"Bootstrap!" he heard Downey shout, "What's happenin'?" It was fortunate, Bill supposed, that the answer to that question didn't involve him being attacked by anything left lurking in the violated ship, since Downey was shouting it from a safe distance and sure as hell wouldn't have been close enough to do anything about it if Bill were presently getting his face eaten off.
Any true annoyance that observation might have otherwise brought with it, however, paled alongside the astonishment that had come upon Bill at his discovery.
Whatever nightmare had crawled out of the sea and claimed the Charybdis, it seemed it had missed one person. Curled limply in the crate was a young man who couldn't yet be out of his teens, watching Bill with hostility so scorching not even his obvious exhaustion tempered it much.
Bill carefully set his rifle aside, never taking his eyes from the bottomless brown ones staring up through the curtain of disheveled dark hair that fell just past the boy's jaw. They flickered away only once, following the movement of the weapon, and then returned instantly to Bill's, feverishly alert and focusing through the lifting fog of shock.
Bill held his hands up in front of him, keeping the set of his shoulders loose and non-threatening. "It's all right," he said softly, kneeling down beside the crate. "It's all right to come out now."
The boy's chin lifted, barely, and a little more of that glassy look left him, but otherwise he didn't move, evidently not convinced enough to leave his hiding place. Either that, Bill reasoned, or he just wasn't able. Bill took in the boy's boneless posture, the dark, bluish circles under his eyes, and the pale, cracked lips, so parched they had split and bled in places. There were dark stains on his shirt, from what looked to be a head injury, as a section of his long hair was matted with blood as well.
"Jesus, lad, how long have you been down here?" Bill muttered.
The boy pulled his legs in closer to himself, arms wrapping tight around his middle, looking pained. Bill looked him over again, then glanced around their surroundings, frowning as a horrible suspicion dawned.
Bill reached for one of the cupboard doors and gave an experimental tug, which was met with firm resistance. Releasing the handle, his fingers moved down, running over a keyhole. Almost every last cupboard in the galley had one.
The captain of the Charybdis had apparently gone to some trouble to ensure that rations weren't abused.
"Oh my God," Bill breathed, turning back to the young man, who now seemed to be having some difficulty holding his head up. "Come on, lad, we need to get you out of there."
Thick lashes fluttered up enough for the boy to glare flatly at Bill once more, then came down.
Bill caught his lower lip between his teeth in dismay, then pushed himself to his feet, resolved. "All right then, the hard way it is," he sighed, leaning over the crate and sliding his arms beneath the boy's and around his chest. "Not much to you, anywaAAGGGHHSHITSHITHOLYSHIT!"
While the seven colors of the rainbow and a few not normally visible to humans flashed before Bill's eyes, he came to two conclusions: the young man was rather more adamant about not moving from his sanctuary than Bill had anticipated, and every last reserve of the scrawny-looking survivor's strength had taken up residence in his jaw.
Bill got him out of the crate, though. Mainly because his teeth were still clamped onto Bill's arm when Bill fell over. But the end result was the same.
They hit the floor and rolled apart, Bill clutching his bleeding forearm and groaning through clenched teeth, the kid skittering to press up against the bulkhead with a speed that Bill would've found impressive in someone half-starved under other circumstances.
And that was how Downey and the others found them when they decided to show up.
"What the hell is this?" Downey yelped, throwing a frantic look at the bleeding Bill and leveling his bayonet at the boy.
"Put it away, Downey," Bill growled, pushing himself upright. He turned his arm to get a better look, and hissed.
"Who is he?"
"No one you need to be pointing a gun at."
"Sod that, he just bit a chunk out of you, Bootstrap!" Downey moved forward, clutching the rifle so tightly the bayonet quivered in the air. "What were you doin' in here?" he demanded, advancing on the boy.
Bill stepped between them, the last of his patience dwindling. "He was hiding, Downey."
"Ha! What fer?" The bayonet was practically bouncing.
"To avoid being found. 'S generally what hiding is supposed to accomplish. Move."
