High Steaks On The High Seas
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The stranded ship sits in the motionless water, its presence a dark spot in the endless, deep blue that surrounds it. Moisture drips from all surfaces and echoes throughout the ship, turning corridors into maddening cacophonies of plops and plinks. However, for the remaining crew members of the drifting cargo ship, the Harmony, it's a different plinking that has their full attention.

"I see your rays and raise you 60 more," Chief Mate Dean Skerritt announces as he first places eight white poker chips, then three red poker chips into the middle of the table, adding to the already overflowing pot. Maddie Norris, the ship's head cook and only cook left, stares daggers at the growing pot, then looks up and turns those daggers onto Skerritt.

She licks her lips, glances back at the pot, down at the dwindling pile of poker chips in front of her, back at the pot, then finally at Skerritt once more. "Fold," she says and mucks her cards into the discard pile. "You lucky bastard," Captain Bruce Dunn says to Skerritt.

"Luck has nothing to do with it," Skerritt says, raking the pot in with both arms. He jams the chips up against the lip of the table, then begins to sort and stack them by denominations. Whites are $5, reds are $10, and blues are $25. Not that the crew are playing for money. Not anymore. "Shuffle up and deal," Skerritt says as he looks over at Chief Engineer Mark Horton.

"Hold your horses, tough guy," Horton says while he straightens the mass of cards, takes the stack that hadn't been dealt, and combines them back into one deck.

He expertly splits the cards, shuffles, bridges, then repeats the process several times. "How about we switch things up a bit?" Horton asks the table. "No," Dunn says. "We agreed that we'd play Hold'em, and that's what we're playing. Switching things up would not be fair to everyone playing." All eyes fall on one of the two remaining deckhands. Tina Mulgrew keeps her head down and her eyes on the last of her poker chips.

"Y'all can stop staring," she says without looking up. "I had a couple of bad runs is all. I can build this back." "I know you can, Tina," Dunn says. "We've all played with you before. You're a damn good card player. Just some bad luck," Skerritt says as he finishes stacking his winnings. "I thought you said luck wasn't involved," second engineer Carlos Gutierrez says as he picks his teeth with the wire he uses as a toothpick.

The metal on enamel scraping creates a sound like a tiny little fingernail on a tiny little chalkboard. For me, Skerritt replies. Luck isn't involved for me. All skill, baby. This is fucking bullshit. Deckhand, Hasan Hassanabi shouts as he pushes back from the table and stands up.

You fucking joke and laugh and act like all we're doing is playing the same old Thursday night poker game we always play when every one of you motherfuckers knows this is life and fucking death we're dealing with here. Fuck all of you! "Sit down, Hasan," Dunn says. "That's an order." "Fuck your orders, dude," Asanabe snarls at Dunn. "You're only captain because the real captain got swept out to sea in the storm."

His finger moves to Horton and Gutierrez. "And these two are only chief and second engineers because all the other engineers were crushed when the engine room collapsed in on itself." The man throws his hands in the air and turns in a slow circle. "But hey, Mulgrew and I are still fucking deckhands, so what does it matter what we say, right?" Asanabe shouts.

"Don't lump me in with you," Mulgrew says, her eyes still on her small stack. "I agreed to this, just like you, Hasan. If I lose, I lose. But I sure as fuck won't be pitching a hissy fit over what does or does not happen to me." "Spoken like a true sailor," Captain Dunn says.

"Fuck off, Dunn," Mulgrew says. "Hasan is right. You only have the job because the real captain, the one that probably would have figured a way out of this shit, is fucking dead." "I have just as many years at sea as Captain Taos had," Dunn snaps. "I am more than qualified to be captain of this ship. Yet here we fucking are," Hasanabe yells. "No comms, no engines, and only enough food to sustain what's left of the crew for another few days."

"Which is why we're playing," Dunn says. He eases his hand out from under the table so all can see the 45 he holds. "Winner takes all. Food, water, and hope of rescue." "This is fucking sick!" Asanabe shouts, his voice climbing in pitch with each word. "Yeah, it is," Orton says as he holds out the deck of cards. "Are you in or not, Hasan?" Asanabe blinks at everyone seated at the table.

His vision flits across the soiled bandages, the torn uniforms, the sunken hollow eyes. His nose takes in the stench of unwashed bodies and festering sores. Finally, his ears hear the growling and grumbling from empty stomachs that is louder than the incessant plops and plinks that echo throughout the ship. Asanabe sits back down.

"I'm in," he says. Asanabe picks up a white chip and tosses it into the center of the table. "Anti up, bitches," Orton says, and deals out a single card to each player, then repeats the motion until everyone has two cards face down in front of them. "No blinds considering. Well, you know." The players each toss in a single white chip as their anti. Mulgrew hesitates before dropping hers into the pot.

"This'll be my last hand," she announces, without making eye contact with anyone. "Come on, Tina," Dunn says. "You just said you can come back. Why change all in?" Mulgrew says before Dunn can finish. "It's not your bet," Horton says. "And you haven't looked at your cards yet. It's my bet," Gutierrez says, seated to the right of Mulgrew. "How much is that, Tina?"

