Trapped Within

by Bradshaw, Duncan P.

  “Martinez, I’m going down to the engine room—take the bridge.”

  The captain vanished through the doorway and Martinez felt very alone. He picked up a heavy torch and laid it within easy reach. He looked out over the huge expanse of deck below and watched as the lights flickered. The shadows twisted and flexed along the edges of the deck and Martinez struggled to see what moved within them.

  Hale stops talking and sits back in his chair to light another cigarette. The men around him are quiet and staring.

  “And then?” they ask as one.

  Hale shrugs and finally finds a fresh pack of Marlboros in his pocket. Van Den Berg holds out a light for him and Svenson grabs him another beer from the fridge.

  “Come on, man!”

  “Okay…”

  Lehman ran into his chief engineer before he reached the engine room.

  “There you are, Captain. I couldn’t raise the bridge on the intercom.”

  “What the hell’s going on in there?”

  The engineer clapped a hand to his brow.

  “We’ve got the pumps going to try and clear out whatever the hell it is that has flooded in.”

  “What did Ramos find?”

  “I don’t know. Something slammed against his leg. Beneath the surface you could just about see them, like birds fluttering behind frosted glass.”

  The captain stared at the king of the engine room; the big engineer was one of the most solid and dependable men that he had ever sailed with.

  “I know how it sounds, Captain.”

  Kessel seemed distracted. There wasn’t time to dwell on the madness, so Lehman asked the most important question.

  “The engines?”

  For a moment Kessel looked away.

  “They’ve slowed down. I’m not sure if I can even raise half speed out of them.”

  “Do what you can. I’ll have to call this in.”

  Lehman turned and walked away. He tucked the Beretta into the back of his waistband as he headed back to the bridge. It was quiet when Lehman walked in. Martinez stood staring out at the deck.

  Lehman coughed and the first mate turned to look at him, his left eyebrow arching into a question. The captain shook his head in response.

  “When does he think they’ll be working again? We’re as good as dead in the water here.”

  “Soon as he can, you know Kessel. They’re going to have to pump all that crap out the engine room first. We’ll have to call it in and make sure we have men on both radars. How’s the weather?”

  “Those swells died away as quick as they appeared.”

  “Okay. Get the men on those radars.”

  Martinez nodded and headed for the doorway.

  “Captain? What are we going to do if they come?”

  “Do? What can we do? We’ll just have to hope that French warship is in range.”

  The first mate slipped away and left Lehman to his thoughts.

  The sun bled into the sky as dawn approached and Lehman watched the horizon for signs of either small boats or a larger warship. He saw nothing and the sea lay still as the sun crawled slowly into view. The radio and satellite phone gave off nothing but static and the radar screens were a mass of strange shapes. Lehman had sent Martinez off to his bunk and remained alone on the bridge.

  Chen stuck his head through the doorway to the bridge.

  “Coffee, Cap’n?”

  Lehman nodded and took the flask.

  “How are you, Chen?”

  Chen smiled, but then Chen always smiled.

  “I be happy when we go again.”

  It was Lehman’s turn to nod.

  “We’ll be underway as soon as we can.”

  “I know, Captain. But I worry I won’t see land again. Any land.”

  Lehman looked at the clouds shifting in his coffee.

  “I’ll get us back. At worst we’ll have to wait for the company to pay a ransom on us.”

  “A ransom for the oil maybe—how much is old Chen worth, Cap’n?”

  The smile was back on his face and as he left the bridge Lehman said nothing.

  Martinez reappeared. The first mate looked no better for the sleep he should have got; his hair, usually slicked down, stuck up from his scalp at odd angles and his eyes were as puffy as if he had been in a fight.

  “Coffee?”

  Martinez grabbed up a cup and held it out while the captain poured.

  “Get much sleep?”

  “No. Every time I closed my eyes I dreamed.”

  “Of?”

  “A black sea under a red sun and terrible things in the sea.”

