FROM AWAY ~ BOOK ONE Read online

  “Well, you’ll find most Islanders are good-hearted and friendly folk, but they do have an unfortunate tendency to view outsiders with some... Suspicion.”

  A wave of dizziness crashes over Dawn as the ferry lurches, moving ever-more quickly towards its destination. Only her clutch on the railing keeps her from falling. “Is it just me, or does the ferry seem to be--”

  “Ladies and gentlemen, your kind attention, please.”

  Dawn flinches. Unknowingly, she’s positioned herself altogether too close to one of the PA system speakers.

  “We’ve reached the halfway point in our channel-crossing and begun to build up a fair head of steam. Repeat travellers on the Eastern Star will remember this means we are nearing Wreck Reef, the world’s second-largest submerged shipwreck graveyard.”

  On hearing the news, Dawn’s shipmates move as one from the centre of the deck to its edges. The space closes around her as the nuns squeeze in, filling any gaps. Even the security guards shift towards the railing. Peer over the side. Everyone excited to gaze down into the water.

  The elder nun seems unmoved by the announcement. She hangs back. Maintains a watchful eye over her small flock. And Dawn.

  “For hundreds of years, seafaring craft of all kinds have foundered in these waters, forming an underwater ring around the island itself. No one knows why, but at these bearings, sensitive instruments and machinery just seem to go haywire. The effects are often... Disastrous.”

  The crowd coos. Murmurs at the very thought. Before sea-sickness set in, Dawn had been excitedly looking forward to the sight, herself. An underwater wonder which could only be seen in person, as no photographic record had ever been successfully collected. In proximity, film mysteriously becomes overexposed. All digital cameras cease to function.

  “In a moment, we will be shutting down the engines completely, in order to cross this strange barrier without risking damage to our instruments. Until we reach minimum-safe-distance, we’ll be travelling on momentum alone. We strongly recommend you follow our lead and temporarily power-down any electronics you may be operating at this time. Neither the Eastern Star Ferry Company nor its shareholders or subsidiaries will be held liable for any damage you may incur should you fail to heed this recommendation.”

  On all sides: Phones, hand-held games and e-readers are pulled from pockets, purses and children’s hands. Disappearing once more when their owners are certain they are shut down.

  Planted on a bench mid-ship - ear held shut and unaware - Dawn’s father continues to argue with his phone. He’s not interested in seeing the sights, and hasn’t heard the announcement.

  “Only specially trained and certified captains are permitted to pilot ships through these waters. Any unauthorized vehicles are subject to immediate impound by Shore Watch. So rest assured: Our crew is highly trained and experienced, logging hundreds of preliminary passages before being permitted to serve crucial functions onboard. You’re in good hands and we thank you for your confidence.”

  The ferry hurtles over the water. Cracks against the waves. With each swell, Dawn’s system does a backflip.

  “I’ve just gotten word: We’re about to go quiet. I look forward to speaking to you all on the other side.”

  There’s one last burst of speed and a final rumble from beneath their feet as the engines stop. For a moment the world is silent. The only sound: The water shushing past. Then, commotion:

  “Look! Over here!”

  “There’s one!”

  “It looks so close!”

  Despite her nausea, Dawn can’t help herself. Moving in synchrony with her fellow travellers, she leans over the rail. Looks into the water.

  There. Clearly visible, seemingly scant feet below the surface - surely too close to safely travel over - is the iron shell of a sunken tanker. Its torn and jagged edges reach towards the Eastern Star. Threatening to pierce the ferry’s underbelly and pull it into the deep for company.

  Dawn reels back from the railing. Head pounding harder than ever. Shuddering. Wracked by sudden chills.

  “D-D-Dad?” Her legs become rubber. The nuns - already tight on all sides - push in. Brace her. Keep her from toppling.

  “Dear?” The eldest comes uncomfortably close. “Are you unwell?”

  Dawn nods. Swallows. “I feel all logy... But my father. He’s just over--”

  The woman takes her hand. Leads her away, too weak to fight. The others follow. Maintaining a tight formation around her. It’s almost as though... Are they purposely shielding Dawn from view?

