by Muriel Gray
Skinner thought of the Lysicrates’ life raft, how part of it could be covered with canvas stretched over metal hoops. The company assassin would not know what Skinner looked like. It would be dark. It was simple. There needed to be two of them in the life raft. One, a decoy sacrifice out on view; and him, hiding, alive and waiting for his chance to board unseen and pay back the compliment.
All he needed, apart from the weapon he was looking forward to retrieving, was the willing and unknowing stooge. Someone who trusted him, believed whatever he said, who would do anything for him.
Skinner smiled. He stood up slowly, cautiously, unbuttoned his shirt and slid his soiled trousers to the floor. It would take him only minutes to change. Then he would calmly pick up the attaché case, leave the cabin quietly and go and fetch Renato Lhoon. His second officer was about to get the promotion he desired.
“Look at me!”
Cotton’s thumb and forefinger were digging into the flesh of Esther’s jaw as he held her reluctant, sulking face a couple of inches away from his desperate one. Her skin was slick with sweat and he could hear by her shallow breathing just how fast her heart was beating. Matthew was frantic.
Esther, when she spoke, revealed she was not. “He’s still alive, you know. So is Skinner.”
Matthew wanted to sob. He controlled his voice and kept a hold of her face as he brought his even closer. “You have to listen to me now. Really carefully. I know a bit of you can still hear me. So, concentrate. Concentrate really hard.”
Esther replied by talking softly, almost in a dream. “Heather, your wife. Her father was Scottish. She liked to wear men’s woollen kilt-socks in bed in winter.”
Cotton held her face fast, though his heart had leapt with a pain that threatened to topple him.
Esther smiled, not unkindly. “You’re not really a very good alcoholic, are you? You don’t even like drinking. You just do it to forget the accident. Molly already had a tooth when she was born. You called her Popeye because of it.”
“Stop it,” said Matthew weakly.
Esther, though her head couldn’t turn, swivelled her eyes away from his to look beyond his shoulders. “There’s a mineral deep under the sea-bed off the coast of Greenland that we haven’t discovered yet. It’s going to change everything when we do.” She laughed. “Wow. Big time.”
Matthew wrestled back control of his senses and talked over her as she tried to continue. It silenced her. “I listened to the tape, Esther. They wanted you as soon as they saw you. They made all this happen. That thing. It wants to rape you, kill you, take your heart and your skin. The boy was talking obscenities in Spanish that would have him jailed in any civilized country. He was telling you they’re a sect of pure Incas that believe in the return of some disgraced occult priest who’ll make them powerful again.”
He felt a sob at the back of his throat well up again.
“And it’s true. Can you hear me? It’s fucking true!”
She blinked at him, and for a moment he saw her behind those opaque eyes. Her voice was tiny. “Help me.”
Matthew let go of her face. The marks where he’d held her were red and angry. His voice was not much stronger than hers, and the night breeze nearly carried it away. “I don’t know what to do.”
Esther looked at him. His kind, battered face was contorted with pain, and it was a pain she now understood completely. Panic rose in her throat and she used it to get busy. Her snowplough was revving up and she was pushing as hard as she could to clear the debris of thought, trying to clear a space where she could be Esther Mulholland and not just a receptacle for the white noise of facts. But harder than silencing the knowing was the insistence of her desire. She was awash with it. Aching to be touched, to be consumed and defiled. Aching for something that her conscious mind knew was beyond obscenity, but had drilled itself into her soul. Her eyes screwed shut in concentration. “Matthew,” she gasped.
He held her hands.
“It’s coming again.”
Cotton whirled his head round, searching for the imminent danger. “Where? Where the hell is it?”
Esther shook her head, sweat spraying from her as she did. She had no strength to search in her mind for its location. All she knew was that it was getting near and that the part of her that thrilled to its approach was the part that was taking all the energy to resist. Push, push. The plough shoved at the blackness, making a tiny white space where she could think, remember, be herself.
“You can… stop this.”
