Chapter 33

  “Jail Cell”

  “He’s awake.”

  Dr. Bob’s smiling face was looming over him, “Hey there, Colonel. We were starting to worry about you. You’ve gotten thumped on the head so many times we thought you weren’t going to wake up this time.”

  Boy, you don’t know the half of it, George thought, but what he asked was, “How long was I out?”

  Dawson’s face appeared beside the Docs. “Long enough for them-there zombie-pirate fellers to move us from the wrecked pirate ship in the swamp to some kind of fortress on the coast.”

  “Fortress?” George asked. His throat felt like fire. “You have any water?”

  They gave him some.

  As he sipped the bottle of water, Doc continued, “They loaded us all up into wagons, and next thing you know we’re here.” With Doc’s help, he sat up. “Whoa, take it easy there, Colonel.”

  George saw the pirate ship deck boards were now thick stones. “Help me up, would ya?”

  Tank reached down and lifted him up as easily as a forklift might.

  Now that he was on his feet, he could see the thick bars of a jail cell. Moving over to the bars and staring out into the medieval hallway, he was reminded of the time he and Tessa had visited a Spanish Fort off the coast of Florida in the city of St. Augustine. It looked a lot like the prison cells built into solid rock that he was seeing now.

  Tessa? His knees grew weak at the mere thought of her and Maddie. Alive, and in the clutches of the Zombie-Pirate-King’s. Before he could fall to the ground, Tank reached forward and steadied him. With one arm over Tank’s shoulder, George shuffled over to the window. Even before reaching it he heard the sounds of seagulls and distant waves crashing on the shore. Staring out, it only confirmed his original assessment. They were inside a fortress situated on cliffs overlooking an angry ocean. Staring down at the shore, some 200 feet below their cell window, George saw a pier. Docked to it was a magnificent pirate ship, bobbing up and down.

  “We’re on the coast?”

  Dawson stepped up beside him and peered out the window cell as well. “Yeah I reckon so.”

  “I thought I overheard that the zombie-pirates couldn’t leave the swamp.”

  The corporal scratched his forehead. “Swamp’s not far. Maybe they can go as far as the shoreline.”

  George had a flashback of the door in the middle of the ocean, and began to wonder if this was the same ocean on the other side of that door. This livid seashore certainly didn’t resemble the crystal clear blue, still waters he had seen before.

  “Hallo, sir,” The Leftenant said, appearing beside him.

  “Report, Leftenant.”

  Taking his meaning immediately, she straightened her uniform, clasped her hands behind her, and said, “Right, sir. I took a head count as the zombie-pirates unloaded us from the wagon-train. The good news is we have been reunited with our friends who were captured by the Marauders.”

  “And the bad?”

  “I’m afraid we lost some more of our people in the swamp. Our present total number has been reduced to 178.”

  Dawson, wearing the backpack with tower added, “I reckon those folks back at the swamp are more tree now than human being.”

  George scanned the interior of their cell. Most were sleeping or engaged in their own conversations. He was glad to see Tank, Dawson, Doc, Rick, Mrs. Belle, and Traxx were all there, but including them, there was about a total of twenty to twenty-five people in the cell.

  Seeing him count heads with his eyes, Engineer Rick explained, “The others are crammed into cells adjoining ours.”

  “Any way out of here?” he asked the engineer.

  “Bars are solid steel. I suppose we could use things like belt buckles and other things as tools, but it could take months to saw our way out of here.”

  He thought again about Tessa and Maddie in the bird cage. “Where are Tessa and Maddie?”

  “Who?” Dawson asked.

  “My wife and daughter.”

  Dawson shook his head in confusion. “Not with us. Nobody down here but the folks from the plane.” And snapping his fingers he added, “Oh, and one of the other passengers described some gargoyle-looking fella wearing a monkey suit.”

  “Dressed like a butler?” George asked, and when Dawson nodded, he said, “Yeah, I think I know him.”

  The Leftenant stepped forward. “As we were marched down here to our cells I was able to scan the interior and make a map. I believe your wife and child are being held in a small cage in the Fort’s audience room.”

