Chapter Six
Ella
They wouldn’t shoot, would they?
My head is spinning, drops of perspiration running down between my breasts.
This isn’t happening. It can’t be.
I didn’t go through heartbreak and then slave in the kitchen for fifteen days just to be caught on my last day on board.
Uh uh. No.
Despite the tingling in my arms and legs, I turn around and face the goons with my head held high. I have not seen either man before, but like all of Tiero’s soldiers, they are bulky and radiating menace.
One of them pulls a phone from his pocket and makes a call, presumably to Tiero.
“Abbiamo lei.”
I do not need to be psychic to understand what that means.
They found me.
While he speaks into the phone, the other man keeps his gun trained on us. We are pressed up against the door I couldn’t open, the handle digging into my lower back.
Claudette huddles closer and whispers something that sounds a lot like, “Push.”
“What?” I whisper back.
“Push the door, don’t pull,” she murmurs under her breath like a ventriloquist, all while smiling brightly at the goon. His eyes narrow.
While his attention is on her, I slide my hand up my back and grasp the handle. I push it down and lean against the door. It opens a fraction.
Damn it. This stress is making me stupid.
I mentally count to three, throw my weight against the door, and grab Claudette’s hand to pull her with me. The door swings shut just before Tiero’s men reach us.
Miracle upon miracle, there is a lock, and Claudette turns it immediately.
Swearing erupts on the other side as the door rattles.
We run.
The corridor stretches on, and we take turns whenever we can, trying to make it harder for them to follow. My lungs burn, but I do not stop.
Gunshots echo in the distance.
That is one way to deal with a locked door.
“I hate running,” Claudette huffs behind me. “I’m not made for this.”
We don’t slow down until we reach another door.
“Have we lost them?” I ask, puffing a little. All the jogging I did while I was kidnapped is still paying off.
“For now,” Claudette says, bent over with her hands braced on her knees, chest heaving.
My senses strain for the slightest sound, but there is only silence.
“They knew it was us. They were searching the lower decks,” I say. “Do you think someone spotted us on the cameras?”
“Yes. How else would they know?” Claudette replies, straightening as her breathing steadies. “At least down here, there shouldn’t be any more.”
“How are we going to find the garbage bay? It never took this long to reach it from the kitchen.”
“It’s on this level,” she says. “It can’t be that hard to find.”
We open the door and peer out. It’s another staircase, or perhaps it’s the same one again as before.
There’s two more doors. Claudette and I stare at each other.
Then the door on the left opens.
We freeze.
My heart slams into my throat as we wait to see who steps through.
A girl from the kitchen emerges, carrying a tray of fruit. She stops short when she sees us.
“Fuck, you scared me,” she says, color draining from her face.
“Sorry, Rosie,” I say. “Which corridor goes to the garbage bay?”
“Take that door,” she says, pointing to the one she came from. “First door on the right. Why?”
“Umm,” I stammer, not sure what to tell her. “Umm…”
“I accidentally threw out my passport,” Claudette cuts in smoothly. “They told me to check there.”
“Oh. Good luck with that,” Rosie mutters, heading up the stairs.
“Hey, Rosie,” I call after her. “If anyone asks if you saw us, could you not tell them?”
She shrugs without looking back. “Sure.”
Claudette and I exchange a look. That was easy.
“Let’s move,” she says. “Before those guys catch up with us.”
We follow Rosie’s directions, and a minute later we stand before a door labeled Garbage Storage Bay.
“Do we knock?” I whisper.
“What if Tiero’s men are in there?” Claudette whispers back.
Right. No knocking.
She opens the door and glances inside. The room is dimly lit. Cold air and a foul stench rush out.
“Doesn’t look like anyone’s here,” she says, stepping inside.
“I’m here,” a voice says from the left.
We both jump.
A man sits at a desk in the shadows. He presses a button, and the lights brighten.
Just like Lex said, he looks Italian, but the resemblance to Tiero’s men ends there. He is short, round-faced, hair unruly, wearing a dark blue overall smeared with grime.
“Mario?” I ask.
“That’s me,” he replies, his accent thick. “I beginning to give up. Need hurry.”
He gestures toward several carts lined up along the wall.
“Collection soon. After, no can do.”
The smell of rotting food mixed with diesel churns my stomach.
“Come,” he says, walking toward the carts. Most are already filled with garbage bags. He points to two empty ones. “Get in.”
“Excuse me?” Surely he doesn’t mean that.
He lifts a lid, revealing a false bottom.
“Only way off ship without seeing.”
I steel myself. I don’t know if I can do this, but Mario is right. There seems to be no other way out.
My arms wrap around Claudette’s shoulders, pulling her close.
“Be careful,” I whisper.
“You too, darling,” she says, forcing a smile. “This is quite the adventure.”
Mario lifts me into the compartment.
“Do not make sound. Miss Catalina get you other side.”
There is a relatively clean blanket covering part of the metal floor. I curl onto it, drawing my knees in. The lid closes.
Darkness.
Oh my god. I can’t breathe.
Panic slams into me. My chest locks, air trapped behind it.
The urge to pound on the metal, to get Mario to free me from this entrapment, is overwhelming.
The smell in here makes my eyes water. I’m going to be sick.
What if I throw up?
I find small holes drilled into the floor and shift closer, pressing my fingers over them, focusing on the faint air against my skin.
I hear noise from beside me, a lid clanging shut. Claudette must have been stowed away too.
The cart jolts as bags are piled on top.
Help, I’m being buried.
My pulse races. I feel like I’m suffocating.
What if something has happened to Catalina? What if Tiero caught her? Am I going to die in here?
I’m going to be okay. I AM going to be okay.
I clamp my mouth shut, forcing air in through my nose, out through my mouth.
Slow.
Again.
And again.
The tightness in my chest eases, just enough.
“Time to get off ship,” Mario murmurs through the metal. “No sound.”
The cart moves. Chains clink. Metal grinds against metal.
We must be on a conveyor belt now.
I am jostled, slammed sideways as the cart lurches. Pain shoots through my shoulder, and a yelp slips out before I can stop it.
Footsteps approach.
They stop.
“Hey, what’s in there?” an Italian voice demands.
“Just trash,” someone replies with a Canadian accent.
“I want to see.”
The breathing exercises from earlier… I shouldn’t have bothered. The panic is back, my heart in my throat.
“Why? It’s waste.”
“Do not question me.”
Something crashes. A body slams into metal.
“Hey, don’t tear those open,” the Canadian protests, sounding pained.
The stench intensifies.
“Questa puzza mi fa stare male.”
“Nessuno si nasconderà lì dentro, è putrido.”
What are they saying? And how many of them are there?
“Take it away,” the goon says.
The cart jolts again.
I finally exhale.
That was too close.
Now I just need to survive long enough to get out of this coffin.