Brockmann sat in the back with Simon, wearing his winter coat, which was as worn-out as his summer one but much warmer. Simon had gotten the all-weather jacket he used for hiking and had brought a backpack with rain gear, flashlights, and the extra magazines. The gun in his pocket felt heavy.

The helicopter was larger than he had expected; it was also much louder. Neither Brockmann nor Anna seemed to care. The pilot, a man who had introduced himself as Paul and declared 14.000 flight hours, had told them to put on the headgear and that by tapping on a button, they were able to speak. They just didn’t speak. Neither Brockmann nor Anna had said a word since they departed. They were already out over the ocean when Brockmann broke the silence. Simon would have bet he’d be the last to do so.

“How did you learn about the Leviathan?”

“A friend of mine in the coast guard told me about it. I got a network of people out there who know I’m looking into the stranger side of things at the moment. Might be useful. When the coast guard decided it wasn’t within their jurisdiction, she gave me a call. Thought I might like it. Which I did.”

“How very convenient to have such friends,” Brockmann said, and Simon knew he didn’t believe her. Anna was in the co-pilot chair, so she couldn’t turn around to see them, but Simon felt an awkward silence.

“Intelligence really is about your network. You need friends in all kinds of places,” she explained.

“Like the coast guard,” Brockmann added. Simon looked at him and for the first time saw his friend was wearing sunglasses and staring out at the sea that passed below.

“Comes in handy when you need to migrate someone discreetly,” Anna replied. Brockmann stayed silent.

“It’s pretty awesome to have a helicopter ride,” Simon said, then immediately hated himself for saying something so stupid.

“Your first ride in one?” Paul asked.

“Yeah. Never had a chance.”

“Oh, well, you’ll hate it by the time we get there. We refuel at Margate and then go out to the field. Will be a long ride.” Paul laughed. “I remember my first flight. I threw up, actually.”

“So did I, so you are doing admirably well!” Anna said. Simon kept on looking at Brockmann.

“Oh, I had a bit of a flat feeling when we took off, but now I’m fine.” Simon kept the meaningless conversation going. “So, you two know each other from the military?”

“Yes, we were in Afghanistan together,” Paul said. “I had the honor to fly Ms. Important here around.”

“He did more than that. Taught me to play Texas hold’em.” Anna laughed.

“The rules, but not how to play. I had quite a secondary income from officers playing large pots with me on Monday nights,” Paul said.

“Indeed.” Anna laughed.

“What about you, sir? Ever fly in a helicopter?” Paul asked.

Brockmann turned his head toward the front, even though they couldn’t see the pilot in the cockpit of the large vessel. “Once or twice.”

“What was your first one?”

“A Hound.”

“An Mi-4? Oh, those were beasts. Much louder than this one, hm? You served on the other side of the fence, then?” Paul asked. Brockmann didn’t reply. “Where did you fly in that one?”

Paul seemed determined to start a conversation with Brockmann. Simon smirked and silently wished him good luck.

“Near Khan Tengri. Kazakhstan,” Brockman finally replied. “We were hunting something at the foot of the mountain.”

“That’s the Chinese border, right? Hunted for yellow spies?” Paul asked.

“No.”

“Okay, what then? Bears?”

“A werewolf,” Brockmann replied dryly. There was silence for a moment, and then Paul laughed.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop asking. Probably not allowed to tell me, hm?” he said, being the only person in the helicopter who thought Brockmann had made a joke.

Simon looked at his partner and sometimes wondered how he always kept these things to himself. How Simon would have loved to know more about these days before the monsters vanished. He wouldn’t have minded some good war stories, yet his partner never revealed anything—not about his time in what appeared to be a monster-hunting squad of the Eastern German military, nor about his later years in the Nocturne Society.

Simon looked at the small box at the cable of his headset and found the button to connect only to Brockmann.

“Did you get it?” he asked. Brockmann glared at him. “They cannot hear us,” Simon explained.

“Yes, we got it. Eventually. Too late.”

“Too late for what?” Simon asked.

“Too late to save the two villages it got first,” Brockmann said. Simon swallowed.

“Shit,” he said. Brockmann looked at him and then nodded in silent agreement. His gaze turned back to the sea, and Simon knew the conversation was over. He wouldn’t get another word out of Brockmann.

****

The flight was indeed long, and it got uncomfortable over the hours; the seats grew harder and more unforgiving, and the constant sound that even the headsets couldn’t keep out gave Simon a headache. They finally landed on some small Scottish airfield, and he was happy for the break as Paul refueled the helicopter.

When they took off again, the sun was going down. The sight of the giant orange ball of fire vanishing in the sea at the horizon was amazing, but the darkness afterwards was more disturbing than anything. The sea turned into a black mask below them. They passed a number of giant transport ships near the coast, but with only their lights visible, they looked tiny below them. Then there was only darkness. Darkness and noise.

Brockmann had fallen asleep next to him; how he could sleep with this noise was a miracle in itself. Simon also knew that once they arrived, they would probably have no time to sleep, so the hours in the helicopter would have their revenge.

