by M. L. Banner
He called the Williamses to report that the dogs had been found and were currently sedated at the pet spa. The vet was typing up a report on what he’d observed, but said that he thought that the dogs’ aggressive tendencies had passed. He added that the vet believed the rage affliction was only temporary.
It was after one in the morning when both Ted and TJ finally lumbered back to their cabin. As they lay in their bed, they were filled with hope that they would wake up to a new tomorrow where the animal attacks were subsiding and volcanoes would stop erupting. They fell asleep almost as soon as their heads met their pillows, their thoughts turning into dreams, and then their dreams quickly turning into nightmares, which didn’t end, even when they woke.
DAY FIVE
THE CAPTAIN’S MORNING ADDRESS BEGAN PROMPTLY AT 07:00. THAT AND THE BLARING TONE THAT PRECEDED IT WERE THE ONLY SIMILARITIES TO THE ADDRESSES OF PREVIOUS DAYS. EVERYTHING ELSE WAS DIFFERENT. GONE WAS THE JOVIAL BANTER OF A MAN WHO ENJOYED EVERY MOMENT OF THE JOB HE WAS DOING. HIS TONE WAS ALL BUSINESS NOW. I IMAGINE ANIMAL ATTACKS AND A TSUNAMI LEADING TO THE DEATHS OF PASSENGERS AND CREW MEMBERS WOULD DO THAT TO A CAPTAIN.
THE INTERNAL SPEAKER UNITS IN OUR CABIN DIDN’T SEEM TO WORK ANYMORE, NOR DID OUR PHONES. MORE TSUNAMI CASUALTIES? WE DIDN’T KNOW. BUT THE DOOR WAS PROPPED OPEN WITH OUR LIFE PRESERVERS, AS REQUESTED BY JEAN PIERRE, SO THE CAPTAIN’S MELANCHOLY VOICE WAS CLEAR, WITHOUT OUR HAVING TO GET OUT OF BED.
“INTREPID, THIS IS CAPTAIN JÖRGEN CHRISTIANSEN COMING TO YOU FROM THE BRIDGE.
“WE ARE PRESENTLY AT A HEADING OF 35 DEGREES, 37 MINUTES, 3 SECONDS NORTH BY 14 DEGREES, 58 MINUTES 21 SECONDS WEST. OUR COURSE IS 28.6 DEGREES WEST BY NORTHWEST. WE HAVE STARTED OUR TRACK ACROSS THE ATLANTIC TO THE U.S.
“YOU ALL KNOW ABOUT THE MONSTROUS WAVE WHICH TOOK US BY SURPRISE. WE WERE LUCKY THAT MORE PEOPLE WEREN’T HURT. AND IN FACT, MOST INJURIES WERE MINOR, JUST A FEW CUTS AND BRUISES.
“THE WAVE WAS THE RESULT OF THE VOLCANIC ERUPTION ON LA PALMA. WE ARE NO LONGER IN DANGER, BUT WE HAD TO CANCEL OUR STOPOVER IN THE CANARY ISLANDS.
“OUR SATELLITE AND INTERNET ARE DOWN BECAUSE OF DAMAGE TO OUR ANTENNAS. THERE ARE SOME OTHER SYSTEM ISSUES AS WELL. BUT OUR TIRELESS CREW IS AWARE OF THESE AND THEY’RE WORKING TO FIX THEM AS I ADDRESS YOU. PLEASE BE PATIENT, AS IT MAY TAKE A FEW DAYS TO GET ALL OF OUR SYSTEMS BACK ONLINE.
“NOW, LET’S FOCUS ON THE GOOD NEWS. THREE OF OUR RESTAURANTS ARE OPEN, AND WE HAVE MANY WONDERFUL ACTIVITIES PLANNED FOR YOU TODAY. ONE ACTIVITY I’D RECOMMEND YOU ATTEND IS THE OPPORTUNITY TO MEET THE FAMOUS AUTHOR T.D. BONAVENTURE. HE’S AN EXPERT IN POTENTIAL APOCALYPTIC EVENTS AND HE MAY EVEN OFFER A WORD OR TWO OF EXPLANATION ABOUT WHAT HAS HAPPENED WITH THE VOLCANOES AND THE ANIMALS, AND WHY WE THINK THE WORST OF THIS CRISIS HAS PASSED.”