  “Come, dear. We need to get you to the facilities before it’s too late.”

  “No, I... I need my Dad...”

  Dawn cranes her neck. Tries to catch a glimpse of him.

  “Not to worry, dear.” As the eldest sister guides the group of nuns to the staircase and down towards the lower level, she makes a point of keeping her body between Dawn and her father’s eyeline.

  “Once you’re squared away... We’ll attend to your father.”

  ~

  “Yeah. That’ll be our first stop... No. They wouldn’t say. All they’d tell me was Paula’s condition had stabilized.”

  Ren glances up. Finally notices his shipmates have deserted him to search the water for the remains of past tragedies.

  “Hey, hold on a second, Evie.” He unplugs his free ear. Listens for the engines. Hears only the ocean passing.

  “Look, I’d better go. I think I was supposed to turn off my phone... Yeah, the Bermuda Triangle thing.” Scanning the crowd, Ren realizes he hasn’t laid eyes on his daughter for a while. “Yeah, she says ‘bye’ back.”

  He looks for her hair. Her jacket. She was wearing the purple one, wasn’t she?

  “No. She’s... She’s watching for shipwrecks, Evie. And I really need to hang up. I’m getting dirty looks from--”

  White electricity crackles across the glassy surface of his phone. He yanks it from his ear as it shrieks in digital pain. Drops the thing to the deck where it cracks. Goes silent.

  The ship applauds. An ovation for the one guy who just couldn’t do as he was told. They’d all wondered what would happen. Some suspected the whole thing was just invented for PR purposes or to keep people from taking photos. Even so, none of the skeptics were willing to risk finding out for themselves, but now they’d seen the result.

  Embarrassed, Ren puts on a pseudo-smile. Bows. Yes, he has no one but himself to blame. But look what a good sport he is. As a small consolation, he can rest assured no one caught his indignity on video. At the very least he will not become a viral sensation.

  But all the while, he searches among those shaking their heads at him. Looking for Dawn’s surely disapproving face.

  He doesn’t find her.

  ~

  The restroom is altogether too small for more than one occupant, but Dawn still appreciates the efforts of the young nun rubbing her back, and holding her hair out of the toilet.

  She wants to thank her, but is afraid to open her mouth. So far, she hasn’t actually vomited and would prefer to avoid it if at all possible.

  “It’s okay, Dawn.” The nun’s voice is surprisingly deep. “You can let go.”

  And that’s all it takes: Permission. Like it or not, Dawn’s body sees the green light... And guns it.

  ~

  The sounds of sickness reach the nuns congregated outside the restroom door. They smile at one another. Pleased.

  The eldest nods. “That’ll bring them running. Be ready now.”

  A chunky security guard rounds the corner. Full of purpose. Before he can say anything, the nuns begin moaning. Holding their bellies. Only the eldest appears to have escaped the plague that has suddenly befallen the others.

  “Can you help us, officer? It appears my sisters over-indulged at the All-You-Can-Eat breakfast buffet this morning and are now paying the price for it. Are there other facilities open to the public?”

  The guard isn’t sure how to proceed. “Uh, yeah, there... We’ll t
ake care of you. Just follow me. I’ll take you to the infirmary.”

  “Oh, I’m not sure that’s necessary. It’s simply--”

  “It’s policy, ma’am. Er... Sister.”

  From the restroom: More vomiting. The guard tenses at the noise. “Is that one of yours?”

  The eldest shakes her head, “It was occupied when we got here. The poor dear. She’s truly suffering.”

  Uncertain, the guard holds down a button on the walkie-talkie pinned to his shoulder. He speaks into it softly, “Control, I’ve got a Code Orange in the aft head, and...” He scans the nuns. “...six Code Yellow, just outside. Please advise.”

  “We really don’t want to be any trouble, officer, it’s just--”

  He holds up one hand to hush her. Waits for his walkie to reply.

  A tinny voice is incredulous: “Say again, Mike. You have six Yellow?”

