by M. L. Banner
“Yes, please. Then can you go ahead and make sure all our guests have a great time today?”
“I’ll do my best.”
38
Sunshine and Lollipops
It was a day full of contrasts: small puffy clouds, set upon a deep blue sky; a sun revealed, now pouring out its warmth upon the cold salt water sloshing around the main-deck pool; multi-colored swimsuits covering blanched bodies swollen from this morning’s breakfast; a general acceptance that all was good among the ship’s guests when there were signs of potential doom all around. Otherwise, it was a day that almost seemed perfect. Almost. And if something violent was approaching, no one seemed to notice, or even care.
Once the Intrepid had charted a course along a diagonal arc that appeared free from volcanic clouds of soot, and the sun reigned supreme again, air temperatures rose quickly and by eleven, it was a comfortable 20 degrees Centigrade out, with the forecast of it going even higher. The crew had already cleaned up most of the debris from the public areas of the ship. The broken windows pool-side on deck 9 were cleaned up and boarded so that no one would attempt to walk through the empty frames. Only a few areas were cordoned off, not available to passengers. The passengers quickly accepted these minor inconveniences, which they were told would be fixed either in Nassau or at the end of their cruise.
All the remaining deck loungers, which had been put up before the tsunami, were laid out and were already one-third full of guests who were just happy to gather some warmth from the previously hidden sun and drown their troubles in the saltwater pool or one of the multiple Jacuzzis and the daily drink special: half-priced, double-rum zombies. It had been Jean Pierre’s idea to ramp up the alcohol content
The crew expected the remaining chairs to fill up quickly once word spread that the sun was out and the world wasn’t going to end. What few crew knew was that most of the guests were ill from yesterday’s dinner salad, which had been tainted with a nasty mix of bacteria and other microscopic monsters.
The Williamses were among those who had decided to take temporary advantage of the warmth, finding two lounge chairs which offered sweeping views of the sun deck. Jean Pierre had wanted to meet with them up on the bridge at noon, not only to personally thank them again on behalf all the crew, but to also update them on the captain’s plan for the coming days of the cruise. They had a little time to kill and it seemed like a perfect opportunity to take in some sun and reap one of the bennies given to them for their help in saving the ship from a larger disaster.
They raised their drinks in a silent toast. Some sort of red-orange rum concoction, compliments of the pool-side bartender, who informed them that all their drinks were free for the remainder of the cruise.
Ted brought the drink down to his lips and sucked down a large portion of the sweet liquid, while glancing over the entire deck and the guests who littered its surface: a multitude, lounging in chatty happiness.
After swallowing another mouthful, he said, “You know, it’s funny how quickly the human spirit desires to move away from pain and tumult and set itself upon anything pleasurable. To look at the people out here, you wouldn’t have even known, unless you were paying attention, that anything bad happened over the last five days. It’s all sunshine and lollipops now.”
“I was thinking the same thing. How quickly everyone wants to forget.” She sipped her drink and then glanced tentatively up at her husband. “Is it really over?”
Ted held the bridge of his nose, fighting brain-freeze from the slushy beverage. “Not entirely. If the effect is only temporary, then maybe this will pass. I hope we’ll hear of more signs from the outside that it’s over with. I have a feeling one of the reasons Jean Pierre wants to talk to us is that they’ve made contact with other ports, and he has more of those details.”
“I hope they’re the details we want to hear.”
“Me too.” Ted finished his drink, furtively eyeing the bar only a few lumbering steps away. He decided it was better to meet with Jean Pierre with a semi-clear head. With some luck, there’d be plenty of time for drinking. He set his glass down, folded his hands into his lap, and shut his eyes, relishing the warmth on his skin.
TJ was only teasing her drink, twirling her straw around it, as if it still wasn’t mixed entirely. She was worried sick about her mom and hoped that Jean Pierre would offer some way for her to call. Surely, he’d find a way.