  George shook the bars in frustration. “We have to get out of here. We have to rescue my family.” He instinctively reached down and rubbed his aching belly where the Lamppost Man had tortured him.

  “If I may be so bold, sir, but you appear to be unwell?”

  “I’ve been better, Leftenant,” And his stomach gurgled loud enough for everybody to hear it.

  “What did they do to you?” the Doc asked, concern filled his face.

  “It’s my stomach. It hurts pretty bad.” What did he do to me? “I don’t feel so… I don’t feel…” George held his stomach with both hands now.

  “Uh-oh, he’s gonna topple over,” Rick said. “Somebody grab him!”

  The world tipped sideways but George refused to pass out again, and fell to all fours. He could feel the others steadying him. And then he hurled. For what felt like days. Point of fact, George didn’t know you could throw up for so long without passing out. Just when he thought he was about to do just that, a small device clattered to the stone floor.

  “What is that?” the Doc asked, staring at the compact gadget in the puddle of vomit.

  “I know what it is,” Traxx said, stepping forward and squatting on his haunches next to it. “It’s a multi-tool. Like the one I used to have before we were captured.”

  “A what-now?” Dawson asked.

  “It’s a multi-tool, only this one appears to be far superior to the one I used to have,” he explained, and then turning toward George, he asked, “How’d it get in your stomach?”

  George recalled how the Lamppost Man had put his hand on his stomach. He suspected even if the Lamppost Man had explained how he magically put the tool in his belly he wouldn’t have understood. Tank and the others helped him sit down on a nearby bed. George caught his breath, and starting to finally feel better, he managed, “I think the guy in the top hat put it in my stomach when he gouged me.”

  At this, The Leftenant perked up. “Top hat, you say? Can you describe him further?”

  Wiping flecks of vomit off his chin on the back of his wrist George replied, “I don’t know, uh, he was wearing a coat that looks kind of like one of those ringmasters wear. He carried a cane; and had this real creepy smile.”

  “Is he a bit of a dandy?” The Leftenant asked. “You know, a gentleman.”

  “A gentleman? Sure.”

  “The Lamppost Man,” she breathed, and then to him, “You met the Lamppost Man?”

  “I guess so.” Then the more he thought about he said, “Yeah, I think that’s what the pirates called him.”

  George wasn’t sure how much to tell them about the Lamppost Man, or how he used them to get them to get The Dauntless operational again. In the end, he told them everything.

  When he was finished, The Leftenant blew an errant strand of hair out of her face. “Well, that certainly does explain a few things.”

  Dawson asked the Leftenant with a hint of suspicion, “Lamppost Man; he a friend of yours?”

  The Leftenant’s tone turned serious when she responded, “The Lamppost Man is friend to no one. Except maybe to himself.”

  “Yeah, I agree on that score.” George proceeded to tell them everything that had transpired during his audience with the Zombie-Pirate-King and the Lamppost Man back at the marooned pirate ship.

  The Leftenant brushed non-existent lint from the shoulder of her uniform. “It all makes perfect sense. However; what the Lamppost Man may or may not know, is The Dauntless has finished with its repairs.”

  “How do you know that?” Tank asked.

  The Leftenant nodded toward her tower in Dawson’s backpack. “That tower is more than my hologram emitter, it is also a radio transceiver. I have been in contact with the Dauntless ever since we left.”

  Dawson made a sour face. “A fat lot of good that does us now.”

  Traxx carefully picked up the multi-tool between thumb and forefinger, and began shaking off the excess vomit. “Anybody got a rag or something I can use to clean this thing off?”

  Engineer Rick, “Traxx, do you think your tool could cut through the bars?”

  “I can weld with it, but I don’t think it’s got enough juice to cut through anything that thick.”

  We’re wasting time. Tessa and Maddie were alive, but who knows for how much longer. “We have to try.”

  “If we could only reach those keys,” Tank said.

  “What keys?” George asked him.

  They gently hoisted him to his feet and half-carried him over to the bars. George could see the oversized keys dangling from a metal hook on the opposite side of the hallway. I think I saw this in an episode of The Brady Bunch.

