by Ronan Cray
Tucker felt inspired to give a toast. He stood up, brandishing his glass with a flourish. “Well, you know what they say.” The ice tinkled. “I’d rather be on a ship with a drink on the rocks, than in the drink with a ship on the rocks.”
“Here, here” they shouted.
A sudden jolt slammed everyone in the room up against the wall. Poker chips pinged off the pipes and whiskey glasses shattered. Tucker hit the bulkhead hard and felt the weight of two other bodies smash into him. They collapsed in a heap.
Picking himself up out of the dogpile, Tucker staggered to his feet in shock.
“What the fuck was that!” shouted Mike. He had taken an elbow to the face that broke his nose. Blood streamed out prodigiously.
Everyone looked to Tucker. Oh, shit, he thought. The AIS. Someone hit us. The game is up. He gathered his courage, tried to look appropriately surprised. That wasn’t hard. “The ship stopped. We’ve run into something!” Tucker gave orders, “Angel, get down below and see if we’re taking on water. Meet me on the bridge in five minutes with a status report. Ados, check the passengers. The rest of you come with me!”
Mike held his nose as he ran. “What could we hit out here? Another ship? It must have been something big!”
Before they reached the upper deck, the ship listed to port, groaning all the way down like a sick cow. An abrupt stop shook the ship and passengers as it settled on its left side at a 45 degree angle. The pools sloshed over in great waves and took deck chairs and umbrellas over the side. Everything loose slid downward. A cascade of debris, water, and bodies flowed out over the rails down into the ocean. Screams filtered through the night air.
Tucker leapt up a stair. He held tight until the ship stopped and then pulled himself up to the bridge. Colin lay coughing on the floor. Blood poured from his mouth. He bit his tongue off and held the bloody morsel in his hand. Whatever he’d seen, he wouldn’t be telling anyone.
Mike and Dragos stumbled in behind Tucker. “Jesus,” Mike started as Dragos ran to the boy’s side.
Tucker cut in. “Mike, go fetch Ados. Now! Colin, you’ll be fine. Ados’ll get this sewn up. Don’t swallow the blood; spit it out. Don’t try to talk. I know what happened.”
While Tucker attended to Colin, Sammy lingered near the fore windows. “Sir, you better see this.”
On the deck below, chaos reigned, but that didn’t compete with the view above the ship. Ghostly in the moonlight, a black cone loomed over a long island of sand. A volcanic atoll. Phosphorescent waves crashed over a reef that stretched up to the hull like a scythe. The ship clung to it, half on, half off. To one side lay a calm bay, to the other, a black angry sea.
“We ran aground!?” Tucker shouted. “That’s impossible. There isn’t an island out here for 500 miles!”
Dragos tapped at his screen. “Uncharted.”
“So where are we?”
“Dragos does not know, sir.”
Tucker lashed out at Colin. “What the hell did you do, Colin? Two hours at the helm, and you destroyed the whole ship!” He shouldn’t have said it. It was like kicking a crippled dog. The poor boy was obviously crushed.
Tucker tried to remain calm on the outside, but inside he panicked. In one instant, all his plans fell apart. He ran through a mental checklist. He turned southeast because of the storm. They steamed southeast all night. He could defend that. The AIS was out – they would see that now. He hadn’t intended that to be found. They’d realize someone tampered with it.
It wasn’t his fault they hit an uncharted island!
It didn’t matter, and he knew it. You don’t captain a ship into an island and get excused. There were people dying outside, right now. The shipped tossed all those brittle old people like croutons in a salad. Some of them were over the side. He had fatalities, and he’d take the fall.
No ship. No money. No job. Hell, he’d be lucky if he didn’t end up in jail.
Goddamn Colin! And he thought that was the best part of his plan.
Suddenly, he remembered the pods. If the reef destroyed even one, Rolls Royce was receiving a message. There was no way he could stop them. It was over. Rolls Royce would send out a search party. The only thing for him to do now get on the radio and try to raise help himself. At least it would appear that he tried. Then he could sit back and wait for the authorities.