Matthew turned to her again, his hands tightening on hers. He spoke rapidly, panic-stricken. “How? Quickly. Tell me how.”
Her eyes opened and as she gazed earnestly up at him he knew he was looking at her when she spoke, and not at the mad person who had spat at him for shooting a monster. It was as well he did know, because if he hadn’t recognized Esther in that soft, pleading face, then the words she spoke so gently would have been taken as nothing more than another gross obscenity. But they were not meant to be obscene. They were merely an order from someone who was temporarily very sane indeed.
“Fuck me, Matthew.”
Every face in the engine room turned to watch the door as it opened slowly, and as Captain Lloyd Skinner appeared from behind it, every face registered visible relief. The captain was calm, unruffled, with the familiar, quiet self-assurance that sent a warm wave of comfort through his crew that was almost palpable. The fact that Skinner was far from calm, that on discovering that the body of the thing Cotton had blasted apart less than ten minutes ago was no longer lying at the top of the stairs, that he had felt a fear unlike any other he had known, was not something that Renato or his men would suspect. The captain had regained his skill of inscrutability, but in the face of the problems that lay ahead its maintenance was taking its toll.
Skinner walked toward the group of men, looking around until he caught sight of Renato Lhoon. “Is everyone safe?”
Lhoon stepped up to meet him, and the men, having been silenced by fear when the door had started to open, started talking amongst themselves again.
Renato looked grim. “We were locked in, Captain. Every door.”
Skinner nodded. He moved closer to the second officer to ensure they were not overheard. “There’s been trouble out there, Renato. It’s under control but I’m going to need you firstly to keep the men calm, then come with me to help contain it.”
Renato raised an eyebrow but it was impossible to mask the small glow of pleasure he was experiencing in being so needed and valued. He kept his voice as conspiratorially low as the captain’s. “A man is dead in the cofferdams. We think it may be Fen. There’s not much left to be able to tell.”
Skinner felt his mouth drying. The mines. Was someone messing with his mines? Shit. An anger and uncharacteristic panic rose in his throat again that he quickly contained. “What happened in there?”
Renato shrugged. “We don’t know. We heard screams. Terrible screams. I went in with three of the men. We only found… remains.”
“How long ago were the screams?”
“About twenty minutes.”
Skinner nodded. So that’s where the thing had been before they’d been attacked. He allowed himself the weakness of fear again to wonder where it was right now, then suppressed the terror with the pragmatic thought of the job in hand. The rest of them could worry about its location when he was safely off this tub, and that was what mattered now. The important factor was that it didn’t sound as though his explosives had been discovered in that search for the screaming man.
Men afraid of the unknown would be unlikely to notice or question the innocent looking circular steel objects stuck to the hull. The captain cleared his throat and adjusted his body language to alert Renato to the fact that the next exchange was delicate, and must be received calmly to avoid any panic. Renato’s eyes registered understanding, and he responded in kind, walking a few paces away with Skinner as casually as he could.
“The strain got to Cotton.”
Skinner looked saddened. “I can only imagine he’s been drinking for hours, but the girl made it worse. I didn’t check her before she came aboard. This is partly my fault. But it seems she’s a drug addict, obviously a courier. I should have guessed as much. They’ve been doing some drug together, God knows what, but the outcome is they’ve both gone apeshit, and somehow they’re armed.” He shook his head. “Don’t ask me how.”
Renato’s eyes were wide with horror. “Shit.”
“Shit is right, Renato. Now here’s the good news. She had a short-wave VHF radio with her, obviously there was going to be some pick-up of the stuff she’s delivering. I’ve managed to get it from her and hailed a fishing boat that’s less than a mile away. You and I need to launch the life raft and get to the captain of that boat. I’ll explain why when we’re aboard. But the important thing is to get that gun off Cotton and the girl. I can’t stress enough how dangerous they’ve become. I’m going to need your help.”
“They locked us in?”
Skinner nodded. He looked at the floor and then back at Renato as if weighing up whether to tell him something or not. It was a brilliantly subtle performance.