Simon kept on thinking about the strange message.

He heard it replay in his head, and the closer they got to the wind park under construction, the louder it seemed to get.

“Nasat nasat priomin. Nasat defire. Achpach. Achpach.” Then the break. “Stay away.”

Stay away was advice they’d certainly ignored completely—the only part of the message they could understand, and they didn’t listen to it. No, they were going to the ship to find out what the hell this man tried to say and why they should stay away. Somewhere in the midst of the North Sea, Simon wondered what use he would have. They had no internet out here, and he wasn’t exactly a seaman—actually, he’d barely spent any time on boats.

When it came to the physical part of the job, he felt Anna was a thousand times more suitable to deal with any tentacled monster than he was. Actually, she seemed generally much better suited to work for the Nocturne Society period. He wondered if Fornby had gotten them reinforcement or if she truly was meant to replace him. If it was the latter, he also wondered if that was a good or a bad thing?

Berlin had been something he hadn’t expected. He had taken lives, and at least one of those lives had been straight out murder. Yet, that wasn’t what had kept him awake at night. He understood hunting monsters meant killing monsters, and he also knew he had saved many, many lives when he had taken Dr. Boyka’s life. The other lines they crossed had been more reason for concern.

The police had arrested Brockmann, and he had probably been searched by them before their mysterious benefactor intervened—Richard. Brockmann had barely spoken about him, but Simon could tell from his eyes that something was wrong with the man. Yet would he always be around? The truth was, they were vigilantes. They acted outside the law and had broken more than they cared to admit. How long would it take for someone to come and stop them? How long before they reached the limits of what they could do and still get away with it?

Simon had realized over the last few weeks they couldn’t do this forever. Maybe back in the day, the Nocturne Society had the influence and means to protect its agents. Now, they were three men who were alone—well, three men and maybe a woman. Was Fornby trying to replace him to do him a favor? The Brit was smart. Brockmann seemed to be ignorant of how much the world had changed, but Fornby certainly wasn’t ignorant to it at all. He might know they were living on borrowed time.

Simon didn’t want to end up in jail or, even more likely, dead. For all the purpose the society had given him, he wasn’t ready to pay that high a price. Not to hunt down some monsters. What could they do anyway? Keep Hamburg clean, maybe Germany? What about the rest of the world? Who protected them?

But he wasn’t yet ready to leave. He had something to do first. Sandra had died, and her father, who had been responsible, was still out there. Simon knew he couldn’t turn his back on this. Brockmann didn’t seem to care too much about it. Maybe having an enemy gave him purpose; maybe for him, it meant he had something to live for. For Simon, this was about bringing the father of his one great love down—to make him pay for what he had done to his daughter.

“ETA 15 minutes,” Paul finally declared. Simon looked up and realized he had been about to drift into sleep.

“When we get there, we need to secure the bridge and the logs first,” Brockmann said. “Anna, you take care of it. Paul, stay with the helicopter, get some fuel. Just wait for us to evaluate if we stay or need a quick lift.”

“I told him he needs to wait for us,” Anna said. “He’s used to not asking questions about what I do where he flies me, right, Paul?”

“Don’t know it any other way,” Paul said.

Simon didn’t say anything. Then he realized Brockmann had not given him a task. “So, what do we two do then?”

“We look for the crew and the man who sent the message,” Brockmann said. The man who had a sliced throat, Simon remembered.

They were heading into a completely unknown situation there. What if the crew didn’t take their landing so friendly? What if they weren’t welcome? What if there was no crew?

“Approaching.” Paul declared, and Simon gazed out of the window.

In the shadows, he saw red lights in the distance—the signal lamps of the wind turbines rising majestically over the waves. In the red light, they looked like silent guardians of something. Their wheels were turning slowly, generating energy that was going to waste as Anna had explained the wind park wasn’t yet connected to any power grid. Between them, Simon saw the bright lights of a ship that grew quickly larger. The Leviathan. Unmoving, immune to eaves with its enormous weight.

“Seahawk to Leviathan. Seahawk to Leviathan, we request permission to land.” Paul’s voice filled the cabin. “Leviathan, this is Seahawk. Please respond.”

“Their radio is probably damaged,” Simon said.

“That is their long-range radio. They should have a dozen short-range radios on board who can pick up our request,” Anna said. “Let’s consider this to be an emergency at sea and land anyway,” Anna directed to Paul.

“We don’t have enough fuel to go back, so what choice do we have?” Paul asked as he circled the ship. It was larger than Simon had imagined it to be. A hundred meters didn’t sound like much until you saw it; a massive hulk of metal swimming in the midst of the Northern Sea.

Simon grew tense, and the platform for the helicopter suddenly seemed incredibly small.

“No landing lights, but I’ll bring her down,” Paul said and slowly began to descend. Simon looked out of the window, and Brockmann leaned over to see.

“I see nobody,” Simon said and Brockmann gave him a grim nod. There was nobody on deck, nobody at the platform. They inched closer, and Simon prepared for the landing, but Paul knew what he was doing and set down gently. Simon felt a shift immediately as the ship moved slowly in the water.

