It was getting dark now, the grey clouds which once covered a bright sky were now barely visible past the immense blackness above. Sam was leaned back against the furthest edge of the ship, resting on the outer barrier, a long stream of smoke rising from the orange glow of his cigarette. The main bulk of the crew were gathered around the giant net trap in the centre of the main deck, waiting for the crane to heave up the final catch of sea life for the night. Their forms barely visible through the dense walls of fog which had begun to creep in from the horizon.
An excitement had been echoing throughout the crew the past few hours, the way the trip had gone so far, they were on a real good run for an early return home. Could even end up getting home a few weeks earlier than usual if things kept going how they were. Fishing in most cases was a game of luck. Whether your on a sea shore fishing with a single rod, or your out at sea for months at a time heaving tons of fish out from the ocean, trying to catch as many as possible. Both are completely luck based. And Sam supposed, luck was on their side so far.
Only a week in and they had already caught just about half of what their higher ups expect as a minimum upon arrival back at the docks in England. At this point near enough every batch of fish heaved out from the ocean has been so densely packed most the men expected the trap itself to rip and tear, sending all the fish spiralling back into their rightful home below the surface of the sea.
Sam took a few more deep drags of his cigarette before throwing it overboard and walking back over towards where the other men had gathered.
“Start the crane”, he heard Dean shout from the top of his lungs, fighting to be heard over the quickly rising winds. Almost as soon as the words fell from his mouth, the sound of heavy machinery and giant twisting gears rumbled from the small cane set up next to the trap. Then the cord connecting the trap and the crane together tightened as an unimaginable weight bore down onto it. Again, it was undoubtedly another huge catch. Sam quickly rushed over before the higher ups noticed his absence.
When he finally arrived he swiftly pushed past the large group of men piled around the crane, then glared down into the expansive black abyss which stared back up at him from its humble place deep below them. As he did so he saw the trap slowly emerging from the dense blackness, breaking the surface with a sudden rush of foaming white waves. Only the bright glow of thousands of eyes could be seen, as the moon reflected within them, making the black ocean below look more like a nights sky, full to the brim with brightly burning stars.
“What a fucking catch” Dean roared in excitement. Followed by an avalanche of screams and cheers. Sam remained silent. Though he undeniably felt the rush of excitement boiling up within him. He’d been doing this shit long enough to know the kind of luck the crew were currently experiencing was next to impossible. This was made even more abundantly clear with Dean’s expressed happiness. Dean never expressed any kind of emotion, he’s about as professional as it gets. An ex marine with over 20 years of service under his belt. He’s given a task, he completes it. Simple as that. No bullshit. But now he was acting more like a giddy kid who just touched his first pair of tits.
“We keep going like this lads we’ll be back home in no time”, another voice roared from the crowd.
“Yeah, straight back to doing the dishes for your husband”, another voice snickered in reply, followed by a rowdy army of laughter. Soon enough the whole trap was elevated above the crashing waves below, hanging like a giant bee hive from the crane. Thousands of fish flopped around in unison as the unavoidable stench of fish and rot emitted itself into the surrounding fog. One of newer recruits onboard hunched over and threw up down the edge of the ship.
“Come on people let’s get to work and sort this shit out so we can get some fucking sleep”, Dean smiled, before walking up to meet with James who was operating the crane just metres away from the catch.
“Almost too good to be true” Hank laughed placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder.
“How you been Hank”, Sam smiled turning to face his old friend.
“Good good, finally got a chance to come down on deck. Been sorting some shit out with the cap”.
Sam nodded his head. “Cap must be over the moon with how the past few weeks been going”.
“He’s a lot more than over the moon mate” he laughed, exhaling a heavy breath of smoke. “Considering how out last trip went, he might as well be in heaven”.
“Last trip was barely a fucking trip in the first place”, Sam replied, grabbing hold of a number of ropes and coils before latching them onto the large net trap which hung only a few metres away from where they stood. “How’s your family been though mate”. No reply came. Sam continued to make a series of tight knots in the rope before repeating himself.
“Han…”
“Do you see that”, he asked quickly, pointing out towards the net trap, cutting Sam off.
“See what?”
“That thing in the trap”.
Sam glared deeply into the mountain of fish, trying to look for anything that looked out of the ordinary. “What thing in the trap?”
“I see it too, what is that”, another voice muttered from the crowd.
“Look Sam, towards the bottom” Hank said, coming in close and pointing out towards a strange shape poking out from below the net.
“What the fuck?” Sam whispered. “What is that?”
“It looks like a box”.
