Children of Eternity Omnibus Page 22

  After she finally expended herself, she collapsed on the floor again. She used the remains of a yellow dress to wipe at her eyes. It all seemed like a cosmic joke. The reverend and Mr. Pryde had brought her here and wiped her memory so that for five years she could hope to see her parents again. And now, on the eve of her going to look for them at last, a storm had brought her here so she could relive their deaths.

  “It’s not fair,” she mumbled. She reached into her pocket for the picture on Pryde’s bulletin board. They had been so happy, just a normal, happy family. It had all been taken away from her first by a reckless driver and then by Reverend Crane.

  She stared at the picture for a while, until her rational mind kicked in again. Not all hope was lost. If her parents had died when she was twelve, then she must have gone to live with someone. She probably had other family on the mainland: grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. Not even Mr. Pryde could have taken them all away from her. Or even if she hadn’t gone to live with another family member, she might have foster parents who loved her as much as her own parents had. She couldn’t give up yet.

  As she pushed herself up to her feet, she felt something warm and sticky in her underpants. Samantha pulled down her pants and then her underpants. A large red spot dotted the white fabric of her underwear. Her period, that was what her mother had called it. Her period had happened again, which had brought back the memory of that horrible day.

  “It means you’re becoming a woman,” she heard Mom say again.

  Part of becoming a woman meant she was too old to sit around in this cellar and cry. She had work to do if she wanted to get off this terrible island. Even if her parents had died, Samantha still had a life on the mainland. She put a hand on the half-heart necklace. She had friends and maybe even other family. She had to find them; that was what Mom and Dad would want her to do.

  First, though, Samantha needed some clean underpants. She rooted around the cellar until she found some that weren’t too big. Even better, they were dark blue so they wouldn’t show any bloodstains as much.

  Now that she had changed her underwear, she was ready to go. She only hoped the storm had ended upstairs. Samantha took the lantern and then started up the stairs.

  She eased the cellar door open enough to get the lantern through. The blue-white light showed the remains of a cottage littered with old bones and dog feces. Her stomach heaved again; she covered her mouth to keep from throwing up.

  Samantha forced herself to climb up the rest of the way. From what she could tell, the storm had ended. Shafts of sunlight even poked through the roof. She would have to wait in the forest on the edge of town until dark and then sneak in for some supplies.

  She managed to get out of sight of the hut before she heard a familiar growl. She turned to her right in time to see the black form of one of Pryde’s beasts. Its yellow eyes glared at her while white foam dripped from its jaws. So it was true that some of his creatures had survived.

  “Nice doggy,” she said, though she knew these monsters were anything but nice. She took a step back while she searched the ground around her for something to use as a weapon. All she had was the lantern in her hand; it didn’t feel heavy enough to do much good in a fight.

  It could at least work as a distraction. Samantha hurled the lantern at the beast’s face. She didn’t wait to see if the lantern did any damage, turning and running the moment she’d thrown it. From the sound of something heavy crashing through the brush behind her, she doubted the lantern had done anything besides make the beast angrier.

  She forced her legs to pump harder, which was difficult in her current condition. The cramping and bleeding had weakened her and it didn’t help that she was wearing clothes a few sizes too big. Several times she almost tripped on the cuffs of her own pants as she ran. The beast’s heavy breathing sounded closer, meaning it was gaining on her. Before long she would be caught.

  Then she saw what she needed ahead. It was a branch just a few inches above her head. It looked thick enough to hold her weight too. If she could just time it right, then she could get up in the tree. As large as they were, Pryde’s animals still couldn’t climb trees.

  She let her instincts, those that had helped her in fights and to open the safe, take over as she neared the branch. Samantha found herself leaping into the air and then grabbing the branch with both hands. She actually swung around the branch once before she shot into the air. Her hands reached out to catch another branch to steady herself.

  Pryde’s beast tried to skid to a stop beneath the tree. To her amazement, though, she saw it drop out of sight, almost as if the ground had swallowed it up. She heard a mournful howl from the creature for a few seconds. Then she heard only the wind rustling the trees.

  Samantha pushed aside some of the branches to get a better view of what had happened. Only then did she see the cliff. Had she not grabbed the branch, she might have run over it as the beast had. She leaned forward in the tree to see jagged rocks far down. Gray waves capped by white pounded those jagged rocks, though they were too far away for her to hear yet.

  With a sigh she sat on the branch to rest. She had been closer to the sea than she had thought. Pryde’s boat might not be too far away from here. If so, she should go down and see if it had survived the storm intact. Then she could worry about getting supplies later.

  After a few minutes in the tree, Samantha hopped down to the ground. She made sure to walk carefully along the edge of the cliff. She couldn’t see the body of the beast that had chased her; the sea must have already carried it away.

  She did see something else, though: a boat! It wasn’t Pryde’s boat; it was too big for that. This boat was about as big as Prudence’s shop with a pointed prow, a boxy cabin behind that, and then a square rear.