"'Seventy-five dollars,' Mulgrew says. "'Plus the aunties, so the pot is,' Orton begins to say. "'I know how to fucking count, Mark,' Gutierrez says. He picks up $35 in chips and tosses them in. "'I match the pot,' then he looks at Mulgrew. "'That makes your 75 a matching bet with a $40 raise. Great,' Mulgrew says, and leans back in her chair, her untouched cards resting on the old, faded green felt of the ship's poker table."

Norris mucks her two cards. Skerritt mucks his two cards. Dunn hems and haws for a couple of seconds, then mucks his. Hasanabe rubs his face over and over, then roughly throws $75 worth of chips into the pot.

He announces. Fold. Horton says and mucks his cards. Same. Gutierrez says. What? Fold? Asanabi shouts. You opened the fucking bet. And 75 is too rich for me. Gutierrez replies. You got a problem with that? Yeah.

I have a fucking problem with that! Asanabi shouts. You act like it's just another fucking hand! We all know it's not just another fucking hand, Skerritt says. Every single one of us knows this, Hasan. So play your fucking cards. There's nothing to play! Now I'm heads up with my best fucking friend! Asanabi shouts. Then the strength and rage seem to just seep out of him, and he slumps in his chair. He turns his cards over. Jack and ten spades!

The table looks at Mulgrew as she flips her cards over. "Fuck," Gutierrez says. "That's too bad." "Yup," Mulgrew says as she looks at the two of clubs and the seven of diamonds. "Worst cards I can have, right? Fits my night so far." "Burning one," Horton says and tosses the top card of the deck into the discard pile. Then he flips over the next three cards and places them in front of the pot. "Queen of diamonds, three of hearts, eight of clubs,

"No help for anyone," Dunn says. "I swear to fucking god if you narrate this hand, I'll fucking strangle you myself!" Asanabe snarls at Dunn. "I doubt that," Dunn says and pats the .45. "No!" Skerritt snaps at Dunn. "You have that because you are the captain, and we all decided the captain has the responsibility of seeing this through. You do not get to use that gun as a threat. Ever."

Dunn looks like he's going to respond, then he puts the 45 back under the table and just nods. "Next card," Horton says, and flips over a seven of clubs. He studies the table and the player's cards. "Pair for Tina, possible inside straight for Hassan." "Last one," Mulgrew says, tears well in her eyes, and everyone makes a point of looking at the cards on the table instead of her face.

"Last one," Orton echoes, then flips the final card, the river, over.

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"Fuck," Gutierrez says again. The nine of clubs sits there at the end of the row of the five face-up cards. "Hassan hits his straight," Horton says quietly. "Goes to Hassan." "And I'm out," Mulgrew says. She slowly scoots her chair back, then reaches out and grips the table's edge. To everyone watching her, it looks like she's about to flip the table, but after a couple of moments, she takes a deep breath, lets it out, and gets to her feet.

"Let's go, Captain," Mulgrew says to Dunn. "Yes, right," Dunn says, with all his bluster and confidence from earlier completely gone. He stands up, the .45 held down against his thigh. "Top deck, port side." Mulgrew nods and walks away from the table. She goes to the door of the ship's lounge, grips the handle, and yanks it open. A loud sob escapes from her throat.

Then she's gone through the door, her footfalls echoing back into the lounge until they are too quiet to hear. "I don't know if I can do this," Dunn admits, still standing there with the 45 against his leg. "One of us has to make it," Skerritt says. "And we only have enough supplies for-" "I fucking know," Dunn screeches. He starts to lift the 45, and Gutierrez and Norris both stand up. Gutierrez is not a big man, but he's built like a tank.

Norris is slight and lithe, so she doesn't pose much of a physical threat, except for the very sharp chef's knife she grips in her right hand. Dunn relaxes somewhat, considering, and the .45 stays against his thigh. Then he sighs heavily and looks at the lounge's open door. "Okay," he says, more to himself than to the rest of the crew in the room. "Okay." Dunn stands there for another few seconds and stares up at the ceiling. "Maybe she'll jump," he says.

"She won't jump," Asanabe says, his eyes on the pot that he still hasn't collected. "That wasn't what we all agreed on." "We know what we agreed on," Dunn says. "Let me fucking say it!" Asanabe yells. The crew stays silent and wait. Dunn nods.

"We agreed that when someone goes out, they are taken to the top deck, port side," Asanabe continues. "They step to the side boarding door, face the ocean, and they receive a mercy shot to the back of the head. Better than starving to death," Gutierrez says and sits down. "Or eating one another," Norris adds, as she sits down as well. "You'd be doing the cleaning and dressing," Orton says to Norris. She shrugs. Norton laughs. "That doesn't bother you?"

"Eating one of you bothers me," she replies. "Cleaning and dressing a body is what I do, so the labor involved isn't the problem." "Okay, okay," Dunn says again. "Go to it, Captain," Skerritt says. "Making her wait borders on cruelty." "Okay," Dunn says, then jogs in place. "Okay!"

