Dead Sea

The initial impact had compromised the integrity of the superstructure, port-side decks collapsing beneath it. There was a screech of torn metal and the pilothouse yawned over a few feet, the windows shattering, the decks buckling.

Picking himself up, Gosling saw Pierce was down, his face covered with blood. Morse came stumbling through the door that led down to his private office.

All Gosling could say was: “Skipper… we got jeopardy…”

25

George Ryan came awake when he hit the floor.

In his ears, there was a phone ringing and ringing.

He opened his eyes slowly, wondering vaguely in the back of his mind who could possibly be calling at this time of night and what the hell he was doing on the floor. Then he came fully awake and felt the heave of the ship and realized where he was. The second thing he realized was that something was wrong. Dangerously wrong.

He could hear men shouting above the damned ringing.

Cushing was shaking Soltz. “Wake up, dammit!” he was shouting. “Fire! There’s a fire on board!”

George was on his feet then, mechanically pulling on his boots and pants and sweater. He slid his slicker on over this and finally sleep was slapped from his brain and reality insinuated.

“What? What’s going on?” Soltz said.

“Fire,” Cushing said as calmly as possible. But his voice wavered, trembled with anything but calm. “Fire… I think we’re on fire.. . we hit something…”

But by then, they could already feel the uncomfortable list to port. Smell something like smoke.

“What happened?” George asked.

“Hell if I know,” Cushing admitted. “I came awake hanging out of my fucking bunk, hearing that goddamn alarm. I heard someone shouting fire. We better get on deck.”

Soltz moved quickly then. Much quicker than either man could’ve imagined he’d move. By the time they’d gathered themselves together, Soltz was fully dressed and had his suitcase in hand.

“Jesus, nobody said we were sinking,” George said.

“I’m not leaving this behind. All my things are in here.”

Saks was barreling up the corridor as they went out. He looked angry. Maybe frightened, too, but probably just angry that he was frightened. He was carrying a heap of life jackets. “Put these on,” he said, throwing the life vests to the floor.

“Is it that bad?” Cushing asked.

“Come on, you dumb shits,” he snapped, “unless you wanna be toast.”

George looked up in the rafters, the survival suits hanging there. They could keep a man afloat and warm for days, it was claimed. “The suits…”

“Fuck the suits,” Saks said. “Now move!”

The corridor was filling with smoke. It was more of a mist than anything, but it was getting heavier by the moment. The air had an awful scorched, acrid stink to it.

They followed Saks up to the deck, donning the vests as they went.

“What happened?” Cushing asked.

“Are we sinking?” Soltz wanted to know. “Are the lifeboats ready?”

“Barge slammed into us, slammed into us hard. We’re taking on water,” Saks said. “Fucking barge tore into the forward hold, lit up that diesel fuel in there. Amidships and forward hold are an inferno. The rest of those drums go and…”

He didn’t need to say more. They could pretty much envision what it would be like sitting on a stick of dynamite.

The first explosion rang out when they reached deck.

26

Fabrini felt the explosion before he actually heard it. He and Menhaus were standing by one of the graders, lost in the ever-present fog. The impact threw them face first to the deck. They heard the muffled, mushrooming roar while they were airborne, followed by the sound of shattering glass and men screaming.

And while all of that was bad, the worst thing was the ship itself. It shuddered with a heavy, crawling roll, seeming to shift alarmingly further port without righting itself, flinging men across the decks like jackstraw.

“This can’t be happening,” Menhaus kept saying as he pulled himself to his feet, wiped blood from his lips, and was spilled to the deck again by the violent heaving motion of the ship.

“Oh, it’s happening,” Fabrini said. “It’s happening just like I fucking knew it would.”

Containers stacked amidships had been reduced to shrapnel as the hatch covers beneath them were blown free, gouts of flame raining over the spar deck. It lit things up just fine. Encased in the luminous fog, the flames reflecting against it… the ship looked like something that had burst the gates of Hell.

Saks came charging forward, moving with an almost feline grace despite the jerking decks. “Give a hand with the lifeboats, you pussies,” he called out. “To the boat deck, move your asses! Come on, Fabrini, you fucking wop, move it!”

Menhaus grabbed his arm as he rushed by. “Saks? It isn’t happening, is it? Tell me it’s not happening! I got a wife… I don’t wanna die out there! I don’t wanna die!”

Saks shoved him to the deck. “Listen, you fucking baby! Your mommy’s titty ain’t nowhere in sight, so quit acting like a shit and lend a hand or so help me I’ll-”