The Last Passenger

by Manel Loureiro

  She was there.

  Carter was kneeling in the hall, bleeding profusely from his nose, and shaking uncontrollably as he stared blankly at Senka and Kate.

  She had gotten him, too.

  XLIV

  Richard Moore, or the person formerly known as Richard Moore, climbed the stairs with footsteps like a metronome and lungs like two bellows. A strange, vibrant energy carried him forward with the force of a supercharged engine. He passed through the center of the hall of eagles. He approached the hidden door that led to the bridge. As he turned the handle, the first great wave from the storm slammed forcefully against the side of the Valkyrie. If the stabilizing engines had still been operational, the ship’s balance would have been corrected automatically by the control board on the bridge. But none of that existed anymore. The wave’s impact rocked the ship enough to cause Moore to lose his balance and fall with his full weight against the door he was opening.

  Go to the bridge, Otto. The captain is waiting. It’s urgent.

  The voice.

  The voice was seductive, intense, and powerful, and it filled every crevice of his mind while muffling all the other noises. Moore didn’t like those noises—they scared him. They were telling him that everything was going horribly wrong. He preferred not to listen.

  He entered the bridge. Captain Kuss, handsomely dressed in his finest uniform, was watching him with cobalt blue eyes. Harper, his name is Harper. Harper, Harper, Harper, the other voices corrected him before she drowned them out.

  Don’t listen to them, Otto.

  Harper stared at Moore with disgust and then glanced at his watch.

  “You’re late, Oberfeldwebel Dittmar.”

  “I know, sir,” answered Moore as he clicked his heels and saluted automatically. “I’ve been busy until now.”

  Harper brushed a speck of dust from his jacket sleeve before continuing. “I’ve been informed a blast was heard near boiler room number two. Something like an explosion, although there are no injuries. Go see what’s going on, and then report to me. But hurry. I have that damned gala dinner in less than fifteen minutes. I don’t want to waste any time.”

  “Jawohl, Herr Kapitän.” Moore clicked his heels again and ran off the bridge like a bolt of lightning. But he hadn’t left because of the captain’s orders. Her voice had returned, uttering only one word.

  Run.

  He rushed to the elevator that directly connected the bridge to the lower decks of the ship. It was the fastest way to move about the ship. Three of his men had been waiting for him, leisurely smoking cigarettes. Without saying a word they saluted him, and they all piled into the elevator.

  A strange image materialized in front of Moore for a split second: two sheets of steel welded together before him that blocked his path and a huge red sticker on the obstruction with something written in English. Moore shook his head and reached out toward the steel, but his hand passed right through it. Then, the image disappeared.

  He felt a slight throbbing in his temples, and his expression twisted. He could sense his headache was about to return.

  The elevator rattled down for a very long time until finally arriving at the level where the boilers were located. The Valkyrie’s engines roared like a monotonous, loud buzz that drowned out all other sounds. The temperature was sweltering and stifling. Moore began sweating profusely.

  He headed toward the chief engine operator, a fat, bald man close to sixty whose skin was glistening with sweat. He had a Prussian mustache that filled his entire face. As soon as he saw Moore, he stood formally, wiping his hands on a rag in an effort to clean them.

  “There you are,” he yelled, competing with the deafening sound of the engines. “We heard an explosion about an hour ago on lower deck three. At first we thought a mine had gone off or something because that area was deserted. Or it should have been. Anyway, we found them, and well, we didn’t quite know . . . We thought it would be best if security checked it out.”

  Moore stared at him, and it happened again. It was like one moving picture on top of another. Moore looked at the chief operator with the Valkyrie’s enormous engines behind him. But the colors of that image began dissolving and swirling into each other. For a few brief seconds, the background became fuzzy and transformed into something else as it gained clarity again. Atop the broken gauges of the control panel, Moore could see a spattering of blood and guts and the broken bodies of three engineers lying on the floor, riddled with hundreds of tiny pieces of shrapnel. The vision was so real that Moore stepped back in horror. He opened his mouth to scream, but the image vanished like a soap bubble bursting. Everything was normal again. The indicator lights and valves were in perfect condition, shiny, lustrous, and without the slightest trace of human carnage.

