Excerpt:
.
“Hey, Mr. Green. Any ships due in tonight?”
“Huh?” the older man grunted, his full attention glued to the small box television set. Family
Feud was on and Silas never missed an episode. As long as Julius had worked
with him at least, in these past four months on the night shift, the seasoned
longshoreman who acted very content with his life—who moved slow and never
liked causing “trouble,” as he called it, to his superiors, could recite the
most complex trivia questions.
Julius looked back to his monitor. Part of his job was to watch for ships that may have
wandered off course, or even scheduled docks on the quay. The program displayed
on his monitor was linked to AIS Marine database that monitored all vessel
traffic around the world. He kept the screen displaying his assigned port—which
showed a few red, which meant docked and inactive. The one that concerned him
was another ship, inbound and blinking green.
“Mr. Green?” Julius pressed.
The older black man sighed loudly, turning away from his small TV screen. “What? Why the hell
would—listen son, you can’t let this job spook you. Working nights on the dock,
I know, the long hours can get to you. But trust me, this sure beats working
days out in that sun all day offloading ships.”
“But look,” the younger longshoreman pointed his screen.
Frowning, Silas rolled his chair over to the computer monitor. The green blinking ship
reflected off his thick glasses. He pushed them back up on his nose, “That
ain’t nothing, probably just a glitch in the system.”
Julius looked at the screen and then out the large window that overlooked the Port of Jerusalem.
He’d just moved to town not more than six months prior from Bangor and he
wanted to make a good impression.
“Okay,” the younger man said.
Silas nodded in quiet victory and rolled back over to watch his show.
Julius continued glaring at the blinking green ship as it approached the port on the screen. He
swallowed hard as it inched closer and closer. He glanced at the old man as he
howled at some man on the TV having missed a question that Silas thought was a
“no brainer.” On the monitor, the green
blinking ship was upon them. Beads of sweat dripped down his forehead.
Closer.
And closer.
“Mr. Green, I don’t think is a glitch,” Julius protested.
Exhaling loudly, Silas stood and turned. “Listen, young blood, I’ve been doing this job for
twenty years and I’ve never heard of no ship coming in that wasn’t on the
manifest.”
Julius shrugged. “Yeah, but…” he gestured to the screen.
“There is no ship coming—”
Just outside, a large wave crashed against the port levee walls. A thunderous metallic screech
vibrated off the walls of the little trailer office on the wharf. Manuals and
notebooks and ship logs fell from the shelves as the ground itself felt as if
it was opening. The small TV still playing Family Feud rattled off the table
and crashed to the floor, sizzling out. The florescent bulbs above them burst
raining shards of glass and casting the room into a yellow gloom. The
horrendous grinding seemed to go on forever, shaking and shuddering the world.
And then it was over.
Silas Green was the first to prop himself off the floor. Looking around cautiously, as if any
wrong move would send the world into chaos again.
Julius propped himself up, moving into a crouch. He peeked through the blinds. “What the heck
was that?”
“Shit!” the older man hissed.
Julius glanced over his shoulder at him. “What? You okay?”
Silas held up what remained of his TV. “No, damn tube is busted.”
Shaking his head, Julius peered back out the blinds. “I think we should go check the dock.”
He stood, not waiting for approval and went through the door of the office.
“Hold on, young blood.” Silas gave the TV a final kiss—he’d had the device for more years than
he cared to confess, and then set it down on the floor as gently as he could.
Standing, he opened the bottom drawer of his desk and retrieved a flashlight.
Outside, Silas trotted to catch up with Julius who was standing at the edge of the wharf
looking up into the gloom.
“Somethings out there,” the young man said.
Silas wafted the fog around his head. “Can’t see shit out here.”
“Use the flashlight,” Julius suggested without taking his gaze from in front of him.
“Oh,” Silas grunted, flicking on the switch. A beam of bright white broke apart the misty
smoke like haze. He shined out toward the wharf and at first still could not
see anything. And then the fog parted as if controlled by some unknown force,
separating and unfolding around a large cargo ship.
Silas traced the hull to the edge of the ship deck. “Mother of God,” he whispered, taken back by
the sudden massive size of the ship. He’d never been this close to one. The
larger vessels normally dock at Freeport.
Julius stepped toward him, asking, “What do we do?”
The older man couldn’t think—this wasn’t on the schedule, the ship manifest, nothing. This
ship shouldn’t be here. The harbourmaster would have said something. Hell, his
superintendent would have damn sure said something. It would have been on the
log. Silas moved the beam of light to the wharf itself, noting the broken
shards of rock in the thick cement and the thick crack in the hull of the ship.
It was taking on water for sure—it hadn’t even bothered slowing down. It
ploughed into the quay. But why? Wasn’t there someone steering this damn thing?
This wasn’t right. Something about this—everything about this wasn’t right.
“Mr. Green?” Julius pressed, whispering hotly.
Silas looked at him, the kid was rattled; he was rattled. He took a deep breath. “Okay, listen,
I’m going to call this in—pray the lines in the office are still operating.
Here, take the flashlight.” He handed it to Julius. “Stay put, yell out if you
see anyone. Some dumbass is going to pay bigtime for this screwup and it ain’t
going to be you or me.”
He gave one final glance at the monstrous freighter and started off for the office. Inside,
he could use the phone on the floor. He scooped it up and dialed his
supervisor.
“Green, there better be a good fucking reason why you’re calling me at—” Silas’s
superintendent started through the speaker of the phone.
“A ship crashed into the port,” Silas blurted.
“What?”
“A ship, some damn cargo ship. Large motherfucker.”
“Are you fucking with me?”
“No, I ain’t fucking with you, sir. A cargo ship crashed into the port, took a good-sized
chunk out of our wharf too.”
“Was it on the manifest?”
“No—that’s what I’m saying. This ship ain’t supposed to be—”
A scream from outside on the dock jarred Silas from the phone.
“Julius, what the hell was that?”
“Green, what’s going on?” his superintendent asked, sounding more and more irritated.
Silence.
“Green?”
“Hold on, sir.”
Silas set down the phone, ignoring the muffled protest from his superintendent
on the line. He glared at the open door and crept toward it. There were no
other sounds, and he didn’t like that one bit.
Stepping outside he called, “Julius?”
It was hard to see through the fog as it rolled across the walkway.
Silas squinted, peering through the gloom turned yellow by the glow of the dock lights.
“Julius, what’s going on?” he called to the dark shape in front of him.
And then he heard it.
A sucking sound.
He stopped.
The dark shape unfolded.
The fog parted slightly, revealing a tall, bald woman with pale skin. Her eyes burned red. She
was looking at him with an expression of mild satisfaction, the look of a
thirsty soul finally getting a cup of water. She was holding Julius, cradling
him almost as if they were dancing.
“Who are—” Silas started, until he saw her teeth, her large fanged front teeth, salivating in
blood. He took a step back as she let Julius go. His body crumbled to the wet
dock.
“No,” Silas managed to say, like a child refusing to go to bed.
And then she was upon him.
.
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