Seabound (Seabound Chronicles Book 1) (14 page)

Chapter 15—The Oil Tanker

That evening, Esther made
her way back to the platform. She wore her jacket zipped up over her storm goggles
and had stuffed a plastic bag for her boots into the inner pocket. She hadn’t
told anyone where she was going. She felt nervous, but she was also buzzing
with adrenaline. Finally, she was doing something useful!

After crossing the
bridge from the
Catalina
to the
Emerald
, she pulled a Galaxy Cruises hat
from beneath her jacket. She’d “borrowed” it from Reggie when he was at dinner.
She pulled the cap low over her eyes and tucked her hair back. She waited in an
alcove near the exit until a group had gathered on the platform, then slipped
down behind them as the taxi pulled up. The workers were a loud bunch, many of
them speaking a language Esther didn’t recognize. She avoided making eye
contact and hoped no one would remember her. That was one advantage to being in
a place with so many people.

The night was
relatively warm, and Esther was grateful for that. It would be a cold swim no
matter what. She was sweating a bit inside her jacket. She pushed her hands
deep in her pockets to steady them.

“Ahoy!” Byron
called as his taxi drew up to the platform. “You folks ready to go?”

The workers
greeted him by name and piled onto the taxi. Esther kept her head down and
climbed aboard. She found a seat in the back row, portside. The taxi had a
plastic awning that could be pulled down from a frame over the passengers in
poor weather. Esther tugged part of the roll of plastic down so it obscured her
further. She concentrated on making herself look inconspicuous.

“Everyone in?”
Bryon said.

He looked back at
his passengers, and Esther met his eyes. Byron gave a slight nod and fired up
the motor. Soon they were speeding away from the
Emerald
. The sun had set, but the sky was still a murky blue, and
the stars hadn’t come out yet. As they sailed through the middle of the
flotilla, Esther watched the boat creating wings of wake in the sea beside her.

Byron chatted
loudly with his passengers. He seemed to be trying to keep their attention to
the fore. As they neared the oil tanker, he shouted, “How ’bout a song? It’s
been a rough week.”

“Hell yeah!”
someone else shouted. “I need a song and a drink!”

Other voices and
raucous laughter added their assent. Then a deep voice rose up from the middle
of the group.

Tip and roll

Tip and roll

The sea is tipsy

Rip and toll

A rough sea is like
a drunken night

Tipsy-turvy, tip and
roll

But a drunken night
is fun, right?

And tipsy is the
goal

As more voices
joined in, Esther kept her eyes on the oil tanker. It was sitting surprisingly
high in the water. The hull had concentric rings in the rust, marking where the
water had reached at one time. It must not be full anymore.

They were passing
close to a floating platform in the tanker’s shadow. It had a ladder that
appeared to go all the way up to the deck. Esther looked back at the singers to
make sure they were still occupied—and still noisy—then bent to
untie her boots. She placed them in the plastic bag and knotted the top.

Tip and roll

Tip and roll

Until your belly

Pays the toll!

At the height of
the chorus, Esther swung her bare feet over the back of the boat and slipped
into the cold water.

She dove, holding
her breath until the boat was farther away. The salt water stung her skin, and
she kept both arms wrapped around her boots. When she couldn’t hold her breath
anymore, she kicked slowly to the surface.

The sky had
darkened even more in the minute or two she’d been underwater. She listened for
any shouts of “man overboard,” but all she could hear was the hiss of the water
against the oil tanker’s side. She swam to the platform, where an empty
motorboat was moored, slapping rhythmically against the platform in the gentle
swells. She hid in its shadow for a moment, listening, before pulling herself
quickly onto the platform. She put a hand on the cold rung of the ladder.

“Gonna hit the
Bridge tonight, mate?” a voice spoke in the semidarkness.

Two men had begun
climbing down the ladder from the deck of the tanker. Esther dropped back into
the water as quietly as she could, hoping the sounds of the flotilla would mask
the splash. She held on to the platform, shrinking into the shadows.

“Nah. Not enough
chips. They don’t pay me enough for this shit.”

“I hear ya. Are
you driving, or am I?”

Two pairs of boots
hit the platform, causing it to rock violently. Esther held her breath. Cold
seawater splashed into her eyes. The men climbed into the waiting motorboat.
The engine sputtered to life, drowning out the rest of their conversation.

Esther stayed
where she was, floating in the semidarkness, until the motorboat had pulled
away from the platform and sped off into the flotilla.
That was too close.
When she was sure the men wouldn’t look back,
Esther hoisted herself back onto the platform, shivering from a combination of
cold and nerves.

She slung the bag
with her boots over her shoulder and shook water from her clothes. She had to
focus. She could do this. Seconds later, she was scurrying up the ladder and
onto the deck of the tanker. She ducked to the side as soon as she was up and
hid behind a large barrel.

The deck was wide
and flat. Pipes snaked across the surface, and hulking machines sat at regular
intervals. Spotlights appeared intermittently, though they weren’t bright
enough to light the whole deck. A crane rose from the stern, but nothing else obstructed
Esther’s view of a tall deckhouse at the front of the ship. It rose
approximately six levels above the main deck at its highest points. Lights were
coming on in the windows. If there were answers, she guessed they’d be inside.

Esther considered
her boots but decided she’d be better off leaving them in the bag and creeping
forward on bare feet. She slung the bag over her shoulder, keeping her eyes
open for more crew. A group clustered about a hundred feet from her beneath a
spotlight, but she didn’t think they’d be able to see her in the shadows. They
crouched around something on the deck. Perhaps cards or dice. Esther didn’t
wait to find out.

