The Last Passenger (27 page)

“Now, Kate,” shouted Senka. “Run for the elevator.”

The door leading to the main boiler room was only a few feet away. If she hurried, she could get there before her captors regained their balance.

Kate ran for the door. But then she saw him—a little bundle of blankets and hair, barely moving or crying.

The baby.

She recalled the tender look the elderly Jewish man had given her. Now she understood her duty. She finally knew what her role was in all of this.

She stopped in her tracks, and it saved her life. Moore’s first bullet hit the wall right where her head would have been if she’d kept running. Instead, she’d turned around and lunged for the baby on the ground.

She picked up the baby on the run, grabbing him by the edge of the blue-and-white
tallit
that was wrapped around him. Without stopping, she continued full speed as a second bullet ricocheted off the floor near her feet. She could hear Moore raging just above the click of the firing pin as it struck the air. He was out of ammunition.

In the meantime Senka had reached the boiler room door. Moore was running toward the door with his eyes on Kate as he switched out the empty clip. Kate had wasted precious time by picking up the baby, and the head of security had recovered his position. He was blocking Kate’s path to the doorway.

Out of the corner of her eye, Senka saw something moving to her right. The guard with the broken trachea was writhing on the floor and turning blue. But the other two had regained their balance and were now taking aim at Kate as the
Valkyrie
continued to sway back and forth.

The guards, who were half-brain-dead, weren’t having much luck aiming their long Mausers as the floor beneath their feet kept moving. The first shot missed high and provoked a shower of sparks several feet above their heads.

“That’s some real shitty aim, boys,” Senka shouted from the doorway before heading for the elevator, giving the guards the finger as she ran. Moore was too focused on Kate and the baby to take notice.

As Senka zigzagged toward the elevator, she felt a sharp pang in her side. She probably had a broken rib or two from when Moore had kicked her. Each breath hurt, but she had no choice but to clench her teeth. If she could get to the upper decks of the ship, her chances would increase exponentially. She might even be able to lower one of the lifeboats before the explosives detonated and the whole place turned into an even bigger storm of pissed off guards. She wiped sweat from her chin and panted.

The elevator door was so close now. She was about to make it.

Trained for situations just like this, Senka heard warning signals go off in her head. She’d been zigzagging in order to make her a difficult target to hit, but now she noticed that no more shots had been fired. Then, she saw the chief engine operator and his team huddled in the corner, all with the same look of mute terror splashed across their faces.

She risked a look back and was instantly paralyzed. Both guards had stopped in the doorway that led between the engine room and the coal chute, and they stood perfectly still, leaning on their guns. Both men wore expressions of wicked amusement. A black cloud of evil swirled endlessly around them. It covered the entire back wall and had begun to fill the rest of the room.

The first tendril of darkness stretched out toward the engine room workers and enveloped them with a sound like a watery vacuum, immediately followed by shouts of agony. The painful chorus lasted a few moments before cutting off like a fading radio signal. And that was it. There was no sign of the men. The shadows snarled, satiated. Somehow, they’d become even darker.

Everything turned black. Only the lights of the elevator shaft remained lit, casting the scene in a sickly yellow light.

Senka let out a howl like a caged animal. They weren’t going to shoot her. They planned to let the shadow take care of her. She would suffer a fate a thousand times worse. A bell rang behind her. The elevator had come down from above, and as the gate creaked open, she heard the murmuring of voices that told her Moore’s reinforcements had arrived. She was trapped.

The memory of a distant day when she was a girl washed over her—a day she had seen black clouds of smoke spread high into the sky as her village burned to the ground. A girl surrounded by grim-looking men with rotten souls. A girl about to be dragged to the gates of hell.

Senka opened her eyes. Tears began welling up, but her defiant gaze didn’t waver. She was no longer that little girl. She was Senka Simovic. A python, an expert in inflicting pain. A survivor. She wasn’t about to let evil win again.

“Come get me if you have any balls,
kopilad
.” She raised her hand and made a gesture of rebellion. “One against seven. Cowards. Bastards.”

That was enough to incite the men, but instead of peppering her with gunfire, they charged like bulls. The shadow twisted around in surprise as if things were not going according to plan. It flew toward Senka, but she jumped a railing and headed toward the service tunnel that led to the propeller shaft.

The grate was still loose. Senka ripped it off in a single motion and climbed in as the guards nipped at her heels. At the end of the passageway, she could still see the faint light of Paxton’s flashlight.

The sound of a gunshot in close quarters sounded like a cannon and deafened her immediately. A sharp pain pierced the small of her back. The first bullet ripped through her kidneys and lodged inside her. She stumbled and had to grab the wall to avoid falling over.

The second bullet punctured a lung. Senka noticed a pressure on her back that propelled her forward. A flash of heat suddenly stifled her as if she were in the middle of a fire. Her mouth bled slightly, but she refused to fall to her knees. Not yet.

When she was close enough to Paxton’s body, she collapsed. She felt a third and fourth gunshot and something hot cut through her leg. Her vision was turning fuzzy. Digging deep into her last reserves of energy, she turned around to look toward the tunnel opening.

