The Final Outbreak

by M. L. Banner

  Jean Pierre had kept his back to them the whole time while he peered through his binoculars at the building black cloud, delivering the bad news in large doses. He had told them that they’d been hopeful that the animal attacks had run their course, as their firsthand experience had demonstrated. But the reports coming from the outside world pointed to an escalation, not a cessation.

  During this elongated break from Jean Pierre’s delivery, TJ had looked past him to regard the growing cloud coming their way fast—anything to avoid considering what she remembered.

  Far from a normal formation, it was in stark contrast to the blue sky, and it appeared headed right for their ship, almost course-correcting for their own movements.

  Her anxiety burned in her gut, until it turned into fear.

  “Now we’ve lost all communications with Gibraltar. We can only assume that... Oh merde!”

  He lowered his binoculars and flashed a glance at them, his face and bald head paler than normal. Then he burst from his stance and dashed past them. In one motion, he opened the hatch and then leapt from the swing deck into the bridge.

  TJ couldn’t tell yet what he saw, not wearing her glasses, and so she glanced at Ted to confirm he couldn’t either. But they could both guess. And with the same abruptness, they moved fast to the hatch opening, just as Jean Pierre made his announcement to the bridge crew.

  “Attention everyone,” the staff captain bellowed. “There is a giant flock of black birds headed right for our ship. I’ve been watching them the last few kilometers. My guess is they’re coming from Funchal, Madeira. Sound the alarm. We need to warn the ship.”

  All but two of the crew moved toward the port side windows of the bridge to see for themselves.

  Safety Officer Ágúst Helguson didn’t hesitate after receiving the order from his superior. He turned aft and punched a big red button on the control panel behind him, which took up a large portion of the aft bridge wall. A light flashed on the panel and on all their functioning console screens, pulsing in sync with deafening horn blasts which began blaring outside and around the ship.

  Officer of the Deck Jessica Mínervudóttir also remained at her post, eyes carefully monitoring the periphery of the ship from the bridge windows and the EDISC software on her console.

  All of them waited for their staff captain’s next command.

  TJ glanced behind her, momentarily forgetting she was still outside. She moved quickly inside the bridge, not wanting anything to do with the crazy birds, which were now almost upon them. Ted held up momentarily, half in and half out of the swing-deck hatch, to gawk at the massive cloud of black dots descending from above. He stepped inside, pulling the hatch closed behind him, cutting off the piercing horn-sound from the bridge.

  “Thank you,” Jean Pierre said to him.

  “What should I announce to the crew and guests?” Ágúst asked. He wasn’t sure what to tell them, other than stating the obvious.

  “Tell them to get inside ASAP.”

  Ágúst was already poised in front of the ship’s intercom system microphone. He punched the transmit button. There was a crackle and squeak coming from the bridge’s speakers. Ted imagined it was similar ship-wide, on all the public and cabin speakers outside of the bridge.

  All heads turned to face the oncoming birds, now everywhere outside their port-side windows.

  In anticipation of the question, Jean Pierre spoke in a hushed tone to Ted and TJ, “The general alarm stops when there is something transmitted over the ship’s PA system.”

  “Attention! Attention, guests and crew. There is a large flock of black birds coming from our port side. We believe they are aggressive. Please move indoors quickly. You will be safe inside the ship. Attention. Please move inside the ship immediately. You are in danger outside.” He let go of the transmit button and the horn blared again, everywhere except on the bridge, its head-hammering tone repeating over and over again.

  The first wave of birds hit, just outside the bridge windows, pile-driving themselves into the outside speakers.

  Deputy Security Officer Wasano Agarwal lifted his portable radio to his lips and called inaudibly to his security guards to get out to all the sun decks and make sure the guests were helped off the decks to safety.

  Jean Pierre tapped away at his console screen, adeptly pulling up the camera views from several of the outside cameras focused on the Sun Deck one deck above them. Jessica did the same for hers and the other two functioning consoles. All the bridge crew, Ted and TJ turned their attention to the screens.