He stared at the console. He paused. He couldn’t be sure. The pods might have survived the crash. There was still hope that no one knew where they were. If that were true, it’d be days before they turned up missing. The search would center on their original course. They’d never search this part of the ocean.
Tucker had to make a choice. Be ruined in rescue or stay here and die.
That was easy.
He stormed out of the room, climbed down the stairs, and made his way down to the upper deck. People lay where they fell, crying, bleeding, shouting. They collected against bulkheads on the tilted deck like leaves in a great wind. Several passengers accosted him, but he pushed them off with a snarl. He crawled across the artificial turf of the mini-golf course and plucked a handful of clubs from the stand at the entrance. With an armful of steel and a fierce look of determination, he carried his bludgeons back to the bridge.
He wanted it to look like he lost his temper, but internally he thought maybe he lost his mind. He cut loose on that cursed control panel with the clubs. He smashed the radio transmitters, the screens, the GPS system, the AIS. Every piece of equipment that connected him to the outside world, he severed with a passion. He hacked away at every instrument in the room, destroying four putters in the process. The crew stood by in shock. No one tried to stop him.
Wheezing, wiping the sweat off his brow, he tried to keep a grin from crossing his face. Damn, that felt good! Now his options were a bit narrower.
Sammy spoke up. “Sir, you just destroyed the radio. Now we can’t send an SOS or…”
“Everyone knows where I am!” Tucker bellowed.
He had the passengers to think of. The deck slanted so much it wasn’t safe for anyone to remain on board.
“Let’s get the passengers and nonessential crew off the ship,” he said. “Take them to that island.”
Tucker remained onboard. The ship still had electrical power, and his engineering crew assured him they didn’t face a sinking in the near future. The hull stabilized on the reef. Reports came back that 14 people died or went missing during the crash, including two crew members. Another 62 were seriously injured, five critically. Of those remaining, few left the ship unbruised.
He watched from the bridge as all 428 passengers and 366 crew members made their way into the lifeboats. They avoided the reef by only using the lifeboats near the front of the boat. All through the night, the lifeboats puttered back and forth like little orange tenders until at last the ship fell silent. By the time the sun came up, only Tucker and a skeleton crew of engineers and senior officers remained on board.
Even after the passengers sat safely on shore, the lifeboats continued their ferry service. He ordered a Survivor’s Party, a big bash. Drunken people sleep anywhere. A giddy crew filled the lifeboats with all the shipboard liquor and carried it to shore more carefully than they did the passengers. He directed his staff to treat this like any port of call. The activity coordinator leapt into action, organizing beach combing tours, snorkeling lessons, and party preparations. The fitness instructor organized impromptu yoga lessons. Lifeguards and pool staff watched the water.
The medical staff had their hands full. Anyone who complained loudly but didn’t bleed got sent to the spa staff. They gave massages right there on the beach, complete with hot rocks and seaweed facials.
Even the comedian chipped in with an impromptu lunch show. “How about that wreck, huh? Reminds me of my first marriage…“
The housekeepers and cleaners, laundry crew and lighting technicians, retail people and casino staff had absolutely nothing to do. They were allowed to join in the fun.
Tucker ga
ve special instructions to get the purser drunk. The old man spent the evening with a bottle of Jack, wringing his hands over lost income, pulling at his bare scalp, muttering to himself, until he passed out.
By the end of the day, only the grieving families found shore leave an inconvenience. Everyone expected to be rescued at any minute. Until then, they had a whole island to themselves, and the party had only just begun.
But the morning of day two, hangovers and whiplash in place, spirits weren’t so high. The crew appraised Tucker regularly with radio reports. He was glad he stayed on the ship. The natives were restless.
The reality that they were on a desert island set in. Everyone wanted to know when the rescue ships would come. Had a message gone out? Did they even know they were gone?
Overnight, some people went missing altogether. Whether they had drowned or wandered off, no one knew. The shore excursion manager, Julia, put herself in charge of the search effort. A small team made off across the island, shouting and beating at the sand.