He rushes out of the lounge and his heavy footfalls clang and echo throughout the ship as he basically sprints to the top deck. The rest hear a hatch open and slam closed, then silence. After about a minute, a far-off shot is heard. Gutierrez says, "The motherfucker actually did it!" "Well, we'll see who comes back through the door," Scarret says. "Mulgrew keeps her word," Asanabe says.

He finally reaches out and rakes in the pot he won, then he stacks the chips according to color. By the time he's done, footfalls can be heard coming from above, then on steps, then in the corridor. The crew hold their collective breath as a shape darkens the doorway. "I can't do that again," Dunn says, holding the .45 between two fingers by the very corner of the grip, as if it's made of the foulest substance on the planet. He holds it way out in front of him,

I almost threw it overboard. Someone take this fucking thing from me. Scarret doesn't even hesitate and stands up, his hand out. Dunn places the .45 in his open palm, then crosses to his seat and plops down heavily. He rubs his face over and over before he bursts into tears. No one says a word. They just let Dunn cry and cry until his sobs stop and his tears slowly dry up. Sorry.

"I'm sorry," Dunn apologizes and runs his forearm across his face, wiping away the remaining tears and the snot running from his nose. "I'm so sorry. It's cool," Gutierrez says. "Not everyone can be. I'm not saying sorry to you," Dunn shouts and points at the ceiling. "I'm saying it to Tina, you know? The fucking woman I just shot in the back of the fucking head. Remember her? Does that sound fucking cool to you, Carlos? Does it?

"Yeah, it's a good thing I have this," Skerritt says as he nods at the .45 in his hand, leaning forward, eyes narrowing as he speaks. "You sure you still want to be Captain, Dunn?" his fingers drumming against the table, a barely perceptible smile tugging at his lips, hinting at a hunger that had nothing to do with the dwindling food rations. The room seemed to close in, as if drawn by the force of his gaze.

"Don't yells." "Scarret says."

"Jesus, Dean. Are you seriously gunning for the captain's position right now?" Horton asks, the eyes the .45 Skerritt is holding. "No pun intended. Don't shoot me." "We have a hundred million dollars worth of salvaged treasure in the hold," Skerritt says. "A fucking salvage that most of us have been working on for nearly a decade now. One of us needs to survive and cash that shit in, or none of this bullshit will be worth it."

"Was it ever worth it?" Norris asks. "I mean, it's just money." "Stop!" Horton says. "We aren't going to debate this again. The reality is we don't have enough food for all of us to make it anyway. Walking away from this shitshow a rich motherfucker is the reward the survivor gets for going through hell." He looks at Skerritt. "Yeah, you and I have been at it for almost ten years.

But what is happening here and right now is not about the salvage. It's not about the money. It's just about allowing one person to get off this ship alive. "Maybe," Asanabe says. The crew looks at him. He shrugs. "We're assuming the last person will be rescued in time. We could just be killing each other for nothing. The last person standing can still end up starving to death, which is why we leave one bullet in here, just in case," Skerritt says, waggling the .45 in the air.

"Put that shit away," Gutierrez says. Skerritt tucks the 45 out of sight under the table. "Whose deal?" he asks. "Mine," Gutierrez says. He takes the cards, shuffles, then deals as the crew all ante. No one looks at the empty seat that Mulgrew had filled only minutes earlier. "Raise 50," Norris says, and tosses in two blue chips. "All in," Skerritt says, and pushes his pile toward the center, but not all the way into the pot.

He looks about, his face blank and set in stone. "Fold," Dunn says. "Fold," Asanabe says. "Same," Horton says. "Call," Gutierrez says. "You mean all in," Skerritt says, nodding at Gutierrez's stack. "I've got you covered, then I'm all fucking in," Gutierrez snarls. "Fold," Norris says with a huff. "With almost a quarter of my chips gone,

"Then you should've stayed in," Skerritt says. "No, I'll let you two match dicks," Norris says. "I'm not ready to die." "Gutierrez is, though," Skerritt says. "That's cold even for you, Dean," Dunn says and shakes his head. "Flip," Skerritt says to Gutierrez.

"I called you!" Gutierrez says. "But I covered you, so you have to-" Skerritt starts to say. "Just flip the fucking cards!" Norris shouts. Skerritt and Gutierrez flip their cards over at the same time. "Fucking hell!" Dunn says as everyone stares at the cards. Gutierrez has a pair of kings, hearts, and spades. Skerritt has a pair of queens, diamonds, and spades. "It's all in the flop!" Gutierrez says as he burns a card, then flips three onto the table.

Jack of hearts, jack of spades, two of diamonds. "Carlos has it with two pair, king's high," Horton says. "Ready?" Gutierrez asks as he burns another card. "Yeah," Skerritt says. Gutierrez flips the next card over, queen of hearts. "Madre de Dios," Skerritt says and lets his head slump so his chin hits his chest.