“Be careful with the rotors—leave the helicopter in a straight line away from them,” Anna explained, and Simon swallowed. The ship was fully illuminated, so it still had power.

“Does it have batteries, or are the engines running?” he asked.

“Batteries, I’d say. Looks like they towed it to the turbines and threw out their anchor.”

“Is that normal?” Simon asked as the rotors slowed down.

“I’m not an expert in deep-sea construction. No idea,” Anna admitted.

She opened the door, pulled the hood of her jacket over her face, and jumped out. Brockmann leaned over Simon and opened the door to the passenger cabin. It slid away, and Simon put down the headphones. The helicopter was now incredibly loud, even as Paul turned the engines off, but as soon as the helicopter died down, the sound was replaced by a loud rustling of the sea.

Simon jumped out first and did as he was told, walking away from the still-moving rotors in a straight line. He looked over the deck, where boxes and equipment were scattered; above them towered the giant crane and large metal gates that were entrenched into the deck. They probably slid sideways to open and gave room to the cargo area where the construction material was stored. Simon put his hood up now. The wind was cold, sharp, and unforgiving.

The helicopter pad was in the rear section, and the large tower-like main structure was at the front.

“No welcome committee,” Anna yelled.

Brockmann joined them, pulling his coat together, and took the lead as they walked over the deck. Smaller structures were left and right, one housing the diving equipment as the signs said, and one being an extra source of high-voltage electricity. Empty and illuminated by large lamps above, the ship wasn’t exactly spooky, but the emptiness felt oppressive.

Stay away. The words echoed in Simon’s mind. Then other words crawled into his consciousness as if the ship whispered them to him.

The ground was slippery, and Simon cursed himself already for wearing sneakers. Both Anna and Brockmann had chosen combat boots.

The three finally made it to the structure and found a large door—more of a metal hatch—that led inside. Brockmann grabbed the large metal wheel and began turning it; finally, with a loud gnarling sound, the door slid open. They stepped in and were met with narrow corridors with metal walls. A number was at the door. A one. Inside, there was no light, so Brockmann took out his flashlight, and Anna did the same. Simon dug through his backpack to get out his, and when he finally had it, he looked up to see Brockmann and Anna both pointing their lights at the wall.

“Dry. Days old,” Brockmann said. There was a long smear of blood on the wall.

“It’s as if someone put it there on purpose,” Anna said, looking at Brockmann. “As he slid his bloody hands along the wall.”

“We stay together,” Brockmann said and pulled out his gun. Anna and Simon followed suit.

“Cantina is right at the end of the corridor,” Anna said.

Brockmann nodded and led the way, but he’d only taken a few steps before he stopped again. On the ground lay an axe. The blade was smeared with blood.

“How many people were on board the ship?” Simon asked.

“Eighty-one,” Anna replied. Simon looked at Brockmann, who was only a silhouette in the darkness.

“Does the ship have firearms on board?” Brockmann asked.

“Not that I know of.”

Brockmann nodded, stepped over the axe, and made his way to the next corridor. To their right, a smaller hatch was open. Simon peered inside the empty room, seemingly an empty storage space for tools. Nobody inside. He looked at the other two, and they had walked on, so he quickly caught up. The last thing he wanted was to get lost on this ship alone. His heart pounded as adrenaline rushed into his system.

The next corridor was covered with blood. The ground had probably been a pool of red before it dried; it was now like glue under the shoes, making a snatching sound at every step. A metallic odor thickened the air—rotting blood and the scent of machine oil mixed into a strange combination.

“Someone died here,” Anna said. “Too much blood to have survived this.”

“Then where is the body?” Simon asked.

“Locked from inside,” Brockmann said from another hatch. The sign above it said KANTINE—cantina in German.

“Maybe there is another entrance through the kitchen,” Anna said.

“Yes,” Brockmann replied.

“You think they’re all dead?” Simon asked.

“We will see. Let’s find a way upwards to the next level.”

“The medical center is right above us,” Anna said. She had obviously memorized the entire blueprint of the ship.

“Then let us go there next,” Simon said. “If there are any survivors, that’s probably where they would hide.”

Brockmann turned to Anna. “Where are the crew quarters?”

“One deck below are the main quarters, while the officers are above us on the second level. The radio and bridge are up on the third. So is the captain’s quarters,” Anna whispered now.

“You remember all of this?” Brockmann asked and turned the light so he could see Anna.

“Yes, I was trained to memorize mission-critical data,” she said as if that explained everything. Maybe it did in her world.

“Let’s go up then,” Brockmann said. “We need to get the logs.”

Before they could move, they heard a sound as if two large metal objects hit each other. The echo ran through the corridors of the ship.

“What is that?” Simon asked and turned, pointing his light into the corridor they came from.

“Sounded as if it came from below,” Anna said.

“Maybe this isn’t a complete ghostship after all,” he whispered, wondering if that was a good or a bad thing.

