The hum of the ship's engines echoed through the steel corridors like a faint heartbeat — uneven, strained, but alive. For the first time in months, Soufiane allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, they would make it. Africa was still days away, but the sound of motion — real, mechanical, purposeful — felt like salvation.
The others gathered in the mess hall, lit only by a few flickering lamps. The air smelled of rust and sea salt. The children slept in a corner, wrapped in old blankets. Zahira stroked her son's hair, her expression soft but exhausted.
Cynthia sat across from her, arms crossed, gaze distant. The red light of the emergency bulb painted her face in half-shadow, giving her a haunted look. Soufiane watched her for a moment before speaking.
"You should rest," he said quietly.
"I can't," she replied. "Every time I close my eyes, I see them. Floating. Watching."
He nodded. He knew that feeling too well. "They can't follow us now. We're moving fast. By morning, we'll be far from that place."
Her lips curved in a faint, bitter smile. "You really believe that?"
Soufiane hesitated, then sat down beside her. "I have to."
For a few moments, they sat in silence, the steady thrum of the engine beneath them. Then Amal entered, her boots still wet with seawater, a map rolled under her arm.
"The good news," she said, spreading the map across the table, "is that we're heading south, just like you planned. The current will help if we stay close to the coast."
"And the bad news?" Soufiane asked.
Amal hesitated. "We're leaking. Slowly. Farid says it's minor — probably from the lower deck. He's working on it, but… he doesn't have the tools for real repairs."
Soufiane frowned. "How long before it gets serious?"
"Could be days. Could be hours."
He clenched his jaw. "Tell him to keep working. We're not stopping until we see land."
Amal nodded, then looked toward Cynthia. "You should eat something."
"I'm fine," Cynthia said softly.
Amal glanced at Soufiane, then walked away without another word.
Cynthia looked back at him, eyes searching his face. "You think she hates me?"
Soufiane shook his head. "No. She just… she's seen too much loss to trust easily. We all have."
Her gaze softened. "Including you?"
Soufiane looked away. "Especially me."
---
Below deck, the air was different — thick, damp, and heavy with the scent of brine. Farid crouched beside a narrow crack in the floor where seawater was seeping in a thin line. He had stuffed it with old rags, metal scraps, and a torn rubber hose, but it wasn't enough.
He muttered to himself, hands trembling as he twisted a wrench. "Just hold together a little longer… please…"
Behind him, something dripped.
He froze.
The sound came again — not water this time. Something thicker. He turned, flashlight shaking, and the beam caught a wet trail along the wall. Dark red.
"Animal?" he whispered. But there were no animals here.
He followed the trail toward a storage hatch half-open. The air around it was colder. He reached out and pulled the door wide — and the flashlight flickered.
Inside, a figure moved.
It was small, hunched, its skin pale and slick with seawater. Its eyes reflected the light like glass marbles.
Before Farid could shout, it lunged.
---
Above deck, Soufiane was checking the steering console when he heard the scream. A high, sharp sound that cut through the hum of the engines like a blade.
He sprinted for the stairs, Amal right behind him. The hallway below smelled like blood.
"Farid!" Soufiane called. "Farid, answer me!"
No response. Only the creaking of metal and the distant hiss of water.
They moved cautiously through the corridor, flashlights scanning every corner. The floor was slick, smeared with dark stains. When they reached the generator room, Soufiane's light found Farid's body — or what was left of it.
His throat was torn open, his eyes wide in terror.
"Oh my God," Amal whispered.
Soufiane crouched beside him. The blood trail continued past the body, toward the maintenance hatch that led deeper into the ship's belly.
He felt his stomach turn cold. "One of them got in."
Amal's hand tightened on her weapon. "But how? We cleared the deck—"
"The leak," Soufiane said. "It wasn't just water."
The sound came again — from behind the hatch. A slow, dragging scrape. Then another.
Soufiane raised his rifle. "Get everyone upstairs. Now."
Amal hesitated. "What about you?"
"I'll buy you time."
She wanted to argue but saw the look in his eyes — the same look he had when he faced Ayoub in Germany. Reluctantly, she turned and ran.
Soufiane approached the hatch, heart pounding. The metal trembled as something pushed from the other side. He took a breath, braced the gun against his shoulder, and kicked the door open.
The creature was there — half-human, half-drowned. Its body was bloated, its jaw twisted open wider than it should have been. Saltwater spilled from its mouth as it hissed.
Soufiane fired once. Twice. The shots tore through its chest, but it kept coming, dragging itself forward with broken fingers.
He backed away, reloaded, and shot again — this time hitting the head. The creature collapsed, twitching.
He exhaled shakily. But as the echo of the gunfire faded, he realized something terrible — the noise had awakened others.
From deeper in the ship came more sounds. Scratching. Thumping. Moaning.
Not one. Not two.
Dozens.
---
On the upper deck, Zahira looked up from where she was comforting her son as a low vibration ran through the floor.
"What's happening?" Cynthia asked, fear in her voice.
Amal burst through the door, breathless. "We've got company. They're inside!"
Cynthia's blood ran cold. "Inside?"
Amal grabbed her arm. "Take the children — go to the bridge. Lock the doors!"
She turned back toward the stairwell, hearing the first wet thuds of hands on metal. Shadows were already crawling up from below.
---
Soufiane raced up the stairs, the moans behind him growing louder. The infected were pouring through the lower corridors, leaving trails of seawater and blood.
He slammed the hatch shut behind him, bolting it just as a pale arm reached through the gap. The hand grasped wildly, nails scraping his skin before he managed to wrench free.
He leaned against the wall, breathing hard. The ship rocked slightly, and the air felt heavier — thick with death and salt.
Amal met him halfway up the corridor. "They're breaking through!"
He nodded grimly. "Then we make our stand here."
For a moment, their eyes met — fear, resolve, and something unspoken flickering between them.
Then he turned toward the others. "Everyone to the control room! Move!"
As they ran, the walls echoed with the sound of the dead.
Not from the sea this time —
but from inside the ship.