  They all watched in horror.

  At least two hundred guests were milling about in and around the pool and Jacuzzis. Many of them had wandered to the ship’s port railings, presumably to get a better look at the birds, even before the announcement. Only a few were moving to the exits. None were moving fast. Some even appeared to be not moving at all. A few looked like they were vomiting.

  “Can’t they hear the alarm? Why the hell aren’t they moving?” TJ whined.

  Then almost everybody did.

  They’d crowded around the consoles, each displaying four different views of the sun deck, but with little clarity. From the cameras’ perspectives, it was just billowing plumes of black descending upon the entire ship. Each of them looked up at the bridge’s windows to confirm what their screens were showing: the entire ship was enveloped by clouds of black birds. Some were pelting the ship, just outside of their view, their soft thuds unheard.

  The open decks of the ship looked like an ant city that had been sprayed with pesticide: rapid movements, erratic convulsions, general panic, and even death.

  They all gasped.

  A large swath of the guests and crew were headed to the forward exits, but there were bottle-necks at each doorway. Hands swatted at birds; splashes of red were either seen or imagined—it was hard to tell.

  “They’re getting murdered out there,” Ted yelled. He broke for the bridge exit.

  “Ted,” TJ yelped. “Where are you going?”

  “I can’t just stand here and watch.” He opened the lone bridge exit.

  “Sir?” Wasano pleaded to Jean Pierre.

  “Yes, of course. Yes, we need to go. But OOD Jessica and SD Ágúst, you both need to remain on the bridge. We’ll be in contact by radio.

  “Aye, sir,” Jessica snapped. Ágúst nodded, and then transmitted the announcement again, even though it felt superfluous now.

  On the way out, Jean Pierre grabbed a radio for himself, and handed two more out to TJ and Second Officer Urban. “In case any of us get separated.” He saw that Ted still had his. “Ted and TJ, we’ll go aft, to the mid-ship Sun Deck exits. Wasano and Urban, update the captain—in case he hasn’t heard the alarm in 8000—then head up to the forward Sun Deck exits.”

  “Aye, sir,” Wasano and Urban responded in unison.

  Jean Pierre and the Williams bounded out of the bridge and made their way aft through the Deck Eight port-side hallway.

  Wasano and Urban followed behind them, stopping just off the bridge entrance, and pounded on cabin 8000’s door. Urban closed the bridge exit, safely sealing the two lone officers inside.

  “SD Ágúst?” Jessica called out, “Check your monitor... the mid-ship one, looking aft. Ahh, camera nine-fifteen.”

  “What am I looking fo...” Ágúst gasped. “I’m... Am I seeing this correctly?”

  “I think so.”

  40

  8000

  Jörgen had pulled the edge of his hat forward so as to block out the remainder of the cabin’s light from his closed eyes. But he’d been unsuccessful in his attempts to find sleep.

  First he’d tried picturing the image hanging on the wall of his quarters: his wife Katrin beside him, their three fully-grown kids in front of them, and their four grandkids seated in front of them. When this didn’t work, he’d tried to picture where Katrin and he would travel after his retirement next year. With the kids out of their home and no other responsibilities, they’d spoke
n endlessly about their plans to see so many new places; or take the time he’d never had to visit family and friends near their home in Lyngor, Norway; or to simply watch time slip by while sipping Udfa coffee with Katrin.

  Yet with each tick of his watch, he had felt increasingly sure those dreams would never come. And neither would sleep.

  Then his attention fell on the meeting he’d concluded moments ago. He had put off the conversation for as long as he could—or as Jean Pierre told him, he should stop beating around the tree: it was obvious that the outside world was devolving further into chaos and not likely getting better as they all had hoped. So he knew he had to tell his crew, starting with his number one, Jean Pierre, and then his first officers and many of his second officers. They all took the news as well as could be expected.

  After it was done, and he had found himself alone in this suite, knowing Jean Pierre had the bridge, Jörgen figured this was his best chance to at least rest his frayed nerves, even if sleep wouldn’t come.