“They did worse than that, Renato.”
Renato Lhoon stared at him.
Skinner continued his acting masterclass by allowing a tiny flit of emotion to cross his face—just enough to indicate a controlled grief, but not enough to undermine the calm, reassuring authority he was displaying. “They shot Pasqual and Libuano.”
Renato put his hand to his brow and looked round quickly to the men to check that no one was looking at them. His pulse was quickening as he absorbed this fresh batch of unspeakable news. “My God. My God.”
“Let’s stay calm. You come with me and we’ll hunt them down. Make sure the men stay here for their safety, and this whole thing will be sorted out as quickly as you and I, as the senior officers, can manage.”
Renato looked at his captain and nodded.
Skinner held his gaze. “I’m making you officially first officer of this ship from now. Tell me now if that’s a problem for you.”
Skinner enjoyed watching Renato trying to mask his glee and assume an air of a man accepting a heavy burden, marvelling at how easily stupid men could be manipulated, but he kept his face impassive as the new first officer shook his head sagely and replied, “No, Captain. I’ll accept that duty and do the best I can.”
“Good. If you start by addressing the men for me, I’ll just check the cofferdams.”
Renato put an unwelcome hand on his arm. “Be careful in there, Captain.”
Skinner looked at him and for a fraction of a moment his mask slipped before he could repair it. Renato had a brief glimpse of a face filled with contempt. He withdrew his hand.
It took only a few minutes with the flashlight to ensure that the mines were still in place and then Skinner hurriedly and gratefully closed the metal door for the last time.
Renato was finishing his talk to the crew: “… and that’s why we must stay here until it’s safe to leave. Felix and Sohn are in charge until we get back. Keep the doors closed. No one leaves. You hear me? No one.”
The men shifted about uncomfortably until the captain spoke.
“We’re nearly out of this mess. Thanks for your support and for keeping so calm in the face of all this horror… Renato and I won’t be gone for long and when we come back, this thing will finally be over.”
Lloyd Skinner had a soothing and mature timbre to his voice and the men nodded and settled.
The captain let Renato go first. It seemed polite. In reality it was simply a precaution. That way if the thing was still at large it would have something to work on before it got to him, and secondly it meant that his new first officer didn’t notice his captain slipping the bolt back on the engine room door as he closed it behind him.
The seagull on the roof of the bridge was asleep when its head was pulled from its body. Even if it had been awake, its reaction time would have been no match for the claw-like hand that tore it apart and crammed it into a gaping, hungry mouth. The ripping of this new flesh was nothing more than a delay, but it had its penalties. Repair needed sustenance. The bones of the gull crunched between sharp teeth, and the thing that moved the jawbone to pulverize it looked down with an unfathomable hatred in its narrowed black eyes, and the stench of clean living humans in its wide nostrils, on the place where its destiny was being withheld.
“Matthew. Please.”
Matthew still had his back to her, the gun in his arms like a baby, his head bowed. “Don’t talk to me. Just leave it.”
Esther was groaning with the effort of keeping her mind intact. “I can’t… it’s the only way. I’m still a virgin. He… needs it to be a virgin. Please. This madness in my head will stop when you… please.”
Matthew Cotton turned and looked at her, his face a stony oval of misery. “How can I, Esther? How can I do that?”
She groaned again. “I don’t know. You have to… you have to try.” It was getting too hard to push the mental mess back. She closed her eyes again and grunted.
Matthew looked at her sweating, contorted face and closed his own eyes. He had to do something. Was she right? Was this all he could do? He walked a few paces out from the shadow of the crane and breathed hard in the night air. It was sweet. The ocean breaking against the hull of the ship was as delicious as the breeze, and he listened to its frothy sound as though it were music.
He stared out to sea, searching his heart for a solution, trying to shut his ears and his heart to the sounds of the suffering girl behind him. Then he saw it. A light. There was a ship out there. Matthew’s heart stopped.
