Shane directed Twilight toward a bulkhead covered from end to end in black wall lockers. He passed over most of them, stopping at one marked with the number forty-seven in silver numbers. The locker door was bent inward, apparently something slammed into it during the crash. The latch was jammed sideways wedging the door closed. He pulled on the broken handle experimentally, but it didn’t budge. “…awesome,” he muttered angrily.