the smooth metal sides.

Turning the skiff, she made her way to the front. A massive anchor chain as thick as her thigh rose out of the water and vanished into the ship through the hawsehole portal high on its shoulder. Lowanna grizzled and mewled. Else lifted her gently and tucked the baby inside the cloth sling. Here, against her breast, Lowanna started to suckle and Else felt the now constant pang of the loss of her own child more deeply than ever.

With Lowanna secure against her chest and the machete sheathed and hanging across the other shoulder, Else tied the skiff to the anchor chain. Stepping out of the boat, she pulled herself onto the thick chain and climbed hand over hand until she hung above the water.

The baby’s weight was nothing compared to the ache and sudden cramp that burned in her arms and shoulders. Gritting her teeth, Else moved a hand up to the next link. Feeling the sharp grit of rust digging into her palms, she moved on. One hand at a time she slowly made her way up the chain, the stink of guano getting stronger the closer she got to the deck of the ship.

Reaching the end of the chain, Else swung her legs up and hooked the back of one heel through the wide portal. Straining, she twisted her upper body and pulled herself the last few feet and finally got a hand on the edge of the deck. Standing on the chain, she peeped over the side and took stock.

Birds nested in the sheltered corners of the open decks, and someone had set up rainwater-catching tarpaulins in the open spaces. Fishing nets hung in wide sheets from rope lines strung across the deck, and Else could see that the metal plates of the deck had been swept clear of guano.

Satisfied that there were no signs of movement other than the birds, Else pulled herself up and climbed over the rail. Her booted feet silent on the deck, she moved to the lengthening shadow of the nearest wall. Keeping her back close to the rust-stained steel, she crept along the deck. Her senses tingled and the machete made a comforting weight in her hand. Lowanna lay still and warm against her chest. Else reached the end of the wall; ahead of her the bow of the boat tapered off into a point. More nets hung from rope lines and mysterious containers were stacked in a haphazard fashion across this section of the deck.

Crouching down Else studied the landscape, looking for signs of evols. Finally satisfied, she started to move across the front of the ship when a movement caught her eye. A flash as something small darted between the stacked crates and coiled ropes.

Machete held ready, Else left the wall and moved into the maze of boxes, when she heard the soft laugh of a child. Curious, she moved closer to the sound. Coming around a corner she stopped. Ahead, crouched down in the flat-footed way of small children and totally absorbed in something on the deck, was a young girl.

Else hesitated. The child was dressed in faded clothes. Her long sun-bleached hair seemed cared for, though it was twisted into rope-like plaits and had a number of shells and small metal ornaments woven into it. The pallor of her skin in the twilight looked warm and alive.

“Look at you, pretty birdy. Look at you, little birdy...” the girl crooned and reached out to stroke something at her feet.

Else could hear it now, the thin cries of a young seabird, either taken or fallen from one of the high nests. The girl straightened up, her thin legs tanned and smooth.

“Pretty birdy . . .” she cooed again and Else saw the nearly ready-to-fly fledgling huddled on the deck. The girl raised her bare foot and stomped down on the baby bird, crushing its back and making it squeal, a sharp anguished sound. The girl stomped her foot again and again, giggling as she crushed the life out of the chick.

Else watched as the child grinned at the smear of mashed flesh and feathers, then scraped her foot along the deck, wiping it clean. Lowanna stirred and started to grizzle. The child spun around and stared at Else with wide green eyes. Her expression was a mixture of guilt and angry surprise. A dark bruise running from her eye and down across her tanned cheek colored her face even darker.

“Go away!” the child shouted and bolted through the nets and containers towards the high structure of the ship’s interior.

Else followed, ducking and weaving past the ropes and nets. She reached the door just as the girl was heaving it open. Overbalancing, Else slammed her shoulder into the wall and grabbed the girl by the back of the neck. The child screamed as Else swept the machete up to the girl’s face. “Shut up!” she growled. “Shut up or I will cut your fucking head off.”

The trembling girl went silent. Else felt a warm wetness spreading over her leg as the terrified child wet herself.

“Who else is on this ship?” Else snarled over the girl’s shoulder. The girl whimpered and said nothing.

“Tell me,” Else warned.