  The storm had blown the boat onto the rocky shore. From the look of it, the boat was caught on one of the rocks, which held it in place even as the waves beat against it. Every time the waves receded, Samantha saw brown nets spread out like seaweed. A fishing boat, she thought. It had probably blown off course from the storm and wound up beaching itself on Eternity.

  Before she understood what she was doing, Samantha began to run along the edge of the cliff to find a way down.

  ***

  It took her a while to find a path that wound down to the shore. She lost sight of the boat along the way. Her heart sank when she did and she hoped she would be able to find it again. There could be people alive in the boat, fishermen caught in the storm. Those people could take her home, to the mainland.

  She found her way down a trail, hopping from one rock to another to make her way down. When she reached the beach, she jumped down into the sand. She took her shoes off to let her big feet sink into the cool, damp sand. She savored this for a moment before turning back to the task at hand.

  After walking the beach for a few minutes, she saw the fishing boat again. It seemed to be in the same place as when she had been on the cliff. She hoped it wouldn’t break free from the rocks, not yet. If it did, it would likely be swept back out to sea, where it would probably sink. Anyone alive in there would probably drown then.

  She quickened her pace with this thought. She broke into a run towards the boat, until she was close enough to almost touch it. She stood in about three inches of water, at least until a wave came in. The wave knocked her sideways, but she managed to catch herself before she could hit the ground.

  Samantha slogged forward the remaining feet to the side of the boat. The problem now was to find a way on board. She climbed back up to the beach so she could circle around the rocks to the other side of the boat. She doubted it would have a ladder she could use to climb up.

  As she reached the other side, she realized she wouldn’t need a ladder. The nets she had seen from up above were still connected to the side of the boat. She threw her shoes onto the boat and then waded into the water. She reached out with one hand to grab one of the nets, clinging to it as another wave threatened to sweep her a
way.

  Once the wave had receded, Samantha scrambled up the net, along the side of the boat. She flopped over the edge to land onto the wooden deck just a few feet from the cabin. For a moment Samantha lay on her stomach, panting from the effort.

  Once her strength had returned, she got to her feet. She found her shoes on the deck, one lying next to a dead fish of some sort. She took the fish by the tail with one hand, keeping it well away from her as she hurled it back into the sea.

  From the smell of it, there were a lot more dead fish on board. Perhaps they were down below. If that was the worst she found then she would count herself fortunate. Thinking of Pryde’s cellar, she knew she could find a lot worse on the boat.

  She took a few deep breaths before she went into the cabin. She saw a tiny room with a broken window facing the cliffs. There was also a steering wheel and other equipment. The bridge. This was where they drove the boat. She didn’t see any sign of anyone having been on the bridge.

  A stairway led down into the boat. She wished for the lantern as she descended into the darkness. As she had in the forest during the storm, she had to walk with her arms out to feel around. She felt a door handle and turned it.

  She couldn’t see any better inside the room, not until her hand touched a switch. A light came on overhead, another electric light like the lantern. The light revealed a tiny bedroom with a pair of bunks and a desk. Samantha’s face turned warm when she saw a large picture of an almost-naked woman on one wall. A man had obviously occupied this room, but she didn’t see any sign of anyone.

  “Hello?” she called out. “Is anyone here?”

  She didn’t get any answer, not that she expected one. The crew of the boat might have jumped overboard during the storm or they might have been carried overboard by the waves. Or they could all be dead. She tried not to dwell on this possibility as she continued her search.

  She found two more rooms—a bathroom and a miniature dining room. The only sign of life was a dirty bowl in the sink of the dining room. Someone had been aboard this boat at least. “Hello?” she called out again, but still didn’t get an answer.

  At the end of the corridor she found a metal door similar to the one in Pryde’s cellar. It took all her weight to get the door open. As soon as she did, she smelled something burning. She couldn’t see anything on fire, though.

  Samantha took a step and then her foot struck something heavy. She tumbled forward, landing face-first on the floor. For a moment she lay there in a daze. Then she gathered her wits and felt around with her hands. She touched something warm and soft. Her hand brushed against coarse hairs, like those on an arm or leg. She had found someone!

  Samantha shook the limb, but she didn’t hear anyone stir. Whoever it was might be unconscious—or dead. She forced herself to keep from panicking at that thought. She got to her feet and then backed up until she touched the wall. She felt around for another light switch. After a few moments of groping around, a light came on.

  As the light came on, Samantha gasped. A man lay at her feet. A man with bronze skin and black hair like her. To her relief, his chest went up and down as he breathed. He was alive!

  Chapter 13: The Stranger

  The man was at least six inches taller than her and much heavier, so Samantha had no hope of carrying him. After assessing the situation, she hooked him around the armpits and then dragged him back through the door. Sweat had broken out on her forehead by the time she managed to get him to the other end of the corridor.

  The problem now would be getting him up the stairs. She sat down on the lowest step to take a break. If she were lucky, he might wake up before she had to try dragging him upstairs.

  As she rested, she couldn’t help staring at him. From her mother’s picture she knew there were other people like her, but she’d never seen one in the flesh. She couldn’t help but smile at the thought she wasn’t a freak, not like the other kids had often said.

