Hamish X Goes to Providence Rhode Island by Sean Cullen Page A

and four children prying at the bridge hatchway with a long metal bar. As they approached, the bar slipped and rattled to the deck. Thomas kicked the door in frustration.
    â€œDarn it! The door is so bent in its frame it’s wedged shut. We won’t be able to get it open without some explosives. We’ll never get in now.”
    â€œThat’s the least of our worries,” Maggie said. “There’s only one lifeboat. The rest are junk. There’s no way we’ll get all of us off the boat before we crash into those rocks. Captain Ironbuttocks can rot in there for all I care.”
    Hamish X ran a hand thoughtfully over the dented surface of the hatch. “No. I think not. The Captain can still be of some use.”
    â€œHow?” Thomas and Maggie asked.
    â€œFirst,” Hamish X tapped the hatch with the toe of one shiny boot, “we have to get in there.” Thomas held the pry bar out to Hamish X. The boy looked at it and raised a hand in polite refusal. “Thank you, no. I’ll do this my way. See if you can rig an anchor, Maggie.” Maggie nodded and dashed off. Hamish X turned to the hatch. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and concentrated on his boots.
    INSIDE THE BRIDGE , Captain Ironbuttocks had begun to think they had forgotten about him. He’d felt the jarringshudder that announced the destruction of the ship’s engines. He had cursed Hamish X roundly, pounding his fists on the ship’s wheel in frustration.
    Finally, he sat down hard in his Captain’s chair and assessed the situation.
    â€œThey have escaped from the cargo hold,” he said to no one in particular. He felt better speaking out loud and listing his woes. “They have trapped me in the bridge. They have broken my beautiful engines. All is lost.” Tears streamed down his puffy face, leaving tracks down his dirty cheeks. His cheeks weren’t dirty as a result of the battle with his prisoners. He rarely bathed and so was coated with a thin layer of filth at all times.
    â€œWhat can a man do when faced with such a defeat?” he said. “What can a man do when all hope is gone?” He pondered the magnitude of his defeat for a long moment. “Ah, of course. A man can eat a very spicy sausage.” And having so decided, he put his words into action. Reaching into his trouser pocket, he retrieved a lint-covered, greasy pepperoni, dusted it off with clumsy delicacy, and bit the end from it, chewing thoughtfully. “Yes … the world seems better with a spicy, stinky sausage in my mouth. Things seem … clearer somehow.” He cast his gaze around the bridge and instantly saw that an option still lay open to him. He dreaded the option. He loathed the option. He feared the option. “But I have no other option.”
    Transferring his sausage to his left hand, he leaned over the radio console. He thumbed the power on and the transmitter hummed gently to life. He hesitated. Calling his employers was a last resort. They would not be happy with him. He had heard tales of ships and captains who were never seen again when they failed the ODA. The Grey Agents were never pleased with failure.

    â€œChoices.” The Captain shook his head. “Choices? I ain’t got no choices.” He pushed the send button and spoke into the microphone. “Mayday! Mayday! This is Captain Ironbuttocks aboard the Christmas Is Cancelled . Mayday! Mayday! I repeat. Mayday. 50 Ship requires assistance. Do you read me, Miss Cake?”
    At that precise instant, the hatch exploded inward, driven by the right boot of Hamish X. He had gathered all his focus and concentrated all his will into a single strike, and that strike tore the hatch from its hinges. The metal door crashed into the far wall of the bridge, shattering a large glass map that the crew used to track weather formations. The Captain was showered with tiny bits of glass as he fell backwards over his chair.