The Last Passenger (26 page)

XLVII

Moore felt so jubilant that he could barely stay still. For starters he’d been given complete authority to deal with the Jews. That alone was enough to make him ecstatic, and his mind teemed restlessly as voices continually whispered dark, devilish ideas.

But as if summoned from a magical lamp, when Moore and his three men exited the elevator, they ran headlong into the two Communist sluts. Their backs were to him, and they were apparently distracted. It had indeed been a stroke of good luck. The voices in his head had howled in a chorus of delight as Moore rammed the butt of his gun into the back of the redheaded bitch’s neck. If they’d come five minutes earlier or later, the two women would have already placed their bombs and stealthily scurried away again.

They were very good, he had to admit it. The Serb had managed to break out of her cell in astounding fashion. The three men that had been on duty were missing without a trace, something that worried Moore slightly, until the strongest voice in his head told him to forget that minor detail. Since she told him to, Moore obeyed. She was his friend. His personal goddess. His guiding light.

The fact that these two women were moving freely about the ship constituted a security threat. But now it was as if they’d fallen from the sky, holding a bag full of detonators and some futuristic, earth-like material that could only be an explosive. Moore had taken care of the English woman, and one of the guards had put a stranglehold on the Serbian woman, who had fought back like a viper. The four men dragged the women into the empty coal storage room.

“More stowaways?” asked the engine operator. “It’s like a goddamn infestation of cockroaches. Someone oughta be more careful in Hamburg.”

“Worse.” Moore pointed above the man’s shoulder. “These women are Communist spies. Probably Jews. We no longer have any need for you, Chief. Head back to work. We’ll take care of things from here.”

Moore managed to make his last sentence sound so threatening that the chief operator turned pale and raced out of the room. The thought of what Moore might do to these stowaways made him feel sick, but whatever might happen, he wanted nothing to do with it.

Kate began coming to slowly, feeling like she’d polished off the entire wine cellar. She wanted to throw up and had a terrible headache, but now she realized that it hadn’t been caused by the dark shadow.

Moore watched the Jewish family as if he were finding them all over again. The young father had managed to stanch his bleeding, but his nose would never look the same again. His glasses were no more than a twisted, broken souvenir. The man looked furious and frightened all at once. The mother was sobbing softly over the baby. The young girl’s arm had taken on a blackish color, thanks to Moore’s manhandling of her.

The only one who hadn’t changed positions was the old rabbi. He stood on his two feet as if they were cement posts in the ground, standing indefatigably. An incomprehensible murmur, his prayers almost couldn’t be heard above the thunderous noise of the engines. His eyes remained shut until Moore walked up to him, at which point he stopped and opened his eyes.

The rabbi did not blink. He simply moved his eyes over the group without expressing an iota of emotion. He appeared to be off in some distant land that was beyond all feeling, emotion, or suffering. Then, his eyes stopped on Kate. His lips curved up in the slightest of smiles that was nearly imperceptible before he uttered nine simple words that were spoken in a surprisingly firm manner for a man of his age.

“Hello, Kate. You’re finally here. Now everything can begin.”

He closed his eyes again and swayed rhythmically. He was far from everything that surrounded him, distant and peaceful.

“You know the Jew!” Moore threw up his hands and turned beet red. “I knew it. I knew you were a Jewish spy. Fucking Zionist conspiracy—admit it!”

Kate, still lying on the floor, shook her head but was too feeble and confused to speak. She looked at each member of the family with wide eyes before they fell on the eldest member.

“All right, if you won’t talk, maybe the old man will.” Moore spun around without warning and put a hard boot into the rabbi’s knee, which crunched like firewood being split in the winter. The man collapsed to the floor. His face was full of color, but his lips were pressed shut, and he didn’t make a sound. He kept his eyes focused on Kate, looking at her with such tender care and warmth that she could feel his genuine affection.

“Father!” The young mother gave a piercing shout with the baby still in her arms. She pressed him closer to her bosom, debating whether to protect the child or help her injured father. She did not, however, have a chance to decide. Moore motioned one of his men forward, and he jumped in front of her and rammed the barrel of his rifle straight into the woman’s stomach. She doubled over, her mouth gaping like a fish out of water. Automatically, she wrapped her arms around the baby. Off balance, she couldn’t stop herself from falling, but as she fell she turned to protect the baby from being hit. Her ribs smacked against the floor, making an audible and unpleasant crunch. She yelled out in agony.

