An Airship Named Desire (Take to the Skies Book 1) (13 page)

That motion put the box into full display, and once the men caught sight, they turned their attention to him. I had the feeling they weren’t getting paid until the box landed into their coward employer’s hands, so they’d hone in on Jensen. But I wouldn’t let one of them steal my revenge from me. Geoff used their changed focus to his advantage and pistol-whipped the nearest man in the head.

The man dropped to the floor, and one of the ricocheted bullets buried into his chest. Jensen’s foolish shot added another bouncing ping around the room, and we stood in a hotbox of bullets. If we didn’t get out, we’d end up dead. Jensen and those turncoats could end up full of holes for all I cared, but I wanted Geoff out alive.

Jensen always put his own preservation over anyone and anything else. I’d gone along on so many jobs with him that I didn’t even need to process what he’d do next—I went by instinct. He leapt over the crates, rushing past the hired men towards the main entrance, and a second behind him, I jumped into the broad daylight. Geoff and the two remaining men followed, but I had the lead.  Jensen ran several paces ahead of me, and even with extra adrenaline, I couldn’t catch up.

Isabella and Seth stepped in front of him.

Judging by several corpses littering the field, the three attacking us had been the only to escape their wrath. Jensen dove to the side and changed direction, but I expected that. I already circled around to tackle his leg. My body thudded against the ground, and loose dirt flew up in choking billows. Wind flew from my lungs, but my hands latched onto his thick leg as I dragged him with me. The dive sent the box flying from his arms, leaving that accursed cargo lying right in front of Isabella. She scooped it up and aimed her gun at Jensen.

The other two men burst between us, scrambling for Isabella since they were here for the goods, nothing else. Seth lifted his shotgun and used their focus to his advantage. He rarely shot, but when he did, he hit every target on the nose.

Jensen wrested away from my grasp and surged forward. I scrambled up, but he already had a lead on me, and Geoff stood on the other side, too far to catch up. Jensen burst ahead, in good enough condition to outrace anyone from our crew. The two men dropped with a thud under Seth and Geoff’s shots. By the time they turned around, Jensen had vanished into the distance.

Smoke wafted in the air, residual from the gunfire into a gray morning, and the rusted scent of blood rose from the splatters across the deck. Lone seagulls whirled over the wharf as if to greet the oncoming tides while the four of us stood on a deserted warehouse dock littered by bodies and burdened with some costly box we never wanted.

Chapter Thirteen

I barely recalled our walk back while we stumbled through the sluggish haze of dawn. No one said a word. Jensen had escaped, our employer turned on us, and we were stuck with a box that we didn’t want but the rest of the world did. None of that mattered compared to the real problem. Captain Morris was dead.

We remained wordless when we boarded the ship, and since each of us was grimmer than before, most of the crew scattered. Hiram approached me holding a bunch of stuff wrapped in a blanket. He stood in weighted silence though his eyes kept darting away from me.

“What do you need?”

“Sorry to bother, Captain,” he stuttered. “But we have Jensen’s—I mean the traitor’s belongings from the barracks. What do you want me to do with them?”

“Throw them overboard,” I muttered, slamming my back against the shipside. Thinking of Jensen made the ache in my chest twist bitterly.

“A-Are you sure?” Hiram asked as he walked towards the ledge. I sighed and pulled myself up from the ground.

“Give his things to me.” 

Hiram dropped the bundle into my arms. While the load was surprisingly light, sharp corners jabbed into my arms from whatever the blanket held. I strode off to my room, not bothering to give him a goodbye.

Once I shut the door, I dropped the bundle onto the floor, and several books tumbled out with untouched covers and fresh pages. A stack of “Busty Wench” magazines slapped on the floor followed by the clatter of riot wrestling figurines. He hadn’t brought much with him, but he never had a lot of belongings on the ship anyway. The important ones, he took: his arsenal of weaponry and his gear to cut through alarms like the thermal lance, which he’d had since day one aboard the ship. Seeing his belongings scattered on the floor only reminded me of my Captain. Unarmed. Blood seeping in a pool around the traitor’s feet.

Hatred as bold as a brand burned into me again. I yanked one of his magazines from the floor and hurled it against my wall as hard as possible. It clattered to the floor, making my mirror tremble, so I ground my heel into the cover. When the cover didn’t break, I kicked the book across the room. All I could see was Morris lying on the floor and Jensen standing over him. I picked up another magazine, ripping it in half. He killed him. My Captain.

The pages crumbled to shreds underneath my anxious fingers, and I ripped and ripped until the pieces flew like muted confetti at my feet. I seized one of the riot wrestling figurines with their stupid painted faces and their ridiculous costumes and just squeezed it in my hand. All that time we spent aboard the ship. Nothing.

I hurled the figure against the wall with the rest of his things. My body gave up supporting me, and I just stared at the ground on all fours. The floorboards swirled around, and water threatened to creep into my eyes, but I blinked them shut before that happened.

