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Authors: James F. David

Ship of the Damned (34 page)

BOOK: Ship of the Damned
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C
obb shoved Wes from behind at the slightest provocation, making his back sore from shoulder to shoulder. No matter how close he walked to those in front, Cobb found reasons to punch him. Hesitate at a ladder and
Thump!
in the back. Turn a corner too wide and
Thump!
again. Slow to keep from running into Monica and
Thump!
It was petty torture designed to provoke him, so Wes took the abuse stoically.
Travel through the ship was confusing, and Wes soon gave up memorizing their route, counting on Ralph to know the way out. Ralph walked with Gertie, chattering away, telling her about Wes and Elizabeth and Dr. Birnbaum. Gertie listened, amused. Eventually, they emerged from the ship near the biplanes. In the desert behind the Norfolk was an aircraft carrier. It was twice the size of the Norfolk, and judging from the ship’s size and the aircraft on its flight deck, Wes guessed that it was a supercarrier. Then he remembered Dr. Birnbaum saying there were rumors about something happening to the USS Nimitz. Now Wes knew that the Nimitz had been hijacked to this neverland.
A primitive rope bridge had been rigged between the Norfolk and Nimitz, and Wes and the others were dragged to it. Guards crossed first,
then Monica and Gertie. Next it was Ralph’s turn. Fascinated by the bridge, Ralph watched how the others crossed. The bridge swayed and bounced, and those crossing matched their rhythm to that of the bridge. When Ralph’s turn came, he started to cross with the same stride he used when walking to the 7-Eleven. After just three steps he was out of rhythm and fell against the side.
“Help him,” Wes pleaded. “He can’t do it with his hands tied.”
Gertie came back, taking one of Ralph’s arms, steadying him.
“Thanks, Gertie. It’s harder than it looks, isn’t it?” Ralph said.
“It is, Ralph,” Gertie said. “Maybe we should hold each other up while we cross?”
“Okee-dokee with me, Gertie,” Ralph said.
Thump!
Cobb hit Wes. Stepping up, Wes started across, matching the rhythm of the bridge. Wes was slow, and a gap opened between him and Ralph and Gertie. Cobb kept his distance now, having his own difficulties with the bridge.
As he crossed, Wes saw another set of cables rigged above the bridge to one side. Ahead, on the carrier, he could see that the cables were attached to a pulley system and a winch. Below in the desert he could see two machines with cables leading from them. Ahead was a heartbreaking sight. There were men hung from the deck of the Nimitz, decorating the ship’s perimeter like bizarre Christmas ornaments.
Once they were across, they were held on the flight deck while Gertie ordered a man to run ahead. Wes could see a crowd and a man on a platform at the far end of the carrier. Behind the man was a large cross. The crowd cheered occasionally, and when Gertie’s runner reached the platform the people turned as one and looked down the deck at Wes and the others. Then they cheered, sending chills down Wes’s spine. A drum boomed, and the guards fell into a double column, marching in rhythm with the drum. Gertie walked in front of the captives and Cobb behind. They marched past bodies of sailors embedded in the deck to the waiting crowd.
Kicks, blows, and curses were heaped on them as they passed through. All around Wes were angry, tattooed faces, spitting and cursing. A fist caught him on the side of the head and he stumbled and fell. Quickly he curled up to make himself less vulnerable. Wes took a dozen kicks before the abuse stopped. He was hauled to his feet by Cobb and pushed after the others. Bound and abused by the mob, Wes felt like an aristocrat being led to the guillotine.
Monica received the same treatment and took it stoically. Ralph, however, repeated “Hihowyadoin” to everyone he passed; the people stared at the peculiar man, many smiling and responding.
The platform was near now, and Wes could see a man standing center stage, wearing the uniform of a chief petty officer. It was Prophet. A woman in a silver suit stood next to him, her hand resting on a holstered gun. She was wearing a suit like Ralph’s, and Wes recognized her from the sketches Dr. Birnbaum had made of Ralph’s kidnappers.
“This day is rich with the Lord’s blessings,” Prophet said.