THERE WAS A LONG AND SOMEWHAT UNCOMFORTABLE PAUSE—FOR BOTH OF US—BEFORE THE CAPTAIN CONTINUED.
“EVEN WITH ALL THAT HAS HAPPENED ON BOARD, TRY TO ENJOY YOUR TIME WITH US. LET US WORRY ABOUT TOMORROW’S PROBLEMS SO THAT YOU CAN ENJOY TODAY.
“FINALLY, I’M VERY HAPPY TO REPORT THAT WE ARE OUT OF THE SHADOWS OF THE VOLCANIC CLOUDS, AND WE EXPECT SUNNY SKIES FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE THIS CRUISE STARTED. WE’RE ALSO EXPECTING WARM TEMPERATURES, AROUND TWENTY DEGREES CENTIGRADE THIS AFTERNOON. CHAIRS AND TABLES HAVE BEEN RETURNED TO OUR SUN DECK. TAKE TIME TO ENJOY THE SUN THIS AFTERNOON AND VISIT WITH YOUR FELLOW CRUISERS. I’M SURE EACH OF YOU HAVE SOME INTERESTING STORIES TO TELL ABOUT WHAT YOU WENT THROUGH LAST NIGHT.
“THAT IS ALL, FOR NOW.
“HAVE A BLESSED DAY ON THE SAFEST SHIP ON THE OCEAN, REGAL EUROPEAN’S INTREPID.”
THE CAPTAIN WAS OBVIOUSLY...
31
Anniversary
“What are you writing?” TJ mumbled, her voice heavy with sleep.
“Oh, nothing important.” Ted flashed her a smile and closed the leather-bound book, clutching it to his chest.
TJ leaned over and kissed him. “Morning.” Then she abruptly disappeared into the bathroom.
They had remained in bed—both were exhausted—during the captain’s address and for several minutes afterward. The door had been propped open the whole night, as was advised. TJ never woke once, not even during the crew’s wellness check in the wee hours. A splash of light on her face from the crew member’s flashlight, to verify she was in fact uninjured, didn’t cause her to stir. Ted understood perfectly; it was the first time she didn’t feel anxious in the last four days, and he certainly didn’t want to upset that. Only when the captain’s address blared through their doorway did she even stir, barely registering his words, before she rolled back over and stretched out her slumber some more. Ted, on the other hand, bolted upright in bed, terrified of what the captain had announced.
It really didn’t bother him that he’d been asked to assume the role of the ship’s ad hoc PR officer by delivering the captain’s message that the animal attack problem had gone away, even though he wasn’t yet convinced of this. It was simply that he’d have to do this in front of hundreds of people.
Far more than crazy animals attacking, or volcanoes spewing ash clouds, or even one-hundred-fifty-foot tidal waves, it was getting in front of a crowd of people which absolutely terrified him. The doctors called it enochlophobia, explaining it was a form of agoraphobia. He only knew that he’d been fighting panic attacks most of his adult life, induced by this very type of public forum. Therefore, he avoided such things like the proverbial plague.
In a former life, when he had worked as a scientist, his work activities were perfectly suited to someone who didn’t like to interact with people. Ted did everything he could to not be stuck in large public places, even going so far as to do his work research at home.
When he chose his later-in-life author career, the prospect of scheduled public appearances—such as book signings or radio or TV interviews—meant he had to find a way to make them work with his needs. So his agent chose very limited venues, with only a few people or a space that allowed him to leave quickly if he felt a panic attack coming. Regardless, Ted would not take meds, although alcohol did offer occasional comfort. Instead, he’d work through his affliction.
When his agent contacted him with the idea of this cruise—turned out it was his wife through the FBI, who set everything up—Ted agreed to do the Q&A only because the venue was to be very small. He and TJ had even scouted the room on the way to the All Access Tour, and confirmed he had a quick exit if he couldn’t deal with it. It was all just as his agent had said. But that was before the captain had intervened and invited the whole damned ship to come. He knew that the room would be packed with people, all crowding him, touching him, questioning him... The pounding in his chest made it hard to breathe.
To get his mind off his looming lecture and Q&A session at 08:00, he started the journal.
The whole hand-written journal thing was new to Ted: all of his writing was done on his iPad tablet or on the desktop at home. But along with the wine, the captain had given him the beautiful journal as a gift. After the captain’s announcement, when he felt panic take over, and he got out of bed to pace, he finally examined the book.
