Ben Hammott - Salvage

As Miller approached the bow he glanced around for Walker, who twenty minutes earlier had gone to keep a lookout for icebergs, but there was no sign of the man. He stopped when his foot trod on something. He picked up the object and stared at the lighter for a few moments before gazing around the deck. He had learned to trust his instincts over the years and he wasn’t going to ignore them now. Something was wrong. When his eyes probed the many dark areas for signs of anything amiss, he noticed movement, no more than a fleeting shadow darting behind a row of shipping containers. Miller flipped the night vision goggles over his eyes and headed towards it.

Admiral Thomson stood on the aft deck gazing around at the flurry of activity. To ensure the safety of the hastily salvaged alien artifacts, he had ordered for them all to be stored below deck. The crew were just lowering the final shipping container into the hold to join the many already filling its cavernous space. He walked forward and gazed below as it was secured to the hold floor and looked at the three soldiers who would guard the invaluable alien technology that included the alien weapons. They had been wrapped, boxed and stored in a container with its door welded shut to ensure their safety. He regretted the SEALs had left shortly after the completion of their mission; they were true professionals. They arrive, do what’s needed of them and then fade back into obscurity without waiting around for praise or a pat on the back for a job well done.

Though he was aware of his paranoia regarding the Russians, Thomson did nothing to subdue it and was confident he had covered all the bases unless a Russian submarine appeared and torpedoed them. He doubted the Russian salvage team had the means to sink the ship, but if a small group of trained men managed to get aboard, a few well placed explosives could destroy the alien shuttlecraft―hence his decision for the armed patrols. The President had already congratulated him personally and then the rest of those involved via the ship-wide intercom for their successful salvage mission, and he wasn’t going to risk letting his President down by being careless now.

President Conner had also decreed he bring the ship straight to America and not return to New Zealand as originally planned. The nearest American and British battleships were already set on an intercept course to protect the alien artifacts and escort them home.

As the large cargo hold doors began to close, the Admiral cast one last look around the ship. Satisfied everything was in order, he headed for his cabin. He would celebrate his success with a single glass of brandy and one of the large cigars his wife detested the smell of.

Avoiding any humans it detected, the stowaway crept along the deck searching for a safe place to hide until it could escape onto land. When it arrived at the stern it stared at the large doors sliding together and noticing the space below that would shelter it from the cold. It rushed forward and leaped onto the top of a shipping container.

Selby glanced at his watch, still another four hours before his shift ended. The clink of a spoon on a cup cast his gaze across the room to the coffee station set up for them and where Cooper poured out a fresh cup of the steaming black coffee.

Selby yawned as he walked over to grab himself a helping of the caffeine-infused liquid, but paused when he noticed the shadow move over the ground. He turned and gazed up at the hold doors as they met with a thud and then scanned the shipping containers. When he saw the creature diving towards him, he grabbed the rifle hanging from the shoulder strap and opened his mouth to shout a warning.

One of the Hunter’s large paws landed on his face and stifled the warning before it could escape from the human’s lips. Claws extended and pierced deep into his skin as they thudded to the ground and another claw smoothly snatched the rifle from the air before it clattered to the floor.

Cooper halted the flow of coffee into the mug and lazily turned his head towards the sound. There was no sign of the man he had noticed there earlier. “You want a coffee, Selby?”

“I wouldn’t say no,” replied Fitch, crossing the room.

Cooper glanced at Fitch before looking back to where he had last seen Selby and activated his helmet mic. “You okay, Selby?” He placed the coffee jug down when the man didn’t reply.

Fitch picked up on Cooper’s concern. “Maybe he went for a piss?”

Cooper shook his head and slipped his rifle into his hands. “Not without telling us he was leaving he wouldn’t.” He pressed the talk button on his radio mic. “Lieutenant, we might have a problem in the rear cargo hold. Selby’s gone AWOL.”

“Copy that, Coop, we’re on our way,” replied Miller.

Fitch pointed his weapon across the room in the direction Cooper stared. “What is it?”

Cooper shrugged. “I’m not sure, but it might be the Russian saboteurs Thomson was so concerned about. We better go check it out.”

Fitch sighed. He thought he had waved danger goodbye when he had watched the spaceship sink beneath the waves. Still, he thought, a little cheerfully, he’d rather face a Russian than one of those alien horrors again. He followed Cooper’s slow walk across the room.

Miller had started running as soon as Cooper had informed him of the problem. Though he had no idea if Selby’s abandonment of his post was connected to what he had glimpsed or Crewman Walker’s disappearance, he didn’t like coincidences. “Patterson, Sawyer, switch comms to live and meet me on the starboard side. There’s a problem in the rear cargo hold.”

Both men copied their replies and rushed starboard.

When all three met, they rushed along the side of the ship towards the stern door that would take them to the steps leading down to the cargo hold.

Cooper and Fitch paused at the small splattering of blood on the floor and followed the trail of drips that led behind the shipping container with their eyes. Cooper signaled for Fitch to go around to the right side while he headed left. Fitch reluctantly nodded and moved away.

Keeping tight to the end of the metal container, Cooper edged towards the corner. When he leaned out and peered around the edge, he came face to face with a monster. Shock silenced his scream as the monster emitted a low, deep growl that sent piss running down his leg. Claws gripped his head and pulled it towards the vicious face and the jaws stretched wide to receive it. The teeth that scraped along his skull seemed to echo inside his head as his cheek, nose and lips were bitten away.

Fitch halted at hearing the strange growl over his headphones. Whatever he had heard, and he was trying hard not to visualize it, he knew it hadn’t been uttered by a Russian saboteur or anything human. Though he desperately wanted to flee in the opposite direction, his compulsion to help Cooper drove him forward.

When the one-eyed Hunter detected the approach of another human, he placed clawed fingers into Cooper’s lipless mouth, pulled the weapon away from the human’s grasp and climbed the side of the container.

Cooper experienced terrible pain as he was carried like a grotesque human handbag. He glimpsed Selby’s bloody corpse when he was set down beside it on top of the container and the man’s weapon placed on his unmoving chest. His terrified gaze flicked to the monster and saw it presently looked elsewhere. His hand slowly reached for the dead man’s weapon.

Fitch’s head appeared around the far end of the container and gazed along its vacant length. Though he was pleased to see it absent any threat, he worried that there was no sign of Cooper. He cautiously moved along the side.