“This is not a ghostship. This is a slaughterhouse,” Brockmann said with his raspy voice, and now, even he was whispering. “Anna, you take the rear. Simon, you stay between us.”

Simon nodded and saw Anna doing the same. He passed her and followed Brockmann; at the end of the corridor, they found metal stairs covered with blood. Brockmann climbed them and stopped at the top. A moment later, Simon saw why. There was a body, wearing a grey uniform, and it lay on the ground, rolled up like a fetus. It was his blood covering the stairs. Brockmann turned him slowly—the body was clearly stiff. Simon stepped next to him.

“What is it?” Anna whispered loudly from below.

“A body,” Brockmann said, and as he managed to push the body over, Simon covered his mouth and breathed in sharply. The face of the man was . . . no longer there. Instead, there was a bloody mess—no eyes or features were recognizable anymore.

“Dead for at least two days.” Brockmann sighed. With his light, he illuminated the corridors around them. Simon kept his mouth and nose covered, though it hardly blocked the smell of rotting flesh.

“Whatever happened here has obviously been over for a while,” Simon said, then he forced himself to let his light wander across the body.

“Large wound in the abdomen,” Brockmann said. “Bled out trying to get up here. Maybe he wanted to get to the medbay. Never made it.”

“Look at his hands.”

Brockmann followed the light and saw what he meant. Flesh was hanging from the fingers that were covered in brown, dried blood.

“What the hell did he do?” Simon asked.

“Oh my God.” Anna had made it up the stairs and saw the body. Simon saw she dutifully turned her light down the stairs again to cover their backs.

“I’d say he ripped his own face off,” Brockmann said.

Simon had figured that, but he just hadn’t wanted to hear it. Hearing it made it terribly real. “Why would anyone do such a thing?”

“I don’t know,” Brockmann admitted. He stood up and looked at the other two. “An engineer.” He pointed his light at the name label on the overall. Johannson.

“Give me a second,” Anna said, and out of one of her many jacket pockets, she produced a small pad, barely larger than an oversized smartphone. “August Johannson. The second engineer,” she said. “Father of two.”

“Guess they’ll have a closed casket at his burial,” Brockmann said and began walking again. Simon followed him. Anna waited a moment before stepping over the body and following them while walking backwards.

They reached the medbay at the end of the corridor, and the hatch was open. Brockmann looked at something on the ground and then stepped over it into the medbay. Simon discovered what his partner had seen—fingers were lying there. Four of them. Someone had lost them when the door had been shut.

Simon tried to ignore the horror of the severed body parts and entered the medbay after Brockmann. The inside had a small desk, and papers were all over the ground. Simon saw Brockmann kneeling over another body; this was a young man in a yellow raincoat. He still had his face, but that didn’t make it much better, and the whole medbay smelled like death and rotting corpses. Simon stared at the face of the man leaning against a wall, and the empty eyes stared back at him—the man had watched the door. His hair was blood-smeared, and so was his face.

“Blunt head trauma,” Brockmann said and began searching the body.

Simon saw the door to his right and decided he didn’t want to stay in this room a second longer than necessary. He quickly stepped into the next room and regretted it right away.

Two beds were there, both with drips on iron frames next to them; one had a machine that showed three lines that no longer signaled any heartbeat because the men in the beds had no heartbeats anymore. They were literally shredded apart. Their stomachs and chests were opened, faces crushed, and one had an eye hanging out of his socket.

Simon fought the urge to throw up. “Brockmann,” he managed to say as he leaned against the wall.

His partner was there within a second and illuminated the scene with his flashlight now. Blood was everywhere—the walls, the floor, smeared on the machines. The beds were soaked in blood, dried and brown.

“They were restrained,” Brockmann said.

Simon forced himself to give them another look as his partner stepped over to the bodies. He was right. Their hands and legs were zipped to the bed by elastic bands.

“They probably saw who did this to them and couldn’t do anything about it,” Simon said, and he was surprised he had not yet thrown up. Just as the thought crossed his mind, he couldn’t resist it anymore; he leaned forward and puked on the floor.

“Maybe you wait outside,” Brockmann said with an angry tone. Simon nodded and stepped out to Anna, who waved her light down the corridor.

“How bad is it?” she asked as she saw the pale Simon exit.

“Very bad. They got ripped apart while restrained to their beds.”

“What?”

“Maybe the second one had to watch what was done to the first, knowing he couldn’t escape the same fate,” Simon said, wiping tears from his eyes. “It’s horrible.”

Anna just nodded as Brockmann came out.

“Some of their organs are missing, and I think they have bite marks.”

“So, we got something on board that did this?” Simon asked.

“Not something. Those bite marks were human,” Brockmann said.

Simon shook his head in disbelief. “You’re saying a human did this?”

Brockmann nodded.

“Oh my God . . .”

“Let’s head to the bridge. We can search the ship later. I want to get the logs,” Brockmann said.

“Should we leave Paul alone out there?” Simon asked.

Brockmann gave him a look, then turned to leave.

“The quicker we get the logs, the quicker we can go back to him,” Anna said.

