The Sentinel (3 page)

“I’m good,” I say, standing and pushing my arms up the sleeves, trying not to look as stupid as I feel.

But Jenny is looking past me, toward the top of the stairs and the continuing shrieks of horror. She could care less about my appearance.

I wonder if all fat people are like that, and then feel like a total asshole for thinking it. I would have fallen down ten metal steps and could have broken my neck if not for her. I decide to stop privately mocking her and other people who shop at Walmart. Okay, just Jenny. Walmartites are still fair game. It’s highly doubtful anyone on this ship would shop from an evil corporate giant.

A high pitched squeal rolls down the stairwell.

“What’s going on up there?” One of the male crewmembers asks. I’m not sure what his name is. I think he’s the cook, which does nothing to ingratiate him to me. Raw vegetables are the best thing on the menu.

I realize the question was directed at me. I’m first in line. And there are now five people behind me. “I have no idea,” I say, and continue my trek for the main deck.

The door has been left open, which is a no-no in the Arctic, where even during mid-summer, temps can still dip below freezing. I exit quickly, am struck by a cold breeze and hug my arms around my chest and hunch down. The action saves me from a bloody fate, but makes Jenny a very large target.

“Something hit me!” she shouts, clutching her chest and staggering to the side.

I race up to her, hoping she hasn’t been shot. I didn’t hear a gunshot and seriously doubt Greenland’s whalers are using sound-suppressed hand guns, never mind the accuracy it would take to shoot someone from one moving ship to another. But as ludicrous as it sounds, she
was
hit by
something
. As she sits down behind one of the Zodiacs secured to the main deck, I quickly survey our surroundings and note that the second Zodiac is missing. Strange, but not a threat. I look up briefly and see a furious Captain McAfee staring down at the chaotic scene, shouting something I can’t hear. When Jenny releases a string of rapid fire “Oh my gods,” I turn back to her.

Dark red blood stains the sweater where her hands are clutched. “It hurts,” she says.

“Let me look,” I say.

She shakes her head. The first reaction most people have to being severely injured is the desire not to know exactly how bad it is. But I’ve heard enough war stories from my father to know not to screw around with injuries. If it’s bad, there might only be minutes to save someone, or to say goodbye. “Let me look, now!” I shout.

My raised voice startles Jenny into compliance. She slowly moves her hands away. There’s enough blood to make me gasp, but I can’t see a tear in her sweater. And if it’s intact, so is everything else. “You’re fine,” I say.

Her eyes go wide. She looks down at her chest. Gives it a pat. She looks relieved, but says, “What hit me? It really hurt.”

As a coppery smell tickles my nose, I begin to suspect an answer.

A wet
thwack
a moment later confirms it. A chunk of ragged, fatty meat wrapped around a thick bone lands on the deck behind me. A part of me imagines the meat on a grill and my stomach rumbles. But Jenny stops my fantasy short.

“What is that?” she shouts, recoiling from the flesh, which has clearly been drowned in blood before it was thrown the distance between the
Bliksem
and the
Sentinel
.

I pick up the meat, drawing a squeal of disgust from Jenny.

“Its scraps,” I say.

“Scraps?”

“From a kill.”

“From a kill?”

Oh good Lord, Jenny
! “From a whale. It’s whale meat.” I point to her chest. “And that’s whale blood all over you.”

Her pink cheeks go white like she’s some kind of color changing octopus. Jenny’s mortified face coupled with the horrified screams of the rest of the crew, who’ve figured out what’s being hurled at them, is more than I can bear.

A snicker emerges from my lips and I clamp my hand over it.

But Jenny has seen and her disgust turns to righteous anger. “You think this is funny?”

Angry Jenny is much more amusing than disgusted Jenny and I fail to contain my laughter. After five seconds, her face lightens. I’ve heard it said that laughter is contagious. Sitcoms use laugh tracks for that very reason, but I’ve never actually seen an explosive person defused by laughter. Apparently, Jenny has a sense of humor buried somewhere in her girth.

Damn, how long did I last? Three minutes before I mocked her size again? I’m so evil!

We’re both cackling like wounded seagulls when I glance at the wheelhouse again and find McAfee’s eyes glaring down at us. His eyes lock onto mine and I don’t know if the man has telepathic powers or what, but I swear I hear him say, “There will be a reckoning.”

