“I—I don’t know. I only saw a shadow. But he’s big.”
The door shook from another impact. The chair slipped free and fell to the floor.
“Really big,” Bray said. He quickly put the chair back into place and leaned against it, holding it in place.
“I went to medical,” Joliet said. “To check on Sanchez. I think … I think he’s dead. The lights were out. Broken. But I could smell blood.”
Bang! The door bent a little more.
Bray grunted as the impact shook the chair. “Hawkins, be ready if this guy gets through!”
“When I called for help, I saw him. Just a shadow. And when I ran, he chased. That’s all I know.”
Bang!
Hawkins went to his dresser, opened the top drawer, and took out his knife and sheath. He quickly buckled the sheath around his waist and drew the blade.
Bray did a double take when he saw the knife in Hawkins’s hand. “Sure you want to use that? We don’t know for sure that Sanchez is dead. If this is just Ray on a bender—”
“It’s not Ray,” Hawkins said. “It’s a local.”
Bray and Joliet both stared at Hawkins, digesting his deduction. Bray finally nodded. “After the next strike, he’ll be winding up for another. I’ll open the door, you—”
“Hold on,” Hawkins said. “Listen.”
The thump of heavy footsteps receded and then pounded up the staircase.
“He’s leaving.” Bray let go of the chair and stood up.
Hawkins pulled the chair away from the door.
“What are you doing?” Joliet asked.
“I have to warn the others.” Hawkins grabbed the door handle and spoke to Bray. “Lock the door behind me.”
Hawkins could see that Joliet and Bray were both about to argue. “This isn’t a request.” The words were spoken with enough force to startle the pair. Neither argued when he opened the door and slid into the hallway. He listened as the door closed, the push-button lock was engaged, and the chair wedged into place. Satisfied his friends were safe, Hawkins tightened his grip on the hunting knife and started up the stairs.
Halfway to the top, Hawkins paused. Thumps reverberated through the ship, but he couldn’t tell if they were coming from above, or below. He was about to turn around and head to the lower levels when a gunshot rang out.
From above.
He charged up the stairs, knife in hand, ready for a fight. The outside door at the top of the stairwell lay open. Indistinct shouts filtered in through the warm nighttime air. He stepped onto the main deck of the Magellan and was greeted by a shouting voice.
“There he is! I see him!”
A rifle blast was immediately followed by a loud ping as a bullet ricocheted off the metal wall just above his head. Hawkins ducked down. “It’s me! It’s Hawkins!”
Footsteps pounded toward him. “Hawkins. God. Are you all right?” An out-of-breath Jim Clifton stopped next to him.
“Wouldn’t be if you had better aim,” Hawkins said, eyeing the hunting rifle that was kept on board in case they came across an animal that needed to be put down.
“Sorry ’bout that,” Jim said. “Thought you were him.”
“Him, who?” Hawkins asked.
“Somebody’s on board. Knocked Blok on his ass.”
“Port side! At the bow!” This voice belonged to Captain Drake and Hawkins responded immediately. He snatched the rifle from Jim’s hands and sprinted toward the bow.
When he arrived on the starboard side of the bow, he scanned the area. The ship had been cleaned of debris, but the large net that Cahill had been entangled in lay at the center of the bow deck, folded into a large square.
A large shadow shifted on the other side of the deck. Hawkins raised the rifle, but didn’t pull the trigger. He wouldn’t shoot at a target he couldn’t clearly see. It could be Ray, for all he knew, and he wasn’t about to make the same mistake Jim had. Keeping the rifle raised, he stalked forward. “Stop where you are! Identify yourself!”
The shadow paused and Hawkins felt a pair of eyes looking at him.
“Who are you!” Hawkins shouted.
In a blur, the figure disappeared. At first, Hawkins wasn’t sure what happened, but then he heard a splash. “He went over the rail!” Hawkins ran to where he’d last seen the figure standing.
Footsteps pounded up behind him.
“Where’d he go?” Jim asked.
“Someone get a good look at that son of a bitch?” Drake barked.
Hawkins aimed the weapon toward the water. The half-moon provided a little light, as did the Magellan’s remaining outside lights—it seemed several had been broken by the intruder—but Hawkins couldn’t see anyone. Water sloshed near the shore and he saw a shape emerge.
How the hell did he swim so far so fast?
Didn’t matter. He wasn’t about to let him escape. He aimed low, hoping to hit the man’s leg and incapacitate him. Ignoring several more sets of approaching footsteps, Hawkins wrapped his index finger around the trigger.
He exhaled. Held his breath. Applied pressure.