Demon (15 page)

So Yusuf had decided to stay at sea, to push for the Indian Ocean and hope nothing else happened. And nothing else had happened.

Alwad exhaled slowly. “Do you accept my recommendation?”

“Yes.” Yusuf finished his cigarette. “In the meantime, we will keep Feisal searching the ship.”

“Very well.” Alwad walked over to his chair and lifted a radio to call Feisal.

Shortly after finding the bodies in the berthing, Yusuf had ordered his second officer and two deckhands to search the ship for the cook's assistant named Sayid. He wanted him found and isolated with the others in medical. So far, the search had turned up nothing. Until they found him, Yusuf could only assume he, too, had met some kind of end. Why else would he have not checked back into the kitchen?

Perhaps he saw something,
Yusuf thought.
Maybe something else happened in the refrigerator. Something that could make a man drive a stake through his own mouth.

Yusuf shook his head as if all the paranoia and fear would fall out.

You are worrying too much,
Yusuf thought.
Just isolated incidents, nothing more. It has not spread. The surprise of finding a skeleton in the refrigerator scared Sayid into hiding is all. He probably comes from a superstitious sect who thinks the dead can walk. Besides, the crew is still performing its duties. Get to South Africa and be thankful.

No matter how much he tried to encourage himself, though, Yusuf found he could not avoid glancing at the clock, expecting something new and horrible to occur at any moment. He did not know if he could make it to South Africa. He did not even know if he could make it out of the gulf, and that was only half a day away.

Stop it,
he thought.
You must remain calm. The crew needs to see you acting rationally. If anything else happens, we will pull into port. But until then, you must remain in control.

Yusuf sat up straight in his chair and sipped more coffee. He reached for his logbook and a pen. He had avoided committing the events to permanent history. If he was going to behave normally, he would have to perform his duties. This meant maintaining an accurate log.

After another sip of coffee, Yusuf began his first log entry in regards to the deaths that had occurred on board the
al-Phirosh
.

S
emyaza sat in the darkness of the fan room with his legs crossed and his eyes closed. He devoted all his focus and energy to maintaining the vessel. Thus far, the corruption of the flesh had been minimal. Only a few flakes of skin had fallen from his hands. Everything else appeared intact.

“The more things change, the more things stay the same.”

Semyaza opened his eyes to find Uriel sitting across from him. He appeared in human form again versus the white mist. His legs were crossed, too, and his hands rested on his knees. Semyaza closed his eyes again, ignoring the seraph.

“This room is small and confined,” Uriel said. “Remind you of someplace?”

Semyaza said nothing.

“Do you not see the pattern, Semyaza? Look at you, stuck in a human jail and hiding in a small room, dwelling in darkness, surrounded by the cold of your anger, biding your time.”

“I am free.” Semyaza opened his eyes.

“Free from what?”

“From your confinement.”

“Only for a short time.”

“I am mastering this flesh. Soon I will not have to swap bodies.”

Uriel shook his head and pointed at the floor. Semyaza looked. More skin had fallen from his hands.

“You can slow the degradation,” Uriel said. “But you will never stop it.”

“We shall see.”

“I already know.”

Semyaza closed his eyes again and tried to regain his concentration.

“I thought you hated man,” Uriel said. “Hated the so-called privilege given him over us. Yet here you are, a parasite latching on to a man. Do you think this will bring you closer to the Firmament?”

“Man is loved and spoiled—”

“Man fell, Semyaza. Just like you and your comrades. He acted selfishly and fell and is now separated from God, just like you. So perhaps this prison is more appropriate.”

“Man is not bound in a prison under the sand for eternity.”

“Yes,” Uriel said. “You are bound, separated from the Firmament, living under the feet of the species you detest. Yet you still have knowledge of its existence. Man is separated through his lack of knowledge. He has the choice of whether to believe. And his world is a cold and cruel place as a result. The light is there, but it is surrounded by darkness.”

“It is not the same.”

“It is.”