Meanwhile, the crew put together a whole new round of daily activities, but the mood dampened. No one expected to be lost for more than one day, including the staff. Morale fell as old folks sat on the beach, staring out at the ship, complaining bitterly in cracked voices.
Only Tucker found relief, briefly. The pods must be undamaged. There would be no rescue. Now he could focus on survival.
By evening, a greenish glow fell over the island. Storm clouds darkened the horizon. Intermittent lightning ripped through them. Tucker recognized the signs. His stomach somersaulted. First his plans were ruined, then the ship ran aground, and now this: the hurricane had turned back. It was heading right for them.
He looked to the beach where the Day 2 party was in full swing. The first night the passengers partied like they had a new lease on life. That dynamic changed when they sensed they would never be saved. Tonight they partied like there was no tomorrow. Stores of alcohol ran low. Most of the passengers were pre-embalmed.
He had no shelter for those people.
While the ship could structurally survive a hurricane, allowing anyone to stay was foolish. The waves could shake it loose, drag it out to sea to sink. If not, it would rock like a seesaw. He couldn’t have people on board.
Worse, the island had no shelter at all – no trees, no rocks, no caves, nothing.
When the excursion team returned, Julia reported no sign of survivors. “All we found was this…” She pulled a pile of laundry out of a backpack. “So, wherever they are, they’re naked. I’m guessing they don’t want to be found.”
“All right, forget them. More importantly, what did you see of the island? Is there any place to get out of the elements?”
“No, nothing. There are no trees, no hollows, not even big rocks to hide under. We walked across the sand until we reached the lava flows. Those don’t seem fit for humans to spend any time on.”
The storm grew closer. The party raged on. It was obvious no one knew what was coming.
As evening descended, bats emanated from the cinder cone. Through the binoculars, Tucker watched them swarm across the beach, feeding on sand fleas and other biters. The crew tried to wave them off with towels and umbrellas while a general panic ran through the party.
There were caves somewhere up there, but the average 78 year old wouldn’t have mountain climbing on the itinerary.
In a flash of inspiration, Tucker reasoned, If we can’t find caves, we’ll make them. He’d grown up in the Midwest, about as far away from either ocean as you can get in North America. They didn’t have hurricanes where he grew up, but they had tornados. He’d spent many a summer evening biding time in a backyard bunker, listening to the wind try to suck him out. At last, he had a plan.
Tucker ordered the life boats brought on shore. They worked on the fringe of the tiki torches, away from the reveling retirees. Pushing a lifeboat on land is like pulling a dead elephant. No amount of effort could get them beyond the first line of dunes. They assembled ten enclosed, sturdy lifeboats in a rough circle. Each boat held a hundred people comfortably, but it still wouldn’t be fun.
To keep them from blowing away, they threw as much sand on top as they thought the roof would hold. They backed the boats up against dunes with one side completely buried. The only portions still visible were the bright orange lines of the roof protruding from the sand and the gaping black gashes where the open hatches waited for passengers.
With all this sand, the engines wouldn’t be worth much afterward, but who needed boats on land?
They had caves. Those caves would double as homes when the storm blew over. Life was good.
A heavy wind hit the island. It plucked up beach umbrellas like dry dandelions. It was time to pull the plug on the powwow.
Tucker assembled his six remaining crew members.
“I need a small contingency to remain onboard to handle emergencies. I have to be frank. I don’t know if we’re any safer than being on shore. The storm could push us off the reef and sink her. There’s no chance of getting back across the reef in a lifeboat during the storm. If the ship sinks, we go down with it.
“As Captain, I’ll remain aboard. Angel, I want you to stay here to prevent looting. As for the rest of you, I’m making this a volunteer posting. I won’t decide for you where you’re going to die.”
Colin stepped forward. Though Ados had stitched the stump of his tongue and staunched the bleeding, he did not have the facilities to reattach it. The crew turned their eyes toward the floor. They wouldn’t say it out loud, but they all felt this was Colin’s fault to begin with. In any other circumstance, his volunteering would be heroism. Now it was an execution.
