Panic At the Coast

Panic At The Coast

The place smelled of damp cardboard and old pennies. Somewhere past the creaking door, you could hear the willow trees crashing into each other. It wa a symphony of woe making its way into the naive, little brains of Edmund and Anaise Hansen. Curious, the two edged closer to the racket, trying to listen through piercing whistles of waves from the East, where the beach at Gold Coast looked nothing like its cheery self in daytime.

Anaise wanted to leave. Their place was an abandoned, deeply depressing mount of knick-knacks and hoarded treasures that aren’t worth much today in Australia. A small, faint crack came from below Edmund’s foot, and he winced like a puppy in pain, trying not to scream. A piece of broken seashell was stuck underneath his rubber flip-flop. Anaise scrambled to the buzzing noise in her jean pocket. She tore out her blue-lighted cell-phone and answered reluctantly.

“Yo! Guys, where the hell are you? We’re about to close the harbor, and you won’t be able to sneak in! Party in your dad’s cruise was a SICK idea, Anaise.”

Edmund looked sore in the eyes at Anaise. She wasn’t supposed to be talking to Tim, let alone letting him run their friends’ annual beach party on their dad’s cruise. The sickly weather had made it impossible to set up on the Gold Coast beach. Anaise gave him a lazy shrug and held the phone closer. It was on speaker.

“Tim, we probably won’t make it tonight. Just make sure nothing gets too out of hand, alright?”

“Aw. Sure thing. But, why are you whispering?”

Just like that, Anaise hung up on Tim and dropped her arms. “We need to go, Edmund.”

“What? We can’t. What about today? Dad has a party of blood-thirsty pirates after him and his money! He has no idea they’re coming tonight! Poor guy is at home, sleeping, but in twenty minutes he’ll be walking the plank, blind-folded or something.”

“Come on, Edmund, you don’t really believe they are actual Pirates roaming the Gold Coast. We’re in the 21st century for crying out loud.”

“Fine. Let’s just go over there, see for ourselves, and leave.”

“Ok, fine.”

***

Silhouetted against the silver moon, looming closer as it braves the heavy rainfall, is a seagull that perches on the guardrail of the “Gravity Foe”, Raymond’s fierce 60,000-metric ton cruise ship. Instantly, it flaps away as an earthquake of unpleasant club music erupts from beneath. Flickering lights spill from the circular portholes, where a band of erratic teenagers dance and laugh cluelessly, unaware that their very ship is about to be jumped by savage, hook-handed pirates. And in the blanket of night, no less.

Tim Falcon had just hung up with Anaise, and was about to take another sip of the suspicious lime-colored punch that tasted more of pure sugar and water than expensive, over-the-top tropical cocktails he was told all about, when he gets nudged forward by a guy and spills his drink on the mini DJ booth. The music makes a sizzling noise followed by a high-pitched crackle. A violent, deafening screech at a low frequency thuds the room, which makes everybody cup their hands over their ears and groan very loudly.

It goes silent for a while. Everyone is staring at Tim, cross looks all over. He nervously shrugs, and says “Heh, my bad.”

“C’mon, dude, you blew a fuse–killed the music!” A guy with black, straight hair said from the back.

“It was an accident.” Tim stood there sheepishly, wondering how he can fix things before the crowd turns on him. Just five minutes ago, he was the life of the party. Now, he was the scrawny kid that spilled his drink and caused an electrical short-circuit. He darted to the DJ booth, hoping that it was just a little hiccup, but the DJ, his friend Max with the baseball cap, was anxiously working through wires and trying to keep whatever he could dry.

Thunder roared from outside, and the ship started to kneel one way very slightly.

A unanimous “Woah!” came from the others. Tim was pushed alongside the lower deck’s wall right by a porthole. He looked outside. Two shadowy figures were stealthily boarding the ship. He blinked in terror and his lips went dry. He saw it again, a shadowy figure climbing up.

Suddenly a far, sharp and metallic click came from by the drinks and food stand. Tim’s beady eyes widened and he sprang over scattered ice, a fallen cocktail shaker and across the room. He rattled the door knob impatiently, but it wouldn’t open. The same sound came again from the other side of the room. Then again, this time from above. Tim had no idea there was a trapdoor leading up and out from the ceiling, though it was useless now.

His words came out strangled and thin, “I think we’re shut in…” Tim breathed.

***

The two twins stumbled outside and walked the short distance to the Gold Coast. Standing before a roaring ocean, they looked as far as they could. Far to the right, you could see a colorful display of small spotlights leaking out the bunk windows of a giant, expensive cruise-ship. Between the faded, electric riffs from the right, and the horrifying, clap of thunderous waves from in front of them, you could hardly make out a complete thought.

“Nothing. There’s nothing and no one! I told you-”

A pair of large, muscular hands smelling familiarly of salt air and damp wood grabbed Anaise sharply. The ocean disappeared from the horizon as a white, linen blindfold was tied over her eyes, hands clasped behind her and held firmly.

She could hear Edmund’s grunting, probably to wiggle free. “Hey?! What the hell?!”

“Don’t try anything. We won’t hurt you.”

“Sure you won’t, ‘cause last time someone told me that I ended up with a concussion and a missing wallet.”

The man’s voice was deep, hoarse, and oddly familiar. “Raymond’s kids, right? Blonde hair, chiseled noise, obsolete sarcasm. Oh, and I almost forgot, twins.”