It was exquisite. Fine leather protected its blank, parchment-like vellum pages. “Regal European” was richly etched in gold lettering on its dark blue cover.
He brought it back to bed and gazed at the first blank page and considered what he might scratch onto it. He started to think back over the last few days’ events. That’s when it hit him that it might be useful—to whom, he didn’t know yet—to jot down some of the details about what they were experiencing. At this moment, he wasn’t sure what the journal’s purpose would be, or if it would ever be read by anyone but him. His apocalyptic mind kicked in, just for an instant, and wondered if it would be used as a historical record for some dystopian future, long after they were gone.
He shook away this thought and opened his bedside table drawer. He snatched out one of his Ultra Fine Point Sharpies, which he used for scribbling inscriptions inside his books du
ring book signings. He brought a bunch of them everywhere he went, especially when he was potentially meeting some of his fans. This book deserved something better, but Sharpies were all he had. He popped off the pen-cap and poised the hard felt-tip over the expectant page, waiting for the words to flow out of him like a stream. He’d focus on writing slowly and smoothly so that others could read what he wrote. His cursive was nearly illegible, so he opted to write in controlled block letters and made sure that each letter was finished.
Far from being sure how best to approach this, and how much detail he should include, he just started at the beginning... “Day One.” He wanted to catch up, so he wrote only a few sentences for each, intending to return with more detail, until he reached today, Day Five. His writing flowed easily and quickly, only pausing when TJ had woken.
Their cabin door clicked closed. Ted looked up to find TJ standing beside his side of the bed, wearing a big grin and clutching a small colorful object.
“Happy anniversary!” she stated jubilantly, thrusting out the colorful object. She was practically hopping. An excited squeal leaked from her pursed lips.
Dammit. He’d been so preoccupied—he had planned to surprise her with his gift first, right when she’d woken up. But she had beaten him to the punch.
He put aside the leather journal on top of the small bedside table, slid open a drawer below this, reached in and pulled out a similarly colored box. He held it out for her, offering a you got me grin. “Happy anniversary,” he said back.
Every year, each of them had gone to great lengths to surprise the other with a small anniversary gift. It was never huge or super expensive, just a little something special to memorialize that anniversary. This being their twenty-year anniversary, he was elevating his game. He had been waiting for most of a year to give this to her.
She threw her arms around him, snatched his gift from his hand and replaced it with hers. She eyed her gift, but then looked up, flashing another big smile. “You first.” She plopped down on the edge of the bed and eyed him expectantly.
“Okay-okay.” He slipped off the bright red ribbon, ripped open the festive wrapping paper, and flashed a quick glance at the Mont Blanc box and then up at her.
“When I saw you writing in that journal, I was so excited to have you to open this...”
From the box, he pulled out a jet-black Mont Blanc pen, with two gold bands. T.D. Bonaventure was etched on the cap. He’d always wanted one, but could never justify spending the money for something like this. But as an anniversary present from his wife... it was perfect.
“It’s perfect. I love it. Thank you.” He leaned toward her and they exchanged a kiss.
“My turn,” she said, almost with a giggle. She ripped into her box, quickly exposing a similar black rectangle, only a little bigger. She cracked open the top, revealing a rich blue interior. Nested inside was something that sparkled. She flashed him a stunned look.
“It’s Orion, the Hunter. Only this version is a warrior woman, kind of like my gorgeous wife.”
She pulled it out of its box, letting the necklace dangle from its thin gold chain, eyeing it and then him as he spoke.
“Each diamond is a star in the constellation Orion. I know it’s a bit more than normal, but I found it in London last year and knew you had to have it.”
She handed it to him and turned her back to him. “Put it on me, would you?”
He did and she bounded from the bed and padded over to the full-length mirror across from the bathroom door, where she stopped and studied herself and the necklace.
She dashed back to his bedside and once again threw her arms around him, squeezing tight. “It’s absolutely the best gift you’ve ever given me. I love it. Thank you.”
She kissed him hard, like her embrace, and then looked into his eyes.
She leaned in and kissed him again, only softer, more passionately. She pulled back, smiled at him, and softly batted her eyes, fluttering them seductively. Her smile grew impossibly large as she lifted her arms in the air, beckoning him to pull her top off.
He obliged.