"That's my line, Dean," Gutierrez says. "And I'm glad she came through. I was praying hard for myself, but it looks like she thought I was praying for you instead. Sorry, Carlos," Skerid says as he lifts his head. "Bull house for Dean," Horton says. "Queens over jacks. And the river," Gutierrez says with a shrug. After burning a card and then flipping over the last card, he continues, "King of clubs.

The man stares at the cards on the table, then slowly allows a grin to spread across his face. "King of clubs!" he shouts as he jumps out of his chair. He slaps the remaining deck onto the table then rakes in the pot. "King of motherfucking clubs!" "King of clubs," Skerritt says as he watches almost all of his chips disappear over to Gutierrez's stack. "Nice hand." He lifts the 45 from out under the table and fires.

The back of Gutierrez's head sprays across the lounge as his body falls backward, collapsing over his chair and onto the deck. "Fuck!" Horton yells as he and Norris both jump up and lunge for Skerritt. But the first mate is too fast. He whips the 45 in their directions, moving back and forth between Horton and Norris.

"Go for it," he snarls. "Let's see who is the fastest. Me!" Norris says the moment the barrel of the .45 moves away from her and over to Horton. Skerritt grunts and looks down at his chest. The .45 slips from his fingers and clatters against the edge of the poker table before it falls and is lost from sight. Norris' chef knife is sticking out of Skerritt's chest. He stares at it, puzzled.

"We all agreed," Norris says as she scoots around the table and approaches Skerritt, who is still miraculously on his feet. "We all swore an oath, Dean." "You stabbed me," Skerritt says. He coughs and a bloody mist sprays over the poker table. "I think you stabbed yourself," Norris says, quickly closing the distance between her and Skerritt.

She crouches down and picks up the 45, tucks it into the waistline of her jeans at the small of her back, stands, then places a hand on Scarret's arm. "Let's take a walk, Dean." "A walk?" he asks her. "A fucking walk?" He coughs up more blood, and Norris gently guides him toward the door. "You stabbed me," Scarret says, just before they walk out of the lounge. "What do we do about Carlos?" Asanabe asks.

"Carry him up top?" Horton suggests. "He's dead weight," Dunn says. They all look away from Gutierrez. After several minutes, Norris walks into the lounge then stops. Her shirt has blood splatter on it, and the right thigh of her jeans is soaked with dark liquid. "You didn't move him?" Norris snaps when she sees Gutierrez's body still lying there. "Jesus."

She hurries over to the dead man and gets her hands up under his armpits, then drags the corpse out of the lounge. No one says a word. No one looks at each other. No one even twitches a muscle until several minutes later when Norris returns. "Unfucking believable," Norris says. "Sorry," Asanabe says, his voice a raspy, pained croak. "That's a lot of blood," Horton says, nodding at Norris.

"That didn't come from Gutierrez. Steve Irwin," she says as she retakes her seat. "What?" Gordon asks. "Steve Irwin was stabbed in the heart by a stingray's barbed tail," Norris says. "He lived for a while with that in there, but the second it was pulled free..." She waves her hands over herself, indicating the blood splatter. "Dean was dead before his body hit the deck," she says. "Let's keep playing," Norris says. "I want to get this over with."

"You have the knife and the pistol," Horton says. "Yeah, I do," Norris replies. "And I'll be hanging on to both, if none of you mind." "Do we have a choice?" Asanabe asks. "Do any of us really?" Norris answers. Then she looks at the table. "Whose deal?" "Yours," Dunn says quietly. "Hold on," Asanabe says, and slaps his hand on the discard pile before Norris can gather them up. "Who gets their stacks?"

"We divide it," Dunn says. "No, no, that won't work," Wharton objects. "The point is for all but one to lose." Dean was down to almost nothing after that. Carlos was the big winner and probably would have lasted until the final hand with the stack he won. "If we just divide it, then all that does is prolong the hell we're in. Take their chips out of play," Nora suggests and looks about the table. "We play the stacks we have right now.

"Sounds fair," Horton says. "Everyone okay with that?" "Okay," Dunn says. "Whatever," Asanabe says. "Good." Norris says, then stares at Horton. "Your hand is on the cards." "Right," Horton says, and withdraws his hand. "Sorry."

Norris gathers all the cards and shuffles while Hasanabi removes Gutierrez and Skerritt's chips from the table by scooping them into his shirt. He walks a few feet away and dumps them on an empty couch. "Did you nick some?" Dunn asks Hasanabi when he returns to the table. "Have I ever said how much I don't like you?" Hasanabi replies. "All the fucking time," Dunn says. "Andy up," Norris orders.

Slowly, the remaining players each toss in a white chip. Norris deals, sets the deck aside, then picks up her two cards and looks at them. "Fold," Dunn says immediately. "You didn't even look at your cards," Horton says. "You only lose the hands you play," Dunn says. "I fold." "Fine," Norris says, and reaches across the table to take Dunn's cards. She throws them to the side, starting the discard pile. "Assan, it's your bet."

