Chapter Two

 

After eating the sandwich that the captain brought him and guzzling water, the boy goes to sleep again. He wakes partway through the night and his head feels full and buzzy. He knows his body won’t let him sleep anymore. He stretches the sore muscles and joints of his legs out. Moves around the room, tries to wake the computer but it’s password protected and won’t let him do anything. The captain brought him a book -a boring western- so he reads for a couple hours until the sun comes up.

The captain returns with a few pieces of toast with jam, and links of browned sausage. He sits, mostly silent while the boy eats. He has a handheld device that he wakes up as the last crumbs are polished off. When he turns it around, the screen shows the boy’s father.

“This is your dad?”

There’s no point in lying, his father is dead, he can’t get in any trouble now. He nods.

The captain’s face is sympathetic. He nods. “He was a cook, huh? A pretty good one, if he was working on a yacht like that… Know my way around a kitchen, myself. Had to learn if I wanted to eat. What about you?”

Considering, he shrugs. He knows some stuff. Some things his father taught him, other things he just picked up because he pays attention. How to make a perfect omelet, how to sear a steak, berry compotes, his favorite on pancakes… But what does any of that matter, in a place like this?

“If Arthur Scott is your father, then your name is McKenzie Scott, isn’t it?” He gets no response, the boy has turned to stare at the wall, but still manages to read a ‘yes’ somehow. “Can I call you that? McKenzie? Your mom isn’t around, but you’ve got an aunt Genevieve in New Zealand. We already reached out to her, and told her what happened, and she’s very excited to see you. She wants you to come live with her… Is that alright?”

He reads concern on McKenzie’s face, surprise, as he looks back over. In the end, he just shrugs, again. He has only met his aunt once in his life. He knows she has a couple of kids, a couple of years older than him. But it hardly makes a difference. They are hardly going to materialize and take him away.

The captain takes it as a yes. Maybe he wasn’t really asking. “We’ll get you on a chopper out of here as soon as we can, but for now, I have to go to work. I brought you a pack of cards, I don’t know if you know how to play solitaire… okay. I’ll see you at lunch, then, and we can play some gin-rummy or something. Hang tight.”

 

*

 

Lunch comes and goes. It’s grilled cheese and a cup of tomato soup. The food sat heavy at first, but now energy seems to be flowing through McKenzie’s body again, his muscles aching less and his head no longer staticky. He has had his first pee since being pulled from the ocean. Pungent and dark, but the second was a little better as his organs worked on soaking up the water he sips near constantly. Lucky he is young, probably.

Despite himself, he plays gin-rummy silently with the captain. It’s not fun but it distracts him for a few minutes from the hopelessness sitting in his heart, and the horrible monotony of the white walls.

When the captain first popped back in, he took in the room with a quick glance. He noticed McKenzie has hung a pillowcase over the round window, not wanting to see the blue ocean, the empty horizon. He notices, also that the bookmark has not moved in the western since breakfast.

The captain is okay with silence but he does keep trying to spur McKenzie into a conversation. “Don’t like that book? I liked it when I was young. Although maybe a little older than you. I like westerns. Characters in those books always live simple lives, with simple rules. I liked that, when things felt complicated. But maybe you’d prefer Lord of the Rings? Or some science fiction?”

He gets no answer, not even recognition.

The captain grumbles, “Should’ve made you play Uno.”

McKenzie’s lip twitches in a faint flash of amusement, but it’s replaced with a grimace a moment later. He seems upset with himself for smiling.

The captain wins the game, then puffs out a big breath and stands, handing the collected deck of cards over. He looks very tired.

“Well, I’ll bring you the first Lord of the Rings with dinner. They made those movies in New Zealand, where you’re going to live with your aunt. It’s beautiful, there. At least it looked that way in the movies… Is there anything else you like to do? Short on video games, unfortunately.”

McKenzie looks at the door, back at the captain. If he is down here when the creature comes and smashes this ship up, he will die here, locked in, unable to fit through the little, round window. As much as he hates the idea of being surrounded by water, smelling that briny air and feeling exposed to attack from every side, he knows it is the safer thing. This white and grey room is false safety. Besides, he can’t stand to look at it anymore.