“Ev-everybody,” the girl whispered.

“Show me,” Else said, aware that Lowanna was crying lustily now and even the noise of the roosting birds wasn’t enough to cover it.

The girl reached out and gingerly twisted the door handle. Else stepped back, the tip of the machete hovering over the girl’s shoulder. The child pulled hard and the door creaked open wide enough for them to slip inside. A puff of stale air that stank in a thousand different ways wafted out over them.

“The ones inside, alive or dead?” Else asked.

“Alive,” the girl replied and stepped into the dark. Else followed her. The girl stopped and looked back. “You have to close the door,” she explained. Else reached back and pulled the door shut. They stood now in the pitch dark of a narrow corridor.

The child seemed at ease here. “I’m going to get in trouble for sneaking on deck,” she said. “But not half as much as you’re going to cop it,” her voice carrying a malicious smirk in the darkness. A click, and a jury-rigged line of electric lights banished the shadows.

“Where is everyone?” Else said.

“Below decks and the up-highs are up there,” the girl waved at the ceiling. “Captain and crew mostly. They live good up-high. One day they’ll take me and I’ll live above too.”

“How old are you?” Else asked.

“Dunno. Almost old enough for boobs, I reckon.” The girl stared at the wriggling lump on Else’s body. “That baby yours?”

“Kinda,” Else said, not in the mood for further explanations. “Show me where your people are.”

The girl walked ahead, leading Else down a flight of stairs. Turning at the landing the girl skipped down the next flight. Else followed her; close enough to cut her down if necessary, but not too close. The walls here were painted in garish graffiti. Stick figures marched in crooked lines and tiny crosses floated above their heads. Scraps of faded cloth and plastic hung from the ceiling and walls. Older art had been covered with new layers in some places. In others the paint had been scratched away and rough letters, spelling out names, were etched into the metal. The girl stopped at a door set in the painted wall.

“You can still run away,” she said with a sly smile.

Else lifted the machete and pressed the point to the girl’s cheek. “I can still cut you too,” she smiled back.

The girl twisted away and opened the door. The smell was stronger now. A miasma of shit dissolving in piss, the stench of sweat, sex, and cooking smells all combining into the stink of people living in tight conditions for a long time.

In the vast empty metal chamber beyond lay a tent city. Each small area was marked off with grey and stained hanging sheets. People talked, laughed, swore, and coughed in the gloom. The electric lights stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Guttering oil lamps hung sporadically throughout the open space, straining to burn in the foul air.

Else blinked at the huddled mass of faces that turned to stare at her with open curiosity. The girl walked confidently along the narrow path between the clustered families and tugged on the arm of a man standing half-hidden in the gloom. He leaned over and looked down the girl’s pointing arm to where Else stood, wary and alert, scanning the strange crowd from the doorway.

The girl returned, the man in tow. He wore a patched shirt, the red check pattern on it faded to a bloodless pink. His thick beard and roughly cut hair framed cold blue eyes that stared at Else as he calculated the value of the woman at a glance. The girl held his hand as they approached.

“Where the hell did you come from?” he said by way of greeting.

“The land,” Else said. Still watching the peering faces, looking for any sign of her baby in the crowd.

“Why’d you wanna come out here?” the man asked.

“Looking for my baby. He got taken. A friend said the Sea People might have taken him.” Else casually lifted the machete and rested the back of the blade on her shoulder. “I’m here to take him back.”

The bearded man regarded her for a long moment and Else stared back at him.

“They call me Hob,” he said.

“Else,” Else replied. “Where’s my baby?”

“She’s already got one,” the girl said from her place by Hob’s waist.

Else bared her teeth at the girl and tightened her grip on the machete handle.

“Shut it, Sarah,” Hob said, one hand raising to cuff the girl. She shrank back and gave Else a dark look.

“This is Lowanna, she isn’t mine. Her parents are both dead. My boy is only a couple of days old. He was in a little boat. The flood washed it up by where the river goes out to sea. When we found the boat, evols came and Jirra said they dressed like Sea People. We killed a lot of them, but Jirra didn’t make it. He was Lowanna’s father. Her mother died after she was born, a few days ago. So I’m looking after her now and I’ll ask you one more time. Where the fuck is my son?”