Jeremy Robinson - Island 731

Bray showed Hawkins the image. It was a sketch of the pillbox he’d done from memory before drawing the draco-snakes.

“That’s the pillbox,” Hawkins said.

Bray pointed to the text above the entrance. “Looks Japanese.”

“Know what it says?” Hawkins asked.

“I think we’ve established that neither of us reads Japanese, or maybe you think I just struggle with the word ‘broccoli’? Drake might know, though. He’s been around the world a few times.”

A third loud bang sounded from above. This time, the boom was followed by rapid-fire bumps moving across the ceiling.

“Someone’s running,” Bray commented.

Hawkins looked at him. “Where’s Joliet?”

Hawkins went for the door as the thumping sound overhead moved quickly away. Someone’s running , he thought as he twisted the door handle. But why? He pulled the door open to an empty hallway. The stairwell on the right side of the hall was also empty.

But he could hear someone descending the stairs two at a time. The light step and quick puffs of air revealed the runner as Joliet. Running a treadmill in calm or rough seas never gave her any trouble and she breathed the same way when she exercised.

“Joliet, what are—”

“Back!” she shouted before reaching the bottom. “Get in your room!”

Joliet emerged from the stairs a moment later. Blood ran from her forehead over her cheek.

Hawkins stayed frozen in place, trying to comprehend why Joliet was running and how she’d been injured.

Joliet, on the other hand, barreled toward him like a Pamplona bull. “Get back!” She shoved Hawkins back inside the room.

Hawkins was about to ask her what the hell was going on when he heard a second set of footfalls coming from the stairwell. And those feet sounded much heavier. Joliet was being chased, by someone large. He clenched his fist and headed for the door. “Bray.”

“I’m with you, Ranger,” Bray said, coming up behind him.

But Joliet stopped them in their tracks by slamming the door closed. She pushed the button lock, but didn’t look relieved at all. “We need to block the door!”

“Blok the door?” Bray said. “Who the hell is out there.”

“I don’t know! Just block the door!”

Loud footsteps approached the door. Hawkins thought he could actually feel each footfall vibrating through the floor.

“Joliet,” Hawkins said, taking her shoulders in his hands. “If it’s anyone from the crew, we can handle them.”

She shook her head, eyes darting back and forth. She shrugged away from Hawkins and darted across the small room. She picked up the metal desk chair and ran back to the door. She wedged the chair under the doorknob and stood back.

Bray smiled and shook his head. “Okay, so now that we have a locked metal door with a chair, would you mind telling us what—”

An explosive impact pounded the door from the other side. It shook, but remained intact. The very loud and sudden sound made Joliet, Bray, and Hawkins jump away from the door.

“Hey!” Bray shouted, his embarrassment about being frightened turning quickly to anger. “Who’s out there! Cut the shit or I’m going to—”

The second impact bent the top of the door inward. The bend was slight, not quite an inch, but the strength it would require to bend the metal door wasn’t lost on Hawkins.

Or Bray. “Goddamn, is he using a sledgehammer?”

Hawkins took Joliet’s face and turned her eyes to his. “ Who is it?”

“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.