Tales of the Decay

by James Barton

  Kevin stepped toward the hatch that would give him the clearest path to the galley, but then paused for a second to look back at the container. At the moment, the sound that drew his strongest attention was the growling in his stomach that had begun at the mere mention of food. He shook his head and looked again into the distance as a thick fog began to devour everything in the ships frothy wake. It seemed that Cal might be right, now would be a good time to get some dinner.

  Kevin didn’t always feel at home when he was in port, but climbing down into the belly of the ship was something he could do blindfolded. He heard the soft groan of rocking steel as he climbed down a small ladderwell. The passageways were narrow and painted a yellowing cream and ubiquitous pipes ran along the walls and ceiling of the corridor. For a moment, Kevin couldn’t help but think of the ship as a living creature with metallic veins scattered along his path. Each light was housed in a small metal cage and let out a soft buzz as he passed each one. Each bulb seemed a little too dim and emitted an unnatural orange glow.

  Kevin navigated the constricting passageways of the ship, looking at the small signs as he went. He passed a few other crew members who simply nodded their hellos. After a few minutes, he stepped over the lip of the hatchway and into the galley. Six long tables had been lined up and a few people were still seated, their plates holding only crumbs. They conversed and laughed at jokes as he made his way past them. Behind a small counter was a younger man with a white apron.

  “Sandwich or chili?” he asked, bluntly.

  “Uh, sandwich I guess,” Kevin responded.

  The man began to grab ingredients from small tubs and started putting his food together.

  “I’m Danseburrough, but everyone just calls me Dee,” he said as he dipped a knife into some mayonnaise. Dee was average height and clean shaven. He wore a clear hairnet that covered a neat set of cornrow braids. Although he was the cook, his arms suggested he did a lot of heavy lifting. Without looking up from his chore, Dee asked, “You been on this tub before?”

  “Yeah, about two years ago,” Kevin replied. “Name’s Kevin. You weren’t here that trip.”

  Dee chuckled. “Uh huh. I heard the last guy choked on a chicken sandwich and had nobody to complain to except himself. Ain’t always easy being the cook.”

  “I guess not,” was all that Kevin could say, not sure whether to believe the story or not. One thing he was sure of though, never piss off the cook!

  “Anyway,” continued Dee, “being the new sheriff and all, I just have a few rules and we will get along swimmingly. First rule is meals are at seven, one, and six. You miss ‘em, then you missed it. Secondly, only I make the food, no one else. It’s too cramped as it is without someone putting their dirty hands on my ingredients. Third, you clean up your table good after each meal and we’ll be best friends,” he said as he snuck a piece of German-chocolate cake onto Kevin’s sandwich-covered paper plate. “Feel me?”

  “Yeah, I feel you,” Kevin responded as he accepted the plate. Kevin shook Dee’s hand before taking a seat at the cold steel table with connected circular seats. As he looked around the small, cream-colored room, he took a bite of his sandwich. There were a handful of other men. Some still had their reflective vests on over heavy work attire. They paid little attention to Kevin as they continued their conversation. He knew that there were a few women in this crew, but he hadn’t seen any of them yet.

  A few minutes passed, and the others drifted out as Kevin cleared almost everything on his plate save for the piece of cake. As he reached for his fork a bony hand squeezed his shoulder. It felt cold and he instinctively pulled away.

  “Aye bro, it’s me, Cal.” It took Kevin a second to associate Cal’s name with the voice that had called him away from the deck earlier.

  Kevin turned around in his chair. Cal was a tall lanky man in a pair of thick blue coveralls. His hair was a puff of orange strings and he had a short pencil-wide beard that connected to a scraggly goatee. His smile was full of crooked teeth.

  “Oh, hey, what’s up?”

  “How did your security check go?” he asked.

  Kevin began to speak, but was cut off.

  “Don’t worry about it, Fargus is just trying to give you busy work. He does that sort of thing to everybody until he gets their measure, you know what I mean? Hey man, you mind if I ask you a favor?”

  Again, Kevin opened his mouth to speak, but Cal continued abruptly.

