Jack Castle [Castle - Stranger Tides

STRANGER TIDES

JACK CASTLE

PUBLISHED BY CASTLE BOOKS INC

Copyright 2018 by Chris Tortora

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the authors imagination or are used fictionally and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed, electric or audio form without written permission.

ISBN-13: 978-1548989071
ASIN: B07FND76KM

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

First Edition

Jack Castle's exciting Stranger World Series began chilling readers by guiding them down the Anything Could Happen Road. In his latest addition, Stranger Tides , readers will be intrigued by the depths of adventure, surprising danger, and the deep secrets revealed. -Joe Butler, Spokesman Review

"For nearly a decade, Jack Castle has been crafting thrilling adventures for my theme park and guiding millions of guests through them. So, it comes as no surprise his talent as a storyteller has expanded to thrill readers worldwide through his Stranger World book series."

-Gary Norton

Owner of Silverwood Theme Park

(The largest Theme Park in the Northwest)

Ive taught literature at several colleges over the last 35 years, and Jack Castle is a harbinger of great adventures to come.

-Dr. James Waller

Former Editor to Vice President Al Gore

ALSO BY JACK CASTLE:

Europa Journal

Bedlam Lost

White Death

The Revenants

Stranger World (series):

Stranger World

Stranger Realm

Stranger Tides

Stranger Origins

For my Best Friend,

Chad Bryant

The guy who first believed.

Acknowledgements

I will always be grateful to my wife Trace, and my two best friends: Chad Bryant and Greg Wahlman for their constant and unwavering support.

I would also like to thank (beta-readers) and crew of H.M.A.S. The Dauntless: Elisa Brinton, Alexandria Tortora and Samantha Neeley for helping me pick apart and polish the first draft, and keep it all straight in this crazy, upside down world.

Special thanks to my new editor Suzanne Holland ( ) for their spectacular cover design.

The Sea is only the embodiment of a supernatural and wonderful existence.

-Jules Verne

Prologue

The Factory

MEAT-WAGON!

Coming

Henry, a slender teenage boy pushing a rusty, two-wheeled cart, ran as fast as his oversized clodhoppers could carry him. To do otherwise meant punishment in the form of a demotion. If there was one thing Henry did not want out of life, it was to be demoted; because demotion in the Factory meant certain death.

He parked his meat-wagon next to the dead body. It was a real fat one. The mans thin mustache was familiar, as were the blood-stains around his mouth and in the palm of his hand. Aw shoot, I know this guy . Fat boys name was Barnaby. Well, it used to be Barnaby. Despite the fact that he was always complaining about work, Henry kinda liked him.

He was always telling all those funny stories about fantastical places that obviously never existed like fairy mazes, and dinosaur jungles. Oh, and lets not forget my favorite, rivers teeming with shape-changing water-nymphs and swamps filled with zombie-pirates. Henry wasnt sure if the old man was pulling his leg or not, but he knew no place like that could have ever possibly been real.

Henry considered himself the practical sort. If he couldnt see it; it didnt exist. As far as he was concerned, only two places did exist: The Factory where he worked and the bunkhouse where he ate, bathed and slept. Other workers had told him about places above, where the masters lived in the lap of luxury, but he had never seen it for himself, ergo, it was just as mythical as ole man Barnabys fantasy lands.

Henry, you gonna stare at the H. R. (Human Remains) all day, or what? Piotr, a slightly older boy with platinum-white colored hair, suddenly arrived behind him.

Henry didnt care so much for Piotr because among many other things, Piotr thought of himself as a floor-boss, which he was not. Piotr was only a crew chief, which was only one rank above him. Piotr was also a big fat liar. For starters, Piotr said his mother was a woman named Russia, but if memory served (and it really didnt) he was pretty sure that Russia was a place, and not a woman.

Henry wasnt entirely sure how he knew these things. He figured he must have gone to school at some point for he knew other things too, like how the solar system had nine planets and how photosynthesis worked, but he had no memory of actually going to school. Who was to say Russia was any more real than Barnabys fairy maze, or the leisure palaces up above. He didnt know. Henrys ceiling was literally only as high as the grimy, smoke-stained roof seventy feet above him. The closest he had ever come to seeing anything other than The Factory was the darkened clouds, barely visible through the massive smoke-stained skylights above them. Even this was only when they had to open them periodically throughout the day to let out excess smoke.

Both boys grunted as they lifted up the HR and loaded the cadaver into the meat wagon. Piotr coughed into his hand from the exertion. They both froze while Piotr checked the palm of his hand. No blood. That was good. Piotr didnt have it. The Black Lung or what everyone else on the floor called it, the Red-Hand . Once you saw blood in your palm, you pretty much knew you were a Goner. Sometimes the bigger men would last for a few weeks but Henry rarely saw any worker live beyond that.

Seeing Henry stare over at his hand, Piotr asked, Yeah, youd like that wouldnt you? His grin broadened like a snake ready to unhinge its jaw for a meal, Maybe get a promotion?

Henry shook his head. No. I wasnt thinking that at all. He didnt know why Piotr was so worried. The head floor boss had once explained that they had nothing to fear. They were young; they were strong like bear. He was very clear when he said that the black lung only took down the old and lazy workers. Even though everybody was coughing up blood and keeling over as Barnaby had, they had nothing to worry about.

Piotr lit up a cigarette, and held it there as he said, Better luck tomorrow, Probie. The platinum-haired boy took a long drag off his cigarette and then commanded Henry, Cmon, lets dump this HR before he gets stiff.

Henry didnt talk back, instead, with gloved hands he grabbed the handles of the meat-wagon and began to push. Piotr would only offer assistance when the wagon got caught on something, say a mound of dirt or errant piece of coal, or if a pit-boss was watching he might push as briefly as was necessary.

Their job was simple, body disposal. Load body into wagon. Dump body into chute. Chute took bodies down to the furnace. As far as most workers were concerned, a plump body like Barnabys meant less coal was necessary for the leisure palaces to burn up above, which meant less coal needed to be shoveled into the furnaces. Someone as fat as Barnaby would burn a good long time.

Last week they had a record amount of bodies because there had been an uprising. What fools! They didnt last five minutes against the guards, and certainly not against their guns.

Henry couldnt understand why so many workers had to make trouble. Why couldnt they appreciate what they had? The floor-bosses had explained it to them perfectly. You work hardyou get food, and even a warm place to sleep at night. Without this job, theyd be tossed out on the street and starve to death, or be eaten by the packs of wild dogs that roamed the streets at night.