Jon Merz - Raider X

As much as he would have preferred staying exactly where he was, Thatcher descended the last of the metal stairs and gingerly touched his shoes to the slick floor of the engine room. He was already sweating buckets given the profuse heat the bellowed out from the engines as they churned away. The temperature of the room combined with the smell of the slaughter did not make containing his breakfast any easier. Still, he forced himself to get closer and engage with the Captain.

“There were five men in this compartment,” said Schwarzwalder. “Now they’re all dead.”

Thatcher looked around but he wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking at. There were limbs that looked as though they had been torn from bodies littering the ground and some were stuck to the walls by some unseen adhesive most likely comprised of drying liquids the nature of which thatcher had no desire to know.

But what drew his eye the most as he surveyed the carnage was the presence of the bones — at least he assumed they were bones. Splotches of pure white were rare, but every now and again he would spot some. For the most part they were stained by blood and broken apart in such a way that made it look as though they had been forcibly removed from their host bodies and then broken open almost like a coconut.

How was such a thing possible? Thatcher clamped his jaw shut and tried his best to focus on viewing the scene before him as objectively as he could lest the reality of it force him to expel the contents of his stomach. He didn’t think that adding his own contribution to the scene would enamor him to the Captain.

For his part, Schwarzwalder looked angry and concerned. Losing five men in a single night to some unknown occurrence was something that none of the military academies across the world would ever be able to prepare him for. How had this happened? And who had done it?

Schwarzwalder rose from where he squatted and looked at Thatcher. “Five men. Good men at that. Now dead.”

Thatcher shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything this horrible before.”

“You seem to be handling it all right.”

Thatcher smiled weakly. “Frankly, it’s taking every ounce of self control not to vomit profusely.”

Schwarzwalder nodded his head. “I’ve seen abattoirs before. That is probably what’s helping me. But in any event, we should get some fresh air. I need to get this mess cleaned up before the fear infects the entire crew.”

Thatcher shook his head. “Word has already spread.”

Schwarzwalder looked around. “Someone shut off that damned alarm!”

Within seconds the alarm died off, leaving a ringing in Thatcher’s ears. But he was grateful for the lack of the blaring now. He waited as Schwarzwalder ascended the steps leading out of the room, taking one final glance around. Was there anything that he could see that would clue them in to the identity of the killer? Because surely this wasn’t some sort of industrial accident. But who could have done this? Or what-?

Thatcher took a breath. What indeed.

He turned and followed Schwarzwalder up the steps. They passed by Steinkopf who fell in behind them without saying a word. He nodded a grateful thanks to Thatcher as he passed however. Thatcher nodded in return and continued following Schwarzwalder up the steps to the next deck. Gradually, as they ascended, the smell of the slaughter receded mercifully and Thatcher even felt the heat lessening. He was soaked from sweat and the breezes as they walked up the stairs and passed through corridors on the ship cooled him.

Finally, Schwarzwalder stepped out on to deck into the fresh air and the early morning light. Thatcher stepped out as well and his lungs instantly demanded that he breathe as expansively as possible in an attempt to flush every bit of what he had just witnessed from his body and mind. He reeled and had to reach out for the side of the ship to stabilize himself.

“Are you all right?” asked Schwarzwalder.

Thatcher nodded without saying anything. He continued to breathe for several moments until he felt his head clearing. The ocean was thankfully calm and the ship wasn’t rolling. Thatcher leaned against the railing and then looked over at Captain Schwarzwalder.

“What the hell happened back there?”

Schwarzwalder shrugged. “Five men on duty overnight. While there was a skeleton crew on duty, they were slaughtered somehow.”

“But who — what — could have done that?”

Schwarzwalder eyed him. “I do not know. Certainly nothing that I can imagine. It is as if some sort of animal was loosed within that compartment with the sole purpose of devouring everyone inside.”

“I am unaware of any such animal that could produce such an amount of damage and devastation and leave no trace of it passing out of the same compartment.”

“Indeed,” said Schwarzwalder. “I saw no tracks. No footprints. Nothing. It was as if it materialized within the room, did its killing, and then disappeared in much the same way as it entered.”

“It’s impossible,” said Thatcher. “Nothing could have achieved that.”

“And yet, the results say otherwise,” said Schwarzwalder. “I would otherwise agree with you were it not for the very evidence we just witnessed.”

Thatcher shook his head. “I am no forensic scientist. Is it possible we missed something?”

“Nor am I,” said the Captain. “But I do not think we need to be to see what is obvious before us. There is, somewhere aboard this ship, a killer. We knew this already with regards to Adamson. But now it would appear that whoever is doing this is also intent on attacking my crew.” He paused. “How did you sleep last night?”

“Fitfully,” said Thatcher. “I tossed and turned all night long.”

“As did I,” said Schwarzwalder. He stared at Thatcher. “I wonder how your traveling companion found her first night aboard my ship?”

Thatcher frowned. “Surely you can’t be suggesting-“

“Why not?” asked Schwarzwalder. “She is already the prime suspect in Adamson’s murder. Is it such a stretch to believe she could have done this as well?”

“I don’t know,” said Thatcher. “Could she kill five men all on her own?”

“There’s only one way to find out, I suppose,” said Schwarzwalder. “Let’s go and see her.”

Thatcher followed the Captain to the cabin where Cyra was being held. Along the way, Thatcher made sure to keep his eyes open. All of this traveling to and fro across the breadth of the ship was giving him a fairly detailed map in his head of how to get around. Fortunately, Thatcher’s status as an American didn’t seem to put Schwarzwalder off and he seemed content to have Thatcher around rather than keeping him locked up all day long.

As they approached Cyra’s cabin, the guard snapped to attention. Schwarzwalder addressed him in German. “Have you been here long?”

“Two hours, Captain.”

Schwarzwalder grunted. “And the man you took over from, did he have anything to report?”

“Nothing, sir. All was quiet during the night.”

Schwarzwalder frowned. “Very well. Open it up.”

The guard turned and knocked once before opening the door. Schwarzwalder entered immediately followed by Thatcher.

Cyra sat at her table eating breakfast. She looked up with a big smile breaking across her face. She seemed completely unlike how she was on the previous day, Thatcher noted to himself.

“Captain, Harrison. How lovely to see you both.”

“How are you feeling?” asked Thatcher. “You looked pretty ill yesterday.”

Cyra smiled some more. “I’ll forgive you for insulting my appearance. I must admit something did not sit well with me yesterday, but it was nothing that a good sound sleep couldn’t cure. I awoke a short time ago feeling imminently refreshed and strong as ever. Perhaps I had too much excitement with the Archimedes being boarded and subsequently sunk.”