Then Prophet’s voice sounded in Wes’s head.
“My name is Prophet. Come forward and be judged.”
As if everyone in the room had heard, the crowd erupted with screams of affirmation. The captives were shoved forward, Gertie clearing a path and Cobb following.
“Well done, Gertie,” Prophet said. “Well done, John.”
Gertie smiled at Prophet’s compliment, and Cobb nodded his head.
Pushed to the base of the platform, Wes could see others kneeling with their hands tied. One was a wounded sailor, another a Hispanic man. There was one man in a silver suit; when he turned, Wes recognized him as the other of Ralph’s kidnappers. The last man was young and wore his brown hair oiled, neatly parted, and combed to the side. He wore a blue shirt with cut-off sleeves, and his eyes widened in recognition when he saw Wes.
“Hi Nate, hi Roger,” Ralph said. “I’d shake your hand but I can’t on account of mine being tied up. You too?”
Then Ralph looked up to the woman on the platform.
“Hi Karla. Whatcha doin up there? Are you gonna sing a song or something? Can I get on the stage too?”
The man staring at Wes tried to stand.
“Wes, it’s me!”
Wes realized that it was Elizabeth in the body of Roger Dawson. He surged forward, but was shoved down next to the man in the silver suit. Once on his knees, he leaned out so that he could see the body that held the woman he loved.
“Elizabeth, what are you doing here?”
“I came to help, but I can’t get back. Anita’s here’too and she’s terrified.”
“Dissolve the integration,” Wes said.
“It was dissolved,” Elizabeth said.
Shocked, Wes tried to understand what had happened. Elizabeth was still in the dream even without the integration, so she no longer needed to
join with Anita and Wanda in order to be receptive. But why was Anita there? Somehow, by linking their minds, Wes had strengthened both the link to Dawson and the link between Anita and Elizabeth. Now Elizabeth and Anita were like two radios tuned to the same frequency; what one received, the other also received. Wes thought furiously for a solution. He could think of only one. If they increased the voltage of the signals that suppressed neural activity, and broadcast widely, they would create an electrical storm. The effect would imitate electroshock therapy and probably trigger a seizure, but it could temporarily suppress Elizabeth’s reception faculties.
“Tell Len and Shamita to try scrambling your entire cortex,” Wes said.
The man in the silver suit between Wes and Elizabeth took in the exchange, his face passive.
“What?” Elizabeth said.
“I said—” Wes was cuffed from behind, his ear stinging from the blow.
“Scramble the cortex,” the man in the silver suit repeated.
Then Prophet glanced at the man in the silver suit and nodded to Cobb. The air crackled behind the man and his hair stood on end. Cobb struck him, and he writhed on the deck as a hundred sparks danced over his body.
“Stop it,” Elizabeth screamed through Dawson’s body.
The punishment continued.
“You shouldn’t do that, it hurts,” Ralph said to Cobb.
Ralph started to rise, and Cobb turned on him, the air crackling around Ralph and then erupting in the bright blue of electric light. Ralph convulsed, but made no sound.
“Enough,”
Prophet’s voice sounded in Wes’s head.
Cobb stopped immediately, and Ralph suddenly relaxed, his head hanging limp.
“That hurts worser than anything,” Ralph said.
“Jett, are you all right?” Elizabeth said.
Wes looked down at the man Elizabeth called Jett. He was struggling back to his knees. He moved slowly, but confidently. Jett gave a quick nod, assuring him that he wasn’t badly injured.
“Now, if we have everyone’s complete attention, I will continue,”
Prophet said.
“You’re a ventrilkist, aren’t you?” Ralph said. “Your lips don’t move, but I can hear you talking.”
Prophet focussed on Ralph, and Cobb moved behind him.
“I speak with the voice of God,”
Prophet said.
“Just as God speaks directly to our hearts, I speak directly to your mind. But it is not only the gift of godtalking
that God has entrusted to me. I can look deep into a person’s soul and know whether Jesus is in their heart.”
The crowd erupted into shouted “Amens” and started praising God as if they were at a Pentecostal camp meeting.
“Sadly, your friends have turned their backs on the gift God has given us—the gift of eternal life,” Prophet said, switching to voice. “I ask you—no, I beg you—to repent and accept God’s gift. Be like this one,” he said, holding out his hand to the woman on the stage wearing the silver suit. “She opened her heart to God’s servant and she was put on the right path. Now she will live forever in this joyous fellowship.”
Now Prophet stepped in front of Monica, closed his eyes, and leaned his head back. Monica’s face was taut with fear, and then her eyes went wide and her mouth opened in surprise. After a moment of concentration Prophet opened his eyes and shook his head sadly.
“This one will not obey God.”
“Burn her!” the crowd shouted.
Next Prophet stepped in front of Wes, again closing his eyes. Instantly, Wes could feel him in his mind, rifling his memories, feeling his thoughts and emotions. Wes felt as if he was being sexually molested, and he was sickened by the personal intrusion. Memories were triggered randomly, flashing through Wes’s head in a confusing buzz. His childhood was there, his first day of school, a spanking he’d received, being teased for being a nerd, high school graduation, scholarship offers coming in the mail—his entire life flickered past, all his personal memories exposed for a stranger. Worse was Prophet’s manipulation of his emotions. Wes had always tightly controlled these, but Prophet unlocked Pandora’s box, releasing Wes’s feelings. He was flooded with one emotion after another.
Wes was at the mercy of Prophet, who pulled memories and emotions from him at will. He was suddenly a sad little child standing at the edge of the playground watching the other boys choose up sides for baseball, knowing he would never be asked. Then he was a happy teenager crossing the auditorium stage for his diploma a year before his peers. The next instant he was terrified, seeing Len lying in a bloody pile after his chest had been crushed by a psychokinetic whom Wes had accidentally created—Prophet dwelled on this memory. Then Elizabeth was in his mind’s eye, and Prophet was sharing the lust Wes felt for her but kept buried. Memories of kissing her, holding her and touching her filled him, his body responding as if she were in his arms now. In their link, he felt Prophet’s own lust for Elizabeth. But Prophet had sampled the wrong memory, and
Wes fought Prophet’s presence with a flurry of angry emotions: disgust, rage, and hate flooded him, pushing on Prophet’s intruding mind, cornering it, and battering it into a smaller and smaller space.
Realizing his mistake, Prophet retreated from the Elizabeth memories and reached for loyalty and devotion, pulling them from Wes’s emotional pool with images of his father and mother, teachers who had mentored him, and a grandfather who had doted on him; all of these Prophet tried to attach to his own image. Wes knew that if he succeeded, Wes would become a devoted follower. Wes resisted, closing his eyes and nurturing the hate that came from Prophet’s psychic molestation of Elizabeth.
“Give in and live,”
Prophet said in Wes’s mind.
“Never,” Wes thought back.
“Then die,”
Prophet said, and released Wes, who recoiled as if he had been physically struck.
“This one has chosen the fire over life,” Prophet said.
“Burn him!” the crowd roared.
Prophet gave Wes a thin smile and then stepped to Ralph and repeated his routine.
“Stop that, it tickles,” Ralph said suddenly.
Prophet opened his eyes and studied Ralph, puzzled. Then he closed his eyes and probed again.
“You’re going to make me laugh,” Ralph said, smiling broadly.
Prophet squatted on the stage, looking at Ralph quizzically. With his fringe of graying hair and his chestnut-brown eyes, Prophet looked fatherly, and spoke kindly.
“You have a most unusual mind, Ralph,” Prophet said.
“Thanks,” Ralph said as if he had been complimented.
“This one has turned his back on God’s gift, too.”
“Burn him!” the crowd shouted.
Now Prophet raised his hands, quieting the crowd on the deck of the carrier. Prophet waited for complete silence. Then he spoke to the captives, but in a voice loud enough for all those gathered on the deck to hear.
“You could have joined our fellowship, but you turned your back on God and the mission God has given us—the mission we are about to undertake.”
BOOK: Ship of the Damned
3.98Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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