Ex-Isle by Peter Clines (electronic reader TXT) 📕

up your insubordination to Nautilus during our next meeting?”

“You know what? You go ahead and shoot your mouth off. I’m sending a runner.”

The Middle Eastern man waved him off and headed toward the cage. “Do that, if it makes you feel better.”

Mitchel fumed for a moment, his fingers flexing along his shotgun. Then he bellowed, “Fuck you, towelhead,” and marched to the other end of the raised bed. One of the farmers got in his way, and Mitchel swung the shotgun at the woman.

“Man,” said Barry, “he is such a nice guy. I really need to spend more time with him.”

The Middle Eastern man walked up to the cage. He glanced at St. George and Barry, then crouched in a spot where they could both see him. “We do not have much time,” he said. “Ten minutes at best. He will send a runner, and there is a good chance Nautilus himself will come to see what is happening. His hearing is exceptional. He will hear us talking from a hundred yards away.”

“Makes sense,” said Barry. “Got to have good hearing underwater. Especially if he’s got sonar or something.”

The man looked at them through the cage bars. “My name is Hussein Haddad.”

“Good to meet you, Hussein,” St. George said. “I’d shake your hand, but…” He shook the handcuffs binding him to Barry.

Hussein bowed his head. “I apologize to you both for your treatment. Many of us here feel this is not right, but we are not the majority and have no say in things.”

“You seemed to have a bit of say with our cruise director back there,” said Barry.

Hussein glanced over his shoulder. “Mitchel is a petty man, a backstabber with no real backbone. He always has been. If he cannot have power of his own, he clings to those who do have it. Or cringes from them.”

“Like you,” said St. George. “You’re a…mate?”

“Like first mate,” said Hussein. “There are several of us below Nautilus. We are each in charge of an area. A ship. I am the mate of the Jonah III, the fishing vessel off the port side of the Hannah.”

St. George turned the other way, toward the cruise ship. “That’s the oil tanker, yes?”

He nodded.

“Shouldn’t that be first officer?” asked Barry.

“It was agreed we should not use the word officer,” he said. “It makes it sound like we…”

“Like you have some authority?” said St. George.

Hussein shuffled a bit closer to the cage. “There is only one authority here,” he said, lowering his voice, “and everything is set up so he remains the only one. Any other title is more about bearing responsibility than wielding any sort of power.”

“Hussein,” barked a voice. The wrinkle-faced old man who’d looked at the heroes with disgust. “You heard Mitchel. Leave them be.”

“Mind your own business, Malachi,” shouted Hussein.

“Malachi,” repeated St. George.

“He was the head chef on the Queen,” said Hussein with a nod at the big cruise ship. “His training made him the best choice for raising plants.”

“Malachi working in the corn,” murmured Barry. “Nothing to worry about there.” He cleared his throat. “So, what brings you out here, Hussein? Sunset view? You’re early for dinner, but I’ve heard a rumor it’s going to be the fish stew tonight. It’s worth waiting for, believe me.”

“I wanted to tell you not everyone here is like this,” he said.

“And you’re telling us this because…”

Hussein bit his lip. “Because when the fight began, you both put yourselves at risk to protect the children. The children we put in harm’s way to hinder you.”

“Not the first time you’ve done it, from what we hear,” Barry said.

“It is not. And it sickens many of us every time it happens.” He inched closer to the cage bars. “Are you the Mighty Dragon?”

“Yeah. Most people go with St. George now. Or just George.”

“Or lovable idiot,” added Barry.

Hussein smirked.

“You believe us?”

“I do not know if you are…were…the Mighty Dragon,” said Hussein, “but you are definitely not Marduk. Back before the ex-humans, I saw him twice in person when I visited family in Baghdad.”

“I’ll take what I can get,” said St. George.

Hussein nodded. “Everyone is so convinced you are not from California they ignore the fact you must be from somewhere. Somewhere where people are alive and well.”

“We’re from California,” said Barry. “Honest.”

“We have a safe zone,” said St. George. “Two now. It’s not fantastic, but people have homes and they feel safe.”

“Safe,” said Hussein. He looked at both of them, glanced over his shoulder, then studied their faces again. “You have room for others?”

“Others…other people?” St. George nodded. “Like I’ve been saying, that’s the whole reason we came out here. To see if any of you needed help.”

“There are many who feel like I do. We would leave Lemuria, but we have few supplies, and many believe there is nowhere else to go.” He set a hand on the bars of the cage and nodded at the children shackled to Barry. “If we help you escape, will you help us leave?”

St. George nodded. “If people don’t want to be here, of course. Like we keep saying, that’s why we’re—”

“Company,” said Barry, coughing into his hand. Hussein turned his head, and St. George tried to twist his neck enough to see.

Four figures marched down the deck along the garden beds. Hussein stood up out of his crouch and waited for them. Little Ash perked up.

Even with his bad viewpoint, St. George could see Nautilus in the lead. His skin was sky blue and glossy. Three people followed close behind him. As they got closer, St. George recognized Mitchel, Eliza, and Devon. Barry hummed something familiar, and it took St. George a minute to realize it was the Darth Vader music from Star Wars.

The quartet stopped almost behind Hussein. Devon took a few more steps, but stopped a few feet from the cage. A few expressions and lip-read words passed between him and Ash, confirming what St. George suspected.

“Hussein,” rumbled the merman.

He dipped his head. “Nautilus.”

“What are you doing here?”

Hussein turned