Frozen: Heart of Dread, Book One (12 page)

“Y
OU ALL RIGHT?” WES ASKED, WALKING
slowly toward Nat, keeping his balance as the ship lurched starboard. “He didn’t—hurt you—did he?”

“No,” she said bitterly. “Don’t worry, I’d never let him touch me.”

“The boys only know what they’ve seen on the nets. I could toss them overboard now, but they’re the only crew I’ve got,” he said. “I’m sorry I can’t do more than promise I’ll make damn certain they keep away from you for the rest of the trip.”

She shook her head. “How long have you known about me?” she asked, her fingers shaking a little as she zipped up her jacket, making sure the stone was hidden underneath many layers once more.

Wes gazed to the ceiling. “I didn’t know, but I suspected.”

“You didn’t care? You don’t think you’ll—catch it? And rot?” She pulled her jacket closed, zipped it to her neck.

“No,” he said softly. “That whole thing is bunk anyway. You can’t catch the mark. Either you’re born with it or you’re not, right? It’s not a disease.”

She was still shaking from the heat and the fire—she could have
killed
Daran. Worse, she
wanted
to kill him, wanted nothing more than to set him ablaze, and she felt the shame then, of being who she was, a monster. She didn’t say anything about the stone, although Wes knew about it, that was clear. So why hadn’t he tried to take it from her like Daran had?

“That’s why your friend—Mrs. A—tried to get you out of the country, wasn’t it? Because you were marked.”

Nat raised her green-gold eyes to his dark ones. “I was three years old when I understood people were afraid of me.” She told Wes about playing in the neighbor’s apartment that day; Mrs. Allen sometimes left her there when she went to work. Nat didn’t like the boy she was meant to play with—he was older and mean, pinching her when no one was looking, making sure she never got the cookie she wanted, telling her she had to stand in the corner for a myriad of trivial infractions. She was scared of him, and one day he told his mother a bald-faced lie, that she had been the one who had thrown the ball through the window and let the cold in. Then when his mother left the room Nat pushed him. She hadn’t laid a hand on him, but she had pushed him with her mind—slammed him across the room, so that he hit his head on the wall and he crumpled to the carpet, wailing.

“She did it! She did it!” he’d screamed.

“I didn’t touch him!” she’d yelled in her defense.

“Did she push you?” his mother demanded.

“No,” David had said. “But she did it.” He’d looked at her with those mean black eyes. “She’s one of
them.
”

After that, Nat was no longer welcome in their home, and when Mrs. Allen found out what had happened, the old lady began planning their escape.

• • •

“They sent you to MacArthur, didn’t they? When they caught you at the border?” Wes asked, lifting her chin with his fingers and softly wiping away the tear on her cheek. His skin was rough against her smooth face, but she found comfort in his gentleness. “That’s where you’re from. You broke out.”

“Yeah.”

He whistled. “I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t put me in there.”

“So that’s why we couldn’t find anything on you,” he said. “Farouk’s pretty good on the nets; I thought it was strange you didn’t have an online profile.”

“They keep us off it. It’s easier to disappear someone if they’ve never existed,” she said.

“MacArthur’s a military hospital. You were part of the gifted program?”

She looked up at him, startled. “You knew about that?”

He grimaced. “Yeah. I ran one of the first teams.”

“We might have worked together, then,” she said.

“Is that why I look familiar?” he asked.

“Maybe.” She hesitated. “I was under Bradley. My commander.”

Now it was Wes’s turn to look unnerved. “He was mine, too.” He knitted his brows. “What kind of work did you do for him?”

“If only I could remember,” she said. “They mess us up, you know, to keep things confidential, to make us forget . . . they used to put us in ice baths, to freeze our memories somehow. I don’t even know who I am, what my real name is,” she said bitterly.

“I like ‘Nat,’” he said with a smile. “It’s as good a name as any.”

“So, now you know what I am for sure, what are you going to do about it?” she asked.

“Take you where you want to go. You’re headed for the Blue, aren’t you? You can admit it now.”

She exhaled. “Yes.”

“Well then, that’s where we’re headed. I’ll take you there or die trying. Okay?”

“Okay. I’m fine, you can go now.”

“You’re sure?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“So you keep reminding me.” He sighed. “Listen, maybe it’s best if you get out of the crew cabin—you can bunk with me in the captain’s if you’d like.”

“Thank you,” she said, and she found herself giving him an awkward hug, surprising them both. She pressed her cheek against his chest. This was not like the other day, when she was toying with him. She wanted to hug him because being close to him made her feel better. She never realized how tall he was; she only came up to his chin, and she could hear his heart beating underneath the many layers he wore.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he said, patting her back somewhat stiffly. “I’m taking your credits,” he joked.

“So you keep reminding me,” she said quietly.