Simon looked at her, finally nodding. If they found their helicopter pilot like this, he would never forgive himself for giving in.

Turning, he followed Brockmann into the darkness. The older man was now passing open hatches with quick steps. Simon didn’t dare to look inside; he concentrated on following Brockmann.

“Wait,” Anna suddenly said, and Simon froze before slowly turning around.

“What?” Brockmann whispered, clearly annoyed by having to stop.

“I thought I heard something. Like steps.”

Brockmann turned his light into the corridor. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” she whispered.

The three stood in the darkness and listened. The humming that filled the ship was there, and distant waves drummed against the steel husk of the ship.

“Simon?” Brockmann asked.

“I heard nothing.”

“There!” Anna said.

Simon heard them too. Quick steps, as if something was passing from one side of the room to the other. “That’s from above.”

“So, we are not alone.” Anna looked up.

“Let’s find out,” Brockmann said firmly and made his way to the stairs even quicker.

****

There was no blood on the stairs this time, and nobody awaited them on the upper level—not even the smell of someone lying in the darkness for days. Simon and Anna had trouble keeping up with Brockmann until he stopped once he was upstairs to listen.

“You two go to the bridge and get the logs. I’ll check the captain’s cabin,” Brockmann hissed and turned right.

“Not sure if splitting is a good idea,” Simon said, but Brockmann didn’t listen. Of course, he didn’t.

“Shall I lead the way then?” Anna asked.

“Please.” Simon let her pass him, then gave the stairs one last look and followed her.

The corridor got narrower, and then there were a couple more stairs, this time lower. They just led to the slightly elevated bridge, whose red hatch was wide open.

Anna slowed as she approached the room, and Simon checked their back one last time.

“I know I shouldn’t say it, but after medbay, it can hardly get any worse.” Simon sighed, and in the darkness, he saw Anna just look at him. They both entered the bridge at the same time, guns in front of them.

“Damn,” Anna said as she saw the body.

Simon was right—for him, this wasn’t as bad after what he had seen. A single man was lying on the controls, his head missing. Simon waved the lights over the ground and found the head next to the large steering wheel. It showed a broad grin. The man was wearing a raincoat and, in his hand, he held a knife that was covered in blood, much like everything else here. The severed neck must have sprayed blood like a fountain.

“The radio room is over there,” Simon said. “That would be where the message came from.”

Anna nodded. “Give me a moment.” She stepped over to the body and looked at Simon. “Nocturne Society doesn’t care about evidence, right?” she asked.

Simon shook his head. “We really don’t give a shit, except when we need to destroy it.

Anna gave the stiff, headless body a kick to knock it away. Then she grabbed a black box and ripped it free from the console.

“The logs,” she said. Simon nodded and turned to the radio room.

“What do you think we’ll find in there?” Anna asked. Simon shrugged.

“More blood, more bodies, or what I usually find,” Simon said and grabbed the door.

“What would that be?”

“The thing I expect least.” Simon began whirling the iron wheel that sealed the radio room. Finally, there was a loud clanking noise, and Simon felt the door shift towards him. He opened it up, Anna aiming at the interior. It was one seat with a man sitting in it; the body was clearly stiff, yet the stiff arms were still hanging down as if they had no tension when the man died. He had black hair, and his brown eyes were wide open. The controls in front of him were smashed and burned as if they had short-circuited.

“What the hell?” Simon asked and knelt next to the body. The throat of the man was slit. In his left hand, Anna saw a scalpel.

“Has he done it himself?” she asked.

Simon pointed his light at her, and she shielded her eyes. She wanted to object, but then she saw Simon was following the walls. Anna stepped inside and had a look.

The walls were covered with strange signs, lined up like sentences in a language neither of the two knew. They were mostly geometrical—spheres, triangles of different lengths, boxes, and lines connecting boxes.

“What language is this?” Simon asked.

“None I even have seen. Not even close to any Asian or Arabian writing.”

The signs were everywhere. Someone had written them into the smallest corners of the wall. Thousands, probably tens of thousands of images.

“No corrections, perfect lines . . .” Simon said and looked at the horrific body again. “Did he write all this, then send the spooky call out to warn us to stay away, then cut his own throat?” Simon asked.

“No, his throat was cut when he made the call. I think he made it in a last desperate attempt to warn us from whatever made him take such drastic steps with his last breaths,” Anna replied.

They heard Brockmann yell, but couldn’t make out the exact words, so they turned and ran through the bridge to the captain’s cabin in the aft part of the highest level of the structure.

The cabin was more luxurious than any other room they had seen, with wooden panels at the walls, a rather comfortable-looking large bed, an actual cupboard, and a small desk. On it was a computer, the screen was smeared with blood. Someone had typed something . . .

THE PATH TO HEAVEN BEGINS IN HELL.

Simon managed to read it, but Anna had already rushed past him; she’d realized right away Brockmann wasn’t in the room, and the only remaining area was the small bathroom attached.

