Chapter Fourteen
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The metal floor rocked beneath me, rolling gently with the waves.

The air was a little damp, smelling of metal and mildew. The stale air of being stuck in the brig for days on end.

The cargo ship was surprisingly quiet, a decent crew, but on a very large ship. There was plenty of space to hide and never get caught; Dad seemed to know like he'd done it before, but didn't tell me how or when. Just knew a safe spot could be found in a niche in Cargo Hold 3, a small ledge high up on the wall, just big enough for the two of us to sleep.

My backpack served as a pillow, Dad's coat as a blanket. It wasn't the worst way to sleep, aside from not being able to fully stretch out. And the extreme boredom. Not even a book to read. I just concentrated on not getting seasick.

Dad had made a beeline for the piers after I finished the phone call with May. I thought we might take a train or steal a car, but no. Dad decided that the only safe place was across the Atlantic. He was probably right. Ross didn't have jurisdiction outside of America. And if Rumlow found us again, it would be a lot easier to get rid of his body.

Sneaking aboard had been easy. Climbing up the chains that moored it, hand over hand like monkeys, before slipping on board. It was night and no one was loading, security lackluster. A few cameras, a watchman at the gate, another guy walking around with a German shepherd. But we were through the docks before it could ever catch our scent.

Dad scoped the place out while I remained huddled in the shadows on deck. Just in case things went south and this place wasn't as safe as it appeared. I didn't even know exactly where this ship would go. Just far, far away.

I've been hanging out in the little niche ever since. We were well hidden, up above anyone's line of sight. And, of course, very quiet.

There was no way to know the state of the investigation. I wished I had something. TV, radio, cell phone. Anything to stay up to date. To know if they were getting close.

But I knew, deep down, that if it was on the news, it was already too late.

Still, I was a nervous wreck those first two days. Always expecting the ceiling to come down, a SWAT team to swoop in, flashlight beams sweeping across the hold. But not even the crew knew we were here. Dad stole cans of food from one of the storage containers, not from the crews' own stash, making our presence even lesser known.

It wasn't very comfortable, but it could be worse. There were cramped bathrooms scattered throughout the ship, which if timed correctly, no one will ever catch you using, aside from the strange telltale flushing in the middle of the night. Missed having showers, but there were body wipes in one of the crates Dad searched and that was as good as it was going to get. We wouldn't be able to hide the evidence of our presence here forever, but by the time any sign of us was found, we'd be long gone.

I rested my head against the metal wall, closing my eyes and tried to embrace the rocking of the ship. Seasickness was not my friend today.

With so little to distract myself with, the best I could do was attempt a poor man's meditation. Which involved trying not to hurl.

There were no windows, so outside of my internal clock I had no idea what time it was. I could judge from the level of activity aboard the ship that it was evening; less footsteps echoing across metal corridors, the faint whiff of a stew being cooked, something fishy. They were all eating dinner right about now. The fish scent did not make my stomach feel any better.

Dad appeared like a shadow from the gloom. A small sack of food with him, like a grungy Santa Claus here to deliver his stolen presents. I pulled up my legs to make more room for him on our little ledge, but refused when he offered a can of peaches.

"You need to eat," he said, an undertone, still holding out the can.

"Not hungry," I mumbled, wrapping my jacket around myself tighter.

"You said that yesterday," Dad replied, frowning. Can of peaches, still there. It was better they stayed in the can rather than making a brief trip to my stomach before being evacuated again. "What's the last thing you ate?"

I looked around at some of the trash collected around our little encampment. "Saltines. It was the only thing I could keep down."

Dad exhaled through his nose, setting the can down before opening up his sack of illicit goods. He pulled the items out, one by one, stacking them neatly by group. Cans of fruit and soup, non-perishable cake snacks composed of fake sugars and frostings, and several water bottles. I took one of those, at least. Water didn't bother me so much.

"All I have are these," Dad pulled out a pack of small cheese-sandwich crackers. "I can find something else if you —"

"No, it's fine!" I took them quickly, already feeling the guilt rise up. As annoyed as I was with Dad worrying about me, I didn't want to become a burden. Inconvenient, whiny and demanding when we were both just trying to survive. "These are good. Thank you."

It was a sort of lie. I had no idea how my stomach could handle all that salt and immortal cheese. But just so Dad wouldn't push the peaches on me again, I ripped open the plastic packaging and took a nibble of the first cracker. Mmm, salt. Dad watched me like a hawk, as if I were gonna pull some Houdini trick and make the food disappear without actually eating it. He only relaxed, slumping against the wall, after I polished off the small pack.

"How are you feeling?" He asked me.

"Seasick."

"No, I mean, besides that," Dad shook his head, brow furrowing. He gestured with his hand, slightly awkward. "I mean, about— this. Are you okay?"