  The first mate rubbed his face. Lehman thought of his own dreams and said nothing.

  “Are you okay to stay here while I check in with Kessel?”

  Martinez nodded and slipped into the chair that Lehman had just vacated.

  Captain Lehman stood at the top of the ladder to the engine room and called down for Kessel. After a moment Ramos appeared.

  “He’s not here, Captain.”

  “Well where is he? I need those engines.”

  “He… he…”

  “He what man? Where is Mr. Kessel?”

  “He said to say he’d gone fishing…”

  Ramos looked apologetic.

  “Can you get the engines working?”

  “We’re trying, Captain, but we can’t find anything wrong with them.”

  “Keep trying. I’ll check back once I’ve found Kessel.”

  Lehman stormed through the ship and headed for Kessel’s bunk. He wasn’t there. He checked in the mess and found Langdon sitting alone. The man looked up as the captain entered and flinched.

  “They’re here, Captain. They’re all around. Can you see them?”

  “Shut up, Langdon.”

  The man looked away as Lehman glared at him.

  “No more of that talk or I’ll have you gagged.”

  Lehman slapped his hand against the bulkhead. The careful order of his ship was unravelling. Chen came down a ladder and the captain grabbed him.

  “Chen, have you seen Mr. Kessel?”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Where?”

  “Out on the deck.”

  “On the deck?”

  “Yes. He had a…”

  Chen struggled for the word and then raised his hand above his head and shrugged.

  “What? What did he have?”

  “It looked like a spear, Captain.”

  Lehman shook his head and quickly made his way back up to the bridge.

  “Everyone has gone mad, Martinez.”

  The first mate looked at the captain.

  “I think I’m halfway there myself.”

  Lehman pulled his binoculars from their case and scanned the deck. He spotted Kessel near the fo’c’s’le leaning out over the rail above the sea. He passed the binoculars to Martinez.

  “Watch the horizon. I’m going to go and talk to Kessel.”

  The captain clipped a walkie-talkie to his belt and slipped the Beretta into the back of his trousers.

  As Lehman made his way along the gangways, towards Kessel, Martinez scanned the horizon and watched the thick clouds moving in fast from the east. The sky seemed to burn red and the sea appeared black beneath it.

  Martinez kept the glasses on the sea and his heart punched in his chest like a boxer at a speed ball as he watched the shapes that danced beneath the surface.

  The spear that Kessel held was home-made; it looked as though the engineer had hammered pieces of scrap into the shape he required. It resembled a great iron harpoon. A thick cable attached it to the railing.

  “Gonna be some good fishing tonight, Captain. I’m fishing in the sea of souls.”

  “What about my engines?”

  “Fuck the engines. A man doesn’t get many chances like this in his life. Better than Marlin in the Gulf of Mexico.”

  The engineer was staring out over the rail.

  “Look at the size of them…”
>
  Lehman slid the pistol from behind his back and pushed the safety off.

  “Mr. Kessel, you’re needed in the engine room.”

  Kessel took no notice and instead hefted the spear back onto his shoulder, all the while looking over the railing.

  “In a minute,” muttered the engineer.

  Lehman raised the pistol and aimed it at the centre of Kessel’s chest.

  “Kessel!”

  Kessel launched the spear over the side and grinned. He grabbed the cable in his gloved hands and began to tug. Lehman noticed that he had rigged a small winch up to the cable.

  “Kessel leave it. We need you. I need you!”

  “Go back to the bridge, Captain. I’ll reel this in and then I’ll fix your goddamned engines.”

  “Return to your post, Mr. Kessel, or I will shoot you.”

  The engineer grinned and, while keeping one hand locked around the cable, reached for the knife at his waist.

  “Don’t do it!”

  “You won’t kill me, Captain.”

  Lehman lowered the pistol and shot the engineer through his left leg, just above the knee. Kessel sat down on the deck, hard, and howled.

  “Toss the knife or I’ll shoot you in the other one, you stupid bastard.”

