‘He made the ladder yet?’
‘Just getting there,’ replied Amelia.
‘As soon as he goes down you start moving across the deck. Don’t bother counting.’
She stared at Connelly and nodded.
‘Just make sure you’re three steps behind me, sailor.’
The deck beneath his feet was even more treacherous than Snell could have imagined; at a village fete he had once run across a greased pole above a pit of muddy water – this was worse. The rifles slung across his back seemed to tug him to one side while the wind pushed his legs to the other, threatening to hurl him to the deck. Lightning flashed and the rain blew in in sheets. Snell risked a glance backwards and saw Amelia’s face in the doorway. He looked up and saw a man stood high up on the top deck. The lightning flashed again and the priest stared down at Snell. The young officer fumbled for his pocket and his revolver. Thunder rolled directly above the ship and beneath the sound Snell heard another – a loud twang. The sound was odd and out of place. He didn’t see the cable coming, sprung free and twisting in the air like a terrible metal serpent. The line struck Snell just above the left elbow and smashed through flesh and bone. Snell screamed and barely heard it as the thunder rolled again. His arm clutching the lantern hit the deck. Snell made a grab for it but the ship pitched and his severed limb was cast away across the deck. He stumbled forward and his momentum carried him towards the ladder leading down. Grabbing at the rail to slow himself, Snell felt the butt of his pistol clash against the metal and his fingers slip Suddenly his feet were over nothing and with another cry, he dropped down the ladder, fast, to the steel deck below.
Amelia was up and moving. She ran across the deck feeling the rubber soles of her tennis shoes sliding. She watched as the cable lashed out again. Throwing herself to the deck, she slid on her stomach and the cable snapped above where her body had been a mere second before. She continued to slide until she managed to get a hand around a rail. With grunts of effort, Amelia dragged herself towards the ladder still lying on her belly with the rainwater soaking from the deck and through her uniform, which damply hugged her. When she reached the ladder, she looked down and saw Snell in a crumpled heap at the bottom.
‘Damn,’ she adjusted her grip and then grabbed onto the ladder and swung herself onto it, determined the ship would not throw her no matter how much it shifted and bucked.
They were so close now that Connelly could smell them; rotten fish, decayed flesh, and the wet smell of the sea on a warm night. He scuttled back to the door and watched Amelia crawling back towards the ladder. The first creature turned the corner. It was a fat slug of a thing, hugely bloated in the gut, ragged remnants of white shorts clung to its legs, and the green of sea weed showed tangled amongst its wet hair. Connelly snap fired and the shot missed its mark. He shouldered the rifle and fired the next four shots in a tight pattern into the creature’s face. Stepping forward, he used the butt of the rifle to push it back into its company. Hands grabbed for him and Connelly leapt back. Time to go. He slung both rifles and ran for the door and was out into the storm. The rain stung his face and the winds plucked at his clothes. He slowed his pace and picked his way gingerly across the deck towards the ladder.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Two clanging knocks sounded on the outer door of the mess. Busby turned, hand closing around the handle of his axe and he got up. Lily reached a hand out and laid her fingers upon his arm.
‘It could be the others,’ said Lily.
‘Could be,’ replied Busby, ‘but then it could be someone else instead, couldn’t it?’
Lily picked up a knife and they headed to the door together.
‘On three,’ said Busby and Lily nodded. ‘One. Two. Three.’
He threw the door open and raised his axe one handed. He looked down and saw Amelia down on the deck with Snell. Busby took in the missing arm, makeshift tourniquet, and the pale face of the young cadet officer. Busby dropped his axe and scooped Snell up from the deck in his big arms.
‘Where’s the professor?’
‘Behind me.’
‘Was that rifle fire earlier?’
‘Yes, they attacked us.’
‘They?’ asked Lily.
‘Hamilton, Putner, Collins, and… and other things.’
As Busby lay Snell down on the table and Amelia stripped the two rifles from off her back Connelly reached the door. He stepped in and dragged the door shut before locking it.
‘Busby, get that other door locked.’
The big sailor nodded and moved off to lock the room down. Amelia stole a glance at the doors. She wondered if they would hold out the dreadful creatures they had seen above and even if they did how would they escape from this floating prison. Once Busby had the other door secured he turned to Connelly.
‘So, what’s this all about, professor?’
Connelly shook his head but then looked up and spoke.
‘It’s the ship, it has to be. It’s madness. I don’t know where this ship has come from, nor where it has been, or what port it calls home but there’s something wrong with it. Plain and simple it’s a hell ship, cursed.’
‘I pretty much said the same thing without getting attacked by anything,’ replied Busby.
‘Something that makes dead men stand up?’ asked Lily pointing to Warner’s corpse.
‘I don’t know. I’m not sure I believe my own eyes after what came at as just now. Dead men and then some.’
Snell moaned in pain and Amelia went to check on him.
‘What did you tie the tourniquet with?’ asked Connelly.
Amelia looked up and gave a grim smile.
‘My brassiere, it was all I had to hand.’
‘So what now?’ asked Busby as he picked up one of the Arisakas and loaded it. He passed the rifle to Lily and then loaded another for himself ‘I’ll run through the basics with you in a minute.’
Connelly was surprised at how soft Busby’s voice was when he spoke to Lily.
‘Now, I think we have to get off this bloody hell ship as soon as we can.’
‘You think they will let us? asked Amelia nodding her head upwards.
Busby collected up his axe.
‘Miss Starling, I couldn’t give a flying fuck what those bastards want, pardon my French.’
Snell coughed and pushed himself up on his remaining elbow.
‘Language, Mr Busby, there are ladies present.’
Busby laughed.
‘How are you feeling, sir?’
Jesus, thought Snell, it must be bad he called me sir and sounded like he meant it.
‘We can’t leave this tub afloat. What if another boat stumbles across it? Or worse, what if someone tries to take it into port? No. We need to send the Shinjuku Maru down into the deep. Scuttle it.’
The pipes around the room began to clank and clang. Snell looked at them.
‘Sounds like she doesn’t want us to do that.’
‘There’re explosives back in the armoury. There were other boxes, I took a quick glance in. Dynamite, I reckon. Busby, would you have any idea where we should put charges to scuttle a ship?’