"Okay's kind of a strong word," I said, wrapping my arms around myself. So far, my stomach hadn't revolted against the crackers, which I took as a good sign. "Physically, I'm fine. Everything else? I dunno. I'm still trying to… figure it out, I guess. Why this is all happening."

Two days since our escape and I still hadn't a clue about why it all went down. Aside from Rumlow's involvement, I had learned nothing about what's going on. Why he's involved, why I kept blacking out, and who, if anyone, was controlling me. I could still remember what it felt like, to be awake in my body but not in control. I shuddered.

"I keep getting nightmares," I finally admitted, at length. "About that night."

I kept my eyes focused on the floor, so I didn't see Dad's expression. Just saw him nod out of the corner of my eye. He didn't sound surprised. "I'm sorry I couldn't stop it."

I blinked up at him, not expecting an apology. "No, I don't blame you! Is this because of what Aunt May said? Because—"

But Dad held up a hand. "She was right. She trusted me with your care and I failed." I had just opened my mouth to protest when he continued, "No, Mia, you weren't there. You never saw what it was like when you were gone. Three times it happened, and there was nothing I could do. Your aunt is a regular woman, she could only do so much. But I — I should've stopped it."

"What? How?" I demanded, utterly baffled. What was he talking about? "Because you're not normal? Because you're a super deadly assassin, you should've been able to find me?"

"Yes," Dad said, with all the certainty in the world. "Because that's what I do. What I did. It was all I ever did. I found people, and I killed them. But that I couldn't do that with you — it's never happened before. I've never failed. That's why your aunt is right."

I wanted to call bullshit, but didn't want my emotions to get the better of me. We were trying to hide, after all. Still, I could feel my eyes burning, fighting back the tears. "I-I'm not mad at you, though. I know you did everything, it was just —"

I cut myself off before I could finish that sentence. But Dad knew well enough what I was about to say.

"Not enough?" He just huffed, a humorless chuckle, hanging his head in shame. "Yeah, I know."

A tear slipped out and I brushed it away angrily. "That's not what I meant."

I took a deep breath to steady myself, not wanting my voice to shake any more than it already was. "Whoever's doing this is just better than you, that's all. Maybe they just know your tricks."

When Dad didn't respond, I scooched over, coming around to sit at his side, shoulder to shoulder. "I wouldn't have followed you if I didn't trust you, Dad. I wouldn't be here right now if I didn't think you were right. I don't know what's going on, but I feel safest with you, okay?"

I felt, rather than saw, him take a deep breath. Dad's arm came up and wrapped around my shoulders, drawing me in close for a side hug. I let my cheek rest against his shoulder and he kissed the top of my head.

A long sigh that ruffled my hair. "Oh, monkey. You're gonna break your old man's heart."

~o~

The third day, I made a mistake.

Evening again, alone, trying to find a calming rhythm in the motion of the ship and trying to catch some sleep before Dad came back. But if a hard wave didn't wake me from my sleep, a nightmare did.

Every time, I found myself back on that street. The fire burning so bright it almost turned night into day. Rumlow's scarred face, like melted candle wax, molded into a caricature of rage. Electricity sparking from his batons, hitting Dad, hitting me.

One particular blow sent me straight out of my dreams — my whole body jolting awake, leg snapping. My heel kicked and struck an empty soup can.

It went skittering towards the end of the ledge. My heart stopped, I lunged forward.

I watched, in silent horror, as the empty can tipped, my fingers missing it by a hair's breath.

I didn't even see the crewman below until I looked over. He was just passing under as I scrambled after the can.

Watched it fall, fall all the way down to the floor. Cringed at the clatter it made, metal against metal.

The man stopped. Turned. His flashlight fell upon the can.

I snapped back just before the beam of light swung up in my direction. The ledge high enough that if I lied flat, nothing could be seen at the angle he was at. The deep shadows the flashlight brought helped as well.

Still, the crewman called out. "¿Hola? Hay alguien ahí?"

My heart pounded in my chest, staring up at the illuminated ceiling.

The man called out again, letting the silence hang for a moment. Then I heard a faint clinking, what sounded like him picking up the can, and then footsteps. Walking away.

I laid there for a very long time. Wondering if he was going to come back. Wondering when Dad would return. Maybe he'd been just around the corner and saw everything. My stupid fumble, almost getting caught.

But no one came back. For a long twenty minutes, I lied there waiting. Just waiting. But the crewman didn't return with reinforcements.

My sleep was restless that night.

That following morning, when I woke up, I found a chocolate bar waiting on the floor.

I'd just jumped down, in my early morning bathroom break before anyone else was awake — I hadn't noticed the candy until I almost stepped on it. Who'd left that here, Dad? He wouldn't do that, he'd just give it to me, or leave up on the ledge where I'd find it. He certainly wouldn't be clumsy enough to drop it.