“You do not understand!” Semyaza's eyes bulged and his hands clenched. “You do not know how it feels! To be unwanted! To be abandoned! How does that feel, Uriel? Tell me. How does it feel to lose everything? To lose the warmth of love and be cast into a pit of indifference? To lose your light?”

“You rejected that love.” Uriel opened his hands, palms down toward Semyaza. “But you have the power to change all of that.”

Semyaza took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I am trying.”

“Not this way. This is unnecessary. It always has been.”

Semyaza said nothing.

“Why are you punished?” Uriel said.

Semyaza did not open his eyes. “Because I took a stand.”

“Because you are selfish. Your vanity has led you here.”

“I did what I needed to. I do what I must now.”

“Then you will remain lost, Semyaza.”

Semyaza opened his eyes and found Uriel gone. He looked at his hands and saw more skin had flaked off.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

M
ike managed to wrangle up a wheelchair. He talked one of the nurses into bringing him one. Then he had to bribe a few more to help lower him into it. It cost him a few sodas.

His right side ached like a bastard, and it hurt to do everything from laugh to swallow, which made eating dinner while watching old episodes of
The Simpsons
on armed forces television interesting. Fatigue dogged him. He wanted to sleep, but the bed was uncomfortable. Thoughts of the dream and the prison and the battle and the interrogation kept dancing around his head, weaving in and out of each other. Never separate or in chronological order but blended like a putrid soup.

Rather than lie in bed and stare at the ceiling and fail to chase these thoughts away, Mike wheeled around the ward, talking to vets, listening to stories. Anything to pass the time.

In another day he would leave. Even if he had to rest up in a hotel somewhere else, he wanted out of the hospital and away from its stark whiteness and its smell of shit and blood and disinfectant. He hated feeling vulnerable and helpless, and right now he felt both.

“Glad to see you made it out alive.”

Mike stopped the wheelchair and twisted to his left. Major Greengrass sat up slightly in bed. He had an IV stuck in his right arm. A bandage covered most of his forehead. Mike couldn't see his stomach under the sheets but assumed they were bandaged, too.

“I'm hanging in there,” Mike said. “How about you?”

“Can't complain. What's your damage?”

“Shrapnel in the side. Some blood loss. Nothing to brag about.”

“Better than shrapnel in the gut. They had to remove almost a foot of intestine.”

Mike shook his head. “At least it wasn't your balls.”

Greengrass laughed and then moaned and rubbed his stomach. “Fuck.”

“I got that same problem.”

“Well, be thankful you don't have to shit in a bag.”

“I wish I could shit,” Mike said. “I've had gas since waking up and haven't even been able to pinch out a nugget.”

Greengrass laughed and moaned again. “Stop that, man.”

Mike chuckled but stopped as soon as he felt the stab in his side. “Okay, okay.”

Greengrass breathed deeply, like a woman in labor. “God, this sucks.”

“What about your forehead?”

“Just a fucking scratch.” Greengrass picked at the bandage. “Did you hear about Gunny Lowe?”

Mike nodded. “Yeah, I saw him.”

Greengrass nodded. “Fucking savages. What was that attack about?”

Mike thought to tell him what the insurgent had said but decided against it. “Just taking advantage of the situation. They saw the military was distracted with Basra and figured they could wreak havoc on your company.”

“So it wasn't the RG?”

“Nope. Just insurgents. Probably thought the RG would reward them, though, for taking the initiative.”

“Doesn't make any sense.”

You're telling me,
Mike thought. “I know.”

“Why would they attack a fortified position? These guys are hit-and-run types. They don't go for the straight-up fight.”

Mike shrugged.

“And you didn't get anything out of that guy you tortured?” Greengrass said.

Mike rubbed his mouth. “Heard about that, huh?”

The image of Lowe from Mike's dream popped up in his head.
“But you're still a good guy, Mike. Remember that. It's how you'll win.”

“So, why'd you kill him? For Lowe?”

Mike blinked and Lowe's image disappeared.

Because he asked me.
“For everything. The guy deserved to die.”

Greengrass nodded. “Fuckin' A.”