Simon followed her, and indeed, Brockmann stood there, looking down into the small shower, where a woman was sitting. Alive. Maybe early thirties, naked and wet, staring at the wall opposite of her.

“Found a living one,” Brockmann simply said.

“Get her something to cover her. And some clothes,” Anna said to Simon.

He followed her orders, going back and getting the blanket from the bed, then he opened the drawer and found a training outfit in there—a jacket and sweatpants made of wool mixed with synthetics.

“We’re not gonna hurt you, you hear me?” Anna was kneeling in front of the woman and talking to her as Simon entered and passed Brockmann, who was staring down at her.

“Maybe we should leave her alone?” Simon asked Brockmann as he gave Anna the blanket and clothes.

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” Brockmann answered. Simon realized that Brockmann was right. They had plenty of murder victims; a survivor was also a suspect now.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Can you dress?” Anna asked, and she offered the woman the clothes. The girl looked at her, her skinny body trembling. She might have been skinny from the start, but Simon guessed she hadn’t eaten in days. Her eyes were terribly hollow, but then she finally showed a reaction—a small reaction at least. She took the clothes and clumsily stood halfway up, climbing into the trousers, then pushing the jacket over her head without opening the zipper. It was three sizes too big, so it wasn’t a problem.

“C’mon,” Anna said to her, gently touching her shoulder. The woman shied away immediately, and Anna raised her hands defensively. “I need to get you over to the bed.”

The woman noticed Anna’s gun. Quickly, Anna put it into her holster and secured it with a small leather leash. The woman stared at all of them.

“She’s in shock,” Anna said.

“I have been here half an hour, and I’m in shock, I think,” Simon said, smiling at the woman.

“What happened here?” Brockmann asked, but Anna gave him a stern look.

“A little bit less interrogation, please,” Simon whispered to Brockmann, and the older man looked at the woman. Finally, he nodded.

“Come.” Anna led the woman out of the small bathroom, and Brockmann and Simon made room for her.

“We need to keep her contained until we know what we’re dealing with,” Brockmann said.

“You think whatever happened here is infectious?” Simon asked.

“We don’t know anything yet.” He followed Anna into the room, then began to go through the drawers. Brockmann pulled out pens and a metal instrument Simon didn’t recognize. Simon then realized he was removing everything she could use as a weapon.

Anna gently guided the young woman to the captain’s bed without touching her and held the blanket out to her.

“Lie down. We’re gonna let you sleep a bit, okay? But we’ll be just outside that door.” Anna smiled at her reassuringly. Simon wondered if she had trained for that.

The girl nodded and lay down, staring into the room. Anna looked at Brockmann, who nodded to the door; Simon and Anna wordlessly followed him out. When they closed the door—an actual door, not a hatch—Brockmann presented the key, locking it from the outside.

“You think that is really necessary?” Simon asked.

“She is alive, and everybody else is dead,” Anna replied. “God knows what she did to survive. In this place, we are well-advised to trust nobody.”

Brockmann gave an affirmative nod. “Found anything on the bridge?”

“Bodies. Blood. A log and strange writings on a wall.” Simon said, and Brockmann sighed.

“Show me,” he finally said.

The three made their way back to the bridge, where Brockmann merely gave the headless body a cursory glance before following Simon into the small-blood smeared radio room.

“Ever seen something like this?” Simon asked.

Brockmann got closer to the wall and shrugged. “Hard to say. Inhuman signs and secret languages all look so terribly alike.” He grunted.

“It isn’t any language I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen them all,” Anna said from outside, leaning on the frame of the hatch.

“No, it isn’t any language known to man,” Brockmann said. “Not Aramaic, or old Hebrew. No hieroglyphs. Those seem almost mathematical.” He looked at Simon.

“Guess we might have heard some of that language before we came here, right?” Simon said.

“The strange rambling on the radio call,” Anna agreed with a nod.

“So, what happened here?”

“I don’t know,” Brockmann said, grimly staring at the signs. Simon placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

Brockmann turned to Simon. “Yes, sure. These things just seem strangely . . . familiar. Don’t you think?”

Simon smiled. “Not at all.”

Brockmann shook his head and walked to the bridge. He looked out of the window, but all there was to be seen were giant wind turbines in a dim red light, and beyond them, darkness. Complete darkness.

“Obviously, they killed each other. Too many dead and too many different killing styles for only one of them to have done this. The question is, what made them do it?” Brockmann asked.

“Mass psychosis. Some scientists staying isolated for a prolonged amount of time have that,” Anna said.

Simon turned to her. “Seriously? If this was a danger to every guy going to sea, there wouldn’t be seaman anymore.”

“What do you think?” she asked Brockmann.

“Mass psychosis, for sure. But what caused it.” Brockmann sighed then turned back to them. “They got into contact with something or someone here that caused this. We might have been exposed already, too. Gas, water, food, some unnatural presence. We don’t have enough information to say. Paul can’t leave.” He looked at Anna.

“Okay, I’ll talk to him. What about her? She seems unaffected?”

