Swiftly, he went down the ladder as silently as his leather shoes would allow. At the bottom, Warren paused again when he saw movement on the other side of the platform. A door opened and closed near the bow of the ship. Then, he heard whistling as one of the ship’s crew came out of the crew berths. There were indistinct patterns of light and shadow which revealed a closed hatch leading to the hold where to the ship’s cargo.
Crouching down behind the cover, Warren waited until he saw the faint outline of a man walking around the bow area. The glow of the man’s cigarette made it easy to follow his patch. Carefully watching the figure walk across the ship to the port side, Warren suddenly realized he had no idea which hatch to use. He pulled the metal penlight out and held it out while trying to keep the light partially shielded with his other hand. He discovered a series of letters and numbers painted on the cargo hold just a couple of feet away.
Extinguishing the light, he crept to the next hatch. Stopping several times at any perceived sounds, he continued to glance at the cigarette glow coming from the sailor across the deck. Crossing over to the other side of the steel hatch, Warren found the next cargo number, which made no sense either. The disappointment crossed his face. It would not be obvious where he would find his luggage using the numbers from his ticket.
Then, Warren heard the faint echo of metal striking metal. Instinctively ducking behind the hatch, he gradually lifted his head to glimpse the sailor walking back from the port side of the ship. He watched the man re-enter the crew’s forward berth. He heard some friendly, but garbled words before the door shut, leaving the area dark and quiet except for the sound of the ship pushing through the ocean.
As he remained crouched next to the hatch door, Warren debated his next move. He heard a soft metallic tapping nearby, but he could not place the source. At first, he thought someone was walking on the darkened deck. However, a quick look at the area revealed nothing to him. Then he heard footsteps, muffled and distant. He tilted his head and realized the sound came from the cargo area below him.
The noise stopped, leaving only the waves splashing against the hull. Then, Warren swore he heard an indistinct voice that turned into a sort of yell. A hollow, metallic bang followed the noise. He scanned the deck again, but the clank noise came from below him. Nothing moved in the surrounding darkness. Warren let out a breath and used his penlight to find a partially opened hatch leading below. The steel door creaked lightly, causing him to pause. With the opening just wide enough to look inside, Baker saw the faint outlines of the ladder leading down to the cargo deck. When he opened the hatch enough to slide his body through, a faint yellow light shining below quickly disappeared. A chill went up along his spine when he realized someone else was already in the cargo hold. He waited for a moment, trying to decide what he would do.
The soft sound of footsteps approached from the outside along the main deck made the decision for him. Expecting one sailor on watch was inspecting the area; Warren carefully closed the door behind him and secured the latch. The slight screech of the steel on steel caused him to hold his breath. He expected the watchman to come running towards his hiding place. Instead, the dark black surrounded him in an eerie quiet. As his senses expanded amid the darkness, he heard the slight back-and-forth squeak of a chain swaying somewhere in front of him. He also noticed a faint acrid metallic smell which reminded him of fireworks which puzzled him.
Feeling his way down the ladder, Warren reached the steel deck after what seemed like fifty steps. Inside the hold, it was quiet, still but for the gentle creak of the ship when it rolled and the occasional clinking sound of the chain, now coming from above him. Pulling his penlight again, Warren fumbled around with the device before getting the light to shine. Bulky and small wooden crates lined the area in rudimentary rows, each line strapped down with cargo nets. Circling around, he turned sideways to squeeze through and navigate the narrow aisle between two rows until he reached the center of the hold. On the other side of the cargo area, he could just make out another ladder leading upward. Seeing no movement as he flashed the beam of his light around, he decided whoever might have been down there must have left.
Along the railing holding some of the cargo, he discovered handwritten labels, which appeared like the letters and numbers on his tickets. After spending several minutes trying to decipher the meaning, Warren began recognizing a pattern. He walked deeper into the line of covered items and large boxes.
Suddenly, he stopped. He thought he heard light footsteps walking nearby. Yet, from the way the noise echoed inside the steel hall, the sounds could have been on the other side of the hold. Immediately, Warren shined his beam of light past several large crates. Pointing the beam around, he could see nothing moving in the shadows.