They stood in the middle of the room, simply holding on to each other, and she found solace in the warmth of his embrace. “You knew from the beginning, didn’t you?” she whispered. “That I was marked?”

“If I did, does it matter?” he asked. “You don’t have to hide anymore. Not on my ship, at least. Besides, it would be a shame to cover up your eyes.”

She felt his breath on her cheek. “Why?”

“Because they’re beautiful,” he said. Their faces were inches apart, and she trembled in his arms. He leaned in and she closed her eyes . . .

Then the ship lurched to the port side again, throwing them against the far wall. They heard an unbearable sound—like a scratch on a chalkboard—a high-pitched whine of discord and then a grinding crash, as they parted from each other.

“Go,” she said, pushing him away. “
Go!
”

Wes shook his head and cursed as he ran out of the room to see what had happened to his ship.

T
HE SOUND GREW LOUDER AND MORE
unbearable. Wes held his hands to his ears as he ran up the deck toward the bridge. He hesitated for a moment, paralyzed, when he saw what had happened. It was worse than he’d thought. Towering above him were two floating mountains of junk, twin trashbergs composed of rusted machinery. Souvenirs from a dead civilization and a different way of life—leather luggage with gold lettering, chromed espresso machines with complex levers and dials, soap bottles with French labels, and designer sunglasses—things Wes had heard about, but never seen. It was all junk now. The metal rusted, the leather faded, the paper rotted with mildew, even the plastic that was meant to never degrade had now cracked and melted. It all blended to make a new kind of landscape, a mountain of floating refuse.

First Daran and now this—could his day get any worse? Or was he just irritated that he’d lost another opportunity to kiss her? He’d meant what he said, but he was surprised at the depth of his feelings for her. He’d been worried when he hadn’t seen her reading on the upper deck—and the lack of the Slaine boys disturbed him as well—and when he’d heard the screams he feared the worst—and to see her like that, her jacket torn off her shoulders . . . he could have pounded Daran’s head against the floor until he was still. Wes felt sick and ashamed of his crew, and wondered if he’d made the right call to take on those boys.

Farouk stood by the navigation system and looked up nervously as Wes approached. “They weren’t on the radar—I swear it—they came out of nowhere,” he said.

“How bad is it?” Wes asked, directing his question to Shakes, who was at the helm.

Shakes couldn’t answer, as he was throwing his full weight to pull the wheel starboard with the help of Daran and Zedric on either side, the three of them fighting to steer the ship as the trashbergs squeezed
Alby
between them, the piles of broken steel and shattered glass digging a long ugly gash along the ship’s hull, biting into the thick metal.

“Move!” Wes yelled as he took the helm. “You can’t steer your way out of this!” He pulled on the gearshift levers. The two engines and their propellers were side by side, and he figured if he threw one into reverse and the other forward, they would force the boat to pivot.

But the hull continued to tear. Wes powered both engines as high as he dared.

“She’ll hold!” Wes said. “STEADY NOW!” The bow was starting to turn, forcing half the ship to push through a mound of trash. He scrambled to keep his balance as the trashberg pushed from below, lifting the front of the boat precariously out of the water.

“We’re losing her!” Shakes warned.

Wes glared at the wheel. “Not on my watch! HOLD ON!” He jammed both engines into reverse, and the hull vibrated as he fought for control of his ship; the screeching grew louder as the boat pushed against the behemoth. The water behind them began to bubble as the propellers spun wildly, captured in their own wake. It looked as though the trash mountains would claim their ship for their own.

Shakes yelped as a wave of debris tumbled over the deck, but that was the worst of it. Since the engines were both taken from ex–military tankers, they would tear the boat apart before they stopped turning. But Wes understood he could make use of their power by jamming the starboard engine back into forward while he let the other rev in neutral for a moment. He was using the two engines to pull them out of the trashbergs by force alone.

They watched as broken refrigerators, rusted toasters, waterlogged couches, and a coffee table missing two legs fell from the sky, crashed onto the floorboards. The furniture slid together, forming grotesque living room sets before washing back into the ocean as the ship tilted to the other side. A moldy Barcalounger remained on the deck, its leather pocked with holes.

Wes kept a firm grip on the wheel, wrestling with the breakers, and steering away from the trashbergs until they were in relatively calm waters.

Farouk slapped him on the back. “We did it.”

He nodded and relaxed his hold. “Take it,” he told Shakes. “I’ll check out the damage.”

Once on the deck, he saw Nat there, helping the boys clean up. The Slaine brothers were smart enough to keep their distance, he noticed sourly. He would have to deal with them later. Put the fear of god into them if they thought they could get away that kind of crap on his watch.

“How bad is it?” Nat asked, pulling a scarf around her neck.

“We got stuck in the middle of a trashfield.” Wes sighed. “We’ll need to go around; it’s dangerous running too close to them. We could end up stuck on a pile of junk, or worse, buried underneath one.”

