My heart is racing. The bullets are still being shot, just barely missing my head. I am running parallel to a pier. I hear their shouts to each other. I pray my footing is true. My vision is going blurry. My lungs are screaming for air. My left foot steps on something hard. I scream out in pain. I stumble and fall. I grab my foot and find a shard of green glass. Pulling it out I drag myself to my feet and begin running again. The men are much closer now. I look back and can make out their faces.

My foot is in so much agonizing pain. Blood is leaking out causing my footing to become slippery. I can’t keep this up. Looking back I see the men just a few feet behind me. Up ahead I see large barrel of something. Maybe if I knock it over it will slow them down. I run just a little to the right and ram my shoulder into one of the supports for the barrel. I don’t look to see if my desperate attempt worked.

I hear a loud crash followed by multiple lines of swearing. I keep running. I can see that I am coming close to the end of the pier. My only hope of escape is to jump into the frigid waters of the ocean, and swim to escape my pursuers. My vision is fading when I jump. The water crashes into my body like that of a strong blizzard wind. “Just keep moving. Don’t stop.” I urge myself on through chattering teeth.

I hear the loud horn of a tanker carrier to my right. I can see that it is casting off. With the last of my might I begin to swim towards the tanker. My plan is to climb aboard and hide from the angry men who want me dead. I reach the tanker just as the last chain is being pulled upward into the ship. I flop my arms over the barnacle infested metal, and I am pulled from the icy water. Looking toward the pier I see the men flashing their lights toward the spot of my jumping. They fire shots into the water hoping they will hit me.

As I am pulled higher over the waves my grip on the anchor begins to slip. I try desperately to hold on, for if I don’t I will die. Just as I feel I can no longer stay on, the anchor is pulled into the belly of the ship. In a wet heap I fall to the hard and rusty floor. My aching muscles don’t allow me to move any more than into a ball on the floor. The last thing I hear is the casting off horn of the tanker as I am lulled into an exhausted sleep and the vibration of the tanker moving.

I am awoken by the strange sound of men talking in an Irish accent. I keep my eyes closed and listen to their conversation, being careful not to show signs of my consciousness. “I found the lass asleep in a shivering and blue ‘eap on the floor in the engine room.” I heard one man say.

“How did she find ‘erself on the ship in the first place?” another man asked.

“Musta come up with the anchor.” said the first man.

I felt a stethoscope put to my chest. The unexpected contact made me flinch. Knowing that I could no longer fake sleeping I opened my eyes to a harsh bright light bearing down on me. “Ah our little stowaway be awake.” said a man with a bright red beard speckled with gray hairs. “Me name be Doctor Branson. What be yers me lass?”.

“My name is Irean Mason.” I said with a sore throat.