Guards were marching single file after her, the lead man brandishing a smoking barrel and a hazy expression. Behind him all that could be seen was darkness like a starless night on a distant and hostile planet. They’d nearly reached her.

The shadow had overtaken the men, devouring them as it went. A black, impenetrable cloak swooped over Senka, sounding like excited, evil whispering. Senka glimpsed into the gathering gloom and made out the face of a blonde woman. She wore the most malevolent expression and watched Senka from the bottom of the ferocious cloud. It was the same face she’d kissed to exhaustion. A face that cast a wicked, vulgar smile. Something cold and bitter gripped Senka’s heart.

Senka. You are mine. Come with us. Now.

Senka spat out a mouthful of blood with a blank look and gave the shadow one last grin as it approached. “I’m no longer scared. Go to hell, bitch.”

She grabbed Paxton’s leg and pulled it, triggering the bomb. Right before the ball of fire obliterated her, Senka was able to hear the sound the shadow made.

A sound of shock. Of pain.

The fireball erupted and devoured everything in its way. Finally, Senka Simovic had been set on the path to peace.

XLVIII

“It’s over, Jew,” Moore snorted in satisfaction as he approached Kate with wide strides to maintain his balance. He cocked his gun and pointed it at her.

Without warning, though, a huge fireball emerged from the service tunnel in a flash of light so intense that it split and destroyed the shadows. At the same time, the fireball splintered throughout the tight space of the passageway and spread over the huge axle. The pressure was so powerful that it gave way like a sail to the wind. Forced out of place by the explosion, the axle scraped against the metal that surrounded it, causing an awful screech. By the time the axle came to rest, it had scarred the inside of the ship.

The diesel engines of the
Valkyrie
continued working at three-quarters power as warning lights began flashing on the control panel. Normally, in a situation as serious as the loss of an axle, the chief engine operator would immediately order the shutdown of the engines without even consulting the captain. But all that remained in the engine room were shadows, so no one pressed the necessary button to make an emergency stop. The engines continued churning, behaving as if the axle hadn’t been rendered useless. The pressure continued to build up on the gears until what could have been an easy repair became an all-out disaster. Camshafts flew through the air, and the engines, which had been overloaded, began grinding horribly as dozens of parts burst apart and became twisted. Finally, a metallic cough indicated that the engines had stopped working and were completely ruined.

The
Valkyrie
was adrift in the middle of an intense, strengthening storm.

The explosion spread and hit the weakened walls that separated the engine room from the coal hold. Hallucinating, Kate was seeing double as images from two different times superimposed themselves on her vision. Behind Moore, almost like a magic trick, she saw the stabilizing engines that had been destroyed by Paxton overlaid with the image of the dead Jewish family.

The force of the blast also caught Moore by surprise and sent him flying through the air. Three or four alarms began going off simultaneously, and the sprinklers began raining down on the fire that spread through the engine room. The shower of chemicals was so strong that Kate could hardly see a few feet in front of her own face.

It was the moment she’d been waiting for. Limping, she slunk along one of the walls, trying to put distance between herself and Moore. She headed toward the other end of the space, where there was a closed hatch. Kate didn’t know where it led—perhaps it was some rat’s nest or another room like the one she was in, but she had to try. With the baby pressed to her breast, she lurched forward faster until she arrived at the entryway. With her free hand she tried to turn the handle, but it wouldn’t budge.

She could hear Moore huffing behind her as he charged about like a bull in search of Kate. He was getting closer.

Robert, move your ass and help me out of here. Now!

Kate closed her eyes and used all her strength to turn the knob. Just then, it released and began turning as if someone, or something, had helped it along from the other side. The door creaked open to reveal a long corridor lined with pipes along the walls and ceiling.

Thanks, baby,
thought Kate in relief as she entered without looking back.

As soon as she passed through the doorway, the door closed quickly behind her with a thunderous boom. The doorknob turned in the opposite direction as before, and the bolts clicked into place. Through the window Kate saw that Moore had arrived at the door and was trying to open it. The English head of security turned red, and his muscles clenched hard. A thick vein the size of a finger swelled up in his neck, but the knob refused to budge.

Furiously, Moore punched the window. He stared hatefully at Kate, who was watching him from the other side of the door with a mocking smirk. Slowly, Kate stretched her arm toward the door. Moore watched her with disbelief and fascination. Kate lifted her hand and closed her fist gradually. Then, her middle finger went up right in the face of the stunned former soldier.

In careful German, overenunciating her words so that Moore could read her lips, Kate shouted, “Rot in hell, you crazy bastard,” as she raised her fist again and gave him the finger.

Moore’s face turned several different colors, going from white to red to purple. He began shouting as he kicked and punched the door. But all he managed to do was make Kate smile. Moore stopped and pointed his gun at the glass and shot three times. Fine cracks like cobwebs appeared, but the glass didn’t break. It was a security hatch that had been designed to isolate an entire section of the ship in case of a leak and, therefore, was also designed to withstand a vicious amount of force. Kate made one last mocking gesture before running down the hall toward a ladder. She needed to find a way out of this claustrophobic hell.

