The Selfless Gene

Chapter 23

It had been a couple of days of nipping out at night and scouting the ship. The vessel was a giant rectangular mass trudging slowly through the ocean, its cargo leading the way with the control tower at the back. It reminded him of running and jumping on the back of a shopping trolley when he was younger, seeing how far he could glide.

He'd realised there were a few doors that led into the control tower and then down below into the heart of the ship. Conveniently a toilet was right there. But now they were past Gibraltar and Portugal, in open seas. He could be more brazen looking for food, since getting caught wouldn't be the worst thing.

"It'll be more bother to change course than to continue to head for Bristol," he thought. "Still, best not try to all the same."

Like both nights before, he slipped in the control tower door around 10pm when twilight had given way to darkness, and used the toilet. However, this time he headed deeper in the ship.

It felt like an office in Rickmansworth or Didcot, one of those business centres that was made new in 1985 and never updated. Dated, basic styles made it a functional work space rather than a relaxed recreational area.

Thame floated through it, ravenous. He stank after 48 hours in a rusty container. It was relatively quiet, most of the bustle toward the sleeping areas and back at the tower. Shifts were perfect for sneaking past people, most of whom were permanently half asleep. He'd worked out that there were around 25, maybe 30 people working to the constant hum of the engine.

Bread, water, vegetables and lots of Heinz baked beans: thank god it was a British ship. Not a banquet but enough to get his strength back up. He threw food into a canvas bag he found stuffed down a kitchen crevice, added some cutlery, and moved deeper into the boat. He needed a wash.

Thame passed a games room on his left where two players were smashing up a game of ping pong. As he wafted through the corridors, he only once had to dip quickly into another room and wait for someone to pass him. Toilets and showers were to the right. The toilet only had paper sheets, but the showers might have some proper towels. If was smart, he could get into a shower cubicle and hopefully do a full wash. The food could hang on the towel peg.

Disaster. More paper towels. But the cubicles were private, bar an ankle-exposing gap, enough for him to hide and not be given away. If caught, they'd demand he wash anyway. He took a massive handful of paper towels, stuffed them into his food bag and locked the door behind him.

The engine's constant hum started to comfort Thame - it meant progress, forward movement, closer to home. It also became a soundtrack for his long darkness in the cargo. When it stopped, his stomach screamed danger. The next noise was unmistakably gun fire and lots of shouting. Yet to start showering, Thame redressed, closed his eyes, listened and took a deep breath, inhaling the scents around him. Ormr was awake and poised. The noise and movements reverberated throughout the ship. Like ants within the walls, there was a force wiping through the vessel, pushing everything to the hull.

As the shouting began to get close, Thame found a moment of peace and balance, waiting for the door of the shower to kicked open. A heavy, muscular man dressed in black trousers and combat boots with a tight cut-off vest stepped towards him, kneeling down to check for feet. Just one pair that looked frozen to the spot. He slowly circled the room pushing doors open of the cubicles so that his search was thorough. He got to Thame's cubicle and as he prepared to bark his order, the door flew right at him. Thame had rammed it off its hinges into the man, and now he kept pushing. In a flash, the man was rammed up against a wall by the now-cracked door. The force and speed of the door caused his head to whip back against the tiles, instantly knocking him out.

Thame pulled away the door, checked the man's pulse. Still alive. Good. He took the machine gun and bent it so it was no longer usable. Taking the radio, he slipped in an earpiece to hear the invaders' communications. Listening for additional footsteps, he couldn't hear anything immediate. Thame looked down at the man before dragging him into another cubicle, and a tattoo visible above the vest, at the bottom of the man's neck, caught his eye. He ripped down the vest. The Order. It was his own mark. Grabbing the man and dragging him into a cubicle, Thame closed the door on the episode. Keeping the radio, he slowly exited the cubicle and began snaking his way around the ship.