32
Satellite Down
TJ moaned under her breath as she slowly let her head roll around her neck, her hair snaking a trail over each shoulder blade. Her new necklace bounced playfully against her chest. Her hands were mounted above her hips, her right barely covering the large scar, a marker of a time that changed her, from when she nearly died from a dog mauling several years back. Her fingertips rested above the edges of her black Jockey briefs, legs splayed on the carpet for stability. “Geez, every part of me hurts, like after a marathon.” She flashed him a smile. “What about you?”
Ted averted his eyes from her and swung his feet out of the bed. “Yeah, I can hardly move.” He flashed an even larger grin at her, and she continued her stretching.
He snatched up the remote and clicked on their TV. It was a little tube-job from twenty years ago, with a screen not much bigger than his tablet. He knew the result, but he was still curious to see what would happen after the captain’s announcement.
Before the tsunami, when they’d turn on the TV, the same info channel appeared, either replaying the previous night’s talent or variety show—last night’s show was understandably canceled, so he didn’t expect to see this—or a talk show hosted by Zeka, the ship’s cruise director. The talk show, often recorded late on the night before—they guessed this based on the lack of sunlight and the small number of people in the background—gave an overview of the upcoming port of call or that day’s activities. He was hoping they would have done something like this to give them more details about what had happened to the ship.
There was no picture whatsoever.
The TV displayed only white static, as if it were a closed-circuit TV’s view of an outside blizzard and they were in Alaska and not a more southern latitude in the Atlantic. He glanced at the outside balcony to mentally confirm this wasn’t the actual weather: partly cloudy, but certainly not snowy.
He poked the channel-up button once. Then again, and again, one channel at a time. Each displayed the new channel number, but the same white snow.
“Well, the captain said the satellite was down, and this confirms it.”
“So is the Internet,” TJ said, surprised, and scowled at her cell phone, which she had grabbed while Ted was playing with the TV. He figured she had in fact slept through or had forgotten the captain’s message about connectivity.
They both jumped, as if hooked up to electrodes, when the house phone jangled at them.
~~~
“Well,” Ted said sarcastically, “at least we know our phone works.”
TJ was already there, receiver in hand, having moved her stretching exercises over to the more spacious middle of their cabin floor. “Hello?” There was the expected pause as she listened.
“Oh, hello JP.” She smiled at Ted and nodded, agreeing with something Jean Pierre must have told her.
“Yes, we’re fine.” She cocked her head at an angle and crooked her brow, as if what she was hearing was painful. Then her face changed again.
“Yes, he’s here. Do you—okay.” She averted her gaze and nodded again.
“Yes, I’ll let him know.” She pulled her gaze back up at her husband, but she hadn’t made eye contact with him yet.
“What? Oh yeah.” She feigned a smile this time, which didn’t hold. “I think he was hoping no one would be interested.”
Ted eyed her back suspiciously, watching her every reaction.
“Oh, he’ll be there.” She laid the phone back on the cradle, but didn’t say anything as she sashayed over to the chest where they were keeping their clothes and pulled out her running uniform.
“Well?” Ted thrust his hands up in the air. “Are you going to tell me what all of that was about, or are you going to hold on to your little damned secret?”
“Jean Pierre was passing along a few messages from the captain. First, the pet spa director has printed his repor
t and one of the crew will hand you a copy this morning. He said he read it and they’re breathing a sigh of relief.”
TJ had already slipped on her shorts and long-sleeved sports shirt. She slid on her first running shoe, stopped before tying it, and gazed up at Ted. “Do you think this thing is really over?”
He locked into her eyes, not wanting to elevate her fear, but not wanting to lie to her either. He chose the best answer—the only true answer. “I don’t know. Did he say when I’d get to read this report?”
Ted searched for his clothes, thinking that he’d have to dash out and meet this crew member who had the report. Finding his well-worn warm-ups, his preferred outfit at night and in the morning, he slipped them on over his underwear and stood up.
“Ahh, you might want to wear something else.”
“Why? I don’t care if someone sees me in this.”
“It’s not that... Remember your talk, at eight? That’s where the crew member will hand you the report.”
“Yes, of course I remembered, even if I didn’t want to.” He looked at the digital clock-radio nestled against the journal on his bedside table. It was seven-fifteen. He had forty-five minutes.
“There’s one more thing...” TJ hesitated, and then looked down, knowing what she said next would consume her husband in terror, far more than any potential crazed animal attack would have consumed her. “They’ve moved your venue to... the main theater.”