Paolo Bacigalupi - Ship Breaker

Pima just laughed. She levered the drowned girl out of the cabin and down through the canted corridors of the ship until they spilled out the hole in the hull. The girl was heavy, barely able to walk or help in any way. She might as well have been a corpse, Pima commented as she grunted and dragged the girl out. It took both of them to lower her over the side and into the lapping waters of the tide, Nailer awkwardly holding her and lowering her down into Pima’s upstretched arms, and then both of them staggering and stumbling in the increasing surf.

“Get the damn silver,” Pima grunted. “At least get that sack off. If anyone else finds the ship, we want that hidden.”

Nailer clambered back through the ship, collecting. When he stood again at the edge of the hull’s cracked hollow, Pima was standing alone in the water, foam up to her thighs. For a moment he thought she’d drowned the girl, but then he saw a flash of pale clothing on the rocks at the base of the island.

Pima grinned. “You thought I pigstuck her, didn’t you?”

“No.”

Pima just laughed. Waves sloshed around her, splashing up her dark legs, soaking her shorts. The ship creaked in the roll of the waves. “Tide’s coming,” Pima said. “Let’s get going.”

Nailer looked across the bay to where the ship-breaking yards shone in the fading sun. “We’re never going to get her back over the sand in time.”

“You want me to run for a boat?” Pima asked.

“No. I’m beat. Let’s hold here on the island and cross in the morning. Maybe we can think of some way to deal with the rest of the scavenge by then.”

Pima glanced back at the girl where she lay balled up and shivering. “Yeah, okay. She won’t care, one way or the other.” She pointed back into the ship. “But if we’re staying, let’s find what we can in there. There’s food. Plenty of other stuff. We’ll camp on the island and bring her over tomorrow.”

Nailer gave her a mock salute. “Good idea.”

He headed back to the pantry, hunting. He found muffins waterlogged with salt. Bruised mangoes and bananas and pomegranates, all scattered through the galley. Saltbeef that was still good and seemed to have barely been touched. A cured ham. There was so much meat he couldn’t believe it. Against his will, he was already salivating.

He dragged everything back to where the hull was cracked. He climbed down carefully, cradling everything in a net bag he found in the galley. The water was getting deeper, all right. It tugged and drew at him as he slogged out of the surf, keeping the food high. After ferrying everything from the ship, he noticed their rescued girl shivering and went back to the ship again. It was almost dark inside now. He found blankets of rich wool, damp but still warm, and dragged them out with the rest of the scavenge.

He crossed with waves at his waist, yanked about by frothing surf, holding the blankets over his head. He stumbled up on shore and dumped his load of blankets. He glanced at where the girl was shivering. “You still didn’t kill her, huh?”

“I told you I wouldn’t.” Pima jerked her head toward the shivering girl. “You got stuff for a fire?”

Nailer shrugged. “Nah.”

“Come on, Nailer!” Pima made a face of exasperation. “She’ll need a fire if you want her to live.” She headed back into the wreck, slogging through the rush of the darkening waves.

“See if there’s fresh water in there, too!” Nailer called after her.

He picked up the load of blankets and started hauling them to higher ground, hunting for something on the hillside that had a semblance of being flat. Eventually he found an area beside the roots of a cypress tree that wasn’t so bad. He started clearing space amongst the rocks and kudzu vines.

By the time he clambered back down to the shore, Pima had returned with a load of the clipper’s cracked furniture. She had also found a store of kerosene and a sparker in the mix of trash in the galley. After a few more times shuttling loads of food and fuel up to their camp, they finally hauled up the drowned girl. Nailer’s right shoulder and upper back burned with all the activity, and he was glad he hadn’t been forced onto light crew today. It was bad enough just doing this little bit of work.

Soon they got the furniture burning merrily, and Nailer cut slices of ham for them to gnaw on. “Good eating, huh?” he said, when Pima held out her hand for more.

“Yeah. Swanks live pretty damn good.”

“We’re pretty swank ourselves,” Nailer pointed out. He waved at the scavenged wealth around them. “We’re eating better than Lucky Strike tonight.”

As soon as he said it, he thought it could be true. The fire flickered before him, casting light on Pima and the drowned girl. Illuminating the bags of food, the sack of silver and tableware, the thick wool blankets of the North, the gold glittering on the drowned girl’s fingers, shining like stars in the crackle of the campfire. It was more than anyone in the ship-breaking yards had. And all of it was just wreckage for the drowned girl. Her wealth was huge. A ship full of food and luxury, her neck and fingers and wrists draped in gold and jewels, and a face more beautiful than anything he had ever seen. Not even Bapi’s magazine girls had been so pretty.

“She’s damn rich,” he muttered. “Look at everything she’s got. It’s more than even the magazines have.” In fact, he was realizing that the magazine pictures were pretending to reach this level of wealth, and yet somehow had no idea how to attain it. “You think she’s got a house of her own?” he asked.

Pima made a face. “Of course she has a house. All rich people have houses.”

“You think it’s as big as her ship?”

Pima hesitated, working over the thought. “I guess it could be.”

Nailer chewed his lip, considering their own rough shelters on the beach: squats made of branches and scavenged planks and palm leaves that blew away like trash whenever storms came.

The fire warmed and dried them and they were silent for a long time, watching as the furniture of the ship crackled and burned.

“Check it out,” Pima said suddenly.

The girl’s eyes, closed for a long time, were now open, watching the fire. Pima and Nailer studied the girl. The girl studied them in turn.

“You’re awake, huh?” Nailer said.

The girl didn’t respond. Her eyes watched them, silent as a child. Her lips didn’t move. She didn’t pray; she didn’t say anything. She blinked, staring at him, but still she said nothing.

Pima knelt down beside her. “You want some water? You thirsty?”

The girl’s eyes went to her, but she remained silent.

“You think she’s gone crazy?” Nailer asked.

Pima shook her head. “Hell if I know.” She took a small silver cup and poured water into it. She held it before the girl, watching. “You thirsty? Huh? You want some water?”

The girl made a weak motion and strained toward the cup. Pima brought the water to her lips and she sipped awkwardly. The girl’s eyes were more focused, watching both of them. Pima tried to give her more water, but she turned her face away and made to sit up instead. When she had pushed herself completely upright, she drew her limbs inward, curling her arms around her legs. The firelight flickered orange and bright on her face. Pima offered the water again, and this time the girl drank fully, finishing it and eyeing the jug wistfully.

“Give her more,” Nailer said, and again the girl drank, this time taking the cup in her own shaking hand. Water spilled down her chin as she drank greedily.

“Hey!” Pima grabbed the cup back. “Watch it! That’s all the water we’ve got tonight.”

She gave the girl a look of annoyance, then turned and rifled through the sack of fruit that Nailer had gathered. She came up with an orange that she sliced into wedges and offered to the girl. The girl took a wedge and ate greedily, then accepted another. She was almost feral in her fascination as she watched Pima slice chunks from the orange. But after another few bites, she lay down again, seeming to fold onto the ground with exhaustion.