Chapter 7
Phoenix
Wind slaps my face hard enough to sting. Steel under my knees, salt in my mouth, sky too bright to look at. I give myself seconds to understand it: open ocean. No shoreline. No help.
Shouts crack the air behind me.
I push up, shove the screw I still have clutched in my fist back into my pocket, and I run.
The deck is a city of metal—rows and rows of containers stacked stories high, lanes between them like alleys. I dart into the first gap I see. The ship rolls just enough to make my feet argue with my brain. Somewhere a horn blows. Somewhere else a chain clanks against a hull.
“Port side—go!”
The voices are close. I cut right, then left, then squeeze between two stacks where the space narrows and the wind dies to an almost imperceptible whisper.
My breath fogs in front of me and disappears in an instant.
I press a hand to my ribs and feel the chip tucked safely under my bra.
I shove the screw back into the seam of my pocket, pointed up where my fingers can find it in an instant.
I don’t have a plan. Just the need to create as much distance between me and Danner as I possibly can.
A ladder climbs the side of a stack of containers.
I take it two rungs at a time and belly onto a higher catwalk, then lay flat when I hear boots on the deck below.
The “boys.” Danner’s men, like they’re a club and not hired fists meant to crush me.
One laughs. One spits. I watch as they split up, unaware that I’ve escaped.
I move again when I feel like they won’t notice me.
From the catwalk I catch a flash of orange crane-like things and a rounded shape mounted high—a lifeboat, I think.
Movies make them look simple. Up close it looks like a small submarine with a hatch, hanging over an impossible drop and the blue of the water.
A fall from here would be like jumping from a building into cement that moves.
If I miss the boat? If the release is locked? I swallow hard and keep going because it’s just not an option. I want to escape, not kill myself trying. That’s an absolute last resort.
A man in blue coveralls rounds a corner ahead of me, a coil of rope over his shoulder. He’s got a radio clipped to his chest, eyes on the crane track overhead. He looks less like hired muscle and more like the ship’s crew.
He walks past me without slowing down, his eyes focused unblinkingly ahead and his lips tight. Does he know who I am? That I’m a prisoner? Is he pretending not to see me? I press into the shadow of a rib in one of the containers and let him go by while I hold my breath and try not to pass out.
Two more men in coveralls work a winch on the far side, talking in a language I don’t know. Another, older, checks a gauge and writes on a clipboard. All of them move like men with jobs to do and no interest in anything that isn’t on their list.
There aren’t any cameras that I can see. If there were, I’d already be face-down with a boot on my neck while Danner does unspeakable things to me. They’re using eyes and radios. That’s something I can work with, something I can plan around.
I need to find a control room. A radio. Then somewhere I can hide.
The stacks break into a corridor that slopes down and turns tight into stairs made of grated metal, the treads open so you can see straight through to more steel below.
I take them fast and quiet. Down one deck.
Then another. The air is warmer here, less wind, more engine.
The ship’s heartbeat is louder, a steady thrum that travels up the bones.
A voice on a radio barks something. Footsteps pound above me, then peel away. Someone else shouts, “Stern!” I go the other direction.
A bulkhead door stands open a few inches, a key still turned in the lock like someone went in a hurry. I listen—nothing. I slide the key free, pocket it, and inch the door wider.
Inside is a long room under low lights with rows of metal bunks stacked three high. A bucket sits against the far wall, accompanied by a smell I recognize—bleach fighting sweat and old fear.
And people.
I count six girls. One boy. He’s maybe fourteen, too thin, hair hacked short like someone got impatient.
A woman sits on a lower bunk with her arms around another girl who rocks and hums. Two stare at me like I’m a ghost. One has a collar of bruises fading yellow.
The oldest by the door has a split lip that’s scabbing.
They all freeze when I step in, heads tipping like deer hearing a twig.
I put my finger to my mouth. “Quiet,” I whisper. “Please.”