“It looks like a chest”. Silence followed. Before Hank made a reply.
“It is a chest… Like a fucking treasure chest”. His voice seamlessly went from a 40 year old man, to the voice of a 10 year child in only a few seconds. Anyone who grew up reading treasure island would understand this kind of childish excitement at the prospect of a some hidden treasure.
“I don’t reckon so Hank”.
“How do you know? We’re out in the middle of the ocean Sam, chests don’t just float around in the middle of the ocean”.
“Lots of shit floats around in the ocean these days”, Sam shrugged.
“Not fucking chests though”, Hank argued, slowly working on his own set of ropes, ensuring to tightly knot each one.”
“What’s going on over there?” Dean called from beyond the dense walls of fog which suffocated its path.
“There’s something in the trap”, Hank shouted back.
“What do you mean? Like a fucking megladon?”
“No not a fucking megladon Dean – it looks like a chest”. A long silence followed. Before the rattling of metal indicated he was making his way back down from the small crane.
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“What?”, he repeated.
“A chest mate”.
Dean broke through the thick fog, shielding his face with an upheld arm and walked directly past the bulk of the crew and over to where Sam and Hank stood. Various ropes tied perfectly into strong knots hung loosely from their arms.
“Look down towards the bottom of the trap, you'll see it as clear as day, poking out past all the fish”, Sam said, pointing out towards the hanging trap.
“A fucking chest”, Dean muttered under his breath before making his way over to the opening and glaring directly up at the net trap. Sure enough, poking out from the surrounding nets and ropes, was a large wooden chest; barely visible past the fog filled darkness which drowned out everything surrounding them. A brief silence followed in which a large number of men began to shift left to right unsure as to what to do or say.
“What should we do?”, Peter asked from amongst the crowd. Finally breaking the silence. He was young, about 19. This was his first big trip out at sea. He wasn't really taking it all that well.
“Well what do you think”, Dean roared to no one in particular. “Take it out of the trap and the captain can decide what we do from there”.
It took the crew collectively over an hour to get the chest out of the trap, which was a very tedious task indeed. Especially when trying to insure you don’t lose any fish in the process. Though, with some solid work, the chest was successfully removed. The stench was indescribable. Like an army of decaying corpses were slowly melting away within its putrid walls. In all the 30 years Sam had been working out at sea, including 15 years in the navy. He had never smelt anything like it. Ever. Most the crew had thrown up what little food they had digested throughout the day. One lad even passed out from the stench. Though he was up close to it. Touched it even. No one else dared. From the smell most expected it to hold a dismembered body of some sort. Some long since forgotten murder victim dumbed in some river probably hundreds or even thousands of miles away; Which had somehow over the years found its way out into the middle of the ocean. The others, including Hank, believed whole heartedly we had stumbled upon an old treasure. And to be honest, the chest did look the part. It must have been at least 5 foot in length, about 4 feet high. Steel rimmed frame with thick wooden walls which had been lined with a series of old rusting locks and bolts. Which then connected to a rusty, thick chain which wrapped around its body dozens of times. Whoever the chest once belonged too; they didn’t want anyone getting inside of it. That much was abundantly clear.
***
Captain Gino stood narrow eyed before his crew, his gaze travelling from them, to the chest, then back to them again. At this point it was well passed midnight, and everyone was shattered and shaking violently from the unnatural chill in the air.
“Well…”, he began, clearing his throat. “I cant say in my 50 years of running this ship we have ever had this kind of luck on our side. The fish alone is enough for us to sit back and enjoy a few nice cold glasses of whiskey – but the chest, well… If it does contain some old ‘treasure’ like some of you believe, we could be in for a real good year lads”. He walked over to the chest and laid his hand across its splintered surface. Sam was surprised his nose didn’t melt off from the sheer stench it held.
‘With this being said I don’t want anyone tampering with it under any circumstances, and I mean anyone, including myself, and including anyone else planning on unlocking it… It stays locked and sealed as it is’. His blue eyes glared throughout his men, his ageing face wearing a mask of pure professionalism and seriousness. “Am I understood?”.
“Yes sir”, the men said in unison.
“Good – now I want this thing moved down into the storage room, there it will stay until we reach the docks back in England”, his hand adjusted against the chest to help support his weight. “If this thing does contain treasure, which seems quite unlikely. Even when considering how well sealed it is. I will ensure any money that is received from it, is shared out throughout all of your wages. Though, it’s not promised we will receive anything for it even if it is some hundred year old, long lost treasure”, he paused to catch his breath. “Either way, we are not to tamper with it in any way”.