  Kessel bit back his howls and then threw the knife over the rail, his other hand stayed locked to the cable. Keeping the gun aimed at Kessel, the captain took the handset from his belt and hailed the bridge. Martinez came on the line.

  “Get down here. Mr. Kessel will need some help to get to the engine room.”

  “I can’t leave the bridge, Captain. You need to get off the deck. They’re everywhere!”

  “What are?”

  “The shadows are all around you, Captain! Get off the deck!”

  “Martinez, get down here. That’s an order.”

  The handset crackled once and then was silent.

  “Martinez!”

  The cable in Kessel’s hand tugged once and the engineer peered over the rail.

  “My God, Captain…”

  The engineer didn’t finish the sentence. The cable jerked again and flipped him up over the rail. He began to scream as he disappeared over the side. Lehman rushed to the side. He could see where the cable entered the sea and his eyes followed it. Kessel burst to the surface and raised his hand, except there was no hand. It must have been sliced off by the cable. Lehman saw a shadow below the surface and watched as it moved towards Kessel. He aimed double handed and fired twice at the dark shape—it continued to move towards the stricken engineer.

  “Swim, man! Swim!”

  Kessel continued to bob on the surface as the shadow moved below him.

  “Help me!” screamed Kessel. Then he was gone, vanished beneath the surface as though he had suddenly had lead weights attached to his legs.

  For a moment Lehman considered firing again but then he looked away from the too-dark sea and stepped back from the rail. He stood and stared up the sky—it didn’t look like the sky he had seen the day before; it seemed too low and had taken on an odd hue. Lehman hurried back along the deck towards the bridge.

  Langdon sat in Lehman’s chair on the bridge. Martinez was nowhere to be seen. The seaman was looking out of the window at the sky. The captain levelled the pistol at Langdon and moved away from the door.

  “What’re you doing here?”

  “Someone had to hold the bridge for you. I saw Martinez heading for his quarters.”

  “You don’t look so scared anymore, Langdon.”

  “Because I’ve accepted it, I’ve accepted what we are, what they are.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Have you ever thought about those old slave ships crossing the Atlantic?”

  “No, Langdon, I can’t say I’ve dwelt on it much.”

  “You don’t think we’re doing the same thing—running through the night with a cargo of misery and lost souls?”

  Lehman leaned back against the helm, making sure to keep his gun hand several feet back from Langdon.

  “We’re just carrying cargo, that’s all.”

  Langdon grinned suddenly.

  “I can imagine a Portuguese slave ship captain saying the same thing.”

  “Except he was carrying people in chains and I’m just carrying oil.”

  “It’s the same thing.”

  “No, it isn’t. Get off my bridge, Langdon.”

  Langdon stood up but kept his hands out wide from his sides, his hands open.

  “I’ll go, Captain, but this isn’t your ship anymore.”

  Lehman locked the door behind Langdon and tried to check the position of the ship. The navigational devices had been smashed and the charts were gone. The captain checked the Beretta—there were nine rounds left. He checked the lockbox and found another twelve bullets. Lehman drank the last of the coffee from the flask and looked out at the sea. He could see shadows dancing beneath the surface.

  The ship stopped moving. Lehman checked his watch; it was just before eleven. A few minutes later there was a soft tap at the bridge’s heavy door. Lehman checked the pistol and opened the door. Chen stood in the doorway. He was clutching a flask and a sandwich wrapped in cellophane. He passed them quickly to Lehman.

  “They’re coming for you, Captain.”

  Lehman nodded.

  “I thought they would. All of them?”

  Chen shook his head.

  “Mr. Martinez is dead. And Vallacer. They would have killed me but I hide in the freezer.”

  “Go back there and wait till this is over.”

  “Let me stand with you, Captain. You can trust Chen.”

  “I know I can, but I can’t put a man who can make coffee as good you as you can at risk.”

  Lehman forced a grin.

  “Are they armed?”