  That’s when he contemplated several contradictions from the meeting: what his crew had reported with what Ted had told him about the red-eyed ferret and the airborne manifestations of the so-called Rage disease.

  ~~~

  “It appears that many of the reported cases of illness are from food poisoning,” Dr. Chettle told the group in his usual measured voice, while referring to the notes on his tablet. “We’ve had sixty-eight reported cases of this; some are in the temporary infirmary we set up on deck one. I suspect three times as many guests and a number of crew have been afflicted with some form of amoebic dysentery.”

  “How the hell did this happen?” Captain Jörgen demanded.

  “Our new chef said he believes it was some dirty water that contaminated last night’s dinner salads. He said it was a combination of being short-staffed, a few errors by newer staff, and, I quote ‘a ferret that somehow got into the kitchen.’” Dr. Chettle lowered his tablet and scowled at their ship’s vet and pet spa director, as if he were the cause of this embarrassing episode.

  Jörgen glared his own discontent at his ship’s sole doctor. He was angry about the doctor’s feud with the vet as well as the food poisoning. But these were small concerns that he’d save for another day. His focus was on keeping his guests and crew healthy now, until they could figure out what to do when they arrived in the Bahamas in a few days. “Anything else we can do to mitigate this?”

  “Other than the typical good hygiene—you know, washing hands—there’s not a damned thing we can do but wait until this passes. The damage has been done. The good news is that it does not appear to be very serious, although it feels like it to everyone who’s sick from it, and it’s not contagious.” Chettle usually preferred to overstate these kinds of things, sure that everyone he spoke to, including Jörgen, was clueless when it came to diseases. The doctor often grew short when answering similar questions again. So it was obvious the man was glad to have the floor in front of a larger audience.

  “Well that is good. The last thing we need, after all that’s happened, is another Legionnaire’s Disease outbreak.” Captain Jörgen consulted the next item on the checklist from his own tablet. “What about those in isolation from the dog bites?”

  Chettle’s attention was now drawn to two of the officers at their meeting, who looked ill, probably considering whether they needed to go to the infirmary.

  “Doc?” the captain prodded.

  “Sorry, sir. We had five crew members, including our vet Al...” Chettle paused to shoot another dismissive glower at Al—Jörgen had heard the doc didn’t like Al because the man cleaned up after pets—before returning his attention to the captain. “...and four guests, who reported dog or rat bites. All but Al here and one guest remain in isolation. The guest refused. None of them show any symptoms similar to the animals, and other than mild infections and slight elevation in temperatures, they look fine.”

  “So,” Jörgen now looked at Pet Spa Director Al, “was the Rage disease transmitted from one dog to the other by their bites?”

  “That’s our best guess, sir,” Al answered. “We just don’t have any way to test this. But our evidence is that one or more rats bit a toy poodle, who was already somewhat aggressive. Then the poodle turned rabid-like and bit the other dogs. Those dogs later became aggressive. It would seem that it is then spread by bodily fluids.”

  This was contrary to Ted’s theory that it was something in the air.

  “How long from bite to becoming aggressive?”

  “The dogs appeared to become symptomatic within an hour or two after being bit.”

  “And what’s the status with the dogs now?”

  “They’re still quarantined in the Pet Spa. And they’re heavily sedated, so that I can continue to observe and run tests.”

  Chettle jumped in, obviously disliking Al taking over the floor from him. “If what Al says is correct, I’d suggest we release all our patients from isolation.”

  “That’s fine, Doc. You have my approval.”

  Jörgen knew the next item, without looking again at his tablet. Just give it to them. They can handle it, he thought.

  “The main reason why you, my top officers, are here is to tell you some bad news...The world as we all know it is changing for the worse. This Rage disease, as the media is calling it, is spreading like wildfire. In many of the main cities of Western Europe, and all of our prospective ports, and even our US home port in Florida, there are rampant animal attacks being reported. Many basic services have been disrupted. In other words, it is simply not safe for us to go ashore any time soon.

  “We are not telling our passengers or any other crew about the outside world. Our hope is that this improves by the time we reach the Bahamas. Assuming it’s safe, we’ll port, resupply and then decide where we go from there.

  “I need each of you, my most trusted officers, to work on keeping everyone’s spirits high and to focus on the safety of our passengers and your fellow crew on board. Really, this is the safest place we could be at this time.

  “We will continue to monitor the situation, and if anything changes, I’ll report back to each of you.

  “Remember, what’s going on outside this ship is to be kept quiet. I don’t even want you discussing it among yourselves, because I don’t want others to become unnecessarily alarmed and increase their anxiety among everyone else, including our passengers. So mum’s the word, and let’s go take care of our passengers and continue to keep them feeling safe and comfortable.

  “Do any of you have...”