Mike looked away for a moment, unable to take Greengrass's gaze of appreciation. “So how long you in here for?”

“Couple of days. They're flying me to Germany. I'll probably stay there another few days for observation before heading back stateside. What about you?”

“Another day then I'm off.”

“On your own?”

“Yep.”

“Where to?”

Mike lifted his hands and shrugged. “Who's to say?”

Greengrass grinned. “Fucking spooks.”

“I'm afraid I have to break this meeting up.”

Mike turned and saw a nurse standing with his arms crossed. “Why?

“The major needs rest. Sorry, not my policy.”

Mike nodded and turned back to Greengrass. He extended his hand. Greengrass took it in his monster grip.

“Good luck, Major.”

“You too.” Greengrass shook it. “And thank you for what you did.”

Mike squeezed his hand.
It's what I'm good at.
“No problem.”

“I hope you find those bad guys.”

Images of the dead in the sea, white-eyed and hands extended, flashed in his mind. “I'll always have a job, right?”

“Damn straight.”

Mike let go of the hand and backed the wheelchair up. He pivoted it and nodded one more time to Greengrass. Then he pushed away and headed back toward his bed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“W
e have entered the Arabian Sea,” Alwad said.

“Praise Allah,” Yusuf said.

The
al-Phirosh
had completed its transit of the Arabian Gulf, through the congested waters of the Strait of Hormuz and the Gulf of Oman, ahead of schedule. Though time seemed to drag minute by anxious minute, Yusuf had pushed the tanker hard. Thankfully, the strait had more commercial traffic than military; and so things flowed smoothly.

Now the
al-Phirosh
departed the calm waters of the Gulf of Oman and plowed into the buckling waves of the Arabian Sea. The ship tossed and rocked. The movement brought a smile to Yusuf's face. The rolling seas and steady wind were therapeutic. He felt like a mariner again, having to focus on navigating the ship rather than a manhunt.

“Right fifteen degrees rudder,” Yusuf said. “Steady on course two-three-five.”

The helmsman turned the bow into the seas. The rocking eased and the ship settled into a gentle pitch-and-yaw motion.

“Feel better?” Alwad said.

Yusuf nodded. “I will be even more relieved once we can see South Africa.”

“Patience.”

“I think I have shown remarkable patience. Even slept a little.”

“But not enough.”

The night before had come and gone without further incidents. Yusuf finally relaxed enough to manage a few hours' sleep. Alwad kept the crew actively employed and the rumors remained just that, rumors.

Yusuf lit a cigarette. “If we find Sayid, I might make it a whole night.”

“He probably jumped overboard. Jibril informed me the man had emotional problems. If that is true, the discovery of the skeleton may have driven him over the edge.”

For some reason, Yusuf took comfort in that thought and hated himself for it. A great fear for sailors is losing a man to the sea. What made it worse was that he'd never thought to search the waters. Instead, he had maintained course and assumed the man had hidden within the skin of the ship. And now, relief flooded him because the idea Sayid had jumped overboard meant he would not have to further worry about the man being a danger to his crew.

“It is possible,” Yusuf said, smoke riding his words. “Keep up the search nevertheless.”

“For how long?”

Until my guilt subsides.
“Not much longer.”

“And how long shall we keep the personnel in medical confined?”

Yusuf's confidence had grown with each passing hour of routine operations not interrupted by chaos. Yet his reluctance to free the personnel he kept isolated in medical had not disappeared. He still feared they might cause rumors to blossom into panic. “Not much longer.”

“Captain?”

Yusuf turned his attention from the whitecaps on the ocean and the gray sky on the horizon to his left. Feisal now stood next to Alwad, hands at his sides.

“Any luck?” Yusuf said.

“No, Captain. This Sayid is nowhere to be found.”

“Very well. Go get some sleep.”

“What about the search?”

“I will have Alwad continue it. If Sayid is not found in the next few hours, I will assume he leapt overboard in the Arabian Gulf.”

“I have the next watch,” Alwad said.