‘Busby…’
The big sailor had been waiting in the corridor but now he crowded into the radio room with Hamilton.
‘What’s happened here? Where’s the lad?’
Busby looked around the room as though expecting to find an errant Japanese marine hiding in the confined space.
‘This isn’t good.’
‘You can bloody say that again. Right. Back to the mess. We need to find the others and see if they’ve found anything, see if Reg has ended up back there.’
‘Think there’s someone else on board?’
Busby nodded.
‘Starting to look that way isn’t it. Reg wouldn’t have been hard to take. Collins neither. Could be a couple of nips on here somewhere picking off the weak ones, like.’ Busby suddenly banged his axe down on the table and Hamilton knew that he wouldn’t want to be in the shoes of anyone that Busby found hiding on the ship.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
You cannot move. The ropes that bind you are expertly tied and every struggle simply tightens the intricate knots. You are but a hog, tied for slaughter. You are the last. None of your comrades could keep their heads. They have stripped you naked, bound you, and left you on the top deck. The breeze is warm but your lip quivers and your balls shrink back into you. He stands over you.
The priest in the conical hat leans down until his face is inches from your own. There is a scent to him; sickly and sweet like rotting apricots. He smiles and shows you his yellowed fangs. The priest points a finger at the sky and you follow his gesture. The sky above glows red and green behind the clouds. Behind one of the larger cloud banks you can see something, something huge – an eye here, a tentacle there, vast in both size and almost too vast for your mind to comprehend.
You look up at the priest and he points at himself.
‘Kannushi! I am god master!’
He begins to laugh and draws a long knife from his robes. He reaches down for you and as the blade kisses your skin you wish you had died with your comrades.
‘That door looks pretty solid,’ commented Snell pointing out a door that lay ahead in the corridor that they were checking, ‘could be something inside’
‘You’re right, let’s check.’
Amelia was once again holding the lantern and was casting the light ahead of them. The glare of the lantern picked out something lying on the floor outside of the heavy door.
‘What is that?’ she asked.
‘Looks like wet tissue paper,’ replied Snell ducking to look further. ‘Dear God!’
The young officer stood back up and took a step away from the object.
‘What is it?’ asked Connelly.
‘I… That is, I think, that it’s skin. Blood and skin.’
‘Jesus,’ Connelly took a closer look, ‘wet too. So, it’s fresh. Amelia?’
Ducking down on one knee, Amelia held the lantern close. She looked up at the two men and nodded.
‘That’s skin alright and I’d say it’s human. The blood hasn’t congealed at all. So, it is fresh…’
Snell brought up the Webley and pointed it at the door. Amelia scanned the corridor with the light of the lantern but not a thing stirred.
‘Do the honours, Mr Connelly.’
Connelly got his clasp knife ready in his right hand and gripped the edge of the door with his left. The lock looked like it had been smashed off at some point. Connelly looked at Snell. The young officer tilted the cap back on his head and held his arm straight and steady.
‘Now, if you please, Mr Connelly!’
Connelly threw open the door. Snell felt his heart hammer in his chest and then slow as the light from Amelia’s lantern showed a small empty room. The walls were lined with wooden rifle racks, most of which appeared empty.
‘It looks clear.’
Stepping around the door Connelly entered and looked at the rifle racks inside. It looked like some kind of ships armoury. There were still a few Arisaka Type 99 rifles left in the racks, they were the weapon that was employed by most of the Imperial Japanese forces. Connelly took one down from the rack and looked around for ammunition. He quickly located a crate filled with smaller boxes of 7.7mm bullets. There were other boxes next to the bullets but Connelly couldn’t decipher the script on them. He flipped the cardboard lid of one and inspected the contents; beige waxy cylinders, about a foot in length and the width little more than that of a broom handle. Dynamite. Connelly turned away from the explosives and concentrated on the ammunition for the rifles that they had found. After stuffing a box under his shirt, Connelly loaded five rounds into the stripper clip and slotted it home. He worked the bolt to put a round into the chamber and then counted up the remaining rifles – there were five more. Connelly slung two over his back and Snell did the same. Amelia took the last rifle and likewise slung it over her back. They stuffed as many boxes of ammunition into their pockets as they could.
‘Whose blood and skin was that?’ asked Amelia, a shake in her voice.
‘Collins?’ ventured Snell.
‘It really doesn’t matter right now, does it? We have to get back to the others. See if they’ve seen anything when they got Putner. Strength in numbers and now we have these,’ Connelly gestured at the rifles.
Snell nodded
‘Agreed, let’s go.’
Amelia sucked in a breath and nodded.
With the roll of the ship and the flash of lightning shadows leapt and elongated within the confined hallways of the Shinjuku Maru. The flickering light of the lantern merely adding to the effect. It looked as though sigils and signs had been smeared on the walls of the corridor with shit and blood. Hamilton stopped and squinted; ahead of them it looked like a figure moving across the head of the corridor, a silhouette back lit by the weak moonlight seeping in through the portholes.
‘Busby…’ he whispered.
Busby stopped and looked ahead. The shadow before them moved crab-like, scuttled as much as moved, hunched over and vanished across the junction.
‘What the hell was that?’
‘Who the hell, you mean. Gotta be whoever has been causing all this shit,’ replied Busby and he dashed off ahead, axe held out before him. ‘Show yourself, you bastard!’ And with another roar he was off and following, moving in a fast loping gait.
‘Busby, wait – shit.’ Hamilton took another look at the graffiti scrawled on the walls. He looked back and Busby was gone around the corner. Hamilton took off after the big sailor.
Warner knelt in the corner of the mess, facing the bulkhead, rocking back and forth muttering to himself.
‘No. No. No! I won’t. I won’t do it and you can’t make me. No matter what. I. Will. Not. Do. That. Get out of my head! No. No,’ he began to weep, softly at first and then louder. ‘No, don’t show me that. I can’t do that. It, it’s just too awful. Please. Please just be quiet. Let me think! Damn you, won’t you just let me think.’
Lily had made sure that she stayed on the other side of the big table from Conrad. She looked over at him with every string of herself being tugged. She wanted to go and comfort him but she had seen the danger, the madness in his eyes. She prayed that the others would return soon.
Gradually Warner began to quiet. Lily smiled. Was he himself again? Had it passed? The weeping had stopped. She watched him from the corner of her eye. She watched as his shoulders relaxed and he gave them a flex. After a moment he rose to his feet, still facing the corner.
‘Connie? Conrad? Are you alright?’
He turned and gave her a forced smile. He undid the cuffs on his shirt and rolled them up. After lighting a fresh cigarette he stood looking at her, the plastered-on grin still in place.