The Last Passenger Read Online Free PDF

the sailor heard his words.
    Taking a deep breath, he returned to the lounge that was decorated with eagles. Before becoming first officer of the Pass of Ballaster , O’Leary had served as a petty officer on many ships, including a yearlong stint in 1925 aboard the Highland Chieftain , a transatlantic vessel of the Nelson Line with service to South America. If the Valkyrie had the same layout as those luxury cruisers, then there had to be a staircase on that floor leading directly up to the bridge.
    After five minutes of searching he found it. It was a metal door concealed by an oak laminate coating that covered the walls in back of the dance floor. He would have completely missed it had it not been for the visible wear on the carpet caused by the door being opened and closed. The door led to a service stairwell without any of the adornments that had decorated the spaces intended for passenger use. It was a quick route for communication between the bridge and the dance and dining halls. When the Valkyrie ’s captain got bored of wining and dining the sweaty women who sat with him during gala dinners, he could duck out by fabricating a story that he was needed on the bridge. In the case of an actual emergency, this would also be the quickest way of getting to the bridge.
    O’Leary’s footsteps echoed metallically as he climbed several flights of stairs. Finally, he came to a landing with a set of doors. A placard reading “Funkraum” hung from one. O’Leary’s basic German was enough for him to guess that this was the radio room.
    Some gracious officer had tacked to the door an illustration of a technician fixing a radio with his hand inside the apparatus and all of his hair standing on end.
    Without hesitating, he turned the doorknob and found himself on the bridge. Unlike the stairwell, the bridge was tenuously lit. O’Leary first thought Stepanek had somehow found a way of restoring power before he realized the light was being provided by two reflectors mounted on the Pass of Ballaster ’s bridge.
    He approached the window to the side of the helm and looked toward the bow where he could see the diminutive form of Duff. The sailor stood next to the mouth of the anchor and was sweating profusely as he tugged at the esparto rope, which was tied to the much thicker towing cable. Usually this was a job for three or four men, and the poor devil was stuck doing it all himself. But he didn’t seem too unhappy. From the Pass of Ballaster , which had moved within half a cable’s distance, Captain McBride continued to signal orders.
    Suddenly, O’Leary felt very alone on the Valkyrie ’s bridge. Nobody could see him, and an irrational fear struck him that his ship would take off and leave him in the middle of the ocean on this illogical floating castle. His heart skipped a beat.
    The officer closed his eyes and tried to calm down. He was letting panic get the better of him. He looked around and saw that the bridge was impeccable. There was no sign of human life. He walked toward the navigation table, where the nautical map showed the ship’s course. Evidently, the Valkyrie had left the Port of Hamburg only five days prior. Sitting atop the map was a grease pencil used to mark the ship’s course. O’Leary held it between his fingers and scrutinized it. It was recently sharpened. Someone had sharpened it after making the last mark.
    Out of the silence, a scream resonated with such force that O’Leary momentarily felt like his blood had stopped pumping. It was a violent shriek that rose up and down in intensity as if coming from a tortured animal. Then, a moment of silence, long enough for O’Leary to doubt whether or not he had simply imagined it. But as quickly as it stopped, the noise started up again, clear as before. It was an inhuman screech, one that reverberated exquisitely with a million distinct degrees of pain, like shards of glass being pressed into the palm. The voice was familiar.
    Stepanek.
    As O’Leary