  The eldest holds her hands behind her back. Out of view of the security guard, she clenches and unclenches one fist. Her sisters see it.

  The nun nearest the restroom door nods. Knocks lightly.

  ~

  In spite of all the noise Dawn has been making, the young nun is startled by the soft knock on the door.

  “You’re going to be all right, Dawn. This will pass, and you’ll be fine.” She stands up. Pulls the wimple from her head, allowing bright orange curls to bounce free.

  Dawn leans back from the toilet. Exhausted. Watches.

  The nun removes her crucifix. Wraps it in her wimple. Sets both on the toilet tank. From a small pocket in her dress, she removes a brown medicine bottle. She unscrews the lid. Tosses it back. Gulps down the contents with a sour face.

  Emptied, she drops the bottle into the trashcan bolted to the floor beneath the sink. From where Dawn kneels she can read the label: “IPECAC. To induce vomiting. Use only as directed.”

  ~

  “But it’s passed, officers. They’re all much improved.”

  The younger nuns all nod in agreement. Smile. Showing no signs of their former discomfort.

  “I’m sorry, sister, but we take onboard illness very seriously.” The chunky guard has been joined by a lean one who has taken charge of the situation. “You say you’re all Islanders?”

  “Born and bred.”

  Making up his mind, he looks at his partner. “Still, I’d like to--”

  The restroom door opens. A red-headed layperson emerges. Pale. Forehead dotted with sweat. Clearly unwell. She closes the door quickly behind her before anyone can peek inside. Hidden behind her former sisters, she passes off a small bundle of black fabric.

  “You, there.” The lean guard negotiates through the nuns. “I need to ask you to come with us.”

  Holding her stomach, the redhead waves him off. “No. Please. I’m better now.” An audible gurgle argues against her.

  “It’s for your own safety, Miss. And that of your--”

  She lashes out. Pushes him against the wall. Makes a break for it.

  The nuns scatter. Blocking both guards from following as the redhead disappears down a staircase.

  Escaping the confusion, the chunky guard gives chase. His partner follows moments later, shouting into his shoulder, “Orange is now Red! In pursuit. Converging on Vehicle Deck.”

  Once they are gone, the remaining nuns clasp hands.

  The eldest smiles.

  ~

  The mud-spattered windows of the dirty green Jeep have fogged over to the point of near-complete opacity. The empty vehicles parked on every side reduced to basic shapes. Colored boxes.

  The tiny woman behind the wheel is heavily tattooed with a blonde Betty Page hairdo. She makes notes and diagrams in a graph-lined notepad, occasionally consulting a dusty, leather-bound book stolen from a library when she couldn’t find a reasonably-priced copy available online.

  Her heavily muscled passenger rubs his shaven head with tattooed fingers as he peers through bi-focal lenses at a tablecloth-sized topographical map. With thick awkward fingers, he spreads calipers against a plastic ruler. Measures distances. Marks an imaginary journey across concentric circles with a chewed red pencil.

  He glances up as something orange rushes past his window. Looks to his driver. She hasn’t noticed. Wouldn’t care anyway.

  “Stop!” shouts a distant black shape. Moving in pursuit of the orange one.

  The man reaches out a meaty paw. Clears the condensation from a circle of windshield.

  Ahead, a redhead crouches next to a blue minivan. Hiding. Looking like she’s about to barf.

  The driver leans over. Peers briefly through the clean space as an overweight security guard appears in the next row. He proceeds slowly. Unaware of the girl’s exact location. “Lady! You need medical attention. Please. Let us help you.”

  Disinterested, the driver returns to her notes. Her passenger continues to watch.

  The girl shakes her head. Overcome, she suddenly vomits. Coats the side of the minivan.

  The guard zeroes in on the sound. Shimmies between cars to get to the girl. Still wracked with stomach spasms. Barely able to stand, let alone effect a getaway.

  “No... Don’t you touch me! Go away!” Dropping to one knee, she blasts the van again. Everything left in her is liquid. Practically cleaning away her previous efforts.

