The Ocean Dark

18

Josh stared at the fisherman who lay dying on the floor of the Mariposa’s cabin. His breathing was a shallow, ragged wheeze, and wet with the sound of something torn and leaking deep inside him. Where his hands were pressed over the wound in his abdomen, less and less blood seeped around his fingers, his body winding down, heart slowly ticking away the last of his life.

“Open your eyes, asshole. Stay with me!” Miguel shouted, slapping the man’s cheeks.

“Come on, man,” Josh said.

Miguel whipped his head around and glared. “Come on, what? You wanted to help, right? Help by shutting your mouth.”

“Leave the guy alone. He’s almost gone, for Christ’s sake.”

Miguel pressed his eyes tightly closed, like he was trying to shut Josh’s words out, then opened them again and stared down at the fisherman.

“Where is everyone?” he shouted, spittle flying from his lips.

Josh gritted his teeth. At least Miguel hadn’t hit the man again. If he tried, Josh might have to step in, and that would only get ugly. A fight was not what they needed right now and when Dwyer came back up from searching the hold, there would be no doubt whose side he would be on. The Irishman took orders, and he’d already shown how comfortable he was with a gun in his hand.

“Open your eyes!” Miguel shouted, and he reached out and pressed down on the man’s hands, putting new pressure on the hole in his abdomen.

Josh started forward, but the fisherman’s eyes snapped open and he drew in a wet, shuddery breath.

“Where did they all go?” Miguel demanded.

The man’s eyes did not seem to focus, instead drifting around the darkness of the cabin. Sorrow and fear filled his features, and Josh wondered if they were his reaction to waking to find himself still alive, still suffering.

“Waiting for you,” the man began, a few syllables spilling out in one breath. “We find … el cementerio.”

The fisherman’s eyelids fluttered closed again. Miguel sat back on his haunches, looking confused. The H&K hung from a strap across his back, but he seemed to have forgotten it entirely.

“He’s not making any sense.”

Josh threw up his hands. “No shit. Maybe because his whole body’s shutting down?”

Miguel shifted forward. “What cemetery? Where is everyone?”

The fisherman began to cough and choke, and then a line of thick, dark blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. Josh thought that would be it, that he wouldn’t speak any more, but the man opened his eyes and let his head loll to one side, still gazing at nothing.

“We never come to the island … before. No one knows.”

Josh took a step nearer, crouched down and tried to get the man to meet his gaze. Miguel didn’t even seem to notice his approach.

“What island?” Josh asked.

Miguel ignored him. “Your captain told us about the island. He wanted to use it as a landmark, but we couldn’t find it on our map. He must have been there—”

“No. He never been. He found a map, very old. He say … maybe it’s a pirate map. He loves pirates.”

Josh tried to process that. It sounded absurd, but he supposed it wasn’t as ridiculous as it seemed. Pirates had roamed these waters for years, in massive numbers.

He looked at Miguel. “This island you’re talking about, you couldn’t find it on your charts?”

Miguel nodded, mulling it over. “There are so many little dots on the water, you’d be surprised what’s not on charts, especially out here. We’re way off the usual shipping lanes, not on the way to anywhere.”

“So a secret place—”

The fisherman started coughing again, flecks of red spittle flying from his mouth. The effort caused a fresh flow of blood to seep from his wound, up between his fingers.

“Shit,” Miguel snapped, leaning in toward the man. “Tell me about the cemetery. Is it on the island?”

The man wheezed, a wet burbling coming from his throat. “Ships.”

Josh frowned, trying to puzzle it out, but it seemed to just piss Miguel off. He raised his hand, looked like he was about to slap the fisherman again, and Josh started toward him.

Which was when Dwyer came tromping back down the steps into the cabin. One look at his face ought to have been enough to tell the tale, but Miguel still asked.

“What did you find?”

“Fuck all,” the Irishman said, looking like he might throw up. “Got three guns, carried ’em up on deck. All of ’em loaded, so either they weren’t part of the cargo or these guys were borrowing them. But no crates. No cargo. No guns. No explosives.”

Miguel let loose with a string of Spanish expletives, turned, and slapped the fisherman with the back of his hand, knuckles cracking loudly against the man’s cheekbone. He struck before Josh could have stopped him, and it was enough to snap the man’s eyes wide again.

“Where are they, God damn you!”

“Miguel …” Josh began, reaching for him.

“Back the fuck off!” Miguel roared, slapping his hand away. “Dwyer, if the cook gets one step closer, shoot him.”