The captain knows all too well what he wants. “I’m sorry. You can’t leave this room. It’s for your own protection.”

He’s either a liar -McKenzie thinks- or a fool. He can’t honestly think that’s the truth; that it’s safer down here, locked in, that the creature is less of a threat than whatever else a kid might encounter on a ship. Machinery or strangers. And does he think McKenzie is some ordinary child? He’ll never be an ordinary kid again. The captain doesn’t seem like a fool.

He wants to keep me down here, McKenzie thinks. Chooses to.

As soon as the captain goes, McKenzie moves to the door. Presses his sunburnt ear to it, which prickles a little but then registers cold metal. He hears footsteps fading.

He tries the knob. Locked. He digs carefully in the trash for the needle that was in his arm. Finds it enclosed in the plastic case it came out of, still red with his own blood. It makes him swoon, but he is determined. He inserts it in the lock, fiddles around, tries to spring tumblers or turn the mechanism, but it doesn’t work. He looks around the room. Takes stock.

The only other possible way to freedom would be through the air vent. It has a grate over its mouth that he could maybe get unscrewed, with the needle or a coin if he could get his hands on one. Small spaces don’t bother him, he actually likes them. Closets, cupboards. If the monster came while he was in there, and the water rushed in, and he was sinking fast with the weight of the metal dragging him down and he couldn’t turn around, let alone get out… He might reach an end and not be able to get the grate off from the inside…

It will have to be a last resort. Maybe the captain can be persuaded to let him out, long enough for him to slip away. Or maybe he can get the keys out of the captain’s pocket…

 

*

 

Dinner time comes. McKenzie is hungry by then. He waits by the door and listens, feels his heart start to pound when the footsteps approach. When it opens, he can see briefly into a white hall, the metal of the ship rusted in places or stained with age, and at the end, a cold looking staircase leading up on one side, down on the other. But the glimpse is short-lived. The door closes and the captain offers him a tray; he holds two.

It's goulash and lima beans. The food looks and smells lifeless. The goulash is oversalted to cover the burned meat, bland red sauce, the artificiality. The beans were surely just dumped from a can, and if they were warmed up at some point, it was long ago. The captain sees him make a face as he forces the goulash down, one chewy bite at a time.

“I know. We take turns in the kitchen. This is Ralph’s best effort. We had a cook for a while -or, more like a week, I guess, it just felt like a lot longer- but she’s in the brig, now. I didn’t want to do it, but I had to. She broke out most important rule. She put everyone in danger. Tomorrow’s Friday, so I’ll be cooking. Maybe I’ll bring you with me to the kitchen and we can whip up something tasty? If they haven’t picked you up already. Alright. Eat up, though. You need the calories.”

He dutifully takes another bite. Tomorrow. A big place like this must have a big kitchen, with plenty of exits and plenty of places to hunker down, so he doesn’t get locked back in the room. And what then? He looks at the grey-red and grey-green food. He doesn’t know what then. But at least he won’t be locked in here.

Another game of gin-rummy, which the boy wins. The captain takes their trays, both still half full, and tells him goodnight. Alone in the room again, the boy tries the door, which is locked. He tries to go to sleep, but he can feel the rocking of the ship beneath him. the room is chilly -the AC is cranking- and his blanket is thin. And he is alone, which he is not used to. He is used to having a nightlight projecting constellations on the walls and ceiling, and his father being only a room away. In fact, on the yacht that the creature destroyed, they had been sharing a bed, and he had gotten used to his father’s soft snores. Here it’s too quiet.

He cries a little, trying not to let it turn into a full sob, and the effort strains many muscles in his throat, chest and sides. Eventually he has cried as much as he can. He turns the light back on and opens The Fellowship of the Ring. It’s much better than the western. Taking his pillow and blanket, he curls up underneath the bed, where the frigid air conditioning isn’t blowing directly on him. He untucks the sheets from under the mattress and hangs them over the edges of the frame, sealing him in, a canopy, a secure cocoon. Eventually he drifts off to thoughts of the Shire, its safe and scenic landlocked gardens and fields, warm dirt and tall grass.