  “I’m the loadmaster, so all those big crates are like my babies. Anything happens to them and it’s my ass. So, unless you got a real important job, try to keep some distance. I got ‘em all secured and I don’t want something happening. Plus, I’m sure Fargus and the captain will keep you busy. Man, I’m glad to meet you though. It’ll be good, y’know?”

  “Yeah, sure man.”

  “Oh, and we’re bunkmates, so I’m sure we’ll see each other again.,” Cal said as he left the room.

  Across the galley, Dee was grinning at Kevin as Cal went out the hatch. Kevin looked back at Dee with a confused look on his face.

  “Don’t look at me, I don’t get that guy either,” said the cook with a shrug. “He’s always been a bit weird, but what do I know, right?”

  They both chuckled and Dee patted him on the back as he left the room.

  Kevin was then all alone in the small, poorly lit dining area. He took in the sounds of the ship, relaxed and simply enjoyed his cake while his mind wandered. Had he imagined the noises that he had heard earlier above? What was in those cargo containers? His thoughts drifted to Cal. While he came off as friendly, he was one of those people who Kevin immediately disliked. With a shrug, he got up, wiped down his table and tossed his plate in the trash. He always liked the ship at night. There was something peaceful about being awake when most others slept. As he turned toward the exit, he suddenly found himself face to face with one of the most stereotypical seadogs that he could imagine.

  “Hey son, hand me that red container,” said the older man in a voice that seemed to come all the way up from his toes.

  “Yes, Captain,” Kevin replied as he turned looking for the requested container. Standing behind him was Captain Thompson, who Kevin recognized from his previous cruise on this ship. Thompson was a bit standoffish, but was still pretty well liked and respected by the crew, due to a seemingly natural talent for knowing his people. To Kevin’s amusement, Thompson bore a striking resemblance to the man on the Klassy Klams Fishstix box, right down to the well-kept beard and gray weather-washed eyes. The captain was wearing his crisp white uniform, which was the only clothing the crew ever saw him in. His large hat was sitting on the counter and his wool overcoat was draped over an arm.

  “I’m glad to sail with you again, Captain,” Kevin said, hoping to re-establish some recognition and respect, if such a thing was possible.

  “Aye, glad to have you onboard – Dawson, right? The container’s in the reefer there.”

  Surprised and secretly pleased, Kevin turned to the large fridge on his left, saying as he turned, “Of course, Sir.” Inside was a single red container with a clear lid, which revealed a prepared dinner that appeared to be of a higher quality than what the other men were eating. Kevin handed it to him and stood waiting.

  “Thank you. Dee prepackages dinner for me. I never really know when I’ll be able to make it down here,” he said absently, before leaving without as much as a goodbye.

  Days went by and Kevin worked his shifts and made himself useful for the most part. There was always something that made him uneasy. When Cal looked at him, he felt he was being studied, the simple conversations, an interrogation. About what, he couldn’t be sure, but his growing suspicion finally became too much to ignore.

  It was well after midnight when Kevin slipped quietly from his bunk, stepping ever so lightly to avoid waking Cal, who appeared to be sleeping like the dead in the upper berth. The snores of several other crewmembers were the only noises in the room, keeping time with the almost imperce
ptible rolling of the giant ship. He could think of no better time to move about the upper deck undetected, while most of the ship slept and the remaining watches were lulled by their late-night duties and the gathering weather.

  Minutes later, he was among the large containers on the deck, staying as much as possible in the black shadows created by the harsh deck lights on the ship’s perimeter. The wind was up, and a light rain was covering the deck and helping to muffle the noises Kevin was making on his private investigation. As he walked to each container tapping on it gently with his folded pocketknife, he secretly hoped that he had imagined the noises earlier – the last thing he wanted was to be on a ship carrying something – or someone – illegal. When he was much of the way through his walk-around and beginning to relax, he knocked on the side of a container expecting nothing, only to hear a shuffling and what sounded like a muffled voice.

  “Hello?” he asked. The sounds from within stopped abruptly.

