Page 14 of Ship Happens
“The exact numbers aren’t important, but?—”
“How many, Jim?”
He drops his arm from my shoulder, shakes his head, and sighs. “Five of the Cattle, four of the Sinners, and one of the Normies.”
“Ten total?” My eyes widen.
“Eleven, when you count your little stowaway.”
“You want us to convince eleven federal agents that serial killers aren’tso bad? Jim, have you lost your fucking mind?”
Jim looks around as if someone might have heard me, but we’re the only people in the hall now. “Keep your voice down, and no, I don’t expect the others to be convinced of anything. Only Frankie. The rest are for the Sinners to find and dispose of.”
“This is insanity.”
He smiles. “Isn’t it glorious?”
“No, not really. How do you expect me to convince her we’re the good guys? You just put one of her people on stage in front of her, and I’m pretty sure she knew it.”
“She has to know the truth of who we are, Maverick. She can’t be convinced with tricks and deception. If she’s going to accept us for who we must be, she has to know exactly what we do.”
“Why? Why this woman?”
“Just keep her safe and bring her around to our way of thinking. That’s your mission, and this is your final chance to hand it to someone else.”
I stuff my hands into my pockets and stare down at the black carpet. Keeping her safe won’t be an issue, but am I really the person to convince someone that murder is okay?
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
Jim claps his hands together. “That’s my boy! After dinner, we’ll participate in our first activity. Make sure she’s in your group.”
Before I can ask anything else, he starts toward the dining room, leaving me in the hallway, alone and confused.
Chapter Seven
Frankie
Gripping the edge of the porcelain sink, I try not to vomit up the suspicious-tasting meat I had for dinner. The dark-haired woman beside me tried to encourage me toward the veal, stating the option I chose—honey-basted man—wasn’t a misprint. What I received definitely wasn’t ham, so I have to believe her now.
I close my eyes until the wave of nausea passes. This wasn’t mentioned during any briefing I’ve ever been to. I thought this job would be a cakewalk, but it’s becoming increasingly clear that I’m in over my head.
A light tap comes through the bathroom door, followed by Maverick’s voice. “Everything okay? You’ve been in there for a while, and I haven’t heard you retching for several minutes. You didn’t die, did you?”
I push the door open and look up at him.
He clears his throat. “No offense, but you look a little... Maybe we should skip the games tonight.”
“I know how I look. After eating human body parts, I look how I feel, and I feel like shit.”
I struggle to my feet, push past him, and go to the bed, where I flop down and regret ever boarding this ship. This is the closest I’ve come to living in a nightmare.
“Here, drink this.” Maverick holds a cold bottle of water toward me, and I take it. At least one of the monsters in my nightmare is kind. And dangerously good-looking.
“Do all of you eat human meat? Maybe I’m just weird, but I’ve never felt the urge.” I twist off the bottle’s cap and chug the cold liquid.
Maverick sits on the edge of the bed. “No, most of us prefer to eat normal stuff. The chef is just...” He shakes his head. “If we aren’t going to the game, I’m going to head to the lobby to?—”
“We are definitely going to the game. I didn’t come all this way to spend my time in the cabin.” I place the empty bottle on the bedside table and lean back on the pillows. In reality, I’d love nothing more than to skip their sick games. Perhaps it isn’t too late to leap from the side of the ship and swim to shore. “When are we due to set sail?”