Asanabe looks at his cards, looks around the table at the chips each player has remaining, looks back at his cards, then throws out two blue chips. "Fifty," he says. "Call," Horton says. "Call," Norris adds. She burns and turns, as the saying goes. Three cards stare up at everyone. "Well, fuck me," Horton says as he looks at the three twos that sit there in the middle of the table: spades, clubs, and diamonds.

"Makes things interesting," Norris says. "Makes things shitty," Hasanabi counters. Norris says to Hasanabi, "Hundred," Hasanabi says and throws in his stack of four blues. "Fold," Horton says and mucks his cards. "Fold," Norris says and matches Hasanabi's bet. She burns and turns. "Eight of spades," she announces. "A sign?" The man looks down at his chips.

He scrunches up his face, shakes his head, and nods. "Quit it with the internal dialogue and fucking bet!" Norris snaps. "Chill, Maddy," Horton says. Norris rolls her eyes. "All in," Asanabe says, his voice cracking on the word "in." "Call," Norris says. "Let's see them." Asanabe flips over his cards. A pair of aces. "Damn," Dunn says.

"Nice hole," Norris says then flips her cards over. A three of hearts and the two of hearts. "No fucking way," Horton says. "Shit," Dunn adds. Hasanabe stares and stares. Then he stands up, looks at everyone, and bolts from the lounge. "No!" Norris yells. She jumps to her feet and sprints from the lounge, leaving Horton and Dunn sitting there. "We don't actually have to do this," Dunn says after a minute or two.

A gunshot rings out from somewhere in the ship. "She's gonna catch one from a ricochet," Orton says. "Did you hear me, Mark?" Dunn asks. Another gunshot rings out. "There are only so many rounds in that magazine," Orton says. "God damn it, Mark. I'm talking to you." Dunn snaps. "I fucking know, asshole," Orton replies. "I heard you."

You said we don't have to do this, but you're fucking wrong, Bruce. We do have to do this. It gives one person about two weeks of food and water. If the survivor is smart, then they can get water from all the condensation on this fucking ship. Drip, drip. That's the sound of life. But it's just three of us now, Dunn argues. Three, Mark. We could live for a week if we ration properly.

"We've been rationing properly for weeks now," Orton counters. "And this is where we're at. Someone will find us," Dunn says. "There are ships all over the ocean." Orton opens his mouth, closes it. He opens it again, closes it again. Then he leans his elbows on the table and looks directly at Dunn. "Our emergency beacon is toast," he says. "The comms are dead. The water is glass out there.

We are probably 300 miles from a decent current that will allow us to drift into a shipping lane. If the stars are right, we're 500 miles from the salvage site. Should I keep going? We're missing, Dunn says. Someone will come looking. Where though? Horton says. We never filed a plan. This was a treasure salvage, Bruce. Secrecy is kind of the point.

Dunn shakes his head over and over and over, then slams his hands down on the table, sending chips bouncing down onto the floor. "Shit!" Dunn says, and gets down on his hands and knees to pick the chips up. "What are you doing?" Norris asks from the lounge's doorway.

I knocked some chips off the table, Dunn says, reaching for a blue chip next to a table leg. Whose chips are they? Norris asks. They were in the pot, Horton says. So they're mine, Norris says. You're picking up my chips, Dunn pauses. He looks up over his shoulder at Horton. Horton frowns down at him then looks over at Norris. Sure, they're yours, Horton says. No one is arguing that. Bruce was just picking them up.

"And if I hadn't showed up, I wonder where those chips would have gone," Norris says, and crosses the lounge. Norton and Dunn share a look. The fact Norris is still holding the 45 is not lost on either of them. Dunn slowly gets to his feet. "I got mad and hit the table," Dunn says as he places the chips on the table then sits down. "I was just picking them up." "He didn't answer my question," Norris says. "If I hadn't shown up, where would those chips have gone?"

"Back into the pod, Maddy," Horton says and nods at her seat. "Sit down and let's play." Norris doesn't sit down. "I don't think so," Norris says. "I heard you two talking." "You were standing out there and listening?" Dunn asks. "I thought you were chasing." "Finish your sentence," Norris says. "You know what I was going to say," Dunn responds. "And I want to hear you say it," Norris says.

"Why is it the cook goes batshit crazy?" Horton asks. Norris whips her head in his direction. "What did you just say?" Norris snarls. "Calm the fuck down, Matty!" Horton shouts. Norris actually takes a step back from the force of his voice. "What did you hear, huh?" Horton asks. "Two scared assholes talking about how they don't want to die, yet there aren't any good choices in that department? Did you hear how Bruce really wants to live?"

Did you hear how I said, "What do you mean the cook is always the one to go batshit crazy?" Norris interrupts. "You think I'm crazy?" "I think we're all a little mad," Horton replies. "But I've been on enough ships where a cook loses his or her shit. Things get bad fast. I'm just laughing at the fact that yet another cook is going cuckoo. And I get to witness it."