  ~~~

  The horn blared and Jörgen sprang from his seat, his captain’s cap falling off in the process.

  This was the general alarm. What the hell is going on now?

  There was deep pounding on the door, followed by the high-pitched chime of the suite’s doorbell.

  A moment later, it clicked open, both Wasano and Urban bounding through. The horn, located just outside in the hallway, now blared so loudly it was almost impossible to hear anything else.

  Wasano let go of the door, so that it clasped shut. “Sorry to interrupt sir, but—”

  “—Why the alarm?” Captain Jörgen asked as he marched in their direction.

  “A swarm of birds are attacking the passengers on our Sun Deck. We’re trying to get everyone inside. The staff captain and the Williamses went aft to assist guests at the Solarium exits. The deck officer and I were headed to the forward exits.”

  Captain Jörgen pulled open the door again and yelled into the blare of the horn, “Let’s go then.”

  They rushed the short way down the hallway, turned left into the hallway and immediately hit a wall of people..

  41

  Sun Deck

  Most of the guests saw the birds before they heard them, pointing at the odd cloud formation and articulating their puzzlement: “What is that?” “Is that a cloud?” “Are those birds?” More fingers pointed and more bellies found the edge of the port-side railing on the p
ool-side Sun Deck and the open deck 10, above them. They all spoke in hushed tones, curious but not frightened. Not yet.

  Not one guest, whether sucking on a zombie, basking in the sun, or sharing war stories about the previous night’s tsunami, even considered asking the question that needed to be asked: Were these birds coming their way a threat? And yet, every guest had heard about or witnessed attacking birds firsthand.

  Those guests and crew who bothered to take notice of the swarm of birds headed right at them still chose naive ambivalence over learned logic. And many were about to pay a stiff price for their chosen ignorance.

  Even when it became obvious that the frenzied flock of birds was about to descend upon them, their reactions—trained from years of normalcy—were more of shock or surprise than of fear.

  It was only when the birds struck that full-out panic gripped the majority of the Sun Deck’s passengers and crew members.

  Frau Wankmüller’s reaction was similar to most. She marveled at what she first thought was a hail storm, though she had never seen hail stones as large or black as these before. She watched them violently collide with deck chairs, loungers, railings, and people. When the dark hail squawked and screeched, she still held firm to her lounger, not wanting to mess up the pleasant buzz she felt from the uncountable number of rum drinks she’d consumed. She only reacted to the bird melee after one buried itself into her leg. At first she was jolted by the impact, but immediately discounted the attack to her fuzzy vision playing tricks on her brain. And when the offending fowl yanked out something that looked vitally important to her wellbeing from the newly formed bloody hole in her appendage; that’s when she finally screamed.

  Besides now flailing, the only other resistance her addled brain could come up with was to toss her empty drink glass at it. Missing the bird completely, the decorative glass connected with and shattered off of the elbow of a fellow passenger who was busy battling beasts of his own on the deck flooring in front of her. Before Frau Wankmüller could scream again, she was knocked out cold, when another bird hit her in the back of the head with such force that it broke its own neck against hers. She flopped forward and then back into her lounger unconscious. Now that her body was still, it was too much for other nearby birds to resist. Within seconds, a mass of black was feasting on the soft flesh of her eyes, neck, and stomach.