arm’s reach but fear held her at bay. There was something about Sam’s demeanor and personality that put her somewhat at ease. Maybe it was his gentle voice, maybe his older age, or maybe it was him being almost the same height as her. The taller the scarier no matter how kind and unthreatening they behaved. That aside, she felt a need to speak quietly about O’Toole’s immunity to the quasi-children. “Is it really true that he’s immune?”
Sam nodded. “Runs right up to ‘em. They just vanish. He’s never touched one and they avoid touching him. Strangest thing I’ve ever seen--besides the quasis, of course.”
Jessie stood in numb amazement. “I lost my father to them. He was only trying to hand the gun over to them.”
“I’m sorry to hear. My condolences.”
“Thank you.”
“We lost one crew member to them as well, years ago. He just accidentally backed into one. Went mad and killed himself a week later.” He shook his head. “Enough of such talk. I need to finish suiting you up.” He looked her up and down but without hunger in his pale eyes. “More like retry. You’re about as tall as me, but nowhere near as broad.” He held out a hand in front of her sneakers. “I can take those off your hands. You won’t be needing those anymore.”
Jessie turned slightly. “I want to throw them overboard after I get the steel toe boots I was promised.”
Sam gave her a knowing smile and tapped the side of his nose. “How ‘bout a sailor’s burial?” She gave him a confused look. “To the depths with them...”
“Ah.” That sounded like a great idea.
* * *
Jessie marched to Scully’s bunk with her new boots clanking along the metal floor. They fit perfectly. She almost wished one of the guys would step out of line just so she could test them out. Almost. As much as she enjoyed making a man fold, she preferred sweet words and respect.
She was garbed in all men’s clothes, including tube socks and boxers. Still no bra, but no surprise there. Bralessness, aside, it felt strange wearing what felt like a thin pair of shorts under cargo pants pulled all the way up to her bellybutton. In order for a pair of pants to fit past her hips, she had to go a few sizes too long to compensate. Sam gave her a leather belt and a few more plain shirts, then sent her off with simple directions to Scully’s cabin. They’d give her sneakers a sailor’s burial after dinner. Right now they needed to work--that and a few of the crew would be happy to help formally send her shoes off.
Jessie smelled the sleeping cabins before she saw the postcards and calendars Sam had described. The place stank of what men did when they had no holes to fill. The smell made her almost turn around. It triggered bad memories she desperately wanted to forget. Still, she wanted to apologize to Scully as soon as possible. Hopefully it would suffice and none of the men would feel a need to punish her and put her in her place for hurting their friend.
Hopefully the doctor named Cancer wouldn’t do that before she could try.
That thought slowed her trek to a silent crawl. She mentally scolded herself and slipped back into a confident gait, then stopped altogether. How should she carry herself? Meek and humble? Confident and tough? What would be better received? She decided on the meek route, not wanting to chance confidence being mistaken for pride in having beat up Scully.
A genial voice mixed with the stink. “And then my line got snagged on the rudder as the bass jumped out of the water. It would’ve jumped clear over the side, but the line stopped it mid-jump. It flopped into the boat right next to my foot!” Two men guffawed.
The laughter brought a small smile to Jesie’s lips but she shooed it away. Smiling wouldn’t be smart.
She wasn’t sure who she was hearing. She didn’t remember Scully’s voice, but the rich tenor didn’t match the frightening baritone of Cancer’s. Maybe he wasn’t with
Sam nodded. “Runs right up to ‘em. They just vanish. He’s never touched one and they avoid touching him. Strangest thing I’ve ever seen--besides the quasis, of course.”
Jessie stood in numb amazement. “I lost my father to them. He was only trying to hand the gun over to them.”
“I’m sorry to hear. My condolences.”
“Thank you.”
“We lost one crew member to them as well, years ago. He just accidentally backed into one. Went mad and killed himself a week later.” He shook his head. “Enough of such talk. I need to finish suiting you up.” He looked her up and down but without hunger in his pale eyes. “More like retry. You’re about as tall as me, but nowhere near as broad.” He held out a hand in front of her sneakers. “I can take those off your hands. You won’t be needing those anymore.”
Jessie turned slightly. “I want to throw them overboard after I get the steel toe boots I was promised.”
Sam gave her a knowing smile and tapped the side of his nose. “How ‘bout a sailor’s burial?” She gave him a confused look. “To the depths with them...”
“Ah.” That sounded like a great idea.
* * *
Jessie marched to Scully’s bunk with her new boots clanking along the metal floor. They fit perfectly. She almost wished one of the guys would step out of line just so she could test them out. Almost. As much as she enjoyed making a man fold, she preferred sweet words and respect.
She was garbed in all men’s clothes, including tube socks and boxers. Still no bra, but no surprise there. Bralessness, aside, it felt strange wearing what felt like a thin pair of shorts under cargo pants pulled all the way up to her bellybutton. In order for a pair of pants to fit past her hips, she had to go a few sizes too long to compensate. Sam gave her a leather belt and a few more plain shirts, then sent her off with simple directions to Scully’s cabin. They’d give her sneakers a sailor’s burial after dinner. Right now they needed to work--that and a few of the crew would be happy to help formally send her shoes off.
Jessie smelled the sleeping cabins before she saw the postcards and calendars Sam had described. The place stank of what men did when they had no holes to fill. The smell made her almost turn around. It triggered bad memories she desperately wanted to forget. Still, she wanted to apologize to Scully as soon as possible. Hopefully it would suffice and none of the men would feel a need to punish her and put her in her place for hurting their friend.
Hopefully the doctor named Cancer wouldn’t do that before she could try.
That thought slowed her trek to a silent crawl. She mentally scolded herself and slipped back into a confident gait, then stopped altogether. How should she carry herself? Meek and humble? Confident and tough? What would be better received? She decided on the meek route, not wanting to chance confidence being mistaken for pride in having beat up Scully.
A genial voice mixed with the stink. “And then my line got snagged on the rudder as the bass jumped out of the water. It would’ve jumped clear over the side, but the line stopped it mid-jump. It flopped into the boat right next to my foot!” Two men guffawed.
The laughter brought a small smile to Jesie’s lips but she shooed it away. Smiling wouldn’t be smart.
She wasn’t sure who she was hearing. She didn’t remember Scully’s voice, but the rich tenor didn’t match the frightening baritone of Cancer’s. Maybe he wasn’t with
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