  Screw this. Kevin left and returned with a pair of bolt cutters from the supply room. With one powerful motion he snapped the lock into two pieces. It hit the deck with a solid metallic thud. He took one deep breath and muscled the latch open. As the one door swung open, light crept into the container. Inside were dozens of faces staring blankly at him. There were boxes of food and a few buckets against the wall. The scared-looking people did not rush forward to be freed, but instead defensively huddled deeper in the container.

  “Who are …” he began.

  The door slammed shut, yanking his hand with it. He spun around to see Cal standing there with his outstretched arm holding it shut.

  “Why did you have to be so nosey?”

  “There are people in there,” Kevin responded, his shock being quickly overcome by anger.

  “No shit. You’re making this more complicated,” Cal said in a threatening tone.

  Kevin stood in front of the container full of human trafficking. He was no moron, but a part of him wanted to hear the excuse come directly from Cal’s mouth. “Who are they?”

  “Preppers, crazies, refugees. Some of them seem to think the world is about to end. Figured they would have a better chance getting away. Well, that’s a handful of them, the rest are the usual fare of people that want to go to America. I don’t ask why; all I know is that’s one fat-ass paycheck I’m getting.”

  “Did you ask what they were running from?”

  “I don’t rightly care, Satan, boogeymen, aliens? All I know is that I had a great thing going. Now you done fucked it up,” he said and shoved Kevin squarely in the chest, a move that miserably failed to rock the heavier man in the slightest. It was a stupid move, and anybody else might have decked the skinny asshole right then and there.

  Quickly realizing his mistake, Cal lowered his voice and said, “We need to fix this problem, I plan on walking away with cash, not cuffs,” as his eyes scanned behind Kevin.

  Kevin didn’t have to look behind himself. He knew how close they were to the side of the ship. “You gonna try to kill me?” Kevin asked, the disbelief in his voice as plain as the hardening look in his eyes.

  Cal’s face reeled back like he just smelled something awful. He then let out a snorting laugh, raising his hands in front of him with his palms facing the rising threat. “Whoa there, no. I was thinking more like, five percent. You get a big payday just to go on with your business.”

  “Those are people in there.”

  “Oh, fuck off. They’re just tourists trying to visit the land of the free. They ain’t being mistreated or nothing. Plus, I’m just helping them get away from the boogeyman. Seriously, keep your mouth shut. I’m telling you right now, ten G’s should be plenty for you to just go on with your business.”

  “Ten thousand?” Kevin asked, shocked.

  “Yeah, in your bank, five days from now.”

  “How many people are in there?” Kevin asked.

  “In that one? Twenty.”

  “What do you mean that one?”

  “Ten thousand and you quit with the questions like that. Hell, I’ll write you a check today. You can cash it when we hit land.”

  “I can’t. I can’t be a part of this,” Kevin said and turned to walk away.

  Cal stepped in front of him, careful to remain just out of Kevin’s reach. “If you are thinking about telling the captain, don’t bother,” he laughed. “One, don’t be such a bitch. Two, do you really think I got all this done by myself? The captain will make more from this one trip than he has in the past year.”

  Kevin just stared in disbelief.

  “C’mon, do the smart thing here. Ten G’s,” Cal said and rubbed his fingers together. “Do we have a deal?”

  He contemplated the offer and made up his mind. Before he could answer, there was a soft thud from behind them.

  From around the corner a dirty bald man had collapsed onto the deck. Both Kevin and Cal ran over to him.

  They both stared down at him with bewildered looks.

  “One of yours?” Kevin jabbed.

  “Actually … no,” he replied. “Hey, buddy! Are you okay?”

  The man sat up; his legs outstretched on the deck revealing filthy pants spotted with something black. He looked up at them blankly. The man opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it without saying a word. He reached up and removed a pair of gold-rimmed glasses from his face. He wiped them with his shirt and looked at Kevin and Cal with bewilderment.

  “You are on a freighter ship headed to South Carolina,” Kevin told him.

  The man did not respond, but furrowed his brow even harder.