“It might appear in stages, might be temporary or triggered by something,” Simon said. “We can’t say she’s unaffected, but she appears more like a victim right now. A final girl.” He smiled into the dark.

“Final girl?” Brockmann asked.

“The one girl who survives in a horror movie. You watch horror movies, don’t you?” he asked, already knowing the answer was probably no. The old man didn’t even own cable; he lived with three channels of TV. Maybe the last person in Germany to do so.

So, Simon received a grunt, and this typical reaction was somewhat comforting.

“I can talk to her,” Anna offered. Brockmann shook his head.

“I want Simon to talk to her,” he answered.

“Why? I’m trained for trauma and psychological—”

“Simon will. He’s good with normal people.”

Anna nodded. “Okay, then I’ll talk to Paul.”

“I’ll come with you. We haven’t checked the rest of the boat.” Brockmann put his pistol away and pulled off his backpack. He withdrew a water and drank from it.

“Save as much as you can,” Simon said as he saw him swallow. Brockmann took the bottle off his mouth and looked at him, then nodded in understanding.

“You’re right,” Anna said. “We should only drink bottled water and eat our own rations until we know what did this.” She looked at Simon as if surprised he thought of it.

“Yes. It might be the food.” He sighed. “How do you transmit something to everybody? The water and the food.”

“And the air,” Anna added.

“Too late for that.” Simon smirked.

“The eyes,” Brockmann added, putting put the bottle back in the backpack. “Some things spread by being seen. What we see is the straightest way to our brains. We believe what we see.”

“The writing,” Simon said, glancing at the radio room.

“Wherever it came from, I have a feeling we’re gonna find more of it.” Brockmann said and left the bridge.

“There is a small room for maps right next to the captain’s cabin,” Anna said as they followed. Simon had missed that one. “Saw a bed there. We could use it as our base. Up here, we’ve got the advantage of being able to hear someone coming.”

“Who would be coming?” Simon asked.

“I’ve got a feeling that girl didn’t do all of this,” Anna said with a sigh. “So, whoever survived, whoever was the last one standing, he might be here too. Most of the ship is in the main body, not in this structure. We need to search below the deck.”

Brockmann nodded. “Paul first. Then the logs, the crew quarters, and cargo rooms,” he said and left. Anna looked after him.

“I would prefer securing a perimeter,” she said to Simon.

He shrugged, and Anna left with a displeased expression on her face. Before she was out, she stopped once more.

“Her name is Michelle. Michelle Braune. One of two female crew members,” she said.

“What is her function?”

“She’s a cook,” Anna said.

Simon nodded. Food, water, air—Michelle probably had access to at least two of those. Suddenly, Simon felt less confident talking to her alone.

****

“Without knowing what happened here, we have to be cautious. Nobody is able to leave this ship,” Anna explained to Paul. It had started raining, which made the deck the least comfortable place imaginable. The wind whipped the water vertically into one’s face and having a hood helped little against that.

“Wait, you say I need to stay on a ship where everybody has killed each other? Are you serious?” he asked.

“This is an emergency situation,” Brockmann said with a cool voice, standing in the rain as if he didn’t feel it. “We might have been exposed to some sort of agent. It won’t be for long. Only until we got a clearer picture of what’s going on here.”

Paul clearly wasn’t entirely sure the man was telling the truth. “Did you know this?” he asked Anna. “Did you know this and keep it from me?”

Anna shook her head. “We didn’t know what was going on here. I wouldn’t have asked you had I known you might be in danger,” she said and got the same skeptical look from Paul.

“Okay, I’ll get my gun,” Paul said and turned to the helicopter.

“No,” Brockmann yelled out over the noise.

“Pardon?” Paul asked.

Anna gave Brockmann a warning look to not take it too far; the old man ignored her completely. She felt bad enough about the position she’d put Paul in already.

“I would prefer if you kept your gun in the helicopter,” Brockmann said.

“Why? Everybody else got one!” Paul yelled.

“I know everybody else,” Brockmann replied, and Paul stared at him for a moment. Then he laughed and raised his head, feeling the rain on his face.

“Okay, pardon my French, but I don’t give a fuck!” he said and went to the helicopter.

Brockmann was about to go after him, but Anna grabbed his arm. He stopped, looked at her, and then back at her hand; this look was enough to make most people let him go. Anna was not most people.

“He’s a good guy. He’ll have our back—we might need him,” she said, and Brockmann watched Paul as he climbed into the helicopter.

With a grim look, he finally turned and went back to the hatch on the other side of the deck. Anna waited for Paul to come back. He held his Berreta 92 and put it into his jacket—it wasn’t the most modern gun, but it had been military standard for many years.

“You trust those guys?” Paul asked, yelling as thunder rumbled in the distance.

“To a certain extent, yes.”

“To a certain extent? Oh great.” Paul sighed and stomped after Brockmann with Anna trailing behind.

****

Simon entered the room with what he hoped was a warm smile.

“Michelle, right?” he asked. The woman was sitting on the bed, her legs drawn close to her body. “I’m Simon.”

