by M. L. Banner
He was jolted from his daydreaming when he heard his name. He looked up and his wife was beckoning him forward.
“Ted, you’re next. David will follow you and I’ll be behind to make sure everyone gets across safely.” She expressed this without a hint of emotion.
A bird squawked above, raising their heads. It flapped about a hundred feet away, folded its wings into its body and barreled downward, aiming right for Jean Pierre, who was more than halfway across the line.
It zipped past the line and buried itself into the lifeless corpse of a passenger floating on the swaying surface of the reddish pool water.
At that moment, Ted panicked. He wasn’t ready yet. “But...”
TJ shot him a glare, through her sunglasses. It was her, and not the stoic person who’d been possessing TJ’s body the last thirty minutes or so. Her look said, “Not a good time to wimp out on me, buddy.”
Ted didn’t say anything more. He swallowed hard and did what Jean Pierre did. And within a couple of minutes, he was a third of the way across the line. That was when he made the big mistake of looking down.
A momentary wave of faintness washed over him. While dangling, he felt himself being blown around by the stiff breeze and swayed by the rocking of the ship. He shot a glance ahead of him, in a vain attempt to gain a solid visual footing. He saw an upside-down Jean Pierre move all around his field of vision, making his nausea worse.
But that feeling went away the instant Ted’s phone sang out the William Tell Overture—it was his text tone.
He couldn’t see it, and was glad for it, but he imagined the Azores were close enough now that his phone was picking up one of their cell towers. And even though his phone was nested deep in his jeans, the sound was loud. Too loud.
In response, he heard and then eyed several crazies below, screeching up at him.
They want to eat me.
Like some macabre choir taking their lead from the music coming from his pocket, the hordes below howled their rapturous reply. They growled and screeched, all while congregating underneath him, willing him to let go, to fall into their clutches.
Ted drilled his eyesight back down the metal line, aft to his wife, where he had started. She was still glaring at him.
Was that concern for him, or disgust at him?
He couldn’t tell.
He carefully moved one hand after another, one foot over the other, not slowing down even when he felt the pinprick-bites as his hands scraped over some sharp surfaces in the line.
Then he felt a steady hand on his shoulder. It was Jean Pierre helping him off the line.
He’d made it.
Ted gave the thumbs-up to the rest of his party and was surprised to see David already crossing.
It all looked like it might work.
The growing hordes below growled in contempt.
David was halfway across, pausing for a moment to glance forward at Jean Pierre and him, when a loud cracking noise sounded.
It reminded Ted of the sound of ice breaking off a glacier.
The two men looked around the glass flooring underneath them, thinking maybe it was breaking underfoot.
“We couldn’t break this if we tried,” Jean Pierre stated emphatically. Yet he didn’t know what it was either.
When part of the zip line snapped back at them, they understood at once.
Somewhere in between TJ—she was already swiftly moving across—and David, two of the line’s three metal strands broke free. With the tension released, the broken ends snapped back to their starting points.
When half of the line shot by David, under her legs and through his arms and hands, it tore through his skin, knocking his hands away. His top half fell, but his legs and feet remained curled around the remaining strand, holding him.
This final strand groaned at the undue strain of two humans pulling at it, even two skinny humans.
TJ ignored her own pain from her own cuts, the slickness from her blood coating the surface of their life rope. She raced across the remaining distance between her and David. “I’m coming, David. Hold on.”
The roar of the breaking lines and their commotion brought more crazies into a foaming frenzy just below them. The crazies’ dinner bell had just been rung. A few of the birds, previously occupied with the dead, took flight, and made way for the human beacons calling to them.
Ted motioned like he was going to hop back on the line, but Jean Pierre held him back. “I don’t think the line can stand any more weight, Ted. If anyone can get him across, it’s your wife, TJ,” insisted Jean Pierre.
David seemed stuck, dangling by his legs, thirty feet above a horde of crazy people, feverishly hoping he’d let go and drop.
When TJ slid over the area that broke, she saw that the single line that held the both of them up was frayed too. It wouldn’t be long before it also would snap. She slithered the remaining distance. Now ignoring how loud her voice projected, she yelled out, “David, I think this line is going to break soon. Can you reach up and grab or do you need a boost.”
This did it. He swung his arms back and then forward, grunted and stretched upward with one hand just hooking the line. He pulled himself up the rest of the way until he had both hands on the line. He didn’t hesitate then, he bolted.
TJ held back a little, giving David some room and then mirrored his speed. David shimmied the remaining amount of the line and reached out one bloody hand to Ted and then the other to Jean Pierre, both clasping David’s wrists.
It was then that final strand snapped and TJ went flying.
For a moment, TJ looked weightless, as if still suspended in the air. Then she was falling, even though she was still clutching the line. She was falling too fast to shimmy up in time. She curled one arm around the strand and gripped hard. As she swung down, her forward and downward motion drove her into a trellis beam. She hit like a rock, bounced once, and then she let go.
She fell into the gathered horde of crazies that brayed at the expectation of killing another human.
“Noooo!” Ted screamed as he watched his wife disappear in the crowd of crazies that swarmed over her.
She didn’t scream even once.