I bent down, picking up the bar carefully. The wrapping was untouched, I couldn't detect any sabotage or foul play. Someone else had left it here. Maybe a careless crewman? Perhaps it fell out of one of their pockets on one of their patrols.

Well, it was mine now.

I quickly learned, however, that it was not a mistake.

That night on the fourth day, a crewman came by on his regular walkthrough, flashlight swinging about. I noticed right away, however, that his footsteps were familiar. The weight of them, the cadence of his walk. A heavyset man with thick boots and the jangle of a set of keys. I pulled myself back as deep into the corner as I could, heart pounding so loud I almost couldn't hear what he was doing below.

A pause in the footsteps, something crinkling. And then moving on again, at that same steady pace.

I waited ten minutes before moving. This time, when I looked down, I saw a paper plate lying on the floor, in the same place the candy bar had been. This time, however, it was a sandwich.

Dad returned a short while later, another bounty of stolen food with him. He seemed not to notice anything was amiss, and for a moment I was tempted not to say anything. But I felt guilty for not saying anything before, but I was afraid of making a big deal out of nothing. This sure didn't feel like nothing, though. And if this blew up in our faces, then I'd have no one to blame but myself.

As we made a feast of non-perishable items and junk food, I finally found my courage to speak. "I think one of the crewmen knows I'm here."

"What?" Dad looked at me sharply, alarm written all over his features. He had immediately tensed, leaning forward. "Are you sure? Did they see you?"

"No," I shook my head. "But one of the cans fell from up here a day ago while one was passing by. He never saw me, went away and didn't come back. But I think he's been leaving food for me. First a chocolate bar," I produced the wrapper. Dad seemed displeased that I'd already eaten it. "What? Not like it was poisoned. I could tell. And then an hour ago, he left a sandwich."

Dad stared at it. I'd taken only a bite, after giving it a thorough sniff for any evil ingredients. "A whole sandwich?"

"Yeah." I said, shrugging helplessly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to happen. But he hasn't done anything yet, as far as I can tell. Doesn't seem like he's told anyone else."

"Hm," Dad scratched his chin, thinking it over. He lifted the sandwich, sniffed it, and took a bite, just as I had. After swallowing, he said, "They're not dangerous men. Most of them are middle-aged, out of shape, none of them armed. Not a threat. He probably thinks if anyone's here, you're alone. But don't interact with them, okay? It's only another few days before we reach land."

I nodded fervently. I had no plans to do so.

But fate had a different idea.

The fifth night, he caught me.

Maybe I should've seen it coming. Maybe he figured out my routine, or just got lucky.

All I knew was that I was just coming back from the bathroom when I spotted him standing right beneath the ledge, flashlight looking up. It was not the crewman's regular patrol, he shouldn't be here. I had just spotted him and ducked into the closest alcove before his flashlight fell on me.

But he must have spotted movement nonetheless. A shadow, flickering in the darkness. "¿Hola?"

The alcove was cramped, two high walls of crates reaching all the way to the ceiling. Nowhere to go, nowhere to run. And the flashlight's beam grew brighter, footsteps drawing near. No no no.

In truth, I wasn't sure what I was afraid of. Getting caught, or Dad walking in and making this worse. As scared as I was, no one here probably deserved having to face a deadly assassin. But I didn't have long to worry about it when the flashlight turned upon me. I winced, flinching, raising up my hands to shield my face.

Almost immediately, the flashlight lowered again, leaving me momentarily blinded. "Lo siento. ¿Estás bien?"

I blinked, wincing, frowning at the figure of the man before me. He was rather stout, stocky in shape, wearing rugged clothes, worn jeans and a flannel shirt and vest — but I didn't see any weapons, he wasn't carrying anything. Except for a radio, I saw nothing alarming.

His concern, as well, took me off guard. I hesitated, still crouched in the corner, hands still up over my face. Should I say something?

Slowly, the man bent down to one knee, his free hand raised. "No tengas miedo," The man spoke softly, a husky tone to his voice. A weathered tone, like the old seaman he was. As he continued speaking in Spanish, the man reached into his pocket. "I won't hurt you, I promise."

I tensed, instinctively prepared to have a knife or some other weapon pulled on me. But instead, the man brought out another candy bar. Twix. He offered it to me, but when I didn't come forward, he set it down on the floor and gently pushed it closer. "See? No harm. Just food. You must be hungry, yes?"

Despite myself, I nodded. As much as Dad tried, our sea diet had hardly been healthy or filling. What little I could keep down, anyways. Still, it was hard to unfold myself, to get closer. What if it was a trap? Why was he waiting there for me? What did he want? Why was he being so kind if it wasn't meant to lure me in?

"I'm sorry, I hope I didn't scare you," The man continued, still soft and amiable. He lifted the flashlight to illuminate his face, round and mustached, bright brown eyes and a slightly goofy smile. "My name is Jorge. It's nice to meet you…?"

