Simon was warned by a beeping sound that his headset was running out of battery. He sighed at the irony of him probably dying because he had been too lazy to recharge his headphones, but it was too late to do anything about it. He listened to some guy singing about there being no rain in California—a cover version he believed—and made his way around the last corner. The large hatch leading to the central cargo space was wide open, and there was blood on the floor, dried and brown—the two guards whose throats had been ripped out. Michelle had ripped them out, assuming Pedro had told the truth.

She had said the rage had given her relief from the pressure of the whisper or something like that. Simon felt it now; it was stronger. The loud music kept away the words, but the whisper itself—like a spiritual entity consisting of psychic energy—was here.

Simon raised his gun and put his flashlight on, but it flickered and died. He had used it up on his way here with the little detour he’d made and the search it included. Simon took out the lighter and flicked it on.

He stepped through the hatch into the cargo hold. It was more a hall than anything, filling the whole center of the ship with large metal doors inserted into the ceiling above and filled with tons of material. Giant pipes were here, along with lots of boxes and cables as big as his head.

He had to let the lighter go when it grew too hot, shaking his hand to cool it off. But there was still light. A dim silver light emanated from something in the center of the cargo bay. Simon knew what it was, but he had to see it anyway. Passing a large container, he finally saw it.

A cuboid made of a strange silvery metal that seemed both to absorb light and shine in the dark. At two meters in length, and just over one meter high and wide, Simon understood why they called it the sarcophagus. It had no features— nothing but the smooth, perfect surface.

Nasat nasat priomin. Nasat defire. Achpach. Achpach.

The words now overpowered his music, which seemed to vanish as the slow, patient whisper filled his mind. Simon pulled the earphones out.

Nasat nasat priomin. Nasat defire. Achpach. Achpach.

He shook his head and stepped forward to the container.

“So, this is you, hm? The reason for all this pain. The author of this tragedy.” Simon stopped in front of it. Brockmann had been right; the strange glyphs were on the surface. Not carved, not burned in, not painted, but they were there. They seemed to move slightly, glowing wherever Simon’s eyes fell.

Nasat nasat priomin. Nasat defire. Achpach. Achpach.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Simon said, but he wasn’t sure if that was true. The words hit his mind with such power that they made him lean forward. His hands rested on the sarcophagus, and the metal felt warm. No, it felt . . . almost like it wasn’t metal at all. Simon saw the glyphs shift around his hands. He was strangely certain there was something inside there, slumbering, just like Michelle had said.

“Aargh!” The scream came from behind, and Simon turned around.

Michelle was there. She had snuck up on him but was now on her knees, holding her ears and shaking violently.

Nasat nasat priomin. Nasat defire. Achpach. Achpach.

Simon closed his eyes, then did what he had prepared to do all along. He put the gun to his ear and pulled the trigger. The sound was so loud that he was sure it injured his eardrums. Then there was nothing but one loud beep filling his ears, and the whispers were gone.

“High-frequency sounds, I guess.” Simon smirked and turned to the sarcophagus again. He saw down to it and grabbed his jacket. Before he could, Michelle’s arms were around him, her body weight pressing him down on the sarcophagus. His head hit the strange object, and the glyphs glowed stronger. He closed his eyes, but they burned straight through his eyelids.

Michelle held him with a power that seemed impossible from a small, starved body like hers. Simon screamed, turned his arm, and pulled the trigger. He felt a spasm run through Michelle, then pulled it again, this time ripping her leg away as he hit her knee. She collapsed, letting him go, and Simon quickly pushed her aside with a kick. She spasmed on the ground, her lips moving with those familiar words, but all he could hear was the steady beep.

Simon turned back to the sarcophagus and froze as he saw another person had entered the room. No, two. From the darkness, Brockmann stepped into the dim light, and behind him, a bloody Anna dragged her body after him, holding a knife. She moved her lips, simultaneous to Michelle’s. Simon grinned at Brockmann.

“Sorry, my hearing is a little off today,” he said, and Brockmann mouthed something he couldn’t hear. Instead of trying it again, Brockmann raised his gun and aimed at him.

“I won’t shoot back,” Simon said, straightening himself and letting go of the gun. Glancing at Michelle, he could see she’d lost a lot of blood from her leg; he hoped she wasn’t going to bleed out.

He turned back to Brockmann. “Before you shoot me, you should know that you better aim well,” Simon said, opening his jacket. “Because I got a lot of these on me.”

He revealed the bars of explosives he had gotten on his way to the cargo hold. The beeping became slightly less intense, and he breathed heavily. He had hoped to outrun Brockmann, but the search for the explosives and the creation of his suicide vest had taken too long.

Brockmann stared at him, and he knew it wasn’t his Brockmann. Covered in sweat, his eyes aglow as if he had a high fever . . . no, as if he was carrying something inside of him that made them glow. His hand slightly shook as he raised the gun and aimed at Simon’s head.

