Hassan was inundated with patients, throngs pressing against him as they pleaded for his attention. He’d hung a stethoscope around his neck as he attended to the first of the injured, but it may as well been a magnet. Dalmar and Marissa controlled the crowds the best they could, helping the elderly into their bunks, trying to stem the flow of the human sea surging within the submarine.
The refugees had already found their way into the galley. The last of the fruit and raw vegetables were passed overhead, the rations steadily deflating as outstretched hands darted into the sacks. Alexis spotted an entire oversized can of dehydrated potatoes move from person to person, the white flakes within disappearing by the fistful.
“Don’t eat those!” shouted Alexis, futilely pointing towards the can. “We have to cook them first! You really shouldn’t — oh.”
Within seconds, the potato-flake can dropped to the metal deck, all but empty. A small gang of children attacked the tin, licking their fingers and wiping them across the inside, desperate for every last spec of the starchy dust within.
A big glass jar of candied apple slices went up next — a gourmet variety Hassan had found during their brief stay in Puget Sound. The doctor started to protest, but abandoned the useless fight almost immediately and turned his attention back to the patients at hand.
Alexis threaded through the last of the crowd, finally close enough to reach out and squeeze Hassan’s hand. Looking up, the doctor returned the squeeze, and allowed himself a harried smile in her direction.
“The apples—” stuttered Hassan, barely able to form a thought among the chaos. “I was saving them. For your birthday — well, any special occasion, I mean.”
The engineer tugged on his hand again, taking it in both of hers. “It’s a special occasion for them,” she said. “It’s okay. Really.”
A commotion erupted behind them, suddenly interrupting the moment. Alexis caught the next moment in flashes. Screams, refugees pushing, trampling each other. One of the tallest men faced off against Dalmar, teeth gritted — a glinting knife in his fist. He jabbed toward Dalmar twice as the pirate parried with his bare hands. And then she couldn’t see them. Dalmar and his attacker were on the floor, the pirate slamming his attacker into the metal bulkheads as they struggled for the blade.
A second tall man emerged from the roiling mass, his eyes trained on Dalmar as he moved to attack. Alexis slammed her palm against the intercom, shouting for immediate help. And then she yanked out the lighting circuit breakers, plunging the compartment into utter darkness.
Alexis roughly shoved people out of her way, almost swimming as she made for her workbench — and the night-vision goggles in the top drawer. She’d been fixing a broken eyepiece to return them to working order. Fingers outstretched, she found the drawer, yanking it free. She flicked the on switch and they came alive with a familiar electronic whine, the single working eyepiece flickering to an iridescent green light.
Turning to the crowd, Alexis desperately scanned the crouching, frightened refugees. She couldn’t see Dalmar, but she could hear the dull, wet thumps of the fight on the deck. Someone was getting a hell of a beating. She just hoped it was Dalmar’s two attackers. In the bunk behind the crowd, Hassan held an old woman in his arms, gently pressing an IV into the crook of her inner arm despite the darkness.
And then she saw Jonah. Through the parting refugees, the captain grabbed one of the attackers from behind in a vicious chokehold. A knife tumbled from the attacker’s hands and onto the deck. Using the sound alone, Jonah threw his body to the deck, snatched up the knife and plunged it into his throat with a sickening squish.
She could see the imposters now, kicking herself for not noticing them before. Three more men among the ranks of the refugees, only taller, better muscled, no longer hidden under the disguise of blankets and loose-fitting rags. Hidden and waiting to strike, they intended to take the Scorpion.
The trio made their way through the crowd, each with a knife cocked back in one hand and the other pushing aside bodies, feeling for something other than the gaunt ribs of the refugees as they approached Dalmar from behind. Jonah was lost in the crowd, too far back to assist.
“Dalmar!” pleaded Alexis. The pirate heard her voice pierce the darkness.
“What?” he shouted
“Turn around!”
Dalmar swiveled to face the threat in the darkness.
“Wait!” ordered Alexis, heart in her throat as the three men pushed their way past the last of the refugees between themselves and the pirate.
“For what, woman?” demanded Dalmar.
“Fight!” screamed Alexis, her voice hoarse.
No hesitation and with impossible speed, the pirate lunged. His hand shot out to grab the nearest man by the neck. The would-be attacker didn’t even have time to strike with his cocked knife before Dalmar slammed his meaty fist into his face once, twice, a third time. The man hit the deck, a bloody and unconscious mess.
Before Alexis could issue the next order, a young, soggy boy had found the breakers and flipped them back on. The engineer whipped the goggles off her face, nearly blinded by the sudden illumination.
Oh shit, she thought. One of the infiltrators had found the lights. For all she knew they were still outnumbered, and if the imposters had anything more than a knife, the Scorpion would be overrun in seconds. The boy at the breakers screamed in Korean, his face contorted with rage as he pointed out the two infiltrators.
But then the crowd came alive, the refugees tackling and beating the traitors in their midst, tearing knives and pistols from their clothing, clubbing them mercilessly with hands and feet. Alexis dug back into her drawers and took out four rolls of duct tape, hurling them across the compartment and into the mob. In seconds, the intruders were trussed up in thick grey tape, with three or four persons sitting on each while the other refugees stripped the lone dead man for his clothes and shoes.
There was little time to celebrate the victory as the intercom squawked with Vitaly’s request for the crew to go to the bridge. Alongside Jonah, Alexis pushed through the refugee crowd once again, and then sat at the hydrophone console next to Vitaly’s helm.
“Leaving North Korean maritime territory in three …” began Vitaly, “two… one… we now in international waters.”
Standing in the entrance to the bridge, Marissa nodded, turned, and announced the news. One of the small Korean women screamed a translation for the others. A collective cheer went up from the refugees, celebrating their escape. Alexis watched in total shock as several Chinese phones emerged from pockets and some of the refugees began taking selfies. She couldn’t help but shake her head in disbelief. What a world, when a smartphone was easier to come across than a daily meal.
“I hope they got all that noise out of their fucking system,” barked Jonah to anyone who was listening. “We can only run silent if we all stay goddamn silent.”
Alexis held up a hand as the din of the celebrating refugees slowly faded. The familiar sound of approaching propellers echoed in her hydrophones. Her blood ran cold with fear.
“I hear prop wash!” she announced in a loud whisper, loud enough to make everyone on the bridge freeze.
“A ship? Are we being pursued?” demanded Jonah.