Page 11 of Ship Happens
Jim brings his finger to his lips, encouraging the woman to be quiet. Surprisingly, she listens.
Like some macabre game-show host, he turns to face the crowd once more. “She has a point, people. I mean, tax fraud?” His shoulders rise in a shrug. “Does she really deserve to be subjected to some of the horrific things we do to our victims?”
Mutters and mumbles fill the silence, followed by the shuffle of fabric as dozens of silver suits shift uncomfortably in their seats.
“No, she doesn’t deserve it,” a female voice calls from the back of the room.
“Ah, the Confessor,” Jim says. “The crime is important to you, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it’s very important. I think it’s important to most of us.”
“So should we let this woman keep her gas mask?” Jim looks at the woman, who’s been reduced to a quivering, crying blob. Snot slides into the lip wounds, and I want to puke.
Something shuffles behind me, and two silver-clad beings take a seat on either side of my chair as Jim and the Confessor continue to debate. The one on my left is Maverick, so the body to my right must belong to Aven.
“Enjoying the show so far?” Maverick asks, and I nod.
I am not.
The second figure—Aven—leans closer. “I’m a first-timer too. My name’s Aven. Nice to meet you.” He holds his hand toward me, and I shake it, noting the Scottish accent. “I spoke to Jim earlier, and he let it slip that the fourth person on the stage is going to be a doozy. I didn’t want to miss it.”
Biting my lip behind the safety of the gas mask, I turn my attention back to Jim. He’s finished debating with the Confessor, and it appears he’s going to let the yellow-clad woman live. After securing her mask and hood once more, he steps up to the final figure.
And as he pulls back the hood and mask, I want to scream.
It’s Castle.
Chapter Six
Maverick
Idon’t know what game Jim is playing. Getting him alone before he had to go on stage was a near impossibility, and why I’ve been tasked with watching Frankie remains a mystery. But I’m beginning to get an idea.
She isn’t one of us, that much is clear. When she told me her killer name—the Fisherman—I knew she was full of shit. The Fisherman died on Devil Horn Island several years ago. That’s why the bridge is known as Fisherman’s Bridge. What I don’t know iswhyshe lied, and I’m sure that has something to do with what I’m tasked with finding out. Or maybe it has something to do with whatever Jim is doing on stage right now. Not to mention, this is the first I’m hearing about a scavenger hunt.
“I wonder what this man has done,” Jim says as he walks around the iridescent suit.
Unlike the other three, this figure shows no signs of fear. He stands like a soldier, tall and proud, with his shoulders pulled back. His eyes glare straight ahead.
Frankie fidgets beside me. She’s either excited or uneasy about the impending kills, but either way, she can’t keep still. Her feet shuffle under her chair, and her gloved hands grip the sides of the seat as she twists and writhes in her skin. Her gas mask turns toward me, and the fidgeting stops. She folds her hands in her lap and looks away from me again.
Interesting.
Back on stage, the man is still doing his best to look unaffected as Jim strolls around him and talks about parasites hiding among the wolves who hide among the sheep. The Normies are the sheep. We are the wolves. But who the fuck are the parasites?
The room falls deathly silent as we all tune-in to Jim’s frequency.
“They want to take us down from the inside because the laws they’ve created to protect themselves have protected some of us as well. They want proof of our crimes more than they want their next breath, so I’ve chosen to deny them the latter.” Jim’s smile shifts from amused to satanic as he looks into the crowd. “Everyone, please ensure your masks are securely fashioned, and enjoy the show!”
“Entry of the Gladiators” blasts through overhead speakers as Jim lowers his mask, raises his hood, and hurries off the stage. Once he’s seated with us at the table, the lounge lights cut out completely, giving the stage all the glory.
Beside me, Frankie’s head twists on a swivel. As everyone else stares straight ahead and waits for the chaos to begin, she looks around...for what?
A loud bang reverberates overhead, and someone screams. I’m pretty sure it was Cat. Confetti rains down on the stage, followed by a loud hissing sound. The bang came from the confetti cannons, but that hissing...
The woman who collapsed earlier chooses a pretty terrible time to wake up. Her eyelids flutter open as a fluorescent-green gas overtakes the stage. The stoic soldier on the end doesn’t lose his nerve. He keeps standing, staring out into the darkness as he welcomes death.
For nearly thirty seconds, nothing else happens. The Cattle in the red suit tries to get off stage, but the chain securing their legs together also secures him to the floor. He can’t take more than a few steps before he’s brought to a halt. With his hands bound behind his back, he can’t even stop himself as he falls to the floor. Like the woman beside him, his head cracks against the wood, though I doubt anyone in the back heard it. The music is still so loud.