Simon sighed. He hadn’t figured out how to detonate the explosives anyway, but Brockmann probably wouldn’t have let him.

“I just want to tell you—” Simon saw Anna collapse to her knees, holding her ears as Michelle had done.

“I just want to tell you that if you survive this somehow, I know this isn’t you. Don’t beat yourself up about it. It’s okay. I tried my best to defeat it, and I’m sure you did too.” Simon sighed and stepped back from the sarcophagus.

Brockmann said something, then pulled the trigger. Simon spasmed as the shot exploded.

It missed. His eyes snapped open again, and he saw Brockmann trembling, his face twisted in a grimace. From behind, Anna leapt at him and bit down on his shoulder. Simon saw him scream in pain and fire another shot. Then another, just loosely aimed at Simon. They both missed Simon as he dove behind the large box he had passed on the way in, retreating into the darkness and away from the sarcophagus to catch his breath. He was alive, and he knew Brockmann was not yet gone. Not completely.

Ducking behind another smaller box, he risked a glance around the corner and saw Brockmann now above a screaming Anna, hammering his gun down on her head. She clawed her hands into him, and the pain was on his face visible. Then Michelle was there, having dragged her pale, naked body to Brockmann as she pushed forward and bit his hand. Brockmann let go of the gun and grabbed her.

Simon saw him push her head aside, breaking her neck, and her lifeless body collapsed to the ground. In the dim glow of the sarcophagus, Brockmann knelt over Anna, who had lost consciousness. He clenched his hands into fists and screamed; in Simon’s beep-filled world, it was a silent scream.

Then Brockmann looked around, and Simon quickly withdrew behind his box. At the outer periphery of the glow, he saw what he’d been looking for—a bulky control hanging on a long cable from the ceiling. It had two buttons; one green and one red. Self-explanatory. Simon pushed himself up, and sparks from a shot hitting his box blinded him. He covered his eyes and leapt forward, pushing the green button on the control box.

Light suddenly entered the vault—the sun had come up. The beeping faded from his ears, and he heard the metal doors above slide open as they revealed the blue sky above. Squinting from the sudden visibility after hours in the dark, he realized he was still alive. Turning to the still-kneeling Brockmann towering over Anna’s body, he saw the old man desperately fumbling with his gun.

Reloading.

The light blinded Brockmann, too. Looking up, he shielded his eyes. Simon’s heart raced as his blood filled with adrenaline.

Now or never.

He knew it was his only chance. Simon charged. He jumped over the sarcophagus, sliding over its surface, then leapt forward. Brockmann turned his head at the last second, and Simon hit his chin with his fist with the full force of his jump. Brockmann was ripped off Anna and slid to the floor. Simon was up again immediately, his hand throbbing from the hit. He stepped forward like a soccer player and kicked with a wide swing, right at Brockmann’s head. The old man was caught by surprise and collapsed to the ground.

“Sorry, old man.” Simon kicked the gun out of the weakened Brockmann’s hand, and it slid away.

Simon stumbled back, his foot now hurting too. He looked around, and in the bright light, he now saw where he had to go—a ladder leading to the upper deck. He began to stumble towards it as Brockmann slowly rose from the ground again. On all fours, he crawled to his gun, but Simon ignored him. He gave the sarcophagus one last look. In daylight, it wasn’t as frightening as in the darkness, where it glowed with this sinister light, betraying all rules of physics.

He ascended the ladder, finding the strength to take one rung after another. The beeping had completely vanished, and he heard the sea. He heard Brockmann scream, then the whisper. Far away now, reaching for him. As he reached the top and dragged himself onto the deck, he looked down and saw Brockmann following him, his face covered in blood from his bleeding nose.

Simon turned and saw the helicopter on the landing pad, the deck still wet from the rain. Oxygen bottles were scattered nearby. With a grunt of pain, he dragged himself over to them, pushed himself to his feet, and grabbed one. He shuffled back to the edge of the large opening revealing the cargo area below. Brockmann was one-third of the way up. Simon raised the deceptively heavy bottle and threw it down. Without waiting to see if it hit Brockmann, he turned and looked up to the one place he had to reach next.

The crane.

The small cockpit was at the top of another ladder. Gasping in pain at every step, Simon hobbled over to it and grabbed the sides. His muscles burned from exhaustion. He ripped off the jacket with the heavy explosives, and the icy wind cooled his sweat. He ignored it and began to climb. When he was halfway up, he risked another glance over his shoulder. Brockmann was crawling towards him, grasping his chest. His heart couldn’t be doing well.

“Hold on, I got this,” Simon whispered and saw his partner look at him with glowing eyes before his body collapsed.