As I tried to sit up, I careened backwards. My back slammed against the hardwood floors, and a piece of paper fluttered from one of the opened books. It landed right next to my head. I slowly extricated myself from the floor and picked up the leaf of paper.

‘39° 31′ 38″ N, 119° 49′ 19″ W

SSN-571’

My fingers closed over it, ready to crumble the paper like everything else, but I stopped myself. Those looked like coordinates for a map. Folding the note, I tucked it into my pocket and surveyed Jensen’s belongings scattered across my floor. The shredded magazine bits snuck into the cracks of the floorboards and splattered across the planks like drops of blood. I shuddered. The mess in the captain’s room waited for me as if begging to shred apart whatever coherency I still clung to.

Sighing, I stalked out of my room and to the galley for a bucket. Filling it with water, I gripped a mop and several rags before making my way down the corridor to the captain’s quarters. My stomach dropped, and my mind retreated to a faraway place. None of the crew would see this scene because no one should’ve had to experience that horror.

My hand paused on the door because hours ago, I had stumbled onto my worst nightmare. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The responsibility passed to me, not my crew—I hesitated for a moment—I said my crew. Loathing coated my entire being to think I’d be so presumptuous. The bodice compressed more than usual, and my breaths left me in short erratic spurts. Grabbing the knob, I opened the door, toting in the cleaning equipment.

My Captain lay in the same place as he did before, sunken into the pool of his own blood. The coppery stench turned my stomach, but I ignored the queasiness. This was my job. No one else’s. His face had paled further, and a filmy gaze stared back at me, so I shut his open eyes and closed his shocked mouth. An acidic bubble of grief lodged in my throat, pushing up bile, and I sucked in three shaky breaths before continuing. I pulled his aviator cap from the floor, red dripping from the earflaps. The same red that formed into the puddles.

The mop wouldn’t suffice, but it paved the way. Captain always kept a clean ship. He said keeping her tidy showed our pride in her, and the Desire deserved the best. I dipped the mop into the bucket, sloshing the water onto the ground. Before I cleaned any more, I picked up the captain and tugged him away from the mess. The coldness emanating from his body sent a racking, silent sob through my own. I clenched the mop handle. Control. For awhile I just pushed around red liquid.

After some time and the towels I brought, the mop cleaned the floor. I gathered his belongings and placed them back into the desk drawers. They shouldn’t lay scattered around like discarded trash. The door to his bedchambers still hung open, so I walked inside and pulled out a spare blanket, resting it over the stiff form of my Captain. Although the large pool of blood cleared up, a mark on the floor remained, staining a shade darker than the wood.

I picked up the mop, bucket, and the bloody towels. My mind rejected most thoughts, so bleached from the tragedy this morning. Walking out onto the deck, I flung the sullied water over the side, ignoring the deckhands around me. Memories kept trying to breach the surface, but I shoved them away. They’d only bring me pain.

Ocean air invaded my dulled senses, which had been raped by the stench and sight of blood. The breeze turned my stomach with the realization of what I’d smelled that entire time. My Captain’s blood. I scrabbled to the edge to heave my guts out.

I didn’t stop until my stomach emptied its meager contents and then I turned and slumped against the side of the ship. Several deckhands averted their gaze from me since they didn’t want to get caught staring. Not like I cared. My limbs draped at my sides, and I glared at the mottled gray sky. The dimmed sun hurt my sore eyes even though I hadn’t shed a tear. That’s not what a first mate did. We couldn’t appear weak before the crew, me and my Captain. I glanced at my rumpled chemise, the edges draping over my dirt-streaked pants. So much for looking classy.

Geoff crouched in front of me. His body cast a relieving shadow over my weary eyes, but I turned my head away from him. Sympathy wouldn’t aid me right now. Dulcet words, pretty little memories, they meant shit when the captain was dead. He didn’t move away.

Seagulls zoomed overhead, flapping their greedy wings and cawing out to the breeze. They circled around the beached ship, interrupting our silent pause. Neither of us said a word, but I was painfully aware of his presence.

“You need a drink.” Geoff didn’t ask, he commanded. “And I have some whisky in the navigation chambers. Come with me.”

I exhaled a grateful sigh that Geoff knew the exact words to say because most statements would brush me the wrong way. Anger bubbled underneath my surface and waited to rip someone’s head off. Besides, a drink would do me an open sky of good. He offered a hand up, and I let him pull me forward. For such a lithe man, he had a powerful grasp and yanked my weight around effortlessly. Numb tingling ran up my legs as I stumbled along towards the chambers. When we reached the door, Geoff tossed it open, and I followed him in.

Sunlight cascaded through the circular windows, but I strode towards the shade. I didn’t feel comfortable sitting under broad daylight with the sun’s warmth taunting me from afar. Right now I wanted a dark corner, an endless supply of mead, and one of Edwin’s weird concoctions. If he could whip up a memory erasure potion, he’d be a god. The stacks of maps didn’t litter the room like they had the other day since Geoff had put them all back into the cabinets and individual folders they belonged in. He’d even tucked away all the chronometers and compasses into the many drawers lining the stained maple dresser along the side. 

