Ian and I slipped through the wharf and crouched behind a forklift next to the ramp. He scanned the jetty and the ship then turned to me, eyes flashing under the moonlight. “You know where to go?”
I nodded. “Where’s the guard?”
He pointed above board, port side. The guard stumbled under the illumination of a red light. He glanced around him before tipping back a flask in his shaking hand.
The vacant ship and the guard’s insobriety were just as Ian predicted.
“Ready?” Ian’s voice hitched. Whether it was excitement or nervousness, I wasn’t sure.
When I nodded again, he gripped my nape and kissed me. In that flickering moment, I imagined he was Jesse and there was nothing else around us. I returned the kiss with equal passion. My tongue matched his and the heat from it filled my chest and traveled lower. When the vee at my thighs began to pulse, I pulled away. Ian reached for me again, his breathing heavy.
I stepped back. “Six days.”
“Six days.” He walked up the ramp to the ship and approached the guard, waving a flask and a pack of cards.
The guard turned his back on my hiding place. I ran on tiptoes up the ramp. Hugging the bulkhead, I stole through the main passageway. The port side ladder rattled under my boots, a knife’s throw from where Ian shared his flask with the guard.
I froze. Don’t look at them. Keep moving. Quiet, quiet. I steadied my breathing and climbed.
The swish of the tide and the groan of steel muted my footsteps along the upper deck. Crate after crate, the doors were sealed and locked. All but the one Ian had unlocked. The white cube on the end fit the description. Closer. Closer. The label came into focus. Canpotex, #526. Relief rushed through me as I closed the distance and squeezed inside.
Carbine in my lap, I leaned my head against the cold metal wall and waited. Sometime later, Ian slid the lock on the container into place. No turning back. The rest was up to him.
For six days, I avoided deep sleep and the night terrors it could bring. Exhaustion took its toll. I grew restless, trapped in a metal crate with my own waste. In a couple days, my depleted supply of MREs would introduce a new level of torment.
A stampede of pounding feet and irate shouting passed under my hiding place and dwindled toward the anchor-windlass room. The crew members were brawling again.
The frost soaked through my hair. My eyes ached from the abiding strain to see amid the black. I leaned against the container’s wall, clicked on the Maglite and unfolded Joel’s letter. The flimsy paper was damp. Crumpled from numerous spreading. Creased with clammy hands. I reread his counsels for the hundredth time to remind myself why I left my beloved companions to cross the Atlantic.
I ground my teeth. Why the hell didn’t Jesse say good-bye? Was his soul as lost and battered as mine? Even so, it wasn’t an excuse to behave like an ass. Screw him.
Two short horn blasts vibrated the crate walls. A breathy mariner announced our arrival in Dover Strait. The scurrying of sailors confirmed the voyage was approaching its end.
Several hours later, the ship halted.
When the door cracked the next morning, Ian rushed me with a pent-up fervor. His mouth and hands groped.
I swatted him away. “Ian, please. A bath? And a meal?”
“Yes, of course. It’s just…I missed you so much.”
“Just a little longer. Go.”
Ian distracted the same sloppy sentinel as I crept down the ramp and put two shaky feet on England’s shore. I rubbed my chest. Why wasn’t I feeling pulled in any one direction? Where was that goddamn tug when I needed it?
The harbor spread layers of parking lots to the white facade of the hovering cliffs. Redolent of brine, the crisp air nipped my nose and watered my eyes. Carbine at the ready, I ran through the pier, darting in and out of alcoves, toward the shadow of the closest bluff. One building to go, I rounded the corner.
A van approached from the other side. Fuck. I jumped out of its path and picked up my pace. Behind me, the van’s occupants rushed out in a melee of shouting and chambered rounds. I didn’t falter or look back. Until Ian’s scream cracked the frigid air.
I looked over my shoulder. The boozer from the ship pulled him out of the van, a blade under his chin. My feet stopped, pivoted.
“Ye were hiding a fit bird?” the guard said to Ian and shoved him to his knees. “I should jolly well think she was worth it.”
No, no no. My stomach rolled over in violent waves.
Ian beseeched me with his eyes, whimpering, “I’m sorry. I love y—”
The guard knifed his throat from ear to ear.
In the middle of the journey of our life