Then she remembered the other question she had. Glancing back over to Ted she asked, “So explain to me how the volcanoes tie into the animal attacks?”
He didn’t open his eyes. “Well, this is just a hypothesis. But it’s the best one I’ve heard. They’re called thermophilic bacteria. These little guys love it hot, like most bacteria do. However, this particular bacterium loves it really hot, even hanging around volcanoes and steam vents. They have some sort of special cellular protections that normal bacteria don’t have so they can survive extreme temperatures, and they’re hard to kill. When several volcanoes erupted they sent their trespassing thermophiles into the atmosphere. Those thermophiles are constantly searching for heat, and it’s not too warm in the upper atmosphere. So in their search for hot, they find themselves attracted to birds, who have among the highest temperatures of all mammals. The infected birds bite other animals and transfer their infection to those other animals, who go after others, and so on.”
“Wait, I thought your book was about T-something messing with an animal’s brain, causing it to go all crazy-mad. What does that have to do with thermo-bacteria?”
“Right. The T-Gondii is a parasite already present in almost all animals and most humans. But it sits dormant in most of its hosts. The theory is that the thermophilic bacteria, once it got into the bloodstream of the infected animal, woke up the T-Gondii, which then commanded the animal to do what comes naturally, without any sense of worry about its own welfare.”
“What comes naturally?” TJ asked, but she knew the answer the moment her question left her lips.
“Killing, of course.”
“Thank God it doesn’t affect humans too.”
“Yeah, that actually puzzles me. I’m not sure why it doesn’t—affect humans, I mean.”
“Maybe it’s because our body temperatures are different.” TJ glanced at her watch and was shocked that it was already almost noon. “We need to get going to the bridge or we’ll be late.”
Ted didn’t move. He seemed frozen in place, eyes almost glazed, staring off toward the horizon.
“Did you hear me?” TJ set her nearly full glass down and squeezed his shoulder. “Ted?”
“Sorry.” Ted shuddered a little. “Your comment just got me thinking.” He stared at the horizon a moment longer, and then returned his wife’s gaze. “Yeah, let’s go.”
~~~
A cloud of darkness hung inside the bridge.
Ted and TJ didn’t notice the darkness immediately when they were ushered inside: they were too taken aback by the damage. A boarded window on the port side spoke of the causeway. Together, their eyes followed what they suspected was the path from the sudden inflow of water: through the ready room—currently roped off, its windows blown inward; then into the rest of the bridge. Half of the consoles were detached from their normal places and now rested against the port-side window-wall, useless artifacts. Holes where the consoles had been were occupied by small men in black jumpsuits. Some were all the way in their holes; the rest were half in and out, all of them talking frantically back and forth in a foreign language. Bundles of wires snaked out, across the floor and into each of the holes. It looked as if they were rewiring the entire bridge.
The first real signs of trouble came from the two bridge crew members, at their posts: They looked sullen, almost dumbstruck. The Williamses hadn’t expected to see anyone being overly cheery, knowing that several of their fellow crew and three of their guests had died over the last couple of days on their watch. But surely their spirits should have been lifted today after having avoided so mu
ch more death, and with the prospect that all the troubles of the last few days would pass. Not to mention the fact that even after what should have been a devastating tsunami, they still had a ship in working order—minus some obvious damage which they were still fixing—and lots of supplies. But the crew’s dark mood was quickly obvious to Ted and TJ. They knew something was wrong.
Jean Pierre interrupted their mutual contemplations. “Welcome, my friends.” He held out his hand and shook each of theirs warmly. “Let’s go out to the starboard-side swing deck, where we can have some privacy.” He walked them through the bridge and led them outside through a side hatch.
“My apologies for not offering something more comfy. I didn’t realize the captain would still be in a meeting with many of his officers.”
They didn’t mind. In fact, they preferred the outside salt air and the stiff breeze, though the north side of the ship didn’t offer any sunshine.