"I'm not crazy," Norris says. "Of course you aren't," Horton replies. "Fuck you!" Norris snaps. "Fuck you too, Maddy!" Horton responds, then nods at her seat. "You gonna sit down and play or what?" Norris clucks her tongue a few times, then rolls her shoulders and nods. She takes her seat. "What, um, happened?" Dunn asks. "What do you mean?" Norris asks. "What do you think happened?"

"I didn't hear any gunshot from up top," Dunn says. "I caught him down below," Norris says. "I'll deal with it later." "Speaking of deal," Horton says in a raised voice, "Your deal, Bruce. Where's his body?" Dunn asks, ignoring Horton.

"What does it matter?" Norton asks. "It matters, because if you lose then we'll be hunting for a rotting corpse all over the ship," Dunn says. "So I'd like to know where it is, in case you win," Norris says. "Yeah, in case I fucking win," Dunn says. "Where's the body?" "Let it go and deal, Bruce," Horton says, and slaps the deck of cards in front of Dunn's chips. "Shuffle first."

"Why won't you tell us where Hassan is?" Dunn asks, turning to Horton. "It doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things," Horton says. "What does matter is you dealing so we can get this show on the road. The longer we wait, the harder this will get." Dunn glares down at the cards. Then he picks them up and angrily deals two cards to each player. "Ante," Dunn snaps and tosses in a white chip.

Norris and Horton follow suit, with Norris staring at Dunn the entire time. "Burning a card," Dunn announces and does so. Then he flips over three cards face up. Ace of spades, ace of hearts, queen of clubs. "All in," Dunn says, and shoves his chips into the pot. "Not your fucking turn," Horton says. "It's mine, Bruce. Then Maddy's."

"You wanted the show on the road," Dunn snaps. "This is the show on the road, all fucking in." "Call," Norris says, and shoves her stack in the middle. "Fucking shit, it's not your bet either," Horton shouts at Norris. Norris shrugs. "I fucking fold," Horton says. "I have shit cards anyway," he mucks his hand. "Let's see your cards," Norris says to Dunn. Dunn grins and flips over his two cards.

Ace of diamonds and king of hearts, Dunn says. Three of a kind, king high, Horton says. Norris flips her cards over. Dunn gasps. Horton closes his eyes and shakes his head. When he opens his eyes, he says, Bull house, aces over queens. The ace of clubs and queen of diamonds. Bruce needs a king to take it, Horton says. Stop narrating, Dunn growls.

Horton pauses a second, looks at Norris, then looks at Dunn. Horton flips over the seven of clubs, then burns another card and flips over the river, two of clubs, and goes to Maddy. Horton says quietly, "I don't want her to do it," Dunn says, shaking his head over and over, the glint of tears tracing lines down his gaunt face. A memory of Captain Taos, laughing in the galley during a long-ago storm, flashes through his mind.

The taste of salt, sea or sweat, he couldn't tell. Burns his cracked lips. "I just can't let it end like this. You do it, Mark. I don't want her to." "I have the gun!" Norris says. "Then give Horton the fucking gun!" Dunn shouts as he lurches up out of the chair. "Give Mark the fucking gun so he can do it! Fuck! Give me the gun and I'll do it myself! I just don't want you doing it, Norris!" "And why is that?" Norris asks.

"Guys, please!" Horton pleads. "Shut up, Mark!" Norris says. "I want to hear what the captain has to say." "You like it," Dunn says as he leans across the table and stares into Norris' eyes. "I can see it. Right there in that look. Horton was half joking about crazy cooks. But right now, I'm not. You actually like getting to kill us." "No, I don't," Norris says.

Horton leans back in his seat and looks up at the ceiling. "Fuckin' shut up, both of you," Horton says. Then he looks at Dunn. "I'm not shooting you, Bruce. I can't shoot you or anybody. I realize that now. Norris has to do it." "Are you fuckin' jokin' with this shit?" Dunn says. Norris pulls out the .45, but doesn't aim it at Dunn. "Don't run," she says.

"I'm not going to run." Dunn responds then sighs. "I just don't want you doing it." "Then I won't." Norris says and stands up. "You can jump." "What?" Dunn and Horton ask at the same time. "I'll walk you to the top deck and you can jump overboard." Norris says. "If you don't want to be shot, then that's probably the best option." "The fall may not kill me." Dunn says. "But it'll sure as fuck snap your fucking legs." Horton says and stares at Norris.

And then he drowns, Norris says. Problem solved. No, the problem is solved by you giving me the gun so I can shoot myself, Dunn says. I want to go out my way.

"That's not what we all agreed on," Norris says. "Neither is jumping overboard," Wharton adds, then holds his hands up. "Just saying. We also agreed that the captain would be the one pulling the trigger," Norris says with a snort. "How'd that work out, huh? No. No way I'm giving Bruce the gun back. Not when he's basically calling me a serial killer."