Laughing at something like this is no doubt akin to mutiny. And I’ve pulled Jenny into the shitter with me. Thankfully, the captain has bigger problems to handle tonight. He’ll no doubt do what he normally does—retreat to his quarters with Chase and emerge two hours later with a grand master plan I’m fairly certain will come from Chase’s brain. If Chase has as much pull with the captain as I suspect, I might be able to get away with my humorous breach of protocol, but I doubt it.

I help Jenny to her feet, saying nothing about the captain. She had her back to him, so it’s possible she might escape his wrath, and I don’t want to worry her. Two scares in one night might be more than her heart could—
fuck! I am Evil!

“Stay here,” I tell her as I work my way around the Zodiac. With whale meat being flung around like we’re in the middle of some whaling high-school food fight, it’s a risky venture, but I need to see it. I need to see the Vikings hurling bloody meat. I tell myself it’s for my report, but it’s really just because I find it so amusing. Flinging meat in most situations would strike me as silly and wasteful, but throwing whale meat at the
Sentinel
. Well, that’s just pure genius.

Jenny doesn’t argue, and I round the front of the Zodiac. A wall of cheering men greets me. The all male crew of the
Bliksem
stands along the rail, dipping their hands into buckets of meat and hurling it toward the
Sentinel
. And unlike the
Sentinel
’s
peace-loving crew, every crewmember on board the
Bliksem
throws like a man. I look to my right and see a long stretch of bloody meat sliding down the side of the ship, walls covered in whale blood. What I don’t see are people. The crew has retreated from the attack, hence the cheers of the opposing crew.

Then I see the Viking, lit by the
Bliksem
’s floods. He’s looking right at me again. But I’m not hidden beneath a hood this time. He can see my face. My body. And I sense the eyes of a man at sea too long staring at me. I shake my head, no, at him.

He flips me off.

I counter his continuing barrage of rude sign language by returning a volley of my own, duplicating the cocksucker gesture his crew is so fond of. And strangely, despite being on opposing ships, separated by a hundred feet, we share a laugh.

I glance around making sure no one has seen and when I look back, the Viking looks worried. He stumbles a bit, and then is waving his hands at me, telling me to get back. For a moment I wonder why, and then realize I’m an idiot for not seeing the same thing twice in one day.

The
Bliksem
is closing the distance.

They’re going to ram us.

Tit for tat on the high seas.

Damn, someone’s going to get killed if this stupidity doesn’t stop
. Fueled by rage, I storm past Jenny and head toward the wheelhouse door.

“What are you doing?” Jenny asks.

“McAfee is going to apologize and end this or I’m going to throttle his ass and stage a one man mutiny.”

Jenny follows me and says, “I’m with you.”

“He’s likely to lock us up,” I warn.

“I’d like to see him try,” she says.

I climb the steps to the wheelhouse feeling more confident. If McAfee gives me trouble I’ll just have Jenny sit on—

Damnit!

4

The metal stairs clang beneath my feet as I storm up to the tall wheelhouse. The
bong, bong, bong
of my feet on the steps has alerted the bridge-crew to my approach, so when I burst through the door, all eyes are on me. A gust of wind sweeps in behind me. It’s a rather dramatic entrance, and I think it might help my cause.

Then I see Captain McAfee. He goes nuclear.

With a beet red face he shouts, “Get this trash off my bridge!”

Chase is there. He’s stunned. “Captain?”

“She can’t be trusted!” he shouts and then stabs a finger toward me. “How many more of you are there? What are you really doing here?”

What the hell
? The level of manic craziness radiating from McAfee sends a wave of nervousness radiating out of my stomach. Still, this needs to end. Jenny gives me a little push from behind, urging me on. I recover from the captain’s verbal slap and remember why I’m here.

“You need to contact the
Bliksem
, now,” I say with as much authority as I can muster. “This can’t continue.”

“What are you talking about?” Chase asks. He’s starting to get a look in his eyes, not quite as accusing as McAfee’s, but suspicious.