Neither of them wanted to hear what they suspected was coming next.
Ted deflected, partially from curiosity. “Tell me first, since both of you are here... Whatever became of Mrs. Carmichael?”
Jean Pierre looked at TJ, who looked at him. “You should explain this, since it was your investigation.”
“Yeah, well we don’t know what happened to her yet. We suspect she was washed overboard by the tsunami. And before that, we think she killed her husband. As you also witnessed, we found him dead in their cabin, with multiple stab wounds. As far as I’m concerned, and therefore as far as the FBI is concerned, she’s on our Most Wanted list, and will remain there until she’s ruled officially dead in a year.”
TJ looked over to Jean Pierre to see if he wanted to add anything more, seeing the staff captain had stepped over to the north-facing railing. “This reminds me. The finger later found in their cabin—did Dr. Chettle offer any guesses on who that belonged to?”
Jean Pierre’s back was to them. His binoculars were glued to his face, pointed at some wispy black cloud on the northern horizon that appeared to be moving in their direction.
“Sorry.” He lowered the binoculars and turned back to them. “The finger appears to be Mrs. Carmichael's. And based on the teeth marks, it appears she chewed it off herself.”
~~~
The door rattled, stopping Paulo in his tracks. He tugged on the waistband of his borrowed black overalls, feeling his cuffs being restrained by his heels.
Paulo glared at the door, daring it to make another noise. Down the hallway, a similar shuddering sounded. He huffed, now discounting what he heard as coming from the movement of the ship, which would naturally cause things to vibrate.
He tugged once more at his pant legs and felt the pending scorn of his supervisor if he didn’t hurry along. He was summoned to the bridge to assist with all the electrical problems they were having there. It wasn’t his normal job—he was a janitor—but they needed all the competent able bodies on fix-up. And because he was pretty good with electronics, and after getting a recommendation from Buzz, he received a promotion today and was now a mechanic. They told him they’d find a uniform more his size when they reached their home port in Miami.
The door to cabin 8531 was once again jarred furiously from the inside. It clattered so violently, he thought it might come off its hinges.
“Are you all right there?” he called out to the person who must have been behind the door.
The response sounded like a muted grunt, and so Paulo put his ear to the door and listened carefully. Again, he called out, “Are you all right?”
Another rattle, and a longer, more pained-sounding grunt. The person behind the door was obviously in distress and couldn’t answer. The previous wellness check on the guests must have missed this one. Or maybe their condition had worsened.
Panicked, Paulo looked up and down the hallway, searching for any crew member who could take over responsibility. He assumed this floor would be a buzz of activity, but it seemed empty now. There was no other crew to be seen or heard, though he did hear some more rattling far down the hall. Its hollow echoes only added to Paulo’s building anxiety.
He was certainly overdue on the bridge by now. But he couldn’t ignore the cries of a potentially injured guest. He withdrew his new Seacard from his pocket, not convinced it would work on this door. But with the elevation in title came increased access.
“Hello! I’m going to come in and help you, okay?”
The drumbeat rattle on the back of the door continued, more furiously, followed by another long groan.
Paulo slid his card in-out, the lock flashing its green acknowledgment.
He pushed the handle down and nudged at the door, just enough to crack it open. “I’m coming in to help,” he hollered louder, so that the injured occupant and anyone else around could hear.
There was pressure from the inside, so he pushed harder, but the pressure was building by an equal portion, as if the injured guest was working against him.
Maybe the guest was pressed up against the door and couldn’t move.
Paulo, as determined as he could have been, dug his heels into the carpet and pushed low into the solid door.
When he had it wedged half open, he stuck his head into the black opening.
Lights must be burned out here, too.
Paulo focused on the floor, figuring the injured guest would have been there.
He was startled to see bare feet and legs, and as his eyes continued up, the pelvis of a naked female. He blinked his eyes and moved his head upward, attempting to avert his gaze. Instead, he caught a glimpse of the woman’s mostly exposed breasts. He pawed on the door, intending to push himself away from it and the woman.