She needed to get off the
Valkyrie
by any means necessary.

Seven decks above, in a hall that was enveloped by shadows, the potted plants shook as the
Valkyrie
bobbed in the rough sea. The lack of balance from the stabilizing engines was much more noticeable on the upper decks of the cruise ship. The only light in the hall came from the ghostly illumination of the occasional lightning bolt. A large bronze jar rolled around on the floor, clanging against the baseboards each time the sea slammed into the ship.

It was the only noise that could be heard in this phantasmagoric space.

Then, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed throughout the deck. Someone was walking with calm determination. Despite the fact that the entire floor was completely dark, the person was moving easily through the shadows without any need of a flashlight, walking freely, as if he knew every twist and turn on board and whistling a jingle.

A bolt of lightning flashed outside. Everything briefly lit up, revealing a young man, perhaps thirty, with tousled black hair. He was dressed in a fancy, cream-colored Italian suit. As he walked, the shadows scurried out of his way as if he were surrounded by some special aura.

The man approached a corner of the hall where there was a low table surrounded by several couches. On one of them sat a bundle of blankets that were piled up haphazardly. The man watched the bundle closely and then took a seat in a free chair, taking care not to wrinkle his jacket. Then, he turned to the pile and spoke.

“Hello, Isaac,” he said.

The bundle stirred, and an aged hand covered in liver spots emerged from beneath a woolen blanket. Behind the hand peeked the lost face of an old man whose eyes were watery with cataracts. He was completely bald except for a few hairs on the back of his head that were about to fall out. He was covered in sores, and a string of drool dripped down his chin. Upon hearing the voice, he blindly directed his head toward the man.

“Isaac, my name is Robert Kilroy. I’m Kate’s husband. Or, rather, I was. All I know is I shouldn’t be here, and you have something to do. The woman I love is in danger, and so is your soul.”

Feldman drifted in his own galaxy, trapped in a dark castle with no windows or doors.

“It’s far too late for the other crew members, but not for you two.” Murmuring unintelligibly, Robert was talking more for his own sake until he leaned toward Feldman. “I need you to come back from the darkness, and I need you to do that now.”

Feldman’s only response was a weak yelp while he put his hand up to his face, as if the faint light Robert emitted was a nuisance.

Patiently, Robert grabbed Feldman’s shirt collar and pulled him up in his seat. He smelled like urine, but Robert was undeterred. With one hand he began undoing Feldman’s collar and tie. Then, he stood up and gave the old man a light slap on the cheeks.

“Isaac, look at me. Look at me.” He slapped him again lightly and slid his hands under his armpits to make him stand up. Feldman huffed in anger. “We don’t have time,” Robert said. “So I’ll have to do it this way.”

Robert brought his lips closer to Feldman’s gaunt and sickly face. Relaxing, Robert closed his eyes and pressed his lips against the old man’s forehead and held him in a tight embrace. They were like two dancers who hadn’t heard the music stop.

Someone encountering this scene would have been extremely surprised. A tenuous glow was becoming brighter and brighter with each passing second in the room. The source of the brilliance was Feldman’s shriveled body, which levitated a few inches off the ground, held up by some invisible force. His arms were stuck to his sides, and his head was tilted back. Light shone from every pore of his body, beaming through his clothes and radiating from his extremities. On the floor below him was a blanket, embroidered with “KDF,” that had slid off his shoulders.

The light continued to glow brightly. The shadows whirled about in fear and cried out in pain. The glow emanating from the elderly man melted the shadows as if it were acid. Any shadow in the path of that light was shredded and fell to the floor. The lights in the hallway trembled weakly, and the filaments in the lightbulbs began glowing faintly, like smoldering embers. Vanquished by the powerful glow, the shadows fell back down the hall.

And then, Isaac Feldman opened his eyes.

At the same time, seven decks below, a dark and ancient presence lifted its head and took notice of the unexpected glow. The entity deliberated over its toy, a muscular man in uniform who was pounding furiously on a door as his target made disrespectful gestures on the other side of the glass. The timeless creature hesitated. For the first time in an endless cycle, something had changed. The creature felt disconcerted, and it did not like the feeling.

It took one last look at its prey and roared angrily as it flew off toward the upper deck. Toward the defiant light.

Isaac Feldman blinked several times, perplexed. His cataracts were disappearing, something that would have made any ophthalmologist faint in disbelief. It took only a minute for them to vanish completely.

“Wha
t . . .
wh
o . . .
what’s going on here? Who are you?” Feldman’s voice still sounded weak. But the relentless businessman was gaining his fire back from beneath the shattered ruins.

Robert responded by looking Isaac Feldman in the eyes. Without a single word uttered between the two of them, Feldman understood everything. Every last bit of the truth became clear.

There was no doubt. Feldman was going to die within the hour.