  It was only an illusion, Otto. You’re very tired. The sooner you finish, the sooner we can go back to the bar for another drink.

  “Where was the explosion?” Moore asked.

  “Over there,” said the chief engine operator, pointing obediently. “On the other side of that door.”

  They passed through the door and came into an empty, cavernous room. In 1938 the Valkyrie had been designed with coal engines in mind. This room would have been a huge storage hold for coal. Eventually, they installed more efficient diesel engines, leaving this space empty.

  Moore blinked several times—what his eyes saw did not match with what his brain processed. In front of him, two ultramodern engines were smoking from damage, with their metallic, twisted remains scattered across the rest of the room. He closed his eyes tight, and when he opened them again, it had all disappeared. The room was completely empty except for a group of people sitting in a corner. Moore’s headache got worse. He felt ill, the heat was making him dizzy, and he wanted to throw up. He would have killed for a stiff drink.

  “You’re bleeding, sir,” said one of his men quietly, offering Moore a handkerchief.

  Moore took it without a word and wiped his nose, breathing in the thick, metallic smell of the Valkyrie’s diesel engines. Anything that came down to this area inevitably returned smelling like the engine room. He walked through the empty room, afraid the visions would return at any moment. Perhaps he should visit the ship’s doctor. It was not normal to see things that weren’t there, things he couldn’t understand. But the idea vanished from his mind, only to be replaced by bafflement as soon as he saw a group of people seated on a girder. They were watching him fearfully.

  It was a family, or at least they appeared to be. There were five of them: two men, a woman, a girl, and a baby only a few weeks old, crying faintly as his mother rocked him.

  Moore gazed at them. The young man and woman looked like a married couple. He was somewhat short with fair skin, some early gray patches of hair, metal-rimmed glasses, and intelligent-looking green eyes. He held his wife’s hand. She was thin, with frightened dark eyes. Her oval-shaped face was framed by dark, curly hair. Every now and again she leaned over the baby, trying to soothe him. At her feet was a girl, who was maybe six or seven years old and dressed in a plain gray cloth dress and slippers that were too large for her feet.

  They were frightened, weak, and hungry. Their panic was as palpable as the diesel smell. Moore instinctively realized they were afraid of him, and, suddenly, endorphins began surging through him like lightning. The sensation was so gratifying that he became addicted.

  They were scared of him.

  Of him.

  Their lives were in his hands. He was like a god of the underworld. He swallowed and was almost unable to breathe. At last, his eyes paused on the last family member, and his euphoria turned to rage.

  The man must have been nearly eighty years old. He looked feeble and wore a black suit that had begun to fray at the elbows. He had a thick gray beard. A few traditional ringlets fell from beneath his yarmulke and over his ears. His shoulders were covered with a blue-and-white-striped shawl.

  A fucking rabbi, thought Moore.

  A rabbi on board the Valk
yrie.

  The old man was the only one in the family who didn’t appear to be scared. His granite eyes looked through Moore like fireballs. They were scrutinizing the deepest pits of his soul. A sardonic smile began to creep to the corners of the man’s lips, as if he had noticed something very humorous about the head of security.

  That was too much for Moore. As if launched from a catapult, he smashed his fist into the old man’s cheek. The man fell back hard, his mouth bleeding profusely. The woman and her daughter screamed and tried to help the elder, but the husband held them back and glared at Moore. The husband knew that they couldn’t win this battle.

  The rabbi got slowly to his feet. He picked up his cap from the floor and dusted it off before putting it back on his head. Then, he walked toward Moore with the look of a man resigned to his fate. But there was something else, something fleeting, that rippled beneath his face that Moore was unable to put his finger on. A threat perhaps?

  “What are those bottles of water?” Moore pointed to a pair of carafes on the floor. The little girl held another in her hands.