Simon made it to the top, head spinning—he wasn’t good with heights. Pushing himself into the seat of the cockpit, he studied the controls before him. Four levers. He grabbed one and prayed the thing had power. As he pushed the lever back, the entire crane began to move sideways. He stopped and tried another. The large arm with its claws at the end lowered, crashing into the deck.

He pulled the lever to the opposite side and then tried the third. The arm rose again, and the three large, metal claws opened like a hungry beast made of iron. He looked down into the cargo hold. They had used this crane to get the sarcophagus inside, so he should be able to get it out.

Simon slowly positioned the crane above the sarcophagus and lowered the arm. He missed the cuboid by a meter. Not too bad. Adjusting slightly, he opened the claws and brought them down again. They didn’t land perfectly around the cube, but it was good enough. The wind howled, the whisper almost a memory.

The claws closed around the sarcophagus but slid off.

“Goddamnit!” Simon yelled. He opened the claws again. One look to the deck, and he saw Brockmann rise to his feet, driven by a strength that was not his. Simon couldn’t do anything about it. He turned his focus back to the claw, hovered it above the sarcophagus, then carefully lowered it. Simon gently pushed the lever, and the claws grabbed the cuboid object on both sides perfectly. A smile crept over his face, and he took a deep breath as he pushed the lever of the arm back. The sarcophagus stayed in the claws as it was raised.

“Got you,” Simon hissed, and a look to the side showed Brockmann was climbing up the ladder towards him. Simon barely let the arm leave the cargo before he pushed the lever, shifting the crane sideways. It moved slowly but steadily into position until it was no longer over the deck but over the water.

“Stop!” The raspy voice of Brockmann was next to him.

Simon lay his hand on the lever that opened the claw and turned to him. It was his pistol Brockmann held, and he aimed right at Simon’s head. Barely a meter away, Brockmann wouldn’t miss. Simon stared at the gun and nodded.

“Okay, Brockmann, listen. I’m gonna drop it back into the ocean, and you aren’t going to stop me. You’ll have to kill me.”

Simon had known his chances to make it out weren’t great, but he wouldn’t give up. He would rather die.

“And what makes you think I have any problem with that? I should have left you to die back when we hunted the monster, you useless little punk!” Brockmann hissed.

Simon gave him a pain-filled smile. “You won’t. I’m your partner, and that means something to you. I’m the only person you trust for whatever reason. I know you’re afraid, but you’re also the most stubborn person I know. You aren’t ruled by your fears.”

He turned his eyes to the lever, and his hand closed around it. Simon ordered his hand to pull it, but his eyes saw the sarcophagus dangling in the air over the water. He waited for his body to execute the order. It didn’t.

“Maybe not as well as you think,” Brockmann whispered, pushing himself closer. The gun pressed against Simon’s temple. He closed his eyes and swallowed.

“If you really wanted to kill me, I would be dead by now. You could have shot me right away. You could have killed me when you were down there. No, I know you’re still fighting this thing,” Simon said.

“Take your hand off that lever, Simon. Now!”

“Can’t do that. I’m going to pull it back now.”

“I gave you an order,” Brockmann yelled at him.

“I don’t take orders from you right now.”

“I am—” Brockmann began, and Simon finally understood. He wasn’t shooting because he was stalling, but he wouldn’t be able to fight it forever. This had to end now. Right now.

“Not yourself,” Simon said, and then his arm finally did what he wanted it to. He pushed the lever and opened his eyes. The clamps around the large metal box opened, and it splashed into the sea. The water enveloped it right away, and it continued to glow as it slowly descended into the darkness of the Northern Sea.

Simon slowly turned to Brockmann. The old man hadn’t pulled the trigger, and his hand was shaking. He blinked, and the glow vanished. Brockmann clenched his teeth and slowly put the gun to his head.

Simon lunged forward and grabbed the gun. Brockmann pulled the trigger, but Simon felt the cock of the revolver snap into his thumb. He screamed in pain and ripped the gun from his partner’s hand.

The sarcophagus was sinking deeper with every second.

Simon stared at Brockmann, who was shaking as he stared into the sea.

“Put your new God back to sleep,” Simon said, aware of the aches in his body as he sat back.

Brockmann dragged himself into the cabin and leaned against the metal cabin wall. After a moment, he raised his head and looked at Simon with a confused expression.

“What . . . what happened to me?” he whispered, his voice weaker than Simon had ever heard it.

“You won,” Simon said with a smile. In his partner’s eyes, he saw Brockmann return.

“The whispers . . .” Brockmann shook his head. “I understood them. I understood what they meant . . .”

Simon nodded. “It’s over, Brockmann,” he said with a deep sigh. “It’s over. It can’t whisper to you anymore.”

He smiled weakly, but Brockmann just looked at the sea as his body collapsed in exhaustion and slid down the cabin wall. Simon patted his shoulder.

“We need to help Anna. I think you got her pretty badly. And then let’s call for someone to pick us up,” Simon said. “I’ve had enough of ships.”