raised by wolves

It’s been maybe twenty minutes when my concentration is broken by the sound of steel girders, the impossible weight of the ship above us, groaning in a most uncomfortable way. I pop my earpiece back in and hear a bunch of static and nonsense. Jesus Christ.

“Everyone. Shut the fuck up and listen!” Weston’s gruff command tone over the static. “Deck B fire control is malfunctioning. That means the fire is going to start spreading, and we’re looking at the possibility of Deck A collapsing. After that, it’s just a matter of time before Deck C goes, and so on. That means we have a very, very limited amount of time here. If Deck A goes down, we’re gonna have a hell of a time getting out of here, and if Deck B goes down, it’s very probable we won’t be getting out of here at all. That means move your asses, people! All units report.”

“Bakarov here, Deck D hostages checked, no sign of the captain. Decks J and K clear. Ten additional hostages contained, three hostiles down.”

“Keep looking, Yolita. Verne, report.”

“Verne here. Deck L and M clear. No sign of the captain, though there’s a locked door on the starboard side of Deck M here I can’t get open, it’s barricaded from the other side. No hostages or hostiles.”

“Wallace here. Parks is still checking his e-mail,” Goober taunts. I give him the finger and go back to my tapping, boring job. Ha, yeah right. Weston groans.

“Verne, stay put. I’m coming to help you with that door now. Goober, Yolita, rendezvous at the infirmary in ten or less. Parks, you stay put and keep trying for that safe. We gotta be gone in a half hour or less, otherwise you’ll hear them Interpol fuckers in helicopters real soon. That means move it Parks, you’re supposed to be good at this horse shit.”

I roll my eyes. “A-ffirm-attive,” I repeat. My hands don’t stop moving. Asshole that he is, Weston is right. Leaving this whole mess behind won’t even be worth the price of admission if we don’t snag this gold.

Goober is ducking out the door we came in, but before he goes I tell him to keep an eye out for a communications room, something with a radio. We need to try to arrange a pick up. Weston didn’t tell me to do this, but he didn’t mention any damn thing about how we’re gonna get off without the plane. The idea was to drop us in with ‘chutes, then scoop us up from the water with a hook on one of the life boats, but without the plane, we’re-ahem-dead in the water. Goober nods and goes on about his way. I holler after him, “Try to find me some coffee, too!”

Some more time goes by. I whistle idly, no real tune, a composition of my own imagining, thrilling crescendos and all that at my every whim. My fingers dance in time, staccato tapping a strange percussion, not keeping time but it’s following it’s own melody in my brain. Shoulda been a composerAND THEN WHAT THE HELL NOT AGAIN—

The floor below me kicks like a fucking brontosaurus out from under me and the monitor comes flying at my head and the keyboard too. What now? What now?

“Report, report, all units report,” Weston barks.

“Bakaraaaaaaaaaah!” Yolita shrieks.

“Yolita, report!” and silence.

“All units report!”

“Goober here, Deck C’s fulla smoke! I think Deck A’s comin’ down! What’re we gonna do?”

“Calm down, Goober. Get outta there, get back to the infirmary. Dole, report!”

“Dole here, infirmary’s getting smoky too. And…What the fuck?” he goes silent for a minute. I’m on my back covered in computer paper and components, breathing heavy. Ow.

“Dole, come in,” Weston tries again.

“We’re taking on water! Infirmary’s taking on water, are we sinking?”

Sinking? Oh, fuck me. The infirmary’s on which deck? Which deck am I on now?

“This is Bakarov, come in! Can anyone hear me?”

“Yolita, we read you, what happened?”

“Sir, we’re taking on water. And there’s some…thingahhhhhh!” and then there’s some gunfire and silence.

“Yolita, come in! What happened? Come in!” This is more emotive than I’ve seen Weston since New Constantinople.

Big letters on the wall near some stairs inform me I’m on Deck J. J comes after D, right? Infirmary’s on D, right?

I hate using the earpiece.

“This is Parks. Weston, come in.”

“Go ahead, Parks.”

“The vault’s on Deck J, but everything’s all fucked up down here. I’m coming to you guys, what’s your location?”

Silence.

“Negative, Parks, we need that safe open ASAP. This is your job, do it.”

“Can you at least tell me which deck the infirmary is on? Where are we taking on water? Are we taking on water?”

“Infirmary’s on Deck L. Taking on water not confirmed—”

“Bullshit!” interrupts Dole. “I’m in the Infirmary now, and I say we’re taking on water! There’s a huge hole in the side of the ship. We’re going to sink!”

“Dole, can it! Everyone, reconvene at the vault on Deck J. Weston out!”

Here comes the cavalry. I wish I had a little flag or something to wave when they show up.