Dragos stepped forward as well. “Dragos stay.” Tucker knew Colin and Dragos were friends. He expected this.
Ados casually draped himself in a chair. He fingered the red and gold epaulet on his shoulder. “I’m not leaving the ship just yet. I’ll stay on in case any of you get hurt and need immediate medical attention.” Tucker knew the truth. Right now, the island was a hypochondriac’s wet dream. The medical staff had been working day and night. As Principal Medical Officer, Ados was only too glad to remain aboard.
Sammy signaled his assent by raising his hand and nodding.
That left Mike.
“Aw, hell. You think I’d rather hang out with a bunch of old farts than you fine gents? I’m in.”
“Fine. Everyone stays. Find a way to strap yourselves in. It’s going to be a bumpy night.”
Tucker left each lifeboat in the hands of one of his Managers, giving each cave a “captain” and a radio. He didn’t care if it was the Food and Beverage Manager or the Casino Manager, so long as someone with authority remained in charge. He wanted to keep in touch with them to make sure they were weathering the storm.
He placed Julia and his Production Manager, John, in charge of dreaming up ways to entertain the passengers inside the boats as long as possible. A big hurricane could last days. He needed professionals to ward off cabin fever.
By the time the Managers herded the elderly over the dunes and into the boats, the storm blew up on them. The wind shot sand across the dunes like air gun pellets. It blasted the paint right off the sides.
Tucker watched the progress by binocular from the ship. The wind beat at the stragglers, but everyone got inside. He waited ten minutes more before he raised John on the radio. “How is everyone holding up, John.”
The sound of singing came through the static. I’ve got them singing show tunes. South Pacific. Old folks know all the words.
“Yeah, ok, but how’s the boat holding up?” He didn’t like the haunting sound of septuagenarians singing Bali Hai in the background.
I can hear the storm coming in now… They're right. It sounds just like a train... I can feel the boat shaking... There's sand falling in through the cracks. Coughing. It's unbelievably stuffy in here with all these people. I know I'm going to catch a cold from someone. That always happens to me. Everyone
is breathing my air.
“All right, cut the chatter. Fill me in when something happens.” Tucker set aside the radio. He never really liked John anyway.
The ship hummed. The wind resonated as it blew past deck rails and guy wires, like the tuneless whistle of an angry man looking for a victim. It found deck chairs huddled against rails and flipped them into the sea. It raced through open doors to tear the tablecloths out from under piles of broken plates. It caromed down empty halls to unmake beds and slam closet doors. When it tired of these games, it picked up waves and hurled them at the ship, smashing them against the steel in frothy vengeance. The hull rang out like a gong.
The sea had caught a ship, and now she would have her revenge.
John’s voice broke over the radio. The storm is growing. I can hear the raindrops now. It must be really pouring out there… Something must be blowing over us. Maybe it’s the sand. I can hear it sliding across the roof. So far we're airtight and dry, but... Get that closed! Shut that hatch. Shut it! Slide it over! Good... Sorry, the wind blew open one of the ports. I don't know how... Shut it! No! Hold them closed. Anyone near a window, hold on to the sash. Get that closed!...
The wind obscured his voice. Tucker saw the island faintly out the window, but then it disappeared. A guillotine of rain sliced it from view. It attacked the windows and slashed the deck. Between the pounding rain and the needles of ocean spray, not one inch of the exterior remained dry.
...We're having trouble keeping the ports closed! The rain is pouring in. There's something blocking them... We can't... A keening, high pitched shriek filled the headset like feedback.
Trying to.... There's water building up on the floor now...
More screeching...
"I can't hear you. You're not coming through."
Static. They weren’t singing now.
He switched over to Channel 2. "Julia, John is having trouble in his boat. Can you see it from there?”
Julia’s voice came back… we’re getting rainwater in here from somewhere… the wind keeps opening us up... Sit down! Sit down! Stay away from the walls!... Everyone is scared. I’m trying to prevent panic…