  “We gave them water,” the engine operator sputtered. “Here below it’s so hot that you can easily become dehydrated. They must have been hiding down here when we set off from Hamburg. They could have died if we hadn’t—”

  Without letting him finish, Moore screamed in rage and kicked over the carafes. As the water spilled out, he grabbed the little girl’s arm with one of his enormous hands. His brutal grip made the girl drop the bottle and cry out in agony. Moore picked her up and shook her in the air like a lion playing with its prey.

  “Dirty Jews,” he spat, continuing to shake the girl, who was writhing in pain. “You sick commie rats! You have no right to be on board a ship of the Reich! You sons of bitches!”

  As he uttered the last word, he tossed the girl to her father’s feet. The man reached out in an effort to cushion her fall. Moore, who was expecting that, took advantage and unleashed a brutal kick straight to the man’s face as he leaned forward. The cracking of the bones in his nose could be heard above all else. His glasses lay shattered by his side on the floor and were soon surrounded by a puddle of blood.

  The engine operator looked both uncomfortable and alarmed. “You can’t do that here,” he said. “Sure, they’re Jews, but they don’t deserve such brutality. They’re human beings after all, aren’t they?”

  “Shut your fucking mouth!” Moore spun around and put his nose inches from the other man’s. “You just worry about your own fucking problems. This is a matter of ship security, and no goddamn machinist is going to tell me what to do. I’ll decide if they’re human or not. Don’t even think about giving this trash another drop of water until I have spoken with the captain. Got it?”

  The engine operator puffed his chest up and looked defiantly at Moore. He was a man who was used to being in charge of his terrain, and that was where they were. He wouldn’t tolerate such insolence there. Nevertheless, the gun hanging from Moore’s waist and the rifles his men were carrying were enough to make him shrug. “Go to hell,” the machinist growled and spat on the floor. “It’s not my problem. We’ll see what the captain says.”

  With a smile of cruel satisfaction, Moore walked out of the room without looking back at the family. They had all crowded around the bruised girl and her crippled father. The old man had closed his eyes and rocked back and forth while mumbling under his breath in Hebrew. Around him the air seemed to condense and thicken.

  Fifteen minutes later, when he returned to the Valkyrie’s bridge, Moore felt peaceful. His sweat had dried, and he’d buttoned up his jacket again. He informed the captain about the stowaways below. Harper, with his gala jacket and white gloves on, was about to leave for the great hall. Even from the bridge, the distant buzz of passengers who had already arrived at the dining hall could be heard.

  The captain listened to Moore’s report idly, more interested in checking himself using a small hand mirror. He seemed to have some problem with his mustache. Finally, he sighed with exasperation and turned to Moore.

  “My God, that’s enough! There are Jews on board. So what? I’m busy, Dittmar. I have two hundred people waiting for me in the dining hall. So do something about it. After all, you are the head of security.”

  Moore felt a heady, dark sensation wash over him. He exerted a superhuman effort not to let his emotions shine through.

  You have to take care of this yourself, Otto. Teach those dogs a lesson. Finish them.

  Moore nodded without realizing it.

  Show them who’s boss around here, Otto. Show them who’s in charge of the new order.

  “Yes,” he murmured with a dry mouth. “Yes.”

  The captain opened up the logbook. In angular handwriting he noted the time and date of the important events that had taken place since the last changing of the guard. When he heard Moore mumbling, he looked up and a drop of ink fell to the page. He blew on it, clearly annoyed, and passed a fingertip over it, but all it did was smudge the paper and stain his glove.

  The captain had no idea that his entry would be the logbook’s last and that before he wrote it, someone else had already read it in another reality that was slowly fusing with his own. But the Valkyrie knew well how to keep secrets.

  “Let’s go, Dittmar.” The captain gestured to the door. “What are you waiting for? Make up your mind once and for all.”

  Moore nodded and saluted before he left. As he went down the stairs, an alarming grin possessed his face without him even realizing it.

  A terrible, chilling notion had erupted from some black hole in his head. And he was going to act on it.

  XLV

  In the hallway leading to the guards’ quarters, Kate watched as the shadows moved and felt a wave of fear swell within her. She couldn’t look away from the black mass that had swallowed the entire hall in darkness. In the gathering gloom, the outline of Carter on his knees could be seen against the darkness behind him, which was lighter than the one gaining on them. Kate struggled in vain to understand.

