Mortal Sin - Sin Book II

Chapter 6

Lacking the six legs and stalky eyes to be a crab, I knew the beach wasn't my home.  The salty water of the sea, brown and cloudy rather than blue and clear, wouldn't begin to give me sustenance and I was in no shape to battle the gulls for ownership of the fishing rights, or even fishnet tights.  I needed to leave.  Make like a tree - though that's leaf...  I had to find... something.  Shelter.  A town.

Myself.

Maybe I'd bump into Livingstone on my way.  He'd be lunching with his undiscovered African friends and invite me in for Yak's milk and fried monkey brains.  Or poached - probably healthier.  Grilled?

Where was Gordon Ramsay when you needed him?

Of course his friends wouldn't be 'undiscovered' by then.  The fact that Mr. Livingstone was dining with them did, I presume, indicate they were 'discovered'.  But you get my drift.  I was a stranger in a strange land.

I'd read a book by Robert A. Heinlein years ago, with that very title.  I think the main character was a Martian or something.  Now, to my knowledge, I was very much Human, but, for all I knew, I could well have been wandering, lost, on the Red Planet.

Although the sand was... well... sandy coloured.  Not red.

So probably not.

I might chance upon the Spirit robot explorer they'd chucked up there (or here if I'm up there... or up here).  Perhaps it could even tell me where I might find some water.  A mouth full of sand is prone to make one a tad thirsty.  If I were to discover the explorer, I'd best start exploring, I figured.  The best way to do that was to put one, somewhat shaky, foot in front of the other.

Apparently, it's called 'walking'.  I could remember some things.  I don't know if a certain Valentine Michael Smith (of the Heinlein variety) suffered from memory loss but, being alien - or something like - he had his own problems.  Hey, I could have even been him!  I was a fictional character in some dusty old book, all faded cover and tatty corners.  I wasn't doing or thinking anything that wasn't already written.  All I had to do was wander from word to word and see where it took me.

Nothing to worry about.  Unless, of course, I was the geeky minor character who was going to be the first one killed off.  I should avoid dark cellars and swimming near sharks then.  Given the particular colour of the sea here, I'd be surprised to discover a Great White idling by so I was probably safe in that respect, but just to be sure...

I turned my back to the ochre ocean and walked.  The beach curved inland, reminding me of a catapult ready to hurl me back to whence I came.  Still, I ventured forth, loading myself into the sling to find what might lay beyond.

At the edge of the sand was a long line of tall trees.  As I approached, I heard voices from the other side.  Not ghosts, silly.  The other side of the trees.  Laughter.  Swearing and slurred words.

Great.  I didn't know who or where I was.  The first people I come across who might help me seemed to be drunk.  Just my luck.

I didn't know my east from my west, so didn't know if the sun would be rising or preparing to dip it toes in the  murky waters, but it was high enough to still seem and feel fairly early in the day.  Even better.  A bender in the making.  In my current predicament - lost mentally and physically, I decided to avoid any potential unpleasantries and skirt aways further along the beach.  Ignorance of my location meant it really didn't matter where I went, as I didn't know where I was going anyway.

Then, I might have known...

Three boys pushed through the trees and fell onto the sand, not far from my feet.  I call them boys but they were probably around 20 or so.  Younger than me, however old I might be.  I didn't feel as young as they.  The trio were clearly very drunk, staggering against each other as they stumbled to their feet.  Typically, as is the way of the clever, practised drunk, the lager cans in their hands remained upright and unspilled.

I tried to back away, moving around so I could sneak into the tree-line unseen.  It didn't work.  They saw me.

"HEEEYYYYY!" one of them shouted.  He had dark hair, cut longer on one side and spiked up over the other.  A ring pierced his right eyebrow and a large tribal tattoo spiked along his upper arm.  His t-shirt was tucked into the waistband of his jeans.  I didn't particularly think it was warm enough for a spot of topless sunbathing, but he must have had his beer jacket on.

The other two took a faltering step towards me, one of them tripping and falling to his knees, a move that caused his friends to laugh hysterically.

I stepped back again towards the trees.  Maybe I could drop through and they'd be too intoxicated to care or be able to follow me.  Of course, what I should have done was stand my ground and look confident.  Not knowing if I was any good in a fight made me uneasy, however, and my retreat only served to egg them on.

I was scared, they thought.

I was prey.

"Where are you going, eh?" the first asked loudly.  He wasn't moving, apart from a to and fro swaying, but I still felt a threat looming.

"Come on, have a drink" said the one who had, a moment before, been on his knees.  He'd staggered to his feet, narrowly escaping falling again.

"I'm fine, thanks," I said as firmly as I could.

"Too early for you, mate?"

"A little."

"Wuss!"

"Come on, live a bit."  The third member of the gang, who seemed as big as his companions put together - but in a muscley, five nights a week at the gym way, rather than in a 'I ate all the pies' way - reached his can out to me, offering a drink.

"Really, I'm fine.  Thanks anyway."

Keep it friendly.  Don't antagonise.  A small move away, making it look as if I was simply steadying myself on the sand.  Don't run or turn my back.

I could feel their fire, a burning need to cause trouble.  It scorched their innards, fuelled by the alcohol.  I was easy pickings.  I was the perfect prize for their party.

"You going somewhere?" the first asked, his eyebrow ring glinting in a sun I hadn't noticed, until then, was shining.

As one, they advanced.

"Don't you want to join in with us?  Share a drink?  Something wrong with us, then?"

I did step back, then.  My heartbeat did pick up pace in my chest, trying to run off on its own, whether I was joining it or not.

"No, not at all," I said.  I could hear the shake in my voice.  They, no doubt, could hear the fear lacing the tremble like Rohypnol in wine.  I could feel it deadening my legs, making them heavy, making me more vulnerable than I already was.  "I just need to be getting back."

"Back where?" Eyebrow guy seemed to be the 'ring'-leader.  Perhaps his piercing was a badge of leadership.  He was doing the pushing, the main taunting.  The others were deferring to him.  "Look at you.  Doesn't look like you've got anywhere to go."

Did I look that lost?  That down-and-out?  Was my amnesia stamped on my forehead in big red letters?

Before I could answer, all three lunged, shouting.  It was as if a telepathic command had been issued and they had jumped in response.

I stumbled back, crying out.

I felt the largest of them, a wall of solid muscle, land on my chest, forcing me to the ground.  I saw his hand ball into a fist as it raised above my face.  I could smell the alcohol on his breath - fetid and stale.

The fist swung down.

I closed my eyes.  I think I may have whimpered.