"That's not what I said," Dunn replies. "You said I like killing," Norris snaps. "Not that what you said fucking matters anyway. You just want the gun, so you can put a bullet in my head, then in Horton's head instead of getting one in yours." "Bullshit," Dunn says. "No, I lost fair and square. I'll do my part. Again, bullshit," Norris says. She stands up and gestures toward the door with the .45. "Let's go, Bruce."

Dunn shakes his head, over and over and over. "Not her," he says then looks at Horton. "Mark, please take the gun from her. I want you to do it." "We just went through this, man," Horton says, his eyes going from Dunn to the 45 and back. "I'm not your guy. I'm not even sure I can pull the trigger when I win." "If you win," Norris says. "If

"When?" Horton insists. "You're good, Maddy, but not good enough to beat me heads up. I'm going to break you eventually." "Is that so?" Norris asks, and the .45 swings just a fraction of an inch in Horton's direction. "See!" Dunn shouts. "She's threatening you with it!"

"What? I was just turning to talk to him," Norris says. "She'll kill me, then she'll come straight for you, Mark," Dunn says to Horton. "The only way you live is if you shoot me so you have the gun." "Then what stops Mark from shooting me?" Norris asks. "I'll hang on to it, thank you."

"Guys, stop it," Horton says. "Just stop, please. This shit is excruciating as it is. Don't make it harder." Horton sighs and rubs at his face. "Roos, you lost," Horton says to Dunn. "Norris, you have the gun, which puts you at an advantage. What are you going to do? Are you going to shoot both of us?" "I won't shoot you, Mark," Norris says. Horton studies Norris' face for a moment, then nods.

"See, Bruce? I believe her," Horton says and tries to smile. "Crazy cook or not?" The joke falls flat. "I'm sorry," Dunn says. "I don't believe her." Then Dunn rushes at Norris. The poker table is between them, but that doesn't deter Dunn. He dives across the table, sending cards and chips flying in every direction, his arms out, reaching for the .45. The gunshot is deafening in the lounge's small space.

Horton cries out and jumps back from the table. Norris only stands there as she stares down at Dunn's almost headless corpse. "He came for me," Norris says to Horton. "You saw it!" "He was scared," Horton says when he gets his voice back. "He lost," Norris says. "I was supposed to shoot him anyway. I didn't do anything wrong." "I know," Horton says, his eyes on Dunn's bloody corpse draped across the table. "I don't think we can keep playing."

"No, we can keep playing," Norris says. "There's a fresh deck by the TV." "But the chips are all over the place," Horton says. "One hand," Norris says. "High hand wins. No chips needed." "We might as well just flip a coin," Horton responds. Norris shrugs. "Oh, shit," Horton says. "A coin flip? Really?" "Really," Norris says. "Except I don't have a coin."

She walks over to the TV and fetches the fresh deck of cards. She tosses it to Horton. "Shuffle and deal," she says, still holding the 45. Horton caught the deck, the slickness of his palms staining the cards with damp fingerprints. The metallic groan of the ship reverberated through the floor, a low, mournful sound that seemed to echo Dunn's lifeless stare.

He glanced around the room, where shadows clung like silent witnesses, waiting for their turn to claim the next soul. He sees the rows of TV trays folded against the wall and then aims his chin at them. "Grab a tray," he says to Norris as he opens the deck of cards. Norris grabs a tray and sets it up in the middle of the lounge. Orton takes a deep breath, lets it out, then walks to the tray.

He shuffles several times, then sets the deck on the TV tray. "Cut," he says to Horton. Norris cuts the deck. Horton puts the deck back together, then deals two cards each. "Might as well flip them," Horton says. Norris shrugs and flips her cards over. A jack of spades and a ten of spades. "Nice," Horton says, then flips his. A king of hearts and a king of diamonds. "Nice, sir," Norris says.

"It's all in the flop," Orton says and burns a card before flipping over three. "You know, technically, we should burn three cards before the flop." "We've never played that way on this ship," Norris says, staring at the flop. Eight of spades, seven of spades, king of spades. "Fuck," Orton says as he stares at the cards that make Norris's flush. "Good flop for you. Not bad for you either," Norris says. "One card from a full house.

"We'll see," Wharton says. He burns and turns. Four of spades. "Just rub it in, why don't ya?" Wharton mutters. He burns another card, then turns the river. Eight of hearts. "Oh fuck," Wharton says. "I... I did it! I fucking won!" He throws the rest of the cards in the air and raises his arms. "I fucking won that shit!" he shouts. "Yes!"

Then he sees Norris staring at him, the .45 up and aimed in his direction. Horton slowly holds his hands out. "The gun, please," he says, his voice shaky. Norris doesn't move. "Maddy, we all swore an oath," Horton says, and stretches his hand out more. "The gun, please. This sucks," Norris says. Then she flips the gun around and holds it out, grip first. "I told you I wouldn't shoot you, Mark.

"I know," Horton says as Norris steps toward him. "Thank you, but I really don't want to die," Norris says. "I know. I get it," Horton says. He takes a step toward Norris and reaches for the gun. He doesn't see the swing until it's too late. "Fuck!" he cries out as the grip of the .45 slams into the side of his head. Horton falls to his knees as blood pours from his scalp.