  A second guard appears behind the redhead. The pair pinch in on her from both sides. “We can take you to the Infirmary. You’ll be fixed up in no time.”

  “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. You can’t--” She heaves again. And again. But there’s just nothing left to spill.

  Seeing his opportunity, the thinner guard leaps. Wraps his arms around her torso.

  “No! Please!” She kicks her legs. Struggles weakly, as the other guard grabs her by the knees. Together, they lift her from the deck.

  Inside the Jeep, the big man pushes his maps to one side. Grabs for the door handle. Before he can open it, the little woman’s hand braces against his chest. He darts an angry look at her.

  She just shakes her head.

  Frustrated, the man looks out at the poor red-headed girl being carried away between two security guards. She’s gone slack. Stopped fighting. They’re careful not to allow her to bump into anything.

  The man releases the door handle. Sits back in his seat. Rubs the stubble on his bald head to soothe himself. Watching through the rapidly re-fogging circle of windshield as the lean guard swipes a passcard through a wall-mounted reader, then carries the redhead through a door marked: “CREW ONLY.”

  ~

  Ren trudges up the steps. Completing his third circuit of the ferry with no sign of Dawn whatsoever. Pissed at himself for losing track.

  He knows in his heart she’s old enough to look after herself and more than capable of dealing with any trouble which may arise. Still, he should’ve been more aware of her movements. If anything has happened it is absolutely, indisputably his fault.

  Returning to the upper deck, he finds the passengers more evenly dispersed. Having run out of shipwrecks to gawk at, they’ve shifted away from the railings. A few travelers gathered in the bow watch the Island looming ever larger, but most focus on conversations. Biding their time now that the interesting part of the trip has passed.

  None have Dawn’s blonde curls. None have her purple jacket. None that Ren can see anyway.

  A deep rumble beneath his feet announces the Eastern Star Ferry has resumed operation. A small, broken cheer goes up as any remaining anxieties about the ferry surviving the passage across the channel are quelled and the final leg of their journey begins.

  Electronics emerge from pockets. Chiming and trilling on all sides as texts arrive and neglected emails drop into inboxes. Somewhere, Dawn is undoubtedly checking in on her own social networks, making sure they managed to exist without her direct involvement. That’s how he’ll find her.

  Ren reaches into his jacket pocket for his own phone. Pulls out what’s left of it. Inoperable. Bricked. He does not throw it overboard. He does not screa
m. He places the phone back into his pocket. Closes his eyes. Counts until the red goes away.

  When Ren opens his eyes, he spots a security guard. Makes a beeline, but is interrupted when a hand grips his shoulder. With no small amount of relief, he turns. Expecting Dawn, but instead:

  “Your child is safe, Mr. Lesguettes.” The nun’s warm smile is comforting. Her words are worrisome, despite their reassuring intent.

  “You’ve seen her? Where is she?” Ren looks from the old woman’s face to those of the three younger sisters gathered behind her. Placid. Unconcerned.

  “She’s on the Vehicle Deck. Resting in your car. Just needed to get off her feet. Not used to being on the water, the poor dear.”

  The car! The only place he hadn’t checked. Suddenly, Ren breathes again. Realizing as fresh oxygen hits his lungs that he’d been holding his breath. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  “Oh, thank G--” He swallows the rest. “I was so worried.” He grabs the old woman’s hand. “Thank you so much, uh... Sis--”

  “Mother Agatha. I’m prioress at St. Neot’s.”

  “Mother Agatha. I’m Ren. Thank you.”

  “Not at all, Ren. Not at all.” She starts towards the staircase. Leading Ren to his daughter. As she turns away, her face splits into something very much like a smile. “It was our pleasure.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Max is killing hideous mutant zombies when he hears the noise.

  He presses the start button. Pauses the game. Listens...

  He’s about to unpause when he hears it again: A clink. From out back. It isn’t loud. Just unusual. He can think of nothing out there that should make a sound like that.

  He sets down his controller. Gets off the couch. Goes over to the window.