Red

Outside, the sun shone brightly, shimmering off of the white caps of the water that crashed against the creaking wood of the heavy ship. The gnarled crewmen, busy about the deck, squinted through sweat in an attempt to block out the sun that assaulted them. The white glow reflecting off of the tall sails was enough to blind the crew made to climb on the mast, and the lone man standing watch in the crow’s nest held his hand above his eyes, scanning the choppy ocean’s surface and the cloudless sky. Despite the glare of the sun, a pleasantly cool wind brushed the men this way and that, drying their sweat and preventing them from falling victim to the sun’s heat.

But he was not outside. He was below deck, at the very bottom of the ship, crunched between crates of supplies that the men would need for their long journey, as well as a few across from him that, when the sun came through a crack just right, he could see the vague sparkle of polished metal within. Below deck, it was stifling, and he continuously wiped at his face with the bottom of his shirt, so much so that the entire front of his stomach was soaked with sweat. His face burned at his touch, and he labored to take slow, deep breaths, though the air was so thick it was like trying to breathe soup, so that he did not pant himself into hyperventilation. The sun did not touch him here; the sun did not touch much of anything here, but its heat soaked through the mortar and wood, practically turning the cargo area into a sauna. Yet there he was, and there he must remain until the ship’s landfall, he told himself with less and less determination as the hours went by.

It hadn’t really been his fault, he mused, trying to keep his mind on anything but the heat. He had actually been a pretty good guy, in most ways. He went to work when he was supposed to go, he paid his rent when he could, to his knowledge he had never hurt anyone. But, times being what they are, he had lost his job.

The door in the ceiling across the room flew open, and he shrunk down between his crates as much as he could as he heard footsteps down the wooden stairs. Trying not to breathe at all now, he sat still as the crewman took his time rummaging through one of the open crates, apparently found what he was looking for, and trodded back up the steps, letting the trap door slam shut beneath him. Exactly at the moment that the door dropped, the lower deck’s passenger sneezed. After freezing for a moment to make sure he hadn’t been heard, he almost laughed, but covered his mouth just in time, and contented himself with sighing in relief as he relaxed against the boxes.

A stowaway. He idly rubbed a hand through his short hair, making a face at the sticky mess that the reddish-brown tresses had become. Jobs were hard to get in the city. If you didn’t already have one, and you weren’t a college graduate, you might as well get used to being a homeless person. But he didn’t want to be a homeless person. He tried legal ways first, of course, but what self-respecting, reputable financial establishment would loan money to a dropout like him? A dropout with no job, no less? The correct answer is none. So, he turned to different, less than reputable sources. And the funny thing about that is, when you can’t pay them back, they don’t just give you a bad credit score. They want it back, whether it’s in cash or flesh. He didn’t have the cash, and he wasn’t prepared to give them any of his flesh. So when an old, wooden ship pulled into the harbor at Mileen, and started loading lots of heavy crates on board, he felt sure that this was going to be his ticket to one of the smaller continents. They weren’t as financially wealthy as Cleara, so they didn’t have the shining metal transport ships like the Clearan government used. Sneaking onto the ship was surprisingly easy, but now he wished he’d brought along a fan, or something. As it was, he had only what he could stuff into his courier bag—a single change of clothes, his electric razor, some food, a couple of condoms(you never know what you’ll need when you won’t be able to get it), a small gun that he had traded his last piece of furniture for, a couple boxes of ammunition, and all the cash he could scrape up. Something simple like a fan never even occurred to him. But on the continent he was headed for, wherever that may be, who knew if they even had air conditioning anywhere? A fan would have been a good thing to bring. Maybe one of those ones that sprays water.

He felt groggy, sitting in the dark, damp heat, holding the worn leather bag in his lap with the strap already around his shoulders in case he had to make a run for it. Although, being in the back room of the lowest deck of the ship, he didn’t really know where he thought he would be running. He checked himself one last time to make sure he wasn’t visible from the front of the room, and then leaned his head against the wall and attempted to go to sleep. Maybe if he could just go to sleep, by the time he woke up he’d be on a new continent. Preferably a cool one.