“Bullshit” Buck muttered under his breath. A brief silence followed, in which every man on the ship turned to face him.
“What was that Buck?” The captain growled, his glare meeting with his.
“Well…”, he paused, carefully picking his words. “We found it so I think we should have all the right to open it up and ensure we at least get a little bit out of it”.
The captain smiled. “Have you forgotten who is in charge of this ship?”
“No captain not at all – but surely you see where I’m coming from, were the ones that dragged it out of the fucking ocean in the first place”.
“I don’t give a fuck if you dove down and dragged the fucking thing out of the ocean yourself – its on my fucking ship, and like everything else onboard, I have the final say on what is or isn’t done with it”. He paused before resuming, controlling his sudden anger. “Cheeky fucking cunt – anyone else have anything to add”. The ship remained perfectly still and silent.
“Good – now like I was saying I want it moved down to the storage room where it will remain untouched for the remainder of our trip. Once its been moved, I’ve ensured there’s a nice batch of whiskey and cigarettes to be shared out to everyone for the night”.
Undoubtedly many men onboard agreed with Buck, if it was ancient fortune why shouldn’t they be able to take at least a little bit from it, just to ensure they get at least something. Its just that Buck’s the only one stupid enough to challenge the captains authority. And the captain will remember that for the rest of his days. Buck was a good enough man, likeable for the most part. He was the crews cleaner and always had a steady supply of cigarettes at his disposal. In fact, its likely Buck made more money from selling cigarettes onboard than he did from his actual wage. A good little side hustle.
Once the captain had finished his speech, Sam, Hank and James were nominated to move the heavy chest from its place on the upper deck, all the way down into the storage room two floors down. Passing two big flights of stairs along the way. At one point James’ ankle was almost completely snapped. When Hank lost his grip on the chest and it slammed down onto the lower step. The same step James had his feet balancing on. Luckily it didn’t fall the rest of the way down the stairs, if that had, James would have been crushed to death by the rotting thing. But everyone managed to regain a good grip on it before it had the chance to start falling. Other than that the transportation of the chest wasn't very eventful. Just some serious grafting. By the time they had finally set the thing up between an array of old boxes and tools in the storage room, it was nearly half 3 in the morning. Everyone else onboard had drank their whiskey, and fell peacefully asleep. Though, the captain had ensured a few packs of cigarettes and a small bottle of whiskey was left out for each of them individually. One thing was certainly undeniable about the captain; He cared about his men. When they had finally made their way back to the upper deck, James decided to stay behind to have a few cigarettes with Buck, who was still wondering around ensuring everything was set up ready for the next day. Sam and Hank had retreated back down to their beds almost as soon as they grabbed their gifts. Bodies warmed from the whiskey.
“What do you think about all this shit?”, Hank huffed between deep drags of his cigarette.
“About what?” James replied.
“About the chest”.
“Yeah what about it?”
“Well – Don’t you think we should be able to open it?”
James shrugged, leaning back against the wall behind him. “I don’t think it matters if I’m being honest with you mate”.
“You don’t think it matters?” Hank paused while stubbing out his fag. “What if it is some lost treasure? A fortune beyond anyone's imagination. The amount of money that could be made from it. Your telling me it wouldn't bother you if we walked away with nothing from it at all?”
“Can we stop with these fucking rhetorical questions Hank mate, it’s nearly 4 in the morning and my mind needs some fucking peace and quiet”. James pulled out his flask, and took a healthy swig of whiskey, warming his belly almost instantly.
“Your in the wrong place if you want some peace and quiet my friend”.
“You can say that again – Especially with your chatting shit all the time”.
They both laughed at that; Keeping their hands stuffed in their thick coat pockets to help shield them from the icy cold air.
“But look Hank I’m fucking shattered, so I’m gonna go try get some sleep – I’d recommend you do the same”.
Hank laughed. “I got a few more things to finish up and then I’m going straight to my bed, believe that”.
“Alright mate, stay safe up here” James said, holding his thumb up as he began walking towards the stair case which led down to the bunks. The shadows seemed to swallow him whole as he took the last turn out of sight, leaving only darkness in his place. Hank pulled out another cigarette, before grabbing his lighter from his side pocket. He had a plan. Stupid or not. He’s mind had already been decided on the matter. Lighting his fag, Hank began to walk back towards the staircase which led to the lower levels of the ship. Being careful to avoid the first and last step, which both sported various outward poking nails, which if you not careful enough, would tear straight through your foot. Then he took a hard left leading to another set of stairs. He was going to the storage room.