He looks up to see Norris ready for another swing. "Maddy, no!" Then it all goes black. When Horton comes to, he knows three things. The first is, he is still alive. The second is, he can't see shit. The third is, he is not alone. "Who's there?" Horton asks as he hears breathing. "Me." A voice replies. "The sun?" Horton exclaims. "You're still alive?" "Yeah." Asanabe says.

That bitch shot me in the leg then knocked me cold. Orton frowns in the pitch darkness, confused. There's a rattle and then light floods into the space. Orton realizes he and Hasanabe are being hung from the ceiling of the walk-in cooler by their hands. With no power, the cooler is far from cool and the place stinks of blood. A person stands in the walk-in doorway.

"Maddy?" Horton asks. "I told you I wouldn't shoot you," Norris says as she props the walk-in door open, then steps inside and grabs something below Horton. He gags when he sees that it's Gutierrez's corpse.

Norris pulls the corpse out into the main kitchen and manages to get it up onto a stainless steel table, all in full view of the walk-in. "I said eating you would bother me, so I really didn't want to do any of this," Norris says when she finally gets Gutierrez's body settled on the table. "But what we want to do and what we have to do are two different things, right?" She leaves Horton's view, then returns with a huge, blood-stained meat cleaver.

"I need to get them butchered and cooked right away before they spoil," Norris says. "They?" Orton asks quietly. "She already butchered Dunn and Skerritt," Asanabe says. "I have Skerritt packed in salt," Norris says. The meat cleaver comes down fast and hard. "Dunn and Gutierrez I'll take up top and cook them over open flame," Norris says. "I told you I can clean and dress a human corpse." Orton would throw up if he had anything in his stomach.

"But Adi, you can't do this," Horton says. "You can't kill us." "I have no plans to kill you," Norris says, eyes flicking from the meat cleaver to the sweat-slick walls. Her fingers tap a silent beat against her thigh, a rhythm only she seems to hear. "Hasan probably won't last more than a day or two unless I cauterize his wound."

The tourniquet has stopped the bleeding, but it won't stop the rot from setting in," she adds, almost wistfully, as if recalling an old lesson learned long ago. "Fuck you, bitch," Asanabe says. "If you aren't going to kill us, then why are we here?" Horton asks. "Why bother keeping us alive at all? The point was for one person to live off the rations. She's not going to feed us the rations, Mark," Asanabe says. "We aren't prisoners. We're livestock.

"She's going to keep us each alive for as long as possible, because there's no refrigeration." "What does refrigeration have to do with..." Horton asks, then stops. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!" He watches in horror as Norris makes quick work of Gutierrez's corpse. Then she packs up the butchered body parts into a tote and leaves the kitchen. "She's going to keep us alive so we don't spoil? Is that what you're saying?" Horton asks.

"I'm guessing that's the plan," Asanabe says. "But we're starving to death," Orton says. "How will she keep us alive if she doesn't share the rations?" "Yeah," Asanabe says. "I think she has a plan for that." "What do you mean?" Orton asks. "Stop playing stupid and think!" Asanabe snaps. "Sorry, but I just woke up to all this fucking bullshit," Orton yells. "I haven't had time to think.

"Let me lay it out for you," Asanabe says with a pained laugh. "I don't want to cauterize my leg because I want it to spoil. I want my whole fucking body to get septic and be inedible so she can't eat me." He pauses and swallows hard. "And so she can't fucking feed me to you when I do die, Mark?" "Oh, fuck," Orton says. "You get it now?" Asanabe asks.

"She's gonna feed some of the others to us, so we stay alive as long as possible," Horton says. "Yeah," Hasanabe says. "Fucking fun, right?" "No way," Horton says. "There's no way I'll eat a fucking bite." His stomach growls loudly, and Hasanabe laughs. "I keep thinking the same thing," Hasanabe says. The two men hang in the walk-in and wait. Their only view: a stainless steel table coated in blood and meat scraps.

Horton isn't sure if he dozes or not, but he is sure that when the smell hits him, his entire body comes alive with desire. Then Norris comes back into sight. She's holding a tray in her hands and it is stacked high with grilled meat. "Who wants some first?" she asks. "I went Texas style and used only a salt and pepper rub. This flatter is done. I still have a few minutes on Gutierrez."

"You can fuck off and die before you feed me any of that!" Asanabe screams. "I know," Norris says. "I won't even bother with you. We'll see what I can salvage when you die, but I'm not going to waste any of this perfectly good meat on you." She moves into the walk-in, and the smell of meat is overpowering. Horton's mouth waters uncontrollably. "I think Mark is the hungriest anyway," Norris says, setting the tray of meat on one of the walk-in shelves.

She spears a hunk of charred flesh with a fork and walks over to Horton. Horton's stomach growls so loud that the sound echoes around the walk-in. Norris smiles. "That's what I thought," Norris says and places the meat to Horton's mouth. "Open wide," Horton does.