There was a silence overriding the forming hurricane from behind them. It was astonishing how much surrender could expose itself in just a few moments where no words were being exchanged.

“Follow us. We have our own party.”

And just like that, the man and his companion led Edmund and Anaise far off from the Gold Coast. They had them walk up what sounded like a creaky flight of wooden stairs and shimmy up a thin, metal ladder. Suddenly they weren’t outside anymore. Anaise felt her cellphone buzz in her pocket. The men didn’t seem to notice.

The two were sat on uncomfortable, sock-smelling chairs. Hard boots clacked heavily on the floorboard and Edmund sneezed twice.

“Is that…cologne?” He asked, curious more than annoyed.

“Yeah, it is.” Anaise answered, since no one else did.

“Great. I’m allergic to that stuff.”

“And how come I don’t know that?” Anaise poked.

“You were too busy playing dolls with that girl from our first vacation, you know, to Uncle Eric. He was wearing a ton of cologne and I was sneezing….just like now…” Edmund sniffed and his eyebrows shot up.

“Uncle ERIC? Is that you?”

“What??” Anaise was more confused than ever.

The two blindfolds were loosened. They slid down to their collarbones and what was left, an astonished, red-nosed Edmund looking his Dad’s brother dead in the eyes.

“Hey, nephew.”

A somewhat tall, fair-haired man with a mustache, high cheekbones, and a chiseled nose stood confidently before them. He was dressed in black, sleek boots, a long, brown jacket covering his green tunic, a blue bandana around his neck, and of course, a pirate hat.

Edmund watched in awe before he sneezed again. Anaise looked like she remembered.

“Why did you kidnap us?” Edmund suddenly screeched. Then he looked around, his emerald eyes darting across the room. Eric’s crewmates were all carrying instruments. The ceiling was draped in dark hues of streamers. The floorboard was covered in white confetti. And there was a ton of food sprawled across several, joined tables.

“Is this a party?” Anaise probed bluntly.

“Was. I’m sorry but you kids are gonna regret letting your friends on that cruise. The rest of my men are already setting sail. Gonna take it far away. Maybe leave it by an island. Raymond owed me that and then some. We have unfinished business to discuss over chocolate cake.”

“Then what? You’re gonna braid each other’s hair afterward?” Anaise said.

“Why are you stealing dad’s ship?” Edmund ignored her sarcastic comment and reared his eyes at his long lost Uncle. Edmund had a sick, menacing look on his face and Anaise got the hint.

So Eric leaned closer, a solid look covering his face like a dark cloud. Anaise could see that Edmund’s ears were turning red, and sweat was dripping very faintly down his forehead. “Why? Huh?” Edmund uttered, trying to keep his composure, “Did he bury your treasure or something? Seriously?”

“No.” Eric’s raspy voice was deeper than before, “Raymond didn’t bury my treasure, he buried me.”

If only Edmund realized that just then and now, there was nothing to be done, nothing that he could possibly think of to save his dad, or Anaise, or even himself. If only he knew how his friends would be spending the storm.

A crackle of thunder quickly sounded by a flash of miserably bright lightning.

**

The ship had gone from stationary to moving at whiplash speed. All thirty teenagers were now sporadically panicking, screaming for help. Tim watched helplessly. Some were trying to call for help, but they were far from the dock and the storm was only getting worse. Some had piled together to try and knock the door down. Max, the DJ, had fixed the booth and was playing an old music disk from the movie Titanic.

“We’re going to be okay, right?” He yelled as he held up his headphones.

Tim was sitting in the corner now, with his knees together and his head down, shivering in fear. He said nothing back.

A brown-haired boy with blue eyes shot Max an impatient look and yelled back, “THE FREAKING SHIP IS CALLED ‘GRAVITY FOE’, WE’RE NOT MAKING IT MAX!”

And with that, the cruise tilted again. This time it pushed everyone down to the left, and several people hit the wall, with others bumping into each other. Someone had grabbed hold of the pole in the middle and refused to let go. Another bump, this time they all bounced as if someone entered a trampoline house, before sliding right.

The drinks had all spilled on the DJ booth, again, and glass pitchers were shattering all over the floorboard.

Above their level, high up on the surface on the ship, were six men dressed in bruised, midnight indigo that melted perfectly with the stormy backdrop of the night. All were identical, even in the masks that erased their noses and mouths, reducing their existence to pairs of sharp, calculating eyes.

One of them was taking the lead, steering the ship very badly, straight towards an island past the Gold Coast. A jagged pillar of lightning split the sky and a single bolt impaled the ship’s raised flag. Fire bled across the cruise liner, chipping away at whatever it could.

One of the other men hurried back to the others, panting. “Did the captain know this ship carries Marine Oil? There’s a ton of gallons down in the Crew Mess. No cooks or anybody…just heard a bunch of kids.”

“Wait, did you say…marine oil?”

Suddenly a small explosion sounded. Thick, choking smoke started to leak out the portholes from the bottom deck. Another came. The men had terrified looks of cold blood across their covered faces. Five of them jumped, scampered to the island and started running. The sixth went back, to see if he could rescue the kids.

Another explosion came.

Soon, the entirety of the Gold Coast was covered in smog and the bitter stench of scorched sulfur and gunpowder.

Eric was outside, standing at the snarling shore of clapping waves. He smiled a grim, aching smile, all the while thinking, “See you in prison, Raymond.”