“Who are you?” It’s the one with the split lip. Her voice is flat, scraped clean of anything extra.
“Phoenix.” I keep my body angled toward the hall. “I came from the hotel.”
Three of them react to that word. One actually flinches. A girl with a messy bun sits up. “The casino?” Her eyes flick to my throat like she expects to see a necklace. “You worked there?”
“Yes. Once.” I shake my head. “I need to know—how many of the crew know what’s happening? Who do I avoid? Is there anyone who can help us?”
They look at one another. The woman on the bunk answers without moving. “Depends on the day. Some don’t look at us at all. Some are allowed. Training.” The word is careful. “Some pretend it’s not happening because they’re paid extra not to see.”
“The captain?” I ask.
“Paid,” Split Lip says. “Don’t go up there thinking he’ll call anybody. He won’t.”
A small voice emerges from the second tier of cots. “Are you leaving?” The girl can’t be more than seventeen. She’s got one sock on and a strip of fabric tied around her wrist like a bandage. The other sock? “Can you take me?”
My chest tightens. “I’m trying to find a radio. Or a way to signal.” I force my voice calm. “I can’t take you now. If I try to move a whole group, we’re all done for. I need to get a message out, then come back with a plan. I swear to you, I am coming back.”
“Other people have said that.” Messy Bun lowers her eyes. “Then we don’t see them again.”
“I’m not those people.” I step closer so they can read my face. “The men I love will burn this ship to the waterline to get me back. They don’t stop. They will not stop.”
That gets me a dry little laugh from Split Lip. “Must be nice.”
“It will be,” I say, and I mean it so hard it makes my teeth hurt. “Tell me about the guards.”
“Two with guns,” the woman says. “Three more who run their mouths. They all work in shifts. They leave one in the hall unless someone calls them while they’re having their fun with us.” Her mouth twists. “If someone calls them, they lock us, then go.”
“How often?”
“Depends.” She looks at the boy, then back at me. “Today’s…busy.”
“Danner?” I ask before I can stop the name.
They all go still. The woman nods once. “He’s the one with the teeth.”
Yeah. That tracks.
Footsteps thump above us again. A radio squawks something excited in the distance. The guard from this door was clearly called away because of me. That’s how I was able to get in. He will be back soon. I need to move before I get stuck here.
The boy swings his legs off the bunk. He has a scar that hooks his eyebrow. “You’re from the casino,” he says, testing me. “The big one. My sister said it was pretty.”
“It is.” I swallow. “What’s your name?”
He hesitates, then, “Luis.”
“Luis, I’m going to lock this door behind me so they don’t check. I know that sounds wrong. I need you to trust me. If they find you with the door open, they might move you. And if they move you, I lose you.”
“Don’t leave us,” the girl with the bandage whispers. “Please don’t.”
“I’m not.” I make myself steady. “I’m going to get something started, then I’m coming back. Hold each other. Drink if you have water. Stay small when they’re near. When you hear shouting that isn’t theirs…that’ll be me.”
Split Lip studies me like she’s measuring me for lies. Finally she nods, a single jerk of her head. “Okay, Phoenix,” she says. “Go.”
I back away toward the door. The key is warm from my pocket.
I turn it from the inside, slip out, and turn it again from the hall.
The lock clicks, and in spite of every instinct to do otherwise, I leave the key as I found it, in the keyhole.
A small chorus rises—“No, don’t—wait—”—panic lifting all their voices to the same pitch.
I press my mouth to the seam. “Shh. I have to. It keeps you safe for five more minutes.” I lay my palm flat to the metal. “I’m coming back.”
Silence. Then the woman’s voice, low. “Go.”
I turn—and a hand closes around my neck.
Fingers like a clamp, breath hot in my face. Something hard jams into my stomach—a belt buckle, I think. The smell is male sweat and blood and cheap aftershave.
I close my eyes, my skin crawling.
“Found you, pretty bird,” Danner murmurs.