Tess Gerritsen - Harvest

Yakov shared that fascination, but his was not because of adoration. He was afraid of her.

It was all because of the blood tests.

On their fourth day at sea, when the boys were still puking and moaning in their bunks, Gregor and Nadiya had come around carrying a tray of needles and tubes. It will be only a small prick, they'd said, a small tube of blood to confirm you are healthy. No one will adopt you if they cannot be assured you are healthy. The pair had moved from boy to boy, weaving a bit from the rough sea, the glass tubes clattering in the tray. Nadiya had looked sick, on the verge of throwing up. Gregor had been the one to draw the blood. At each bunk they'd asked the boy his name and fitted him with a plastic bracelet on which they'd written a number. Then Gregor tied a giant rubber band around the boy's arm and slapped the skin a few times, to make the vein swell. Some of the boys cried, and Nadiya had to hold their hand and comfort them while Gregor drew the blood.

Yakov was the only boy whom she was unable to comfort. No matter how she tried, she could not make him hold still. He did not want that needle in his arm, and he had given Gregor a kick to emphasize the point. That's when the real Nadiya took over. She pinned Yakov's one arm to the bed, holding it there with a grasp that pinched and twisted at the same time. As Gregor drew the blood, she had kept her gaze fixed on Yakov, had spoken quietly, even sweetly to him as the needle pierced his skin and the blood streamed into the tube. Everyone else in that room, listening to Nadiya's voice, heard only murmured words of reassurance. But Yakov, staring into those pale eyes of hers, saw something entirely different.

Afterwards, he had gnawed off his plastic bracelet.

Aleksei still wore his. Number 307. His certification of good health.

"Do you think she has children of her own?" asked Aleksei. Yakov gave a shudder. "I hope not," he said, and crawled to the crate opening. He looked up and saw the deserted walkway and the empty stairway, coiling above like a serpent's skeleton. The blue door, as always, was shut.

Brushing off the wood shavings, he scrambled out of their hiding place. "I'm hungry," he said.

As Cook had predicted, that grey and oppressive afternoon was soon followed by heavy seas — not a severe storm, but rough enough to confine the passengers, both children and adults, to their cabins. And that was precisely where Aleksei intended to stay. All the coaxing in the world would not budge him from his bunk. It was cold and wet outside, and the floor was rocking, and he had no interest in poking around the dark, damp corners that so seemed to fascinate Yakov. Aleksei liked it in his bed. He liked the cosiness of a blanket pulled up around his shoulders, liked the draughts of warmth that puffed at his face when he turned or wriggled, liked the smell of Shu-Shu sleeping beside him on the pillow.

All morning, Yakov tried to drag Aleksei out of bed, to tempt him with another visit to Wonderland. Finally he gave up and went off on his own. He came back once or twice to see if Aleksei had changed his mind, but Aleksei slept all afternoon, through supper, and straight into the evening.

In the night, Yakov awakened and sensed at once that something was different. At first he could not decide what it was. Perhaps just the passing of the storm? He could feel the ship had steadied. Then he realized it was the engines that had changed. That ceaseless rumble had muffled to a soft growl.

He crawled out of his bunk and went to give Aleksei a shake.

"Wake up," he whispered.

"Go away."

"Listen. We've stopped moving."

"I don't care."

"I'm going up to take a look. Come with me."

"I'm sleeping."

"You've been sleeping a whole day and night. Don't you want to see land? We must be near land. Why would the ship stop in the middle of the ocean?" Yakov bent closer to Aleksei, his whispers softly enticing. "Maybe we can see the lights. America.You'll miss it unless you come with me."

Aleksei sighed, stirred a bit, not quite certain what he wanted to do.

Yakov threw out the ultimate lure. "I saved a potato from supper," he said. "I'll give it to you. But only if you come up with me."

Aleksei had missed supper, and lunch as well. A potato would be heaven. "All right, all right." Aleksei sat up and began buckling on his shoes. "Where's the potato?"

"First we go up."

"You're an asshole, Yakov."

They tiptoed past the double bunks of sleeping boys and climbed the stairway, to the deck.

Outside, a soft wind was blowing. They looked over the railing, straining for a view of city lights, but the stars met only a black and formless horizon.

"I don't see anything," said Aleksei. "Give me my potato."

Yakov produced the treasure from his pocket. Aleksei squatted down and devoured it right there, cold, like a wild animal.

Yakov turned and looked up towards the bridge. He could see the greenish glow of the radar screen through the window, and the silhouette of a man standing watch. The Navigator. What did he see from that lonely perch of his?

Aleksei had finished his potato. Now he stood up and said: "I'm going to bed."

"We can look for more food in the galley."

"I don't want to see another mouse." Aleksei began to feel his way across the deck. "Besides, I'm cold."

"I'm not cold."

"Then you stay out here."

They had just reached the stairway when they heard a series of sharp thuds. Suddenly the deck was ablaze with light. Both boys froze, blinking at the unexpected glare.

Yakov grabbed Aleksei's hand and tugged him under the bridge stairway, where they crouched, peering out between the steps. They heard voices and saw two men walk into the circle of floodlights. Both men were wearing white overalls. Together they bent down and gave something a tug. There was a scrape of metal as some kind of cover was forced aside. It revealed a new light, this one blue. It shone at the centre of the floodlit circle, like the forbidding iris of an eye.

"Bloody mechanics," one of the men said. "They'll never get this repaired."

Both men straightened and looked up at the sky. Towards the distant growl of thunder.

Yakov, too, looked up. The thunder was moving closer. No longer just a growl, it deepened to a rhythmic whup-whup. The two men retreated from the floodlights. The sound drew right overhead, churning the night like a tornado.

Aleksei clapped his hands over his ears and shrank deeper into the shadows. Yakov did not. He watched, unflinching, as the helicopter descended into the wash of light and touched down on the deck.

One of the men in overalls reappeared, running bent at the waist. He swung open the helicopter door. Yakov could not see what was inside; the stairway post was blocking his direct view. He eased out from the shadows, moving out onto the deck just far enough to see around the post. He caught a glimpse of the pilot and one passenger — a man.

"Hey!" came a shout from overhead. "You! Boy!"

Yakov glanced straight up and saw the navigator peering down at him from the bridge deck.

"What are you doing down there? You come up here right now, before you get hurt! Come on!"

The man in overalls had spotted the boys too, and was crossing towards them. He did not look pleased.

Yakov scurried up the stairway. Aleksei, in a panic, was right on his heels.

"Don't you know enough to stay off the main deck when a chopper's landing?" yelled the navigator. He gave Aleksei a whack on the rump and pulled them inside, into the wheelhouse. He pointed to two chairs. "Sit. Both of you."

"We were just watching," saidYakov. "You two are supposed to be in bed."

"I was in bed," whimpered Aleksei. "He made me come out."

"Do you know what a chopper rotor can do to a boy's head? Do you?" The navigator slashed a hand across Aleksei's skinny neck. "Just like that. Your head goes flying straight off. And blood shoots everywhere. Quite spectacular. You think I'm joking, don't you? Believe me,! don't go down there when the chopper comes.! stay the hell away. But if you want your stupid heads sliced off, be my guests. Go on."