The Girl From Above [Ground: Zero, Book 1]

22: Stop Being a Twink, Thanks

A crack of lightning cut through the air. Ryan found herself with the back against the wall of a large, splintery surface. Rain pelted her face, her eyes dry from the winds grabbing at her face.

Thunder rumbled. She pulled herself up, nearly slipping on the rain-ladden floor. A mast stood before her, rising and standing tall in the air like a skyscraper. The ship whined against the push of the winds and the sails flapped and wailed in protest.

Where am I? She thought.

Hoards of men stampeded past her, shoving her to the side. She held her arm against the boat, the smell of sea overwhelming her nose.

At the front of the boat stood the figure of a short and stout man, his beard covering his face like a curly brown mask.

"Steady now, lads!" He yelled.

Behind the bearded man, who Ryan assumed to be the captain, stood a short, scrappy figure that barely stuck out against the storm. He stood abrupt and straight, his messy blond hair stuck against his neck by the rain. Freckles spilled over his face, clumping together on his nose and cheeks like ink blotches on paper.

The two men appeared to be arguing. Ryan shuffled herself to catch wind of the conversation.

The blond man held a journal in his arms, the pages soaked to the brim by the storm. He grabbed the mast and held himself still.

"I beg to all of the stars and the moon, to the heavens above, to every last drop of the sea, I beg of you Rowland, please, listen to me!" He shouted.

"I'm afraid this is not the time to speak of wicked spirits, boy!" Rowland replied.

He ran to the edge of the ship, barking orders to the stray men rushing to the sides of the vessel. They scattered like rats, desperately keeping the ship together as the storm grew.

Waves crashed against the ship like fists of chaos. The sky roared, it a deathly black. Rain continued to pelt and scratch against the wood.

The storm lurched forward, sending the men and Ryan to the ground. The journal flew in front of her.

The blond man scrambled to the journal, scooping it up in a swift motion. Ryan froze, but he made no indication he saw her.

He walked to Rowland, struggling against the rocking of the boat. He clutched his journal as if it were a precious jewel.

"My captain, please!" He cried.

Rowland stumbled to his feet, grabbing a rope at the edge of the ship.

"Now is not the time, scholar!"

"Sir!"

"Son—"

The blond man exploded. He rushed to the edge of the boat and clutched his hand around the rope lining the mast.

"My name is John, captain. Johnathan Blaise. Not son, not boy, not scholar. John." He spat, "Now I suggest you listen."

The two men faced each other, standing silent in the rain for a few moments.

Rowland's expression fell. He stumbled back against the side of the ship, his face pale.

"Bloody hell." He said.

"Pardon?"

The rocking came to a halt. Fog blanketed around the ship, it heavy and suffocating.

Rowland didn't spare a glance to John. His jaw dropped to his chest and he extended a trembling arm forward, pointing through the fog.

Like a demon in the night, the outline of a ship cut through the fog like a knife. It towered over the vessel the group stood on, the figurehead of a roaring dragon scowled down at them, its wings wrapped against the hull of the ship. Balls of ghostly fire floated along the sides of the ship, reflecting against the sea in a sickly glow.