Dwyer blinked like he wasn’t sure if Miguel was serious. Josh thought maybe he was, so he took a step back, pistol heavy in his hand. Familiar. Cold.

“The devils came …” the fisherman whispered.

Miguel pushed his face in close. “Where are my guns?”

The man laughed, coughing again. Miguel flinched away as blood spattered his face. He tried to wipe it off but only succeeded in smearing it in streaks.

“Ruiz take them … to the island.” A fresh rivulet of blood came from the corner of his mouth and dribbled down his jaw.

Miguel shook his head. “Why would he do that?”

The man shuddered, not listening, lost in his own pain. “Los diablos—”

“I know, I know,” Miguel said, rising. “The devils. So you said. What you didn’t say is who the fuck they are, or what you’re talking about!”

While Miguel ranted, Josh stared at the fisherman. The man couldn’t have been very old, but thin as he was, drawn and pale and rigid, he looked ancient. As Miguel railed at him, the man shuddered and began to gasp silently, unable to draw air. His neck arched a few times, as though perhaps he could breathe if only he reached just a bit farther. His body trembled. A thin line of blood ran from his right nostril.

And he died.

Dwyer saw it happen, too. “Boss?”

Miguel turned, eyes frantic, obviously trying to figure out how he was going to deal with such a colossal fuckup. Josh thought he would scream, but instead, Miguel deflated, lowering his head. After a moment, he took a deep breath, ran his hands through his hair, and sighed. He looked up at Josh, then at Dwyer.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

His eyes were haunted, and Josh felt a chill go through him that had nothing to do with the breeze off the sea. When he had signed on as the Antoinette’s cook, he had thought himself prepared for anything. But tonight, it felt like they had sailed off the edge of the world.

Dwyer shrugged. “Pirates.”

Miguel arched an eyebrow. “Come on.”

“Why not?” the Irishman asked. “You hear things all the time about ships getting hit, people killed and robbed. Some cruise ship’s crew fought ’em off with guns a few years back.”

“They’d have to be pretty desperate pirates to hit a fishing boat.”

“So they knew what they were looking for. The wrong people found out about Ruiz’s cargo and they came and took it, killed everyone, dumped ’em overboard.”

From the look in his eyes it was obvious Miguel wanted this to be the truth. Josh turned it all over in his head, trying to see it from different angles, but no matter how he approached it, none of those theories made sense to him.

“You guys are unbelievable,” he said.

Miguel narrowed his eyes, staring at him through the slits. “Something you want to say?”

There was open contempt in the man’s voice, but beneath that, Josh sensed something else. Blame. Suspicion. Miguel had an edge to him, arrogant and self-righteous, but this went beyond attitude, and Josh didn’t like it at all. Still, he couldn’t just keep quiet.

“You heard the guy, saw the marks on his skin, never mind the damn porthole and the damage to the boat, and you’re seriously going to go back to your brother with that story?”

Miguel cocked his head, a kind of horrid amusement in his eyes, and then he swept the H&K around, not quite aiming it at Josh.

“You got a better explanation, cook?”

Dwyer looked back and forth between them, brows knitted. He didn’t move, waiting to see what would happen next.

“All I know is, it wasn’t just a rip-off. This guy might’ve been nuts, but I’m betting he didn’t start out that way. Throw in blood loss, fine, he was raving, but something scared him so badly he was talking about devils. And someone murdered the rest of the crew—”

“You don’t know that,” Dwyer said.

Josh frowned, staring at him. “What?”

Dwyer shrugged, looking at Josh like he was stupid. “Like you said, the fellah was raving. But some of that didn’t sound crazy. He said Ruiz went to the island. Could be there’s some of them still alive.”

“Fine,” Josh replied. “I’m just saying that whatever happened on this boat, it wasn’t about stealing guns.”

Miguel turned his back on them, walked over and looked out at the darkness through the gore-encrusted broken porthole. The Mariposa swayed gently on the water, cradled in the arms of the ocean, but Josh didn’t feel soothed. He’d been in even more remote places in his life, but had never felt farther from home. Thoughts of ghost ships lingered in his mind, of vanishing crews and drifting mysteries.

“I know where our cargo is,” Miguel said. “That’s all that matters to me, and it’s all that will matter to Gabe.” He turned to face them. “Dwyer, gather up the guns you found and load them onto the transport. Josh, go down into the hold and knock some holes in the hull.

“Sink the bitch.”