Chapter 65: The Jump to Casablanca

 

The Rusty Bucket. Off the Coast of Morocco. 2:00 AM.

Click. The sound was tiny, swallowed by the roar of the ship's engines, but to Harper, it sounded like a gunshot. The rusty padlock fell open in her hand.

"Got it," she whispered, her fingers bleeding from the sharp wire.

She looked at Sebastian. He was leaning against the cage bars, sweat dripping from his nose. His face was grey, but his eyes were open. Focused. "Can you move?" Harper asked.

Sebastian gripped the bars and pulled himself up. His legs trembled violently, threatening to buckle. He gritted his teeth so hard his jaw popped. "I'm up," he rasped. "Lead the way."

They slipped out of the cage. The corridor was empty. The pirates were on the upper deck, drinking cheap rum and celebrating their imaginary million-dollar payday. Laughter and bad music drifted down the stairs.

"We need a lifeboat," Harper whispered, supporting Sebastian’s weight.

"Too slow," Sebastian shook his head, wincing with every step. "The winch takes two men to operate. It makes too much noise." "We have to jump."

Harper looked at him. "Jump? In this condition? The impact alone..."

"It's water or bullets, Harper," Sebastian looked at the stairs. "Pick one."

---

[The Discovery]

They reached the main deck. The night air was cold and salty. In the distance, a faint glow lit up the horizon. Casablanca. The city of spies and lovers. It looked like a constellation of stars fallen to earth.

"There," Sebastian pointed to the railing. "The current is pushing toward the shore. If we jump now, we drift in."

They moved through the shadows of the shipping containers. Just ten more meters.

Suddenly, a door opened. A pirate stumbled out, unzipping his pants to pee over the side. He stopped. He blinked. He saw the "dying billionaire" standing upright. He saw the "nurse" holding his hand.

"Hey!" the pirate shouted, fumbling for his radio. "They are loose! The sick man is walking!"

"Run!" Sebastian roared.

He didn't limp. He didn't stumble. Adrenaline—the body's last, desperate fuel—flooded his system. He grabbed Harper’s hand and sprinted. Pain exploded in his legs like shattered glass, but he ignored it. Run. Run. Run.

Bang! Bang! Bullets sparked against the metal deck behind them. "Stop them!" The leader screamed from the bridge. "Shoot his legs!"

They reached the railing. Below them, the black ocean churned, a twenty-meter drop into the abyss.

Harper looked down. Her breath hitched. It was terrifyingly high. "Sebastian..."

"Trust me," Sebastian gripped her hand tighter. He looked into her eyes. "On three." "One." "Two."

A bullet whizzed past Harper’s ear.

"THREE!"

---

[The Plunge]

They jumped. For a second, they were flying. Suspended between the dark sky and the darker sea. Then... impact.

CRASH. The water hit them like concrete. Cold. Freezing, bone-crushing cold. They plunged deep underwater. The darkness swallowed them.

Sebastian’s legs seized up instantly in the icy water. He couldn't kick. He was sinking like a stone. No. Not like this.

He felt a hand grab his collar. Harper. She kicked furiously, dragging him up. Her lungs burned. Her muscles screamed. But she didn't let go.

They broke the surface, gasping for air. GASP. "Swim!" Harper spit out saltwater. "Under the ship! Go!"

Searchlights from the deck swept the water. Rat-tat-tat. Bullets stitched lines in the waves, missing them by inches.

"Dive!" Harper pushed Sebastian’s head under. They swam beneath the massive hull of the cargo ship, using it as a shield. The propellers churned behind them, a terrifying mechanical roar.

They drifted. Away from the ship. Away from the lights. Into the cold, silent embrace of the Atlantic.

---

[The Shore]

Casablanca Beach. Dawn.

The sun was rising over the desert, painting the sky in blood orange. A wave crashed onto the sand, depositing two exhausted bodies.

Harper crawled onto the dry sand, coughing up water. She collapsed, her chest heaving. "Sebastian?" she croaked.

Sebastian lay a few feet away. He wasn't moving. Face down in the sand.

"Sebastian!" Harper scrambled over to him. She rolled him over. His lips were blue. His skin was ice cold. "No, no, no..." She pressed her ear to his chest. A heartbeat. Faint. Fluttering like a dying bird. But there.

"Wake up!" Harper slapped his cheek. "Don't you die on me now! We made it!"

Sebastian’s eyes fluttered open. He looked at the sky. Then at Harper’s frantic face. He tried to smile, but his teeth chattered uncontrollably. "Did... did we... win?"

"We're alive," Harper sobbed, hugging him tight to share her body heat. "We're in Africa."

Sebastian looked at the distant minarets of the Hassan II Mosque rising from the mist. "Casablanca..." he whispered. "I know... a place."

He reached into his soaked pocket. He pulled out a soggy, ruined piece of paper. It was the "Shadow Clinic" address Louis had mentioned, written in waterproof ink. [ Rue des Anglais, No. 7 ]

"Get me... there," Sebastian closed his eyes again, his energy spent. "Before the fever... kills me."

Harper looked at the address. She looked at the city waking up in the distance. She stood up. Her legs were shaky, but her will was iron.

She pulled Sebastian up. He leaned on her, dead weight. "One step at a time," Harper whispered. "Just one more step."

They began the long walk toward the city. Two ghosts washing up on a foreign shore. Ready to burn a new path.