59
Jörgen
Captain Jörgen felt the weight of his command now more than at any time of his career. Before this, he would have thought he’d dealt with every conceivable problem, including a terrorist boarding. Was he ever wrong.
Besides the absurdity of mad dogs and birds attacking his guests and crew, he now had zombie-like crazy people roaming his ship, each with an insatiable desire to kill. And because the outside world was in total chaos, they were entirely on their own. And finally, they only had forty-three minutes to race to engineering and change the navigation or they’d all die. And yet, he liked his odds.
In spite of everything being stacked against them, he had the best crew in the world. He had every confidence in them to find a way around whatever problems were thrown at them, no matter how impossible they seemed. And as long as he was still breathing, with his crew’s help, he would captain his ship to safety. He’d already lost an uncountable number of crew and guests. Whatever power he still possessed to change their fortunes, he’d make sure no more lives would be lost.
He asked Wasano again, “Ready?”
His current head of security nodded resolutely.
Jörgen then glanced at the two German boys, and they half-nodded. He didn’t want to take them, but the older one said he wouldn’t stay, and he just didn’t have time to argue. He nodded to Dr. Simmons, who looked dejected and just scowled at him. She didn’t like being left behind, but they had little choice. She would have slowed them down and there was no way she could do what they needed her to do next.
He held his glare one final time at Urban’s body, covered with one of the emergency boat’s blankets, resting peacefully on the most forward bench seat. Jörgen would make sure he was accorded a proper burial at sea, when they got through this.
If they got through this.
Wasano cracked open the door and slipped out, followed by the Jörgen and the two German brothers. Dr. Simmons held the door to the lifeboat open just a crack, enough so she could watch them. She promised she’d lock it the moment they were out of sight, or any of the crazies came close.
Their plan was to quietly exit the secured area, walk a few feet to a ladder attached to the inside wall and climb up ten feet to a large steel strut supporting the ceiling. From this, they’d climb over to a deck 6 crew access balcony, hanging cantilever on the other side and just above the promenade deck they were on. Their plan depended on two of Dr. Simmons’ assumptions. First, that it was sound that caused crazies to react. So they’d have to sneak by the crazies without them hearing. Second was the assumption that the crazies wouldn’t climb up after them to the balcony, because they seemed to lose some motor functions after turning into whatever they were now. Those were two giant assumptions which must be true for their escape plan to work, and he hated to assume anything.
They slipped out of the gate of a jail-like structure that protected the lifeboats, each of them holding it for the other to pass through. Hans, the last out, turned to deal with the gate.
Jörgen eyed the cluster of crazies tearing apart one of his crew. It was even gorier than what he saw with the rats and the dock workers in Malaga. He couldn’t help but wonder what possessed them to do this. It was one thing to hear about this from their resident expert on parasites; it was another to see it front and center.
Wasano had swiftly climbed up and over and was already beckoning them from the other side. Jörgen would go next, followed by Franz and then his brother Hans, who boasted he could climb anything.
Jörgen may have not been as nimble as he was years ago, when he was on the Norwegian gymnastics club team, but he was healthier than most sixty-five-year-olds. Up was simple, but over became difficult with his dress shoes. Rubberized soles like those worn by his crew in the galley would have been much better for this kind of task.
When Jörgen’s foot slipped a second time, he took a moment to examine his footing and just happened to glance behind him. That’s when he saw the gate was still open.
The gate to the enclosure was supposed to have been clicked closed by Hans—that was the boy’s only damned job, except to not slow them down. But the gate was not only wide open, it was starting a slow swing inward.
Maybe with a little luck, it would clasp shut on its own.
Then it stopped, as the ship swayed to starboard, and the gate picked up the sway and began to swing the other direction.
It gathered speed, until it reached its limit and clanged loudly against its metal frame.
The sound was so jarring it startled Dr. Simmons, who was hanging out of the lifeboat hatch to get a good look at them. She lost her grip, fell out and landed face-first on the hard deck. The crazies heard all of this too, screeching their displeasure—or was it pleasure? He wasn’t sure.
Jörgen peeked sideways at the crazies racing toward the lifeboat and Dr. Simmons, who lacked the physical capabilities to retreat back in the lifeboat in time. At the same time, he watched Hans flash the oncoming crazies a wide-eyed look, then Dr. Simmons—who was squinting back at him and the crazies. Just as they were a few feet from him, Hans decided it was every man for himself. He jumped up on the ladder, going around his brother, who had just grabbed a rung. Hans scurried up two rungs at a time.
Dr. Molly Simmons was one more passenger who was going to die if Jörgen did nothing. He wasn’t going to let that happen.
Jörgen jumped, landing squarely on the lead crazy’s back, just as it was passing underneath him. He heard something crack, like a bone, and hoped it wasn’t one of his. His muscle memory from his gymnastics days kicked in immediately. Somehow he rolled and landed on both feet.
A definite 10.0, especially on the dismount.
He must have spent too much time relishing his success, when another crazy blindsided him, knocking him backwards.
Before getting flipped around, Jörgen caught a glimpse of Wasano leaping off the balcony and racing toward him. Close behind was Franz, who raced after two crazies who were headed toward Dr. Simmons. He guessed Hans was hiding.
Jörgen felt a sharp pain on his wrