DoG (8 page)

“We told you, Cap,” Frank said. “We went in to kill engines.”

The Captain let out a short, disdainful sigh. The pistol materialized in his right hand. He jammed it into Frank’s stomach.

“Gus killed the engines, not you. If you don’t tell me what you did, I’m going to kill you.”

“We didn’t do anything, uh, sir,” Culann stammered. “I just was curious. I wanted to see what it looked like in here. Frank didn’t have anything to do with it. He just came in to tell me that I wasn’t supposed to be in here. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

The gun now pressed against Culann’s ribs.

“You expect me to believe that?”

The Captain’s imperious voice boomed in concert with the thunder crashing

outside. Culann pressed his body back as far as he could against the wall, as if he could press hard enough to pass through it. The gun dug into his side, and he resisted the urge to try to push it away with his hand.

“It’s the truth, sir.”

“Then why won’t the engines start?” the Captain shouted.

“Engines, sir?” Culann replied, genuinely puzzled.

“The goddamned engines won’t start. The radio is out, too. I find it hard to believe that you two just happened to be messing around in here before everything stopped working, and that the two events are not somehow related.”

“Honestly, Cap,” Frank said, “we didn’t touch anything in here.”

The gun wedged again into Frank’s broad belly.

“So it’s just a coincidence, is that it?”

“It must be, Cap. Maybe it was the storm. We could’ve gotten struck by

lightning.”

“It makes sense, Captain,” Gus said. “I got an easier time believing we got zapped than that these two dipshits were smart enough to sabotage the ship.”

The Captain stood silently for a moment, the gun still all that separated him from Frank. Then he stepped back and slid his weapon back under his jacket. He jerked his 50

thumb toward the door. Frank and Culann ducked their heads and hurried out into the deluge on the deck.

With the engines out and no working radio, the
Orthrus
bobbed on the stormy sea within sight of land for half a day before another ship came along. The whole time, Culann feared the Captain would peek under his bed and find the orb missing. But the Captain was fortunately preoccupied with the ship’s mechanical difficulties and efforts to arrange a tug back to shore. While the Captain, Gus, and a few of the handier sailors struggled with the engines, the rest of the crew lounged in absolute boredom down in the mess. Crammed together with thoughts of frustration on their minds and home tantalizingly out of reach, a few scuffles broke out. Worner busied himself by duct-taping the combatants’ wounds.

The storm broke around dusk, about which time a ship came close enough to see a few dozen sailors waving frantically from the deck. About an hour later, a tugboat pulled the
Orthrus
back into Three Fingers. When they disembarked, Culann stumbled as his feet felt the firmness of earth for the first time in over two weeks and he toppled to his knees. The other members of the crew, more accustomed to the transitions between land and sea, snickered at him as they shoved by. He was still a greenhorn, after all.

Twenty minutes later, they all boarded the ferry bound for Pyrite. As the boat pulled away, Culann watched the Captain smoke a cigar on the deck of the
Orthrus
while waiting for mechanics to arrive. The Captain shrank as the ferry neared Pyrite and then disappeared. For good, Culann hoped.

“You know what day it is?” Frank asked.

Culann had lost track of time almost immediately after going out to sea. He knew they’d been gone for seventeen days because others had said so, but he’d been too overwhelmed and exhausted to count the days himself. He couldn’t recall when they’d gone to sea.

“It’s the Fourth of July,” Frank said with a grin. “Party time.”

51

52

Diary of Culann Riordan, Day 6

I guess I haven’t talked about the fog yet. Christ. As if living in the land of
constant sunlight wasn’t bad enough, the whole island is surrounded by fog. Sometimes it
stays back. Other times it rolls in and soaks everything. When it gets like that, I feel
suffocated. It’s as bad as the dogs.

On top of that, I’m always hearing thunder. It doesn’t sound too far off, but I
never see the lightning, presumably because the fog is in the way. I’m worried that
lightning is going to strike one of the trees on the island and squash the dogs who are
ceaselessly pissing on them. It’s odd, in light of all the dead humans I’ve had to deal with
in the past few days, but the thought of even one dead dog really bothers me. I guess it’s
because the dogs can’t understand what’s happening to them. Although the people who
died were in the same boat. Maybe I just like dogs, which is a recent development.

Well, back to the fog. They say that people with old injuries can feel it when it
rains. My injuries are new, but they are constantly throbbing as if to tell me that the
weather sucks out here. Maybe if the sky cleared up a bit, I could go 24 hours without
smoking pot. Which reminds me…

That feels a little better.

Oh, I almost forgot. The weirdest thing happened today. A fish – I don’t know, a
trout or something – jumped out of the water and landed on the dock when I was working
on the shore. As I said, I don’t want to see anything else die. It took me awhile to get over
there, but it was still alive when I got there. I scooped it up and tossed it back in the
water. Not thirty seconds later, the same fish (I assume, but who the hell knows?) jumped
back up on the dock and slid across the planks and into the water on the other side. I
waited for a good half-an-hour, but it didn’t come back. Weird, right? In hindsight, I
guess I should have fed it to the dogs before they starve to death, but then I would have
missed the completed trick.

53

1

By the time the ferry docked, the handful of Pyrite residents who’d remained ashore were already well into the Independence Day celebration. Dozens of dogs barked excitedly before charging forward to greet their masters. The crew of the
Orthrus
paused briefly to accept this gracious welcome before descending upon the beer tent. The crew arrived unannounced, so Alistair had to send a few guys back to the bar to round up additional provisions. Culann quickly downed his first beer and poured himself a second.

His time at sea had done little to diminish his thirst, but he’d earned this. He inspected the fat pink scar on his palm for a moment and then dumped his second beer down his throat.

He thought of nothing but refilling his plastic cup with more lukewarm keg beer.

Worner came over and draped an arm around Culann’s neck.

“Let’s see it, kid.”

“Oh, right,” Culann replied. “I’d almost forgotten about it.”

He crouched down and unzipped his duffel bag. Drawing forth the orb, Culann ran his fingers across the impossibly-smooth surface. The symbols were not as he’d remembered them. Had they changed? He recalled each one being a separate, quasi-geometrical shape. But now, they seemed to have grown together. Each shape had expanded to touch the symbols around it. The orb now contained a spiderweb of interconnected symbols even more perplexing that what Culann had first seen.

A crowd gathered around as he examined the orb. Word quickly spread of the Riordan boys’ daring exploits, and their two accomplices eagerly described their own roles in the heist. The other members of the crew who’d all been intimidated and mystified by the Captain’s silent authority admired the pluck of the lucky greenhorn who’d managed to outsmart him.

They passed the orb around, reigniting the debates about its origin. Culann had gotten enough of these arguments on the ship, so he snatched up his duffel bag and slipped through the crowd. McGillicuddy followed.

“Hey, greenhorn, come meet my wife.”

McGillicuddy introduced Culann to Margaret, a lanky woman with curly red hair who looked more like his sister than his wife. She smiled with her whole face as she pumped Culann’s hand.

“Well, it’s a real honor to meet such a celebrity,” she teased. “Only in Pyrite can you become a hero by stealing from your boss.”

“You’re right about that,” Culann said with a smile. “I’m glad I finally found a place with a moral code that aligns with my own.”

“Oh, yeah,” McGillicuddy jumped in. “I forgot to tell you, Margie. He’s not just a thief; he’s a pervert, too.”

Culann averted his eyes, but Margaret let out a series of deep belly-laughs.

“Is that right?” she said. “You should run for mayor.”

54

“Don’t let Alistair hear you say that,” McGillicuddy said. “He’s already salty with the greenhorn for laughing at him.”

“You think he’s still mad at me?”

“Probably not,” McGillicuddy replied, “but he’s a weird dude. It’s hard to know what’ll set him off. Just mind your manners from now on, and you’ll be fine.”

Culann’s first day in Pyrite seemed like a lifetime ago. He could barely remember his initial encounter with Alistair. Alcohol was certainly part of the explanation for that, but Culann felt like a different person now. He’d survived his ordeal and been reborn.

The life he’d led before the voyage faded into the background. This is exactly what Culann had been hoping for, and he owed it all to the orb.

Culann drank hard. The exertion of the last few weeks plus the nerve-wracking encounters with the Captain left him exhausted. It felt good to relax. He reveled in the curious esteem in which the
Orthrus
men now held him. They repeatedly toasted his courage and ingenuity, so he made frequent returns to the keg, always careful to speak courteously to Alistair, who showed no signs of holding a grudge. The burly barman was all smiles beside his wife, Julia, a sturdy-looking woman with camel-blond hair that ran down to her shoulders, and his boy, Marty, a mop-headed six-year-old wearing an oversized t-shirt that hung from his bony shoulders. The only child on the island, Marty appeared content to chase the many dogs around the picnic grounds. Other than Alistair, there was no one Culann felt any need to impress, especially since the few women in attendance were married and at least ten years too old for him.

And then he saw her.

She wore cut-off jeans that revealed long legs tanned by the eternal Alaska summer sun. Small, firm breasts pushed against a tight tanktop. Her crow-black hair was pulled back in a ponytail that accentuated her delicate neck. A few freckles dusted her pert little nose, and red lips curled up into a beguiling smile. She was beautiful. He had to go talk to her. He ran his fingers through his hair and headed towards her.

“She’s fifteen, Culann,” Frank said. “And she’s Gus’s daughter.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Stay away from her, pervert!”

Gus charged over from across the tent. He jabbed his right index finger in the air for effect. Culann held his hands up and stepped back a few feet. As Frank turned to intercept the enraged first mate, Culann spun around and headed back to the keg.

“What the hell is that?” Gus said when he saw the orb circulating through the crowd. “You bastards stole that thing.”

“Don’t worry about it,” McGillicuddy said with a slight slur. “That prick won’t know it’s missing.”

“Like hell,” Gus replied. “He’ll be on my ass about this, you better believe it.

Give me that thing.”

55

Boos rained down on Gus as he yanked the orb from Margaret’s hands. The crew was still upset at being sent home early and wasn’t pleased to see Gus continue to take the Captain’s position. But no one tried to stop him either. The chain of command seemed to hold, even on dry land.

Worner elbowed Culann in the ribs and winked. Culann was sober enough to

understand that they were just going to have to go steal the orb back from Gus. He took a drink and hoped they could wait until tomorrow.

56

2

When they’d arrived, country music had blared out of two large speakers set up on either side of the tent. Now only static came out. Worner tried to fix it, but he proved to be as skilled a repairman as he was a paramedic. Someone brought out another radio, but it too got only static. McGillicuddy surmised a power outage in Fairbanks which shut down all of the radio stations. The celebration continued without the benefit of music, and no one seemed to mind.

Culann spent the evening under the beer tent, casting periodic glances towards Gus’s daughter. Frank spent his night keeping Culann away from her and Gus away from Culann. As Culann drank, he grew bolder. Gus stood firmly at his daughter’s side, never once taking his eyes off of the greenhorn.

“Come on,” Frank said with exasperation. “Let’s take a walk.”

Culann had gotten drunk. He stumbled as they passed out of the picnic grounds and on to a trail into the woods, but Frank caught him. Frank swallowed his beer in one draught and tossed his cup aside.

“Just a peck on the top of the head, huh?” Frank said.

“What?”

“What really happened with Kat DeLuca?”

“It happened just like I said it did,” he replied before pausing to take a drink. “I just left out part of the story.”

“Well, you better tell me the whole story before Gus stabs you.”

“Okay. After I left DeLuca’s, Vic DeLuca called the police. They came by and asked me some questions, but at this point I hadn’t really done anything wrong. There’s no law against kissing a girl on top of the head. They just told me to stay away from Kat and Vic, which was fine with me, and they left me alone.

“So legally speaking, I had nothing to worry about. But after calling the police, Vic called my principal. What I had done was not illegal, but it was definitely unprofessional. The school has to be very careful about these kinds of things. So within about two hours of leaving DeLuca’s, I received a call from the principal telling me I was suspended pending an investigation. I wasn’t too concerned since I really hadn’t done anything, and they were still paying me while I was suspended.