Boarding Party • 13. "Working for the Enemy" Part I (Patreon)

The morning was D’anna’s favorite time of the day. Not only did it mean that she had managed to live another twenty-four hours in the extremely dangerous profession she found herself in, but there was now a whole new day’s worth of chores and duties to distract her from the thought of not living twenty-four more. 

Unfortunately, with the morning came one of the most challenging and difficult trials she’d ever have to face serving aboard the Wound. As she looked down at the to-do list she scribbled on a scrap of paper, a shiver ran down her spine. She took a deep breath and figured that she ought to just get it done right away…

…Breakfast would be served.

As she hobbled down a small flight of stairs, the elf held a barrel with one hand and a lantern in the other. The barrel’s contents sloshed around with each step, swaying her ever so slightly to and fro. Its weight did not concern her, nor did the lantern’s incessant flickering, no—her mind was preoccupied with other matters, like with what lay ahead of her come breakfast. As she approached the staircase, her teeth clacked together and her heartbeat raced with each step. She was inching closer and closer to… The Third Deck.

She heard them from the floor below—the groans, the whining, and the crying, all the animalistic sounds that a decomposing throat could possibly make. Her ears twitched as she heard the thump, thump, thumps of people who couldn’t quite walk right anymore stomping on the deckplanks. 

As D’anna descended the stairs to… The Third Deck, her lantern illuminated a room filled with the walking dead. The floor was stained red, bones were strewn all over the ground, and it smelled like one of the jars in Doctor Picardo’s clinic. Nobody knew why the crewmates congregated on… The Third Deck… specifically. Cain assumed that it was the darkest on the ship, and therefore the easiest on their pupil-less eyes. Majel assumed that they were just too stupid to climb up the stairs. 

“I-I’m’m gonna need you all to step back while I do this!” the elf yelled out to the rest of the crew. After shaking it to make its meager flame spread to the rest of the wick, she set the lantern down on the ground and walked towards the middle of the room until she bumped into a trough. With a grunt, she lifted the barrel’s previously-loosened top and heaved it over the side of the long tray, spilling all of its contents inside. A rush of goop flooded out, racing from one end of the trough to the other.

As she finished, D’anna dropped the barrel and began to book it back to the stairs. But as the crewmates began crowding to feed, the elf ended up stampeded in the process. She wrestled against two zombies that stood in their way, but several more were huddling behind them, their arms reaching out for some sweet, sweet goop. D’anna’s vision became darker and darker as row after row of zombie thronged together in front of her. She heard the cracking of glass, figuring that someone’s boot had just put an end to her lantern.

As the crew began to feast from the trough, bits and pieces of its contents flew this way and that. It reminded D’anna of that one time Majel caught a poor, little rat in their quarters. As the zombies began to grow more protective of whatever they were chewing on, so did their slobbishness. As two of the zombies wrestled over an intestine, a couple specks of something flicked onto the elf’s face. Shrieking and looking for cover, she dropped down to her hands and knees. 

With a newfound need to get the hell out of there and the zombies’ infighting, D’anna began to finally push her way through the horde. She heaved a sigh of relief as she broke free from the crowd, leaning against a wall to get back on her feet. Once she was up, she ran back up the stairs, picking off any “table scraps” that had found their way on her clothes or in her hair. (At least her pants and her gloves were already red.) 

With a wet hand, D’anna reached into her belt pouch, took out a little slip of paper, and crossed out “BREAKFAST” with a streak of crimson from her finger. She was not looking forward to lunch and dinner.

After changing her clothes and both washing her hair and face several times, D’anna began the next item on her list: swabbing the decks. 

Down on her hands and knees again, the elf scrubbed floorplanks with a worn-out brush while praying to the goddess Masaka for entertainment. Her worship ended when a crewmate shambled past her (muddying up the planks she just finished cleaning) to see Captain Cain at the helm. The corpse grumbled something to the skeleton, pointing eastward with a twitchy hand. The skeleton turned to where the walker had pointed and drew his spyglass. He lowered it a few seconds later, muttering an expletive that D’anna would never dare repeat!  

“Majel!” Cain called out. The elf’s pointy ears drooped downward. Whenever Cain yelled Majel’s name, it was to usually reprimand her for doing something like drinking on the job or referring to any sort of body part he might be missing as a skeleton. But when Cain called for her, it meant that he needed her expertise and would briefly put away their squabbling for the moment—never a good sign. 

The elf looked to where the zombie had pointed, seeing a black blur in the horizon. It was about the size of a galleon—although D’anna wouldn’t know the proper terminology like Cain or Majel would. To her, it was just a bigger boat than the one they had.

Majel sauntered her way up the stairs, heaving from the multiple flights she had to climb just to get there. As she caught her breath, she huffed while propping her gloved paws on her knees. “This… better be… worth it, Sawyer…” 

Cain didn’t say anything. He just pointed towards the distance and let the view speak for itself. After Majel squinted to see what it was, her pointy flattened and her slit pupils dilated to two circles. “Oh.” 

“What? What’s going on?!” asked D’anna, feeling left out from all the commotion.

Majel looked down at her. “That ship over there is flying Navy colors…” 

D’anna narrowed her eyes and looked back towards the distance. The galleon was closer now. It flew the horseshoe-esqe flag of the Horatio Empire, yet it lacked the upkeep most Royal Navy ships prided themselves on.  “Are you sure? It doesn’t look like any Navy ship that I’ve ever seen!”

“That’s what be concernin’, elf!” Cain yelled, “That ain’t a Navy ship!”

Majel reached into her belt and produced a flask. “We’re dealing with a buncha bloody privateers! They’re scoundrels like you and I, but their allegiance is with The Crown!” 

The cat downed its entire contents in several quick gulps. Her entire body twitched for a second, producing the courage necessary for the fight that laid before them. She dropped down on all fours and sprinted down into the lower decks of the ship in haste. 

Cain looked back at the helm and scowled. “MALONE!” 

A zombie shuffled towards him, a gaunt fellow with greyish-brown hair and milky-white eyes that’d drive you to murder. Not only was he one of the oldest shamblers on the ship (having been turned in the initial Kodos raid with the Beheaded Navyman), but one of Cain’s most trusted crewmates (below Majel but above D’anna). He gave his captain a limp-handed salute before unhinging his jaw and drooling something that resembled squid ink. 

“Get tha rest of the crew on their feet!” Cain ordered him, choosing to ignore the drool. “We need all hands on deck! I want full guns whenever we get within firin’ range! I want guards standin’ by, ready ta slice up anyone what tries ta climb aboard! I want the sails ta be corrected tha second I give tha command—understood?” 

The zombie nodded (or, at least, drooped down and pulled its head back up) and shuffled away towards… The Third Deck… to carry out his orders. 

“W-what should I do, Captain?” D’anna asked. 

Cain looked around and pointed to a couple droplets of black drool where Malone had been standing. “Well, I still see a stain right there fer ya…”