The ladder had
come up about three-quarters of the way toward the stern of the ship, so she
had a ways to go. She forced herself to remain calm as she walked, bent low beneath
the railing. This had all seemed like a good idea when discussing it safe
inside the
Catalina
. Now, she was
scared. She didn’t want to get caught. A breeze picked up, chilling her wet
clothes and making her feel stiff and clammy.

When she reached
midship, Esther thought again of the rust rings on the hull and how high the
big tanker seemed to sit in the water. The tankers were supposed to be mostly
full. What if the
Galaxy
didn’t have
as much oil as they pretended? How could they possibly sustain this many
people? A row of large gauges was set into the deck near the middle of the
ship. The gauges would be connected to the huge crude oil tanks beneath her
feet. She needed to know. Casting a quick look at the men still clustered far
away from her, Esther crept toward the nearest gauge. Her heart pounding, she
dropped to her knees. Still no alarm.

She raised her
head just enough to see the face of the dial. The tank was at 13 percent. She
darted to the next one. The men beneath the spotlight were still occupied. This
gauge read 15 percent. The next one 12 percent. If all the tanks were like
this, the
Galaxy
Flotilla
was dangerously low on fuel. Dax had told them that anyone
could turn in their chip-wages for oil to trade if they wanted to leave the
Galaxy
. But the bank was nearly empty.
Would the captains really let people take off with the last of their oil
reserves?

Esther stood,
ready to dart on to the next gauge. Then a hand appeared out of the darkness
and grabbed her.

Esther kicked and
struggled, but her bare feet didn’t do much good. The man had one hand on her
mouth and one locked around her elbows, lifting her off her feet.

“Don’t make a
sound,” a deep, rough voice growled in her ear.

Esther desperately
wanted to scream but realized that could make things even worse. She had to
know what she was dealing with. She locked her free arm around the hand at her
mouth and tried to pry it away. The man’s fingers were like iron and they
smelled strongly of oil.

“I don’t know what
you’re doing here, but you’ll be in hell if you’re caught. Shut up.”

The man hauled her
toward the shadow of the deckhouse and kicked open a door at its base. Esther
had been about to bite his hand, but something he’d said stopped her. Hadn’t
she already been caught?

The man released
his grip on her mouth and twisted her around to pin her to the wall beside the
doorway. She felt cold metal at her back. He watched out the door for a moment.
He had very dark skin that seemed to stretch over his huge, muscled shoulders.
She couldn’t read his expression in the shadows.

“We weren’t seen,”
he said, still not lightening his hold on her upper arm. “Don’t know what you
think you were doing, but you’re lucky I’m the one who saw you skulking across
the deck. You another one of Zoe’s friends?”

“I’m interested in
learning more about your energy systems,” Esther began. “I’m building a
generator and I wanted to know—”

“Save your
bullshit. The tanker is off-limits. You know what happens to people who cross
the captains.” He spit onto ground.

“Actually, I
don’t. I’m from—”

“I don’t care.
Less I know the better. Let’s get you off before anyone sees.”

He turned and
steered her down a corridor. She had to run to keep on her feet. They felt numb
from the cold. Her boots still bobbed in the plastic bag against her back. She
tried to look through the windows in some of the doors set along the corridor,
but they were moving too quickly. Once, she thought she heard shouting on the
level above them.

The big man pushed
her against a wall beside another door and motioned for her to be quiet while
he listened for any activity outside. He released his hold on her, and she
thought of making a run for it. Before she could move, he’d wrapped his iron
fingers around her arm again and pushed open the door. The sky outside was
nearly black. They were standing on a poorly lit promenade along the edge of
the deckhouse.

Esther could see
the man a bit better now. Deep wrinkles cut grooves in his forehead. He was
bald, and he wore a faded blue coverall stained with oil. Still tense, he spoke
in a quiet grumble.

“See that stack of
crates?” he said. “Those are going over to the
Crystal
as soon as the boat gets here. I know the guys on this
shift. They’ll give you a ride, no questions asked. You’re to stay hidden until
they dock, then get away from there as quickly as possible, got it?”

“Yes, but—”

“And don’t come
back. You don’t need this kind of trouble.”

“But what’s in the
deckhouse? Are the other tankers as low on fuel as this one?” Esther asked.

He ignored the
questions, strode to the stack of crates, and pulled apart two of them so
Esther could hide in the space between.

“Why aren’t you
turning me in?” Esther whispered as she wedged herself into the space. “And
what’s your name?”

“Better if you
don’t know. Keep away from here, got it? Zoe’ll be out in a few days anyway.”

“But I’m
not—”

“Shut it, here’s
the transport.”

The man
disappeared from view. He must have been speaking to the men from the boat,
because a low rumble of voices filtered into Esther’s hiding place. They seemed
to come to some sort of agreement. Suddenly, the crates shifted. Esther jumped
but kept silent. Then there was a grunting, scraping noise, and one of the
crates directly in front of her was pulled away, exposing her position. The two
men moving it eyed her for a second, then looked away. They lugged the crate
toward a winch set near the railing.

Esther crept after
them, and still they didn’t acknowledge her. While they busied themselves
attaching the crate to the winch, she looked over the side of the tanker. A
boat bobbed beneath them, a ladder descending to its deck. Esther looked back,
but the big oilman was gone. Should she try to get back into the deckhouse?

Then the man
operating the winch gestured for her to hurry. She slipped over the side and
climbed down to the deck of the smaller boat. She crept into the cabin
belowdecks and tucked herself into a corner, listening to the thump of the
crates landing on the deck. After the men finished loading, one checked to see
that she was well hidden and then returned to the pilothouse.