Bill planted a solid kick on one of the cupboard doors, followed it up with another, and smashed the hinges inward with a third. He knelt and peered inside, then stuck his arm in.
"How d'you know he didn't have nothin' to do with those poor bastards in pieces up there?" Downey shot back, gesturing wildly with the bayonet.
Bill's hand shot up and grabbed the barrel, stopping the erratic movement. "If you don't stop waving that bloody thing around I'm going to bend you over this counter and put it somewhere safe so the rest of us don't have to fear losing an eye."
Downey got very quiet. Someone in the hall behind him coughed carefully.
With one last glance at his shipmate, Bill knelt down again and retrieved what he'd been hunting for: a corked stoneware jug. He pried the stopper out, took a sniff, and looked up to catch the boy's eye. "Come here, lad."
The young man hesitated, and Bill tipped the jug, a quick cascade of clean water splashing down to sluice over the bloody mark on his arm.
The boy made a small noise and propelled himself towards Bill and the offering. His hands shook as they clutched at the neck of the jug while Bill held it steady. "Sip it now," Bill warned. "It needs to stay down to do you any good." He let the boy get two pulls, the second of which was mostly sputtered out when the kid choked on the first and doubled over, coughing uncontrollably. Bill set the water aside and put a hand on one shaking shoulder. "Easy now, catch your breath."
He stood and gave Downey a cool look. He stepped in close, so he could speak almost directly into Downey's ear. "Those men up there were torn apart like they were made of paper, Downey. They were torn apart, and fucking eaten. And from the look of it, whatever ate them wasn't too particular about just how dead they were when it tucked in. This little bit of a bloke here has been sitting in this room the whole time. Listening to them die and smelling them rot -- and probably wondering if the thing that killed them was going to come back for seconds." Bill paused, giving Downey a moment to absorb that. When he saw the other man's throat jump in a hard swallow, he continued. "Have you and the men been all the way through the rest of this ship?"
Downey cleared his throat, and shook his head.
"Well then maybe you ought to get on with that. Because if this lad isn't the only living thing left on this tub, we need to know it. Are you following me, Downey?"
"Aye," Downey nodded. "I hear ye, Bootstrap."
"Good. You go fast, you go quiet. Take whatever supplies or valuables are easy at hand. If you should find any more like him alive, get them up top and onto the Beacon." Unspoken was the unlikelihood of that coming to pass. "You find anything else..."
Downey moistened his lips nervously. "What do you think it was?" he asked.
"Hungry." Bill replied.
………………………..
The boy's coughing spell passed, and he reached for the water again.
"Here," Bill said, sitting beside him and lifting the heavy container. "You have a little more of this, and then we'll get you on your feet and out of here, all right?"
The fingers of one hand waved at him in what might have agreement. Or a muscle spasm; it was hard to tell. Bill let him drink a bit more this time before gently but firmly taking the container away. The boy scooted away, but not very far. He watched Bill warily, swiping his sleeve across his mouth.
"Better?" Bill asked, and this time he got a nod, which relieved him more than he'd been expecting. He had begun to entertain the gut-twisting thought that the boy's mind might not have come through the ordeal as in tact as the rest of him. It was hard to say how he'd fare down the line, of course, but having gotten a look at what the lad had lived through, Bill privately thought that the full eye contact and lack of drooling were encouraging signs.
"I don't know how you endured it," Bill marveled quietly, "but you've impressed the hell out of me, and I haven't known you an hour." He gave the young man a small smile. "What's your name, lad?"
Those dark eyes searched him for a minute, and whatever they found, or didn't find, must have satisfied the boy.
"Jack--" he replied, breaking off and flinching as a dry cough trailed the word. "Jack Sparrow." He accepted the help when Bill moved forward and lifted the water jug for him again, his eyes closing briefly in relief as his throat was cooled.
Then he opened them, and tilted his head as he studied Bill.
"And just what the hell sort of silly name is 'Bootstrap', mate?"
TBC