When he did wake up, it was because a loud thump had sounded near him. Judging from the amount of water seeping through the trap door to the front, that sound had been caused by a rush of flooding. Scrambling to his feet, he headed over to the door, but hesitated. It opened outwards. If there was tons of water out there, how would he even pick it up, and if he did manage to do it, wouldn’t those tons of water come rushing down here? He sighed, staring up at the door from the bottom of the steps. Well, it wouldn’t be any good living in a bubble in a sunken ship at the bottom of the ocean. He pushed the door open with his shoulder, finding it much easier than he had imagined, but a small wave of water did pour over his legs and tumble down the stairs. When he climbed out, unnoticed by the panicking crew, and peeked out onto the top deck, he promptly stumbled and fell onto his back with a splash.

Just in front of the ship, too close to be possible, a wave taller than the vessel itself was frozen just before crashing. No, not a wave. It was the wrong shape to be a wave. It was just a mass of water pulled high away from the surface, in the very distinct shape of a long-haired man. Around the water man’s head, black clouds swirled ominously, and the clear cerulean that he glimpsed before had been replaced by a dark grey gloom that stretched past the horizon. Deep rumbles of thunder shook the ship as lightning danced within the clouds that seemed to writhe and slither in circles with a mind all their own. The light from the flashes reflected in the thick figure of the man, showing more clearly that the thing had eyes, and that those eyes watched the ship with anger in them.

He seemed frozen for hours, staring at the thing that loomed over the ship, but too soon, an arm separated itself from the rest of the water so that the thing might stretch it out, nearly covering the entire ship with its massive hand. Suddenly, there was a noise so loud that he slapped his hands over his ears with a grimace, and only after a few seconds did he realize the thing’s mouth had moved, and that this was its voice. The crew, some frozen, trembling in fear, and others running about the deck with what they obviously thought was some purpose, all now crumpled motionless to their knees, their hands shielding their ears from the onslaught of sound.

“Foolish men, how dare you dirty our waters with your vainglorious treasure hunting and petty thrill-seeking. For your pride, death is the only suitable punishment. And it is the one you shall receive.”

As though to punctuate this ultimatum, the clouds above the thing rumbled fiercely, and a streak of lightning struck the deck, almost immediately setting the wood aflame. The watery hand fell on the rear end of the ship, and the thus far completely bewildered observer slid across the floor, hitting the opposite wall painfully. He heard a roar and a hundred screams and cracks as the ship snapped in two, and water assaulted the now broken hull, quickly filling the lower decks. He looked behind him in a panic, and saw the water rising up even to the top deck, so he tried to crawl to his feet on the slippery wood, running towards the bow of the ship. He skidded to a stop and fell again as he noticed that this was drawing him extremely close to the watery creature, the head of which he could just barely make out when he craned his neck to look up at it.

He saw it raise its hand again as he tried to stand once more, no doubt preparing to slam into what remained of the ship. He turned to run back the way he came, and met the rising water, which now carried the limp bodies of several of the crewmen. What had happened to the rest of them, he didn’t want to think about.

Just as he heard the rush of water that told him the thing behind him was moving to finish them, he heard a heartrending cry of thunder, and for just a moment, the gloomy sky was lit up like noonday. The rush stopped, and he froze, staring over his shoulder at the thing, disbelieving. Another clash of thunder sounded, and for just a second, he had the crazy notion that the thunder was talking to the watery creature. But he didn’t have long to think about it, because within another few seconds, the thing slammed its hand down again, though not directly on the ship. The hand hit the water just at the hull, sending a mountainous wave over the side and almost immediately toppling the ship, so that he found himself submerged in salty ocean water within seconds. He tried to swim towards a surface that was only recognizable because of the continued flashes of lightning, but the now sinking ship had created a current that sucked him downwards more forcefully than he could swim up, and he lost control of himself, uselessly crying out in bubbles until the brine filled his lungs, and everything went black.