  “If only we had a little feller who could fit through the bars.”

  At Dawson’s suggestion, Traxx saw everybody looking at him. “Don’t look at me, I already tried. I can’t even fit my head through there.”

  George stared at the backpack still on Tank’s back, and then to the thin-elongated tower protruding out of it. “If only we had someone even narrower who could fit through the bars.”

  Dawson’s face suggested he was catching his line of thought immediately. “Oh… I see where you’re going,” and began removing the backpack from his shoulders.

  “Going?” the Leftenant asked. “What are you doing, Mr. Dawson, put me back on your back at once. I mean it.”

  Dawson lifted up the backpack in front of him. “I don’t know why we didn’t think of this before.”

  “I have no idea what’s going on,” Tank said.

  “Mr. Dawson, what are you doing?” the Leftenant asked again.

  Dawson moved over to stand next to the jail cell bars and began swinging the backpack back and forth toward the keys on the other side of the hallway.

  “Mr. Dawson, stop that. Stop whatever it is you are doing right now.”

  “Hang on, Leftenant. You’re going for a ride,” he chanted gleefully.

  “I will do no such thing!”

  With a wide grin on his face Dawson increased the arcs of his swings and began his count down, “One-two-three…” and flung the backpack through the bars toward the keys.

  “Mr. Dawson!!!”

  Chapter 34

  “Management Review”

  “For the last time, we don’t want more useless treasure!” the Zombie-Pirate-King roared from his throne. Then collecting himself, he caressed the shrunken heads in his beard that moaned with anguish and said more softly, “What we want… is our freedom.”

  A thin, well-dressed man stood before him. The man in the suit pushed a slender hand through his thinning red hair. When his strands of bangs didn’t lay over far enough for his liking, he gave his head a little jerk to throw them the rest of the way over. The Zombie-Pirate-King noticed the man from corporate always did this when thinking over his answer.

  Flashing him a toothy grin, the man who had identified himself as, “Jerry from Corporate,” spoke in a polite and efficient manner. “We’ve considered your offer, but I’m afraid upper management has chosen to decline. Nothing personal. It’s simply that my superiors have decided it would be bad for business if we were to give free reign to a bunch of unsavory zombie-pirates. The swamp, on the other hand, is the perfect place for you… and a perfect place for us to dispose of…” he rubbed a bit of dirt between his thumb and forefinger “…undesirables, and let you deal with them as you see fit.”

  “Except these are my prisoners,” the King growled.

  The man from corporate pursed his lips and said, “Ah, yes, there is that. I’m afraid my superiors were quite clear. We will be taking all your prisoners.”

  “That wasn’t part of our deal.”

  Hearing this, Jerry from Corporate held up one finger and began studying the clipboard he was now holding. Even from the Zombie-Pirate-King’s viewpoint he could see there was nothing written on it, only one sheet of stark white paper.

  “Ah, here we are,” Jerry said, reading the non-existent words. “It says right here, in big bold lettering, that your deal was with the Lamppost Man.” Jerry forced a fake shiver. “Unsavory fellow, if you ask me. Any-who, it seems you broke that deal, making all contracts with him, and thereby us, null and void.”

  “I’m afraid I disagree,” the Zombie-Pirate-King stated.

  Jerry flipped his hair again, and then combed it over. “As is your right, good sir. As is your right.” A large scroll appeared in Jerry’s hand almost by magic. Lifting his chin toward the king he said, “Now if you read the company’s S.O.P. Page 2 million, 494, paragraph 6, section 6, part A, part I, you will find that… We reserve the right to commander any properties previously negotiated upon with said claimant.” He tilted his forehead toward the king he added for emphasis. “Claimant… That’s you,” and then back to reading, now with reading glasses on (also seemingly having appeared out of nowhere) “forfeits any merchandise or services wherein, and all previous contracts are null and void.”

  Jerry lifted his head again toward the King. With a flick of his hand the impossibly long scroll rolled up like a window blind in a cartoon and vanished. The King noticed the clipboard was also gone. “In conclusion, we will be taking all the prisoners.”