He dragged over the one chair in the room from the desk and sat next to the bed. Moving slowly, he lay a bottle of water and one of his chocolate bars there.

“You should eat something,” he said. Michelle looked at the two items and then grabbed the chocolate with one quick move. She glanced at Simon as if she expected him to take it away again.

“Eat.” Simon nodded with a reassuring smile. Michelle ripped the bar open and crammed the whole thing into her mouth. Looking like some starved, wild animal, she chewed on it, probably only because it was too big to swallow in one gulp. Simon gave her time to eat, and when she finally swallowed, he spoke.

“I know terrible things happened here. I understand that. Some of them might appear hard to believe, some hard to explain. I want to assure you that you are safe now. We are experts in these things, and we won’t let anyone harm you. Do you understand?”

She stared at him and then nodded, her large blue eyes wide open.

“Great.” Simon gave her another warm smile.

“Who are you?” she finally asked. Simon raised his brows.

“We are specialists sent here to investigate the matter.”

“This happened before?”

“That’s hard to say because we are still trying to figure out what actually happened. So can you tell me something about it, Michelle?”

“Mike.”

“Mike? Who is Mike?”

“They all called me Mike. Everybody is male here, so they gave me a male nickname. Guess that was their way of making me feel like I belonged,” Michelle said.

“And by they, you mean . . .”

“The others. The crew. Even the captain called me that once.”

“Eduard Rohn. Do you know where he is now?” Simon asked. What a stupid question, he thought. Probably in pieces somewhere.

“No.” She quickly shook her head.

“This is his cabin. You wanted to talk to him?” Simon asked.

“I only remember the shower. He has his own shower, you know?”

“Yes, I saw that, Michelle.” He smiled at her again, hoping these repetitive smiles had a positive effect because he felt stupid for them. They were on a ship full of mutilated bodies in the middle of nowhere. There was very little to smile about.

“I only remember the shower,” she repeated.

Simon nodded now. She had asked if this had happened before, so she remembered more than the shower. But he knew pressing too hard would probably ruin any progress he had made. He had to be slow. Untrained in psychiatry or anything else useful right now, he had to trust his instinct.

“That’s okay. Take your time. But anything you can tell us would be very, very useful,” he said. She looked at him for a moment, then suddenly burst into tears.

“Blood! There was blood everywhere,” she yelled at him. Her body trembled so hard it almost seemed like spasms. “So much blood . . .”

Simon couldn’t help himself. He went over, sat on the bed and took her into his arms; she allowed it without resistance.

“So much blood,” she whispered again. Her body trembled.

“Yes, I know, it’s okay. It is over now, you hear me? Everything is over now. You’re safe.” Simon whispered, and she cried in his arms, her hands clawing into his back in a desperate gesture to signal to not let her go. He didn’t.

****

“What did she say?” Brockmann asked as Simon gently closed the door behind himself.

He put a finger to his lips and pointed to the end of the corridor. Brockmann nodded with a grunt. They entered the bridge, where Anna had moved the body of the headless man and his head away; Simon couldn’t believe she had the nerve to touch the bodies. Paul was there, too. He leaned against the engines, clearly frustrated, and Simon wasn’t sure how openly he could speak in front of him.

“So?” Brockmann demanded.

“I got her talking. But so far, she says she remembers nothing.”

“You believe her?” Brockmann asked. Simon looked at him and shook his head.

“No, she remembers. She just doesn’t want to. She is in shock, completely shaken.” Simon sighed. “She needs a little time.”

“We don’ t have time,” Brockmann replied right away.

“We don’t know that. Whatever was here might be long gone. Anyway, if we force her, she might close up.”

“We must take that chance.”

“Brockmann, she went through hell. She’s asleep now. Let her rest a little, for Christ’s sake!”

“Every moment she stays silent is another second we’re in danger.” Brockmann raised his finger at Simon. “So I’m sorry if your new girlfriend is a bit shaken, but I—”

“You said he is good with people,” Anna said from the sidelines, and Brockmann stopped, heaving a deep sigh.

“Stay out of this.”

“Just saying.”

Brockmann’s head snapped up, and he shot her an angry look; she stared straight back, unintimidated. Simon wished he had that kind of willpower.

“I call the shots here,” Brockmann said.

“Yes, you do, and you said Simon talks to her. Good call. He got her talking. But now you’ve got to stand by your decision and let him do his thing, Brockmann.” Anna said.

“I know how to deal with these kinds of situations.”

“Yeah, I know your type. For a hammer, all problems are nails, right?” she snapped, and Brockmann closed his hands to fists. For a second, Simon thought he might hit her. Paul pushed himself away from the console he was leaning against; Brockmann first gave him a look, then Simon.

“Alright. You let her sleep a few hours, and then you push her for something useful. You hear me?” he asked Simon.

“Sure,” Simon replied. Brockmann nodded and stomped out of the room. “Now he hates you.”

“I don’t care. He makes wrong decisions. We need to concentrate on the mission.”

Simon had never stood up to Brockmann like that, and he wondered how things would have turned out if he did. Maybe they would never have become partners.