Page 55 of Ship Happens
“I know what keelhauling is,” I say. What I can’t say is that I’m not okay with this sort of torture. It’s cruel and unusual in all the worst ways.
But at least there’s a chance of survival, I guess. Maybe I can help our Cattle make it through to the end. I’ll find out soon enough because the island’s forest-enclosed beach eases into view, and the pirate ship comes to a stop.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Maverick whispers as Jim hurries away. “You can’t save them.”
“Who said anything about saving anyone?” I look out at the water, unable to meet his eyes.
“For a fed, you sure suck at lying.”
I grit my teeth and grip the railing tighter. “I’m struggling with this, okay? It’s not easy to let go of my morals.”
“You don’t have to let them go. You just need to adjust them.”
“Then I’m having troubleadjustingmy morals. Happy?” I groan and tip my forehead against the backs of my hands. “I’m sorry, but this is incredibly stressful. Can’t we just try to help our Cattle stay alive? For me?”
“I don’t know how that will work, but...”
I push out my lower lip as he looks at me.
He sighs and shakes his head. “I’ll do what I can.”
That will have to do, because it’s time. The anchors have dropped, and our Cattle have been led onto the deck. They’re dressed in period clothing as well, though they look like their outfits came straight from a Chinese sweat shop. I highly doubt pirates ever wore neon-green spandex leggings.
Crew members work to fasten thick rope around each man’s waist. Their hands are bound behind their backs, and their legs sport metal shackles around their ankles, preventing them from running or kicking. Colored bands circle each wrist. One man sports a yellow band.
“That’s the one I want,” I tell Maverick as I point to the yellow-banded man. “We don’t have to feel bad for keeping him alive.”
He sighs and takes my hands in his. “Compassion is a privilege that has been ripped away from most of us, either through genetics or experiences. Be glad that you know it so intimately, and please don’t ever change.” With a sigh, he looks at his feet. “We’ll take the yellow guy for keelhauling, and we’ll pull the rope as quickly as we can. At the next station?—”
“Next station? How many murderstationsdo we have to go through?” I hold my hand to my forehead and close my eyes. “I’ve died and gone to serial killer preschool. Are we going to fingerpaint with blood and stack body parts as we count them?”
Maverick doesn’t laugh.
“I’m sorry. It’s just...a lot. I know I’ve already killed, but this isn’t getting any easier for me.”
Having caught this bit of our conversation, Cat stumbles over. “Are you struggling with it too? I had a hard time at the winter retreat, so I know where you’re coming from. What’s your MO again? Maybe I can help.”
Maverick and I lock eyes, and I kick myself for speaking so loudly. And fuck, I can’t remember my MO! I know that the Fisherman story is incorrect, but it’s been days since Maverick made up the lie to replace it, and now I’m fucking screwed because I can’t remember the new tall tale.
Maybe the department was right. I’m not cut out for field work, and I never have been. The curtain is about to come crashing down.
But then Maverick steps in and saves the day. “She was seen smiling before taking a kill, so they call her Mona Lisa, but she’s still kind of new to this. Her previous kills were personal, and she’s struggling to find the motivation here.”
“Oh, I see,” Cat says with a nod as she turns to me. “It helped me to learn what they did. I’d get so pissed off that murder was the only option. When you think about their victims, it’s kind of hard to see any other solution.”
I want to say that recidivism is lower than it’s ever been, but that would be a lie. It would also out me as a fucking fed, so I just smile at her.
Is she correct? Have they had it right all this time? Maybe their solution to our first-world problem isn’t so terrible, but who decides which people are vile enough to become Cattle?
“Don’t overthink it,” she adds. “I see the wheels spinning in your mind, and that’s—” Her stomach lurches, and she covers her mouth with her hand before running to the side of the ship.
Don’t overthink it. Okay.
I’ll try.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Frankie