  “We’re almost there, actually,” Kevin added.

  The man smiled, but it was a forced animatronic thing that did not seem to fit his face. The door to the inner ship swung open.

  “What in the bloody ‘ell is going on here?” Fargus boomed from the doorway.

  The small man shuffled to his feet, grabbing Cal for support. Cal’s face contorted into a grimace, like a child eating their most hated vegetable. After the man stabilized himself, Cal disgustedly wiped his hands on his pants.

  “Who is this? What is going on, Kevin?” Fargus asked.

  There was a pause and Kevin looked over at Cal. Cal’s eyes pleaded for him to play along. Which only informed Kevin that Fargus wasn’t on their scummy little payroll.

  “Fargus, I don’t know. We couldn’t sleep, came out to get some fresh air and shoot the shit, when we just found this guy out here. He seems confused, hell, I am too. I mean what is that on his clothes … oil?” Kevin hated lying to Fargus as his tale managed to leave out the bit about crates full of stowaways. Cal, he could handle. But if Fargus was in on this shit too, it would probably be better to play dumb until he knew what he was dealing with.

  “Confused or not, this isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with stowaways. Cal, get him to storeroom B. Make sure he gets comfortable, because he isn’t moving around the ship.”

  Cal winced again, as the bald man patted him on the hand. Without looking back, Cal began to lead him to the lower decks of the ship.

  Fargus and Kevin locked eyes for a moment. “That man doesn’t look … right,” Kevin said.

  “No shite, with all that oil on his clothes, it’s a wonder he didn’t get himself killed tryna hide in the engine bay. I tell you what, I seen a stowaway get torn ta shreds trying ta hide in places he dinna’ belong.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “Lad, I’ve been doing this fer a lotta years, had my fair share of stowaways. They all play dumb when they get caught. Though this be the first time I seen the silent treatment, like he’s some kinda mute. Doesn’t matter, we just gotta keep him inside. He even has to be escorted to the bathroom. Other than that, he stays in that room, we’ll bring him food and when we get to port, we turn him in. Sometimes people just make bad decisions, ain’t my place to judge. We’ll report him to the captain first thing.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “Just seems like a lot of work
fer all my guys that are already so busy. If only we had someone who could take on a job like this,” Fargus chuckled and slapped Kevin firmly on the back.

  “Oh, no …”

  Fargus’ deep laugh boomed out into the darkness as he looked at the containers around them, returning his piercing gaze back to Kevin. “Well, you’ve apparently got betta things t’do than sleep, anyway.”

  Kevin sat against the bulkhead, his legs outstretched in a V shape into the passageway. It was so narrow that his feet nearly touched the other side. The door to the storeroom was cracked and there was a soft humming coming from inside.

  “What’s your name?” Kevin asked.

  The man poked his head out of the door, acknowledging the question, but did not respond.

  Kevin couldn’t help but get frustrated. “What’s your deal, you just trying to play stupid?”

  Again, there was no answer.

  “Fine by me, barely any time left anyway. Then you won’t be my problem.”

  “Hey, man, I brought the stowaway some grub,” Dee said as he rounded the corner.

  The short stowaway scrambled to his feet. A plastic smile plastered on his face, but still he said nothing.

  Kevin started to stand up to take the tray.

  “Naw, I got it man. Don’t give him no shit now, we’ve all done stupid stuff. You wanna hear stupid? I tried getting with two roller derby girls at once,” he laughed and punched Kevin in the shoulder. The man in the room quickly exhaled, which sounded like an attempt at a laugh.

  Dee stepped into the small remaining space of the mostly full storeroom and handed the middle-aged man a tray. The man accepted the tray and placed his hand over Dee’s. The man nodded with that plastic smile still stuck to his face.

  Dee instinctively jerked his hand away. “Enjoy, ugh, just don’t make it weird, man.”

  “Everything okay?” Kevin asked.

  Dee rubbed his hands as he walked off. “Yep, just getting ready to cook up everyone else’s meals. Want me to bring you a plate since you’re on guard duty?”