  The shadow crept across the walls and ceiling. Each lamp it approached began blinking and turning a deeper, dimmer yellow before the light disappeared entirely.

  “What’s that?” Senka asked, looking pale and shaking.

  “I’m not sure,” Kate managed to say, unable to tear her eyes away from it, whatever it was.

  Kate.

  She screamed and fell to her knees.

  Kate. You conceited bitch. Did you think you could get away with making fun of me?

  “We have to get out of here,” Kate howled, struggling to stand up.

  She grabbed a table, and a jar fell to the floor and shattered. Kate collapsed again and dragged Senka down with her. The two women landed in a tangle and gasped for breath. The air was too hot and thick to breathe easily. Once again the stench of burnt oil and rotting algae reigned, but this time it was stronger than ever. There was hardly any oxygen and small, colorful flashes of light danced before Kate’s eyes. She suddenly realized they were about to die.

  You’re not going anywhere, Kate. He is not here. I’ve tricked him. He’s lost and can no longer see you. You’re mine.

  Darkness began crawling toward her, devouring everything in its way. Kate was barely able to make out her own hands right in front of her face. The elevator at the end of the hall was too far to be a real option for escape.

  You’ll be fine in the shadows, Kate. I take care of everyone. Here in the shadows it’s never cold. Never cold. It’s never cold . . .

  Something struck Kate’s shoulder. She screamed in agony but did not budge. Her head was buzzing, and forming clear thoughts became nearly impossible

  She was struck again. Only then did Kate realize it was Carter. The physicist was dripping blood from every orifice on his head and was slapping her hard on the back in an attempt to make her get up. Tears of blood splotched his face grotesquely and made him look like a psychopathic clown.

  “Run,” he panted,
almost whispering. “Run.”

  Carter held out his hand. He was holding a naval flare that looked quite old. Kate didn’t have time to ask him where he’d obtained it as the physicist tore the paper and pulled the ring in one swift movement.

  In an instant the hallway lit up with such brightness that it hurt, as red sparks cascaded in all directions and cast off a dense, impenetrable smoke. The shadows flickered and trembled momentarily in fear of such a sudden and unexpected flash of light. The light broke the shadows into tiny pieces and illuminated the entire enclosure. A muffled groan quickly transformed into a bellow of fury. Carter was howling in pain as hundreds of tiny veins began bursting throughout his body like a string of firecrackers.

  “Run,” he shouted as he stumbled down the hall, away from the elevator and toward the heart of the shadows.

  The darkness was churning. Kate could see it swirling around itself. Carter, screaming in defiance, stepped into the shadows. The flare began to flicker out as soon as he entered the first layer of darkness, and the shadows advanced once more.

  Kate helped Senka get up, and both women began running for the elevator, which was glowing dimly at the end of the hall. Those thirty feet seemed longer than a marathon. The shadows were hot on their trail and closing in on them quickly. Something wet and cold grazed their hair. One damp finger brushed Kate’s neck like the tongue of a dead fish, and she screamed in both terror and pain.

  The elevator was only a few feet away. Just then, Carter’s defiant howl became one of infinite misery before being cut off as if someone had pulled a cord. The flare finally exhausted itself, and the shadows in the hall returned, hissing greedily and all the more black, like a starless sky on a cold, distant planet.

  Senka and Kate entered the elevator, and as Senka closed the gate, Kate pressed the button. The door closed, and with a jerk they began descending into the depths of the Valkyrie.

  On the other side of the gate came the sounds of a sigh of indignation followed quickly by loud knocking. Something was roaring in anger, and the knocking was turning into a frenzied cacophony. A piece of metal broke off the gate, fell on top of the elevator, and bounced around on the roof. Kate and Senka exchanged a look before embracing in fear. Kate thought she could hear Robert’s voice standing up to that dark shadow, but she couldn’t be certain. Perhaps her mind was playing tricks on her. Only one thing was for sure: the shadow had stopped paying attention to them and focused on something else.