Her husband emerged from his stupor and punched the guard in his side. The guard, bleeding from his ears and nose, had been distracted by looking at the pale legs of the woman on the floor. He turned to keep from falling to the floor. He spread out his arms, and that was the precise moment the young Jewish man chose to make a grab for the guard’s gun.

He had very little time. Maybe two or three seconds. If there had been just a few more seconds, the young Jewish man would have cocked the Mauser and pointed it at the guards. If he’d been a bit more experienced handling a firearm, he would not have hesitated before finding the trigger. If it had all been slightly different, the rest of the story would have completely changed. But his fate had been decided. The dark shadow laughed in the dark corner and smacked her lips over a story that had already played out a million times.

The young man lifted the barrel too late. A few shots sounded out, and two huge holes appeared in his flannel shirt. Tiny pieces of flesh and blood flew out. The man looked around in disbelief before he fell to his knees, the gun still in his hands. The red flowers bloomed out on his chest into one enormous dark stain that was only growing larger. His wife’s scream was muffled by the uncontrollable sobbing of their daughter. The guard whose gun had been taken bellowed out in anger and repeatedly kicked the young Jew’s body. Soon, everyone began shouting out at once.

Kate watched as the horrific scene unfolded, but shock kept her from saying anything. They had shot and killed a man right in front of her. Senka watched it in her own way and seemed to be in a state of deep concentration. If Kate had been calmer, she would have noticed that Senka looked like a fully charged battery waiting for action.

The only one who remained calm amid the chaos was Moore, who was still holding up his Walther PPK. The smile on his face had spread to unnatural and deformed proportions. The voices in his head chanted wildly. The last vestige of his personality had been destroyed. All that was left of Moore was his body.
Oberfeldwebel
Otto Dittmar had returned from the darkness with a new lust for life.

“Silence,” he belted.

Somehow, his voice carried over the chaos. Slowly, everyone quieted down until the only sounds heard as the engine droned on were the wife’s muffled sobs, the little girl weeping, and the baby crying.

“Since they wanted to come aboard so badly, we’ll go ahead and let them stay.” Moore’s voice had become raspy, making him sound like a different person. “But it’ll be in a place that fits your means. Let’s not forget we’re talking about dirty Jew rats.”

They moved the prisoners toward the ship’s walls, which were lined with enormous steel frames that looked like the giant ribs of some prehistoric animal. They forced Kate and Senka to help the young mother drag her husband’s body next to his huddled family. The mother looked at her hands in horror. They were covered in blood. She frantically wiped her hands on her greasy clothes.

Moore took notice and gave a hollow, harsh chuckle. “Don’t worry, bitch. It won’t matter what you look like where you’re going.”

He twirled the pistol on his finger, pointed it at the young mother’s head, and pulled the trigger without blinking. A small red hole opened up in her forehead, but the back of her head exploded like a piñata. Behind her, blood and bits of flesh sprayed the interior wall of the
Valkyrie
’s hull, leaving a strange design like a demented expressionist painting. The woman’s limp body fell to the floor as it continued to convulse.

Next, Moore pointed the gun at the little girl. Kate’s blood froze. She knew that little girl. Although it seemed like it had been a lifetime ago, it was the girl she’d followed. Even in hell she would recognize that raggedy dress and the bruises on her arm. But most of all she would never forget the sorrow plastered on her face.

“Esther,” Kate whispered weakly.

The little girl looked at Kate as a tear rolled down her cheek. She closed her eyes and resigned herself to what was about to happen, as it had a million times before.

Moore fired, and the bullet entered the little girl’s temple. Her brain matter sullied her blonde hair, and her body toppled as if she’d been struck by a giant hammer. Her legs tangled, and she fell at Kate’s feet. A puddle of dark red blood began spreading slowly around her head like a fiery halo until it reached the tip of Kate’s boot.