“Esther. There’s a ship.”
She groaned again. “I know.”
“It’s the company ship. We’re going to be saved.”
“It’s not. It’s… it’s a fishing boat. It’s here for Skinner.”
“What?”
“He’s going to sink the Lysicrates. Sonstar are splitting the insurance money with him… oh God, I can’t keep this up.”
Matthew was breathing quickly, his brain filling in blanks, questions he hadn’t asked but that had been there all along being answered faster than he could collate them.
“Esther. Try. Tell me.”
“The boat’s for him. He killed Pasqual and the cadet because I gave them his radio.” She groaned and held her head.
Matthew turned back to the dark sea and scanned along the invisible horizon until his gaze swept past the accommodation block. There, it halted. A tiny movement in his peripheral vision made him swing his eyes back to the bridge. Something had moved up there. Something on the roof. As if it was his ally, the breeze immediately brought a whiff of rot. Faint, but enough to remind Matthew Cotton that he had a decision to make.
The boy on the tape that Esther had given him had been young. She had said so. But the things he had described, the importance of the virgin in their vile ceremony was something he could hardly bring himself to think of. He stood, heart in mouth for a beat waiting to catch another glimpse of movement. None came. He fought back nausea and won, but whether he was imagining things or not, it had been enough to rekindle his terror.
Matthew gulped in some more air, rubbed his face and turned back to the trembling girl in the shadows. He stood over her for a second, then knelt and touched her face lightly. “This is madness. It’s not the way I’d hoped this would go, Esther.” He bowed his head, shame and fear in his eyes. “I’ll try,” he said softly. “You have to help me.”
She opened her eyes and looked up at him with a mixture of gratitude and affection that started to melt something in Matthew Cotton that had been cold for a very long time.
“We haven’t much time.”
She sat up with an effort, and still looking at him unflinchingly, took his hand, placed it on her firm breast, then lifted her face to his and kissed him. Matthew closed his eyes and felt the softness of her lips as her tongue prized his tight lips gent
ly apart. His head was reeling. Part of him stood apart from his body laughing at him. Look at you, it roared. In fear of your life and yet a young girl kisses you and death seems less important than the stuff that’s already happening in your pants. His heart had increased its beat again but this time it was not from fear.
Esther withdrew her mouth and he opened his eyes to look at her. She was struggling now, desperate to say something.
“I… want to tell you something. Need to tell you. Before I lose this gift… this curse… whatever the fuck this madness is. I… don’t know if you get to remember this stuff or not… so in case it all goes when I’m… well you know, there’s something you have to know.”
Matthew blinked at her. His desire had been aroused embarrassingly quickly. What was the delay?
She wiped at her face and looked at him.
“Molly.”
Matthew’s desire melted. He clenched his back teeth.
Esther continued. “You never knew if she would have recovered or not… when you… when you gave them permission to turn off the life-support machine. You never knew if she could hear you, if she knew you were there but couldn’t speak. You’ve never been able to live with that, have you? You’ve been wanting to die too.”
Matthew stared at her. Molly. His darling baby Molly. He saw her again, was powerless to stop the picture coming back into his mind again after all these years of keeping it out. He saw her four-year-old body twisted and stiff from the brain damage the lack of oxygen from the fire had inflicted on her, as it raged through their modest but much-loved house and took the life of her darling mother. He could see Molly’s lifeless eyes staring grotesquely in opposite directions as the ventilator breathed for her, and a glucose drip kept her flesh alive. Molly. Molly McKenzie Cotton. The girl that could sing all the verses of “New York, New York” and not know why it was funny to hear it sung in such a little helium voice. The girl who didn’t like to wear shoes in the yard in case she stepped on a bug and killed it. The girl who wanted her daddy to get a job on shore because she and Mom missed him so much. Molly. The most beautiful girl that had ever lived. Before he could even open his mouth to speak, great hot tears began rolling down his cheeks. They were tears that had not fallen for five years, and as they fell it felt as though his soul was being skinned.