Ki Book One

Chapter Seventeen

  Aboard the ship, Jackson was not allowed out of his room. His quarters were nothing but a storage compartment. He had to make his bed between wooden crates filled with cans and bottles. Though the bottles were made of a thick, dark glass, he knew better than to break one and try to use it as a weapon against the Guards; there was no way off the ship. Plus, he still needed the Major.

  He had something Jackson wanted.

  He spent most of the voyage staring out of the tiny porthole above his ramshackle bed. It offered a view of the choppy ocean beyond and the clouds fleeting through the sky above.

  It took almost eight days until they sighted land. Though it was a dark night and a vicious storm had whipped up, Jackson saw the slices of white light shifting across the wild waves and over the side of the ship. He pushed himself up from his bed, the tarpaulin he’d been using as a blanket falling at his feet. Running to the window, he jumped up on a crate to get a better view. In the distance, he could see a lighthouse.

  Grabbing onto the rim of the rounded porthole, he craned his neck down and saw flashes of dark, sharp-looking rocks close to the ship.

  They’d finally arrived. Avictus Island... he’d only ever heard of it. An old prison, it had been converted into a military facility by the Government before the last war.

  As forks of lightning flashed down from the raging storm above, he saw snippets of the island lit up. Dark rocks led up to a sharp rock wall. On top sat a daunting, huge building. Castle-like, it had numerous turrets, each mounted with powerful lights that scanned the sky in sweeps.

  It looked like something out of a nightmare.

  Prying himself from the view, Jackson straightened up. Running a hand over his short, stubbly beard, he tried not to be put off by his own smell. If he ever got out of this situation, he’d have a shower. A long one. He’d also throw away his clothes and take the time to shave with a cut-throat razor. He always liked to be clean and neat, but he’d known better than to request shaving equipment from the Guards.

  The ship swayed as it came into port. The waves pounded the hull, the vibrations shifting up through each pillar, strut, and floor, and shaking Jackson as he stood there. Locking his hand onto a crate for stability, he heard footsteps outside of his door.

  Without a word it was opened and he was ushered out. With two armed Guards at his tail, he was taken through the ship, onto the prow, down the shaking gangway, and onto solid land.

  The wind and rain lashed him, sending rivulets off his nose and trickling into his mouth. Shaking his head now and then to shift it from his hair, he followed every order he was given.

  With forks of lightning stabbing through the sky and the roar of the ocean behind, he was led up shear, steep steps to the facility beyond. Soldiers in wet-weather gear were spread at even intervals, expressions and stances dauntless despite the screaming wind and drenching rain.

  As he neared a solid, but rusted metal door, it grated open and he was marched inside.

  When it closed behind him, the sound of the storm turned into a muffled yowling, the thick walls of the building holding it back with ease.

  In silence he was marched through narrow, musty corridors with unmarked doors, up old, worn steps, and finally to a simple room.

  The door was closed and locked behind him, and again Jackson found himself standing in a small, narrow space. At least this time the floor did not sway beneath him though.

  Settling down onto the single chipped wooden chair in the corner, he crossed his arms, hunkered his neck down, and waited.

  The Major would no doubt come to see him soon.

  Then Jackson would have to start making some decisions.