“Ah, oh my,” he stammered. “I’m so sorry, miss. I didn’t know. I thought you were hurt. I—”
A vise-grip clutched his hand, clamping it to the door.
It was a female hand, bloody. It was missing a finger.
Paulo yanked his own hand loose and skittered backward, his legs and cuffs tangling. He was going to fall. He glanced up, his eyes meeting hers. They were bright red and so angry.
She screeched an unearthly noise.
He attempted to scream back, but was cut short.
No one heard Paulo die, as all around the ship, the doors began to rattle.
Epilogue
“Is that a ship, out there to the southeast?” The man pressed the binoculars to his eyes and focused all his attention on the ship south of them. His vision was blurred, but the image was clear. “It’s a blooming cruise ship!”
His partner bounded over to him, causing their little aluminum boat to pitch violently.
“You idiot. Do you want to toss us over?”
The smaller man immediately sank to the floor, his rear splashing in a couple of inches of water. “Sorry, Thomas,” Phillip said, looking down at his pants. They had finally dried out and now they were sopping wet again. He glanced at the distant ship, ignoring his friend’s gaze. “Yeah, I can see it. But it seems... broken.”
Thomas glared at him for a moment longer, before returning to his binoculars and the cruise ship in the other direction off their bow. The ship was already plainly visible without the help of the binoculars, but he couldn’t see clearly since his glasses went overboard. “It’s the smokestack. You’re right, it’s bent over. They must have survived the tsunami, but it still got busted up. You want to see?” Thomas held the binocs behind him, expecting Phillip to snatch them from his hands. He turned back to find his friend sitting in the water gathering in the bottom of their little boat, staring downward. “Phillip, what’s wrong?”
Phillip looked up. “I miss our friends, and I don’t feel well.”
“Me too.” Thomas thought about what they’d been through, the only two out of a crew of twenty who survived the tsunami. How he and his friend Phillip made it, he had no clue. But somehow, after it passed, he found his friend and then this boat, floating beside them. The boat had no oars, but at least they were out of the water. Tha
t was, until it sprang a small leak, which required them to bail constantly. If they could stay ahead of it, they’d stay afloat long enough to be spotted. And they had a good chance of being spotted since they were floating in one of the busiest shipping lanes in the world. At least, it had been the busiest before the tsunami.
Thomas turned back to the cruise ship.
It looked like it was headed in the normal westerly route all transatlantic ships took from Europe, when they were first headed to the Azores. Unfortunately, their little skiff was probably too small and too far away to be seen by anyone on that ship. Just in case, he put the binoculars down and held up the broken oar they had found in the debris of another destroyed ship. With a T-shirt tied to its flat end, he waved it furiously from side to side.
“Will they see it?” Phillip asked, and then dry heaved over his lap. “I don’t feel too good.” He moaned and then slowly hoisted himself back up on the second seat in the battered rowboat to get a better look.
“Doubt it. But we gotta try. No telling how many ships survived the tsunami.”
“I sure am thirs...” Phillip’s voice trailed off.
“I’m thirsty too, Buddy. But what I’d really love is one of those rum-filled drinks that they serve to all their guests. You know, one of those fruity things with the umbrellas in them?” Thomas closed his eyes and licked his lips, almost tasting its cool yumminess. “A zombie! That’s what it’s called. Remember when—”
Thomas turned back to his friend, wondering why he hadn’t heard a peep from him while he was yapping on about the rum drink. Phillip had loved those things when they stopped at a beach bar on holiday in the Canaries a couple of years ago. He found Phillip staring into the heavens at a giant black cloud that moved rapidly over them. This cloud screeched and crackled.
“It’s a flock of blackbirds. Probably coming from the Canaries,” Thomas said, as he watched the swarm of them pass overhead, all flying toward... the cruise ship he’d been watching.