  He still hadn’t woke up after a few minutes. Maybe the bumpiness of going up the stairs would jar him awake. Or the fresh air upstairs might finally rouse him. She might as well try.

  She again took him around the armpits and then began to drag him. She took it a step at a time so she wouldn’t trip over the stairs; there was no sense in both of them being unconscious. About halfway up she heard him groan; it sounded almost like one of Pryde’s beasts. She waited to see if he would wake up, but he didn’t.

  It seemed like an hour before she finally got him up the stairs. He still hadn’t woke up yet. She rested for a couple of minutes before she dragged him outside. She left him to lie out in the sun, hoping that might prompt him to stir.

  She sat on an overturned crate to study him in the sunlight. From the lines on his forehead and around his eyes and mouth, as well as the gray hairs in his beard, she knew he had to be much older than Miss Brigham, or at least as old as Miss Brigham appeared. He was probably about forty years old at least, if not more.

  It occurred to her to check his pockets for identification. Her face warmed as she thought of reaching into his pockets for his wallet. What if he woke up then? He might think she was a thief. She didn’t want him to think ill of her before they had a chance to talk.

  At the same time, she badly wanted to know where he came from. Given his skin and hair color, she might come from the same place as him. There might be a whole town full of people with bronze skin and black hair, where a pasty blond like Helena would be the freak.

  She waited a few more minutes and then decided to risk it. He wore blue jeans similar to hers, except the legs were wider, especially the cuffs at the bottom. She patted the front pockets of his jeans in search of a wallet. As she did, she held her breath, waiting for his eyes to flash open and for him to scream at her to leave him alone.

  He hadn’t woke up by the time she finished searching his front pockets. With a sigh, she decided to roll him onto his stomach to search his back pockets. She hoped his wallet hadn’t fallen off of him during the storm so she wouldn’t lose this opportunity to learn more about the mainland. There was a possibility he might keep it in the bedroom or perhaps in another room of the ship.

  She decided to stop putting it off and just get it over with. She groaned as she rolled him first onto his side and then the rest of the way onto his stomach. The man still didn’t wake up; he just lay there like the dead fish she had found.

  Even without patting his pockets, she could tell from the bulge in his rear left pocket that his wallet was in there. She stuck her hand into the pocket and felt a leather rectangle. She paused a moment to make sure he wasn’t waking up and then yanked the wallet free.

  Like a frightened animal she scurried over to a corner with the wallet in her hands. She curled up in the corner so he wouldn’t see her going through his wallet should he wake up. If she were lucky, she could look through the wallet and return it before he woke.

  The wallet was made of one large piece of leather folded over to take up less room. She flipped it open to reveal rows of cards made out of a thin, hard material. Plastic, she remembered. She took a card with the title “Discover” in shiny print that seemed to change color as she tilted it in the light. Beneath the title she saw a row of numbers that had no meaning to her.

  Below that was a name in raised letters: Hector X. Delgado. That must be the man’s name. She closed her eyes, hoping this might trigger some memory, but it didn’t. She put the card back into its slot and then went through the others.

  The fifth one she took out was the mother lode. It had the word “Maine” printed in green. Beneath that was a small picture of the man from the boat, his face less lined and without the beard. The name on the card was Hector Xavier Delgado, confirming her suspicions. The card listed his height at six-foot-two, his weight at two hundred ten pounds, and his birthday as July 7, 1965. That would make him just a month away from thirty-nine years old. According to the card, he lived in a place called Portland. The card also stated the obvious fact that his hair was bl
ack and also that his eyes were brown.

  He confirmed this a moment later when he finally lifted his head. She heard him groan again and quickly shoved the wallet into the inner pocket of her jacket. Only then did she hurry over to his side. She put a hand on his back and then helped him to sit up. His head turned so she could get a good look at his brown eyes, the same brown she saw in the mirror every day. He reached out with one hand to run a finger along her jaw. “Lucinda?”

  ***

  Samantha had to close her eyes and consider what he had said. Did the name Lucinda sound familiar to her? She finally shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t think so? Don’t you know your own name?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “So what am I supposed to call you, darling?”

  “Samantha Young.”

  “That’s a pretty name. My name is Hector Delgado, but I bet you already know that.”

  “How would I know that?”

  “You took my wallet didn’t you?”

  Her face turned warm at this. She put her hand into her jacket to produce the wallet. “How did you know?”

  “I didn’t know for sure. I just didn’t feel it when I sat up. Either you’d taken it or the ocean had. I guess I got lucky.”

  “I didn’t take anything,” Samantha said. “I just found your boat washed up on the shore and I took it to see who you were.”

  “It’s all right, darling. No harm done.” He took the wallet from her hand. He didn’t verify that she hadn’t stolen anything; he just put it in his front pocket. “So, Samantha, where did the old girl dump me?”

  “The old girl?”

  “My boat. The Lady Jane.”

  “Why does your boat have a name?”

  “Most boats have names. Ones this size anyway. You get something knocked loose by the storm or something?”