  Chen nodded.

  “Knives and tools.”

  The Chinaman looked away from Lehman. The captain grasped Chen’s shoulder.

  “Get back to your freezer and stay there. I’ll come and find you.”

  Chen nodded.

  “It is a cheese sandwich, Captain. The cheese you like.”

  Lehman locked the door when Chen clambered down the ladder.

  Then Lehman sat down, ate his sandwich and drank a cup of Chen’s coffee while he added to the log. He knew that he could hole-up in the bridge until he starved, but then he would be leaving the Panama Valdez to Langdon. He reloaded the Beretta and opened the door. The windows, roof and bulkheads were impenetrable to an assault by men armed with knives and tools—they would have to use the door. He pulled together a make-shift barricade and stood back behind his chair. He laid a hammer on the chair and put the spare bullets for the pistol in his pocket.

  They came half-an-hour after noon.

  “Captain, throw out the gun.”

  It was Langdon.

  “Why don’t you come to the door, I’ll be happy to give it to you!”

  Silence.

  Something flew through the door above Lehman’s point of vision; smoke trailed behind the object. Lehman scrambled back and found the smoke bomb in the corner. He grabbed it up and threw it out the door as the first crewman leapt the barricade; a scarf covered the lower portion of his face and a cleaver shone in his fist. Lehman shot him twice in the chest and as he retook his position behind the chair he put a third round into the man’s head.

  They were swarming at the door, now, tearing the barricade to pieces. Lehman fired into the mass of bodies and watched blood spatter and blossom against the bulkhead walls. And then they were gone. They left behind three bodies sprawled in the doorway and the one that Lehman had shot inside the room.

  Lehman grabbed up the hammer and followed the retreating mutineers out. They hadn’t expected him to follow and as they scrambled for cover one caught a bullet in the face and another took a round through the shoulder. Lehman moved in with the hammer.

  “My ship, you bastards, my ship!”

  The hammer
rose and the hammer fell and Lehman was splashed red.

  “Get his gun! Get his gun!”

  Langdon and the last of the mutineers closed in; a swing of a hammer, the slash of a knife, a squeeze of a trigger, a body falling, a punch thrown, a blade stabbed in, another gunshot, another swing, another slash, another body falls. Langdon pressed against Lehman, a knife through the captain’s flesh. The Beretta pressed against Langdon’s head.

  “It’s my ship!”

  “It’s their ship now!”

  Shapes all around, shades come out into the daylight; screams, whispers, shouts, guttural grunts and the cries of the lost. Lehman smiles as he feels his life leaking from his side.

  “Mine.”

  He whispers it as he squeezes the trigger and Langdon’s head comes apart like a rotten coconut thrown against the ground.

  Lehman looks out to sea and sees the shadows swimming closer. He can discern the all too human shape of them now, so close to the surface that he is almost able to see the features of them now… at the end.

  “There isn’t any more, that’s it.”

  Hale gets up and pours himself three fingers of Johnny Walker blue label.

  “But how did you hear it?”

  “They found Chen floating in a life raft the day before yesterday.”

  “You spoke to him?”

  “He isn’t speaking to anyone… no, I pieced it together from the log Lehman had given Chen and of what I know of Lehman.”

  Silenced reigns over the room.

  “But what happened to Lehman? What about the ship?”

  Hale looks away.

  “You don’t want to know what I think. But they still haven’t located the Panama Valdez, or Lehman, and I don’t think that they ever will.”

  He takes a deep drink from his whiskey.

  “A captain stays with his ship no matter where it goes.”

  Benedict J Jones lives in London. He writes crime, horror and western fiction. He has had over thirty short stories published as well as the collections “Skewered; And other London cruelties” and “Ride the Dark Country”, novellas “Slaughter Beach” and “Mulligan’s Idol”, and the novels “Pennies for Charon” and "The Devil's Brew" both featuring his ex-con turned private eye Charlie “Bars” Constantinou.