For the first time during all of this, Kate felt like she would die here. This was the end of the line. Shot by some lunatic who thought it was 1939. The shadow had won.

Moore again pointed his gun, this time at the elderly Jewish man, who was staring sadly at his dead family. His chanting came to an end, and his fists were clenched. Then, he raised his eyes and paused a moment on Kate.

“Don’t worry, Kate.” His voice was weak like a dying river. “Everything will be all right.”

He turned to Moore, and his expression completely altered. He used what little energy he had left to straighten up on his wounded knee, and the elderly man transformed into a monstrous giant radiating waves of energy. The shadows hiding in the corners rippled in agitation as a chorus of unintelligible whispers grew in intensity.

“You!”

The elderly man’s voice had become a roar as he pointed an accusatory finger at Moore. A light breeze stirred his mended coattails. As the moments ticked by, the wind picked up in strength. Kate rationally knew that it was impossible for a gust of wind to blow inside an enclosed space on board a ship, but she panicked nevertheless.

“You!” The elderly man bellowed once more and raised his other hand high above his head. He opened his fist, and a sandy-colored powder was taken by the wind and blown everywhere. The powder sketched serpentine patterns in the air before dissipating.
“Pulsa Dinura! Pulsa Dinura!”

The powder reached Moore, and the shadows went mad as they swirled around Moore and the others like a hurricane, making sounds of bewilderment. The room pulsed with a beat of its own as the rivets in the wall began shaking.

“Pulsa Dinura!”

The sound was almost superhuman. As the old man yelled, he opened both of his hands and pointed all of his crooked fingers straight at Moore. Overwhelmed, the head of security raised his gun and fired three times. The first bullet hit the elderly man in the shoulder, which sent him spinning like a top. The second entered through his side and passed through his lungs before exiting and becoming lodged in the steel wall. The third bullet shattered his backbone, and he collapsed to the floor like a rag doll, dead before he hit the ground.

As soon as the man hit the floor, the hurricane ceased. The wind stopped, and the walls no longer trembled. Calmness returned. Fabric remnants and cardboard that had been stacked to the ceiling began falling all around them. Everything seemed eerily normal.

Everything except one subtle change.

The shadows in the corners were no longer moving or mumbling. They were blacker than the darkest of nights, thicker than a well of crude oil. They were almost solid.

They were almost breathing.

Pulsing.

On the verge of starting something.

Moore, covered in sweat, turned toward his men and pointed toward several steel planks that had been carefully stacked as ballast on one side of the room.

“Throw those bodies in a pile over there, and then cover them with those planks.” His voice was calm, as if he hadn’t just murdered four people in cold blood. “Have the chief engine operator give you a generator in order to do the welding. Since they wanted on board so badly, let them stay on board forever. Like rats behind the walls.” He turned toward Kate and Senka, who were sitting totally still, spectators to the drama. “Throw them in, too, but alive.”

“Bu
t . . .
sir,” one of the men stuttered.

Moore swiveled and stared at the man without saying a word. His pupils were two throbbing pools of dark hatred with a life of their own. The man shrank beneath Moore’s look and whimpered. A tendril of blackness eddied about the ceiling above his head, and from one of the man’s tear ducts came a droplet of blood. His head bobbed like a marionette missing a string.

“Do as I say.” Moore’s voice sounded like the rumbling of distant thunder. “Now.”

His men began stumbling about. They pushed both women at gunpoint toward the lifeless bodies of the Jewish family.

Senka, who’d been passive this whole time, brought up her arm in one perfectly fluid motion. Her elbow struck the man’s neck with a hard blow. He coughed, gagged, and brought a hand up to his broken trachea. Senka took advantage of his vulnerability by grabbing the barrel of the gun and pulling, which sent her toppling onto the other guard. Both fell and became a tangle of arms and legs.

Moore and the third guard pointed their guns at Senka. From such a short distance, it would be impossible to miss. Nevertheless, right at that moment a wave that was more powerful than the others hit the side of the
Valkyrie
. Without the stabilizing engines, the ship rocked with the force of the wave. At the same time a harsh sound like that of a locomotive crashing echoed throughout the room. Moore tried to regain his balance as one of his men fired a shot that hit the ceiling.