George Ryan came awake when he hit the floor.
In his ears, there was a phone ringing and ringing.
He opened his eyes slowly, wondering vaguely in the back of his mind who could possibly be calling at this time of night and what the hell he was doing on the floor. Then he came fully awake and felt the heave of the ship and realized where he was. The second thing he realized was that something was wrong. Dangerously wrong.
He could hear men shouting above the damned ringing.
Cushing was shaking Soltz. “Wake up, dammit!” he was shouting. “Fire! There’s a fire on board!”
George was on his feet then, mechanically pulling on his boots and pants and sweater. He slid his slicker on over this and finally sleep was slapped from his brain and reality insinuated.
“What? What’s going on?” Soltz said.
“Fire,” Cushing said as calmly as possible. But his voice wavered, trembled with anything but calm. “Fire… I think we’re on fire.. . we hit something…”
But by then, they could already feel the uncomfortable list to port. Smell something like smoke.
“What happened?” George asked.
“Hell if I know,” Cushing admitted. “I came awake hanging out of my fucking bunk, hearing that goddamn alarm. I heard someone shouting fire. We better get on deck.”
Soltz moved quickly then. Much quicker than either man could’ve imagined he’d move. By the time they’d gathered themselves together, Soltz was fully dressed and had his suitcase in hand.
“Jesus, nobody said we were sinking,” George said.
“I’m not leaving this behind. All my things are in here.”
Saks was barreling up the corridor as they went out. He looked angry. Maybe frightened, too, but probably just angry that he was frightened. He was carrying a heap of life jackets. “Put these on,” he said, throwing the life vests to the floor.
“Is it that bad?” Cushing asked.
“Come on, you dumb shits,” he snapped, “unless you wanna be toast.”
George looked up in the rafters, the survival suits hanging there. They could keep a man afloat and warm for days, it was claimed. “The suits…”
“Fuck the suits,” Saks said. “Now move!”
The corridor was filling with smoke. It was more of a mist than anything, but it was getting heavier by the moment. The air had an awful scorched, acrid stink to it.
They followed Saks up to the deck, donning the vests as they went.
“What happened?” Cushing asked.
“Are we sinking?” Soltz wanted to know. “Are the lifeboats ready?”
“Barge slammed into us, slammed into us hard. We’re taking on water,” Saks said. “Fucking barge tore into the forward hold, lit up that diesel fuel in there. Amidships and forward hold are an inferno. The rest of those drums go and…”
He didn’t need to say more. They could pretty much envision what it would be like sitting on a stick of dynamite.
The first explosion rang out when they reached deck.