He clicked off the light and held his breath. The only noise was the gentle creaking of the ship along with the now distant sound of the chain swaying above. Warren released his breath, believing he must have imagined the sound of footsteps. Continuing on his path and feeling a sense of relief, the row opened up. At the end of the path, he stopped and trained his flashlight on a nearby row of crates. The gray tarps covering some of the cargo did not help tone down the eerie feeling of being watched. The place reminded him of a scene from one of those cheesy horror movies he liked to watch as a child. An unsettling eeriness filled him as he followed the trail of handwritten symbols on the metal racks next to him.
Above, a harsh grating metallic sound of the cargo door suddenly opening echoed throughout the hold. Warren immediately crouched while he pushed the penlight into his coat pocket. The surrounding area went black, and he noticed the faint beam of moving light flashing and bouncing as someone shined their flashlight on the cargo.
When that happened, on the other side of the cargo crates, Warren unexpectedly heard footsteps near him rushing away. Someone began climbing a ladder on the other side of the cargo area, apparently trying to leave. He guessed someone must have been waiting, watching him on the other side of the row where he stood.
What the hell is going on?
Warren felt caught like a rat in a trap. Another person was coming down the ladder by the only other entrance. He guessed the night watch might have noticed something was wrong with the way he shut the hatch. Warren expected there would be many unanswerable questions if they found him.
The man scrambled along a row of racks, ducking around the first turn he could find. Using the faint light coming from the watchman who strolled his way, Warren pushed up next to a long tarp covered piece of cargo. Feeling the contours of a wheel and hub pressing into his back, he quickly recognized a vehicle was under the tarp. As the sound of footsteps drew closer, the man pulled himself under the tarp at the front of the car. He felt around the large piece of cold steel, which he deduced was a car bumper before finding two large bulbs. His hiding place was in front of a large car.
Carefully, Warren lifted the canvas tarp as he crouched near the wheel, watching the beam of light grow stronger as the person came closer to his position. Soon, the footsteps stopped next to him, and Warren froze as he watched a pair of legs walk by his position. The open-toe high heels, nylon stockings and the hem of the dress made it clear the person was not one of the crew. Warren waited until the sound finally receded before he carefully emerged from under the tarp. The outline of a tall woman snuck along in front of him, turning at the end of the row while Warren quietly followed.
Something isn’t right!
Questions filled his mind with so much interest in this cargo area of the ship. Tension mounting in him, Warren followed her while trying to watch for any others who might be in the area. All he heard was the tinny echo of the woman’s heels as she tiptoed along. Warren quickly stopped when the woman shined the beam of her flashlight around the area. He saw her take a deep breath and slowly headed in the direction she pointed at with her light. He heard a terrified gasp.
As Warren turned past stacked wooden boxes, he recognized Amber in the light she carried. Her deathly pale face matched her white dress in the dim glow. Then, Warren followed her stare to the object on the floor.
Krupin stared back at him with open eyes. His fat body lay sprawled next to a large open trunk. Even in death, he carried the same expression of disdain. Between his beady eyes, a small round hole stood out on his white forehead with a slight trickle of blood drying as it fell away. On the metal deck below the dead man’s head, the blood already pooled. Warren noticed the embossed gold letters showing the initials WP engraved on the leather strap hanging from the trunk lid.
Trying to get a better angle, Warren’s foot stepped down on something hard which crunched under his leather sole. Amber immediately turned the light on Warren, blinding him as he threw up one arm. Before he could say anything, she began running, crying for help. Instinctively, he ran after her, cutting her off before she could turn to the ladder.
Warren tried to quiet her, but the woman’s yell turned into a screeched panic when he grabbed her arm. She swung at him with her flashlight, nearly striking him in the head. Anger and fear shot through Baker, and he slammed his fist into the woman’s jaw. She fell back into one of the steel support beams. Watching her drop to the deck like a rag doll, he instantly thought he killed her. His mind screamed at him to run away. Instead, Warren grabbed the woman’s flashlight from the floor and crouched over her. He was about to check for a pulse when he saw her move, slowly lifting her hands to her head. She moaned.