“We throw paint at them, fine. Rotten butter? Stupid, but okay, whatever. But then we
ram
them and now they’re going to ram us? How’s that—”

“What?” McAfee shouts, a look of true horror entering his eyes. He dives to the port side of the wheelhouse and looks out the window at the
Bliksem
. I catch a whispered, “Oh my God.” I wonder why Mr. Ram-happy is worried about getting up close and personal, and then he shouts, “Hard to starboard! Flank speed!”

Flank speed? Seriously? Flank speed is faster than the ship’s full speed. It’s a fuel hog and can’t be sustained for long because the engines on this refurbished ship will overheat. I’ve never heard the term used outside of a military context. It’s a last ditch effort move reserved for emergencies like trying to evade an enemy aircraft. Granted, we’re about to get T-boned by an ice class ship, but I thought that was the game McAfee played. His level of panic now seems out of place.

Then he’s got the radio in his hand. “
Bliksem
,
Bliksem
, this is the Captain of the
Sentinel
. Stand down and we will leave you in peace.”

Several of the crew in the bridge, including Chase, turn their heads toward the captain, aghast. Retreat is bad enough, but a peace fire?

“He’s probably lying,” Jenny whispers.

She’s right. McAfee is as untrustworthy as any genuine pirate. He’ll say and do just about anything to stop the killing of whales. Anything but accept defeat. But his concern seems genuine.

When there is no reply, McAfee speaks in the radio mic again, “
Bliksem
,
Bliksem
, this is—”

A booming voice interrupts. At first the words are hard to make out, but I realize that the voice is speaking Greenlandic—no, not speaking, singing.

McAfee lets out an angry shout and tosses the mic to the bridge floor. He storms back toward the window where Chase is watching the Bliksem’s approach.

“She’s a fast ship,” Chase says, matter of fact. “We can’t outrun her, even at flank speed.”

McAfee pounds his fist against the windowsill. He’s like a big four year old who’s just had his favorite toy taken away.

“You can dish it out, but you can’t take it?” I can’t help myself. I inherited more than my eyes from my father, and what’s the point in staying silent now? I’ve already outed myself. Gotta get my wisecracks in before they lock me up.

“Someone get her off of my bridge!” McAfee shouts.

When no one moves, I notice that Jenny is standing tall behind me, arms crossed, lips down-turned in a snarl. I’m not sure why Jenny is supporting me right now, but I’m glad for it.

“Where’s Captain Crew-cut when you need him?” I ask. I’ve never used the nickname before, but have no doubt that everyone knows I’m referring to Mr. Jackson. He’d have no problem removing both Jenny and me, even if we decided to put up a fight, so I’m glad he’s not here, but then that’s the real question.
Where is he
?

I remember the missing Zodiac and I’m struck with a realization. “You instigated this, didn’t you?” I ask, stepping further into the bridge. “Jackson’s not here. A Zodiac is missing.” No one on the bridge looks surprised by this information. Some of them no doubt helped launch the Zodiac.

“We did nothing to warrant this attack,” Chase says, keeping a measure of calm about him.

“You mean aside from ramming them earlier?” I say.

Chase’s eyes go dark for a moment and I see an anger matched only by McAfee’s.

“Ignore her,” McAfee says. He turns to the crew, each manning their posts at radar, the wheel, weather and charts. “Where’s the nearest land?”

Land
?

“We’re four miles out from the mainland,” someone says.

“Map shows a peninsula jutting out,” someone else says. “Maybe just a mile to the east.”

“Get us as close as you can,” the captain says. “Where are they?”

“Closing,” Chase says from his spot by the window, “but not fast. We have a minute at best.”

“Too close,” McAfee mutters.

“Too close for what?” I ask.

It’s like I’m not in the room. No one acknowledges that I’ve even spoken.

That’s when I notice exactly who the wheelhouse crew is tonight. Manning the wheel is Markus Jenkins, the second mate. Nick Eagon, the third mate, stands at the radar, which means the first four tiers of command are on the bridge at the same time. They normally operate in shifts. Paul Kennet, who’s essentially just an able shipman, stands at the maps. He’s got no real power, but his loyalty to McAfee and the
Sentinel
is unquestioned, as this is his fifth year with the organization. Aside from the missing Mr. Jackson, the entire inner circle of the
Sentinel
’s crew is here. They were planning something big.