I sat on the ground, not bothering to pull out a chair, and pressed my back against the wall. The leather soles of my boots tapped against the wooden floor at a slow and steady pace, and strands of my unkempt hair brushed against my shoulders. The pit in my stomach still hadn’t left, our unsaid words making it harder and harder to keep the pain at bay. He’d have questions, hell the whole crew had questions, but I didn’t have any answers. Geoff pulled out a miniature cherry wood trunk with an ornate brass lock.

“Don’t trust anyone, do you?” I swung my foot back and forth before me.

“With liquor around here? You don’t think I’m that big a fool, do you?” Our banter continued like it always did, but a somber undercurrent dwelled below. Geoff and I ran on autopilot because we had to, since both of us worked on this ship long enough to know our roles. Breaking down helped no one. My arm ached enough to draw my attention. The spot on my wrinkled chemise was torn and soaked with blood from where a bullet had grazed earlier. Genius I was, I left the wound unattended. 

“Damn,” I swore. My head tingled, but my mind had numbed after the scene from this morning. Flecks of blood stained my white chemise. After cleaning the…mess from the chambers, I hadn’t registered my own open wound causing the residual stench.

Geoff glanced over. “You never took care of that? Are you asking for an infection?” his voice came out sharp.

“Ideally, yes,” I said. “But for the time being, pass me your cheap liquor.” He pulled open the drawer from the cabinet where he kept his maps and passed me a glass bottle filled with rum. A thin layer of liquid coated the bottom. I took it from his hands and sat it down beside me. My chemise was ruined. The blood would stain that white fabric forever, so I ripped my other sleeve to shreds.

“You know, Edwin does have bandage downstairs.” He pulled out the chair and took a seat. “I’m sure he’d be glad to fix you up. He also has antiseptic that doesn’t burn like hundred-proof liquor.”

“Maybe I’m a masochist.” I passed him a half smile through gritted teeth. “Besides, I managed to make it in here, but my legs aren’t going to carry me much further today.”

He nodded and crouched beside me. “Let me help at least. You can’t tie a tight tourniquet at that angle on your arm.”

I shrugged and right after wished I hadn’t. The pain had been blissfully numb until my acknowledgement, and now the ache roared into the forefront of my perception. I pulled up my bloody, tattered sleeve, rolling the rag around my shoulder.

Geoff positioned my arm out straight despite the protests of my muscles. He pulled the cork out with his teeth and spat it on the floor. Rum hit the open wound, causing my body to tense with the sudden burning onslaught. Bullets had grazed me before though and would again, so I gritted my teeth and kept my mouth shut. Geoff wrapped the strips of cloth tight around the wound to stop stray drips of blood from trickling down my arm. I relaxed against the wall when he tied the knot to close the bandage off and let my arm drop back to my side.

“Good, now that you’re all wrapped up, I’ll bring out the real stuff.” He opened his dark wooden chest and pulled out the whisky. Long and thin with a twisted neck, the glass bottle’s curves suggested a class higher than the cheap booze we normally drank. This one was seven-eighths full. He pulled the cork nice and slow, and I shifted my hips against the floor. Geoff handed me the open bottle first. “Here. You need this.”

I anticipated the burn before the whisky ever reached my lips. The golden liquid swished around the bottle and coated my tongue. It seared my throat, sending warmth running through my extremities the way aged, smooth whisky did. I choked the splutter but wriggled under its numbing prowess. With my clean arm, I wiped my mouth off and passed the bottle back to Geoff.

“To Captain Morris,” I mumbled. The words barely passed my lips before Geoff shoved the bottle back in my face for another draught.

“To him,” his voice rose a shade louder than a whisper but echoed with bitterness. “Where are we going to find him?” Geoff glanced into the bottle before taking another long sip.

“We’ll find a lead from someone. The traitor abandoned his crew and doesn’t have a ship, so he’s stuck down here.”

“Good.” Geoff took another swig before handing the bottle off again. “What’ll we do about…” He didn’t finish his statement. His mouth opened, but the words wouldn’t come out.

“Tomorrow.” I shook my head and took a deep swig. The whisky burned and numbed but in the right way to stave off that horrible scene. I blinked, realizing we had already demolished half the bottle. Half a bottle and I hadn’t drank nearly enough. “Any plans can wait until tomorrow.” He sank back into his chair, as much of a broken pocket watch as me.

I studied his figure before me.

Long strands of brown hair dangled over his sunken eyes which burned with a dull, helpless anger from the onset of this massive blow. The corners of his wide mouth turned down. Several buttons of his bedraggled black shirt had opened and exposed his lithe chest. The man stood too tall to be burly like Seth but contained a deceptive amount of muscle to his lanky frame.