The shrill alarm cut through the sky, echoing throughout the shipyard like the howling specter of a frenzied ghost.
Originally meant to signal air raids, the alarm was now used to alert all the bandit gangs to capture the fleeing "goods."
The whole shipyard burst into activity; the world was filled with the rustling sound of the rain, the pounding of footsteps back and forth, the clacking of loading ammunition—all overwhelming Maasai's head to the point of explosion. He grabbed his sleeve, looked at the second hand of his watch, and each tick tormented and judged him.
It had to be now, of all times.
If only he had one more night, Maasai wouldn't be so vexed. How much time did he have left?
Half an hour?
Or only ten minutes?
Wiping the spray from his face, Maasai screamed at the top of his lungs, "Hurry, hurry, grab them all back! Not one less, if we're short one, I'll use you to substitute!"
"Wait, here, there seem to be traces here! A lot of people have gone through!"