I stared at him. Despite myself, I answered. "Mia."

"Mia," He repeated, with an almost fatherly smile. "That's a pretty name. Now, I've been working on this ship for a long time. We don't usually get stowaways. Especially not children. Are you here alone?"

I nodded again, eyeing the candy before looking back at his face. In a fight, I could take this man easily, unless he was wearing some kind of disguise and was hiding a six-foot five bodybuilder under his five-foot ten portly exterior.

At length, I nodded again. No reason to give away Dad now.

Jorge studied me for a moment longer. "This is a very long way to go alone. Where are your parents?"

I scanned the corners, but I still couldn't find anywhere to go. Finally, I gave in, and responded in kind. "I don't have any."

"Is that why you're here?" Jorge asked, and when I nodded again, he added, "You must be pretty desperate to sneak onto here. It's not very safe."

"It's safer than where I was before."

"Ah." Jorge raised his eyebrows, and I didn't like the pity I saw there. But it seemed genuine.

I bit my lip, listening hard. Had Dad come back? Was he nearby? Maybe I could talk my way out of this — if I wasn't already neck deep in trouble. "Are you going to send me back?"

Jorge laughed. "Back where? We can't turn around, we're in the middle of the ocean. We have no way to send you back."

"Oh," I said, feeling a little silly now. Of course, they couldn't send me back. But that didn't mean they couldn't turn me in when we reached port. "Will you turn me in then? To the European police?"

"I would certainly feel obliged," Jorge said, and my heart sank.

"They'll only send me back again." Or to jail.

"Perhaps. But they might help you, too."

I laughed, but it sounded broken, tearful. How could I explain to him that turning me in would only make things worse? The moment I was found again, I knew it would be over. Either Ross got to me, or whoever was behind my blackouts. And then where would I be?

Jorge frowned at my reaction. "You don't think so?"

I shook my head, pressing my hands to my face. I didn't want to cry, not in front of a stranger. This man couldn't hurt me, not physically, But he already knew too much. Our journey was doomed before we could even get anywhere. "There are people after me. People who want to hurt me. If they find me again, I'll never be free."

"Who are these people?" Jorge asked, tilting his head. What I said had surprised him, because he looked rather taken aback. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"Seventeen? You are still a child. Who would want to hurt you?"

A humorless smile pulled against my face. "You have no idea."

"It sounds to me like you're in a lot of trouble, Mia."

"I'm fine." I swallowed, but my throat was thick, dry. "Please, don't tell them anything. Once you reach land, you'll never see me again. I promise, I won't cause any problems."

Jorge looked reluctant. "You're very young to be going off on your own. Europe is a very big place. Many countries. Where are you from?"

"New York."

"Ah, really? I have cousins there!" Jorge smiled, gesturing out from his chest. "I visit them whenever we dock there. But my family is in Ecuador. I don't see them as often as I want to. Do you have any family, Mia?"

"Yes." I said, unsure if I wanted to say more than that. "But I'm not sure if its safe for me to go to them."

"I'm sure they must be worried about you." Jorge said, a very wise guess. "Perhaps when we dock, you can try calling them? Perhaps they can help you, instead of the police."

"Maybe," I said, not wanting to commit to the idea, but also hoping that if I played along, Jorge might be convinced to let me off on my own. I glanced at the candy bar again and, after another moment of consideration, reached out for it. He smiled as I scooted back again, prize in hand. I flushed and mumbled, "Thank you."

"It's nothing. I just want to help."

I glanced away, then back at him, frowning. "Why?"

"Do I need a reason?" Jorge offered me a shrug. "Is it not enough to want to help people? Especially those in need of it?"

"I guess not," I murmured, before biting into the chocolate bar. It tasted good, so good. Maybe not as good as the sandwich, which had real fresh food, lettuce and meat, in it. But still, good. "Do the others know about me?"

"Not yet. But the captain will have my hide if he knows I'm keeping secrets from him."

"I'm sorry," I never wanted to put him in that position.

"Don't worry about it. He owes me a few—" Jorge paused, looking up and around. "What was that?"

"What was what?" I asked, as the man stood and looked around with his flashlight. He didn't respond so I listened; at first, all I could hear was the dull roar of the ship, the distant crash of waves, the thunder of the sea storm we were passing through.

And beneath that, something else.

A kind of… thumping?

It wasn't against the ship, no sound of reverberating metal. No, it sounded like something inside. A distant creak of metal, a change in the air temperature and humidity, like someone opened a window somewhere. But did a ship like this have windows that opened?

And then I heard it.

Pop!

Distant, like a bolt flying off, or a door slamming. But it wasn't either of those things.

I recognized the sound, right before I heard the shouting.

Gunshots.