Shakes came out to help and pushed a lounge chair off the deck and into the churning waters. “Guess your trip just got extended,” he said.

“Wonderful.” She sighed.

Wes wiped his forehead with his glove and peered over the railing to study the long ugly gash on the side of his boat. “Luckily it didn’t hit the inner hull.”

“Otherwise?”

“We’d be sunk, literally,” Shakes said cheerfully. “But don’t worry, that hasn’t happened yet.”

“Good thing I don’t charge by the mile or you’d be in trouble,” Wes said, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

Nat started to laugh, but her laughter quickly turned into a cough. She buried her face in the crook of her arm. “Well, it’s not a perfume store, that’s for sure.”

Wes sighed. The trashbergs smelled even worse than the ocean, and the thought of extending the trip even farther would be a challenge for everyone, but he couldn’t let it sink their spirits. “Looks bad, but we can patch it up, can’t we, Shakes?” Wes asked.

“Not like we haven’t before.” Shakes nodded. “We’ll get right on it.” He stared at Nat. “Hey—you look different,” he said. “What is it?” He squinted at her face.

“My eyes,” she said shyly. “You can’t see the difference? Really?”

“Our friend Shakes is colorblind.” Wes winked. “It’s all right, Farouk will fill him in,” he said, as the youngest boy openly gaped at Nat, but said nothing.

“Come on, don’t stare,” Shakes said, pulling Farouk away so they could return to the bridge, leaving Wes and Nat on the deck. As the boat drifted out of the trashberg’s shadow, they were able to see the full extent of the garbage mountain.

“It’s endless,” Nat whispered, fascinated by the immense ziggurat of rot and decay and discards in front of her.

“Continents of junk,” Wes said.

Nat shook her head, troubled by the sight of all that waste. The world was irretrievably broken, filled with refuse, from Garbage Country to the poisoned oceans, and the rest was an uninhabitable frozen nether land; what kind of place was this to grow up in? What kind of world had they been born into? “Is it like this—everywhere—in all the waters? Surely in some places the waters are clear?” she asked hopefully.

Wes narrowed his eyes. “Maybe. If the Blue is real.” He removed the locator from his pocket and began to punch in a new course on the blinking green screen. He had nabbed the satellite phone from an abandoned LTV a few years back in garbage land. It was military-grade and had the ability to track and plot a course from live satellite data. If he was caught using or trying to sell the thing, it would mean his head, but he kept it for emergencies. “We’ll have to go way out of our way to dodge ’em. Some are ten or fifteen miles across and there’re bigger ones swirling all around.”

As the boat plowed slowly through the churning waters, the surf was wilder on the far side of the junk mountain, and dark, filthy water rose in waves and washed over the deck again.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Wes said, holding out his hand to help her avoid stepping in the toxic wash.

She took his hand and they picked their way down to the lower cabins. “I’ll take you up on your offer, if you don’t mind,” she said, as they walked down the stairs and he let go of her hand. “To move, I mean.”

Wes nodded. “Sure.”

Nat watched him silently, wondering what would have happened if the ship hadn’t hit that trashberg . . . if they had been able to . . . if he had . . . what difference did it make? At least he hadn’t tossed her overboard when he found out the truth about her. Wasn’t that enough? What did she want with him anyway? She couldn’t be feeling what she was feeling, if she was even feeling anything for him.

Even so, she moved her meager possessions over to his cabin. Instead of hammocks, the captain’s quarters had a real bed. One bed. One small bed. “Um, Wes?” she asked.

“Yeah?” he asked, pulling off his boots and sweater, so that his T-shirt pulled up above his belt and for a brief moment she saw the hard muscles on his stomach.

“Never mind.” She put her stuff away in the hold and climbed into the bed, making sure to stay all the way to the right side so that she was almost falling off.

“I’m not going to try anything, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said, sounding amused.

“Who said I’m worried?” she said, as he scooted in next to her. Their bodies were only inches away from each other, and when she turned to him, their faces were so close on the pillow they were almost touching.

“Good night,” he whispered.

“Sleep well.” She smiled and closed her eyes. They were sheltered from the toxic wash, but down below, the rocking of the ship was worse. She leaned over the edge of the bed and dry-heaved. If there was any thought of romance right now, it just went out the porthole.

“Here,” Wes said, handing her a metal bracelet. “Strap it on. Helps with seasickness.”

Nat wiped her mouth and accepted it with a grateful smile. Her stomach fluttered, which had nothing to do with the sea. “Thanks.”

“It’s not as pretty as that good-luck charm you’re wearing, but it should do the trick,” he said.

Good-luck charm?

He meant the stone she was wearing. She didn’t say a word, but she was troubled. Wes was not Daran. But she couldn’t be certain . . . did he want to keep her safe? Or did he just want the stone?