  “The devil you will,” the first mate said, unsheathed his sword, raised it high overhead and, with a loud battle cry, charged the slender man in the suit.

  Jerry flashed the Zombie-Pirate-King another toothy smile. “Really? Violence?” He then lifted a hand to one side of his mouth and talked along the back of it. “I suppose I should have predicted this, you were literally built to exist as a mangy pack of murdering, double-crossing pirates, after all.”

  The zombie-crewman’s blade stopped a mere inch from the manager’s head, and was frozen there along with its wielder.

  As the zombie-pirate struggled against his invisible bonds, Jerry gazed out of the corner of his eyes, while tapping his chin in thought. “I suppose I’ll have to make an example out of you. What to do? What to do?” He flashed another insincere smile, flicked his thinning hair over to one side, and said, “You know, I think I have the answer.”

  Chapter 35

  “Hallway”

  “Will you people at least try to keep it down?” The Leftenant asked in a terse whisper.

  In the hallway, 178 souls trampling the cobblestones behind her immediately froze, and then slowly proceeded to tip-toe down the corridor a bit more quietly.

  “Sorry, Leftenant,” Tank said. “There’s a lot of us. We’re doing the best we can.”

  The Leftenant shot him a hard glare. “It wasn’t meant to be a question, Mr. Tank.”

  Spotting him, she told him, “Colonel, good news, The Dauntless…”

  George cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Leftenant, I don’t have time for a repair update right now.”

  “Quite right, sir. But The Dauntless, she’s airborne, sir… and in route to our present location.”

  George couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This was the first real break they had gotten since… well… ever. “E.T.A.?” he asked her, motioning folks with a twirling finger to keep moving as fast and quietly as possible.

  The Leftenant tilted her head forward, and froze. George noted she did this whenever calculating something. Lifting her head toward him, “At present speed, fifteen minutes, 42 seconds, give or take gusting wind currents. I have instructed them to dock at the pier below us.”

  “Good work.”

  All 178 passengers, plus one nervous gargoyle-butler, climbed out of the prison and negotiated several hallways. George raised his fist in the air signaling everyone to stop. At the end of a long corridor he could see a patio bathed in daylight. They were almost home free.

  He was about to step toward the light when he heard people talking within the next room they were about to pass. Peering carefully around the corner of a wide arched entrance he surveyed the room. For some reason he half-expected to see the Lamppost Man inside, but then remembered the Imp had broken his own neck and tumbled down a well.

  Now, standing before an improvised throne of a different sort, was a slender, elongated man wearing a business suit. The guy had thinning red hair that he kept combing over to one side. George’s blood ran cold.

  Jerry… from corporate.

  George was about to duck down, but then he saw Tessa and Maddie. They were in the same oversized bird cage he saw them in back at the swamp.

  Dawson quickly crossed in front of the open, arched entrance and took cover on the other side. “What’s the hold up?” he whispered to George.

  George leaned his head toward the room whose entrance they were now framing. “My wife and daughter are in there.”

  Dawson leaned out from behind cover, scanned the interior, then pulled his head back out of the open. “Well, let’s go get ‘em. It’s only a dozen skull-and-bones or so, and one little pencil-neck feller. We can take ‘em easy enough.”

  “Not so fast,” George said stopping him. He recalled his last run-in with management. They had barely survived that encounter, and that was only through sheer luck. “You don’t understand; that guy in the suit? He’s not a man. These things are lot tougher than they look.”

  The Leftenant appeared beside Dawson. “The Colonel’s right. Even with our superior numbers, without weapons, we would not survive the encounter with a manager from corporate.”

  “What are we going to do then?” Dawson asked.

  George turned and looked back at the passengers lining the walls of the hallway behind them. Presently, Dr. Bob was helping Mrs. Belle down the corridor. She had to lean on the doc heavily on account of her swollen ankle had gotten worse. This wasn’t their fight, and they had enough. He doubted they could take much more. “Alright, Leftenant, I want you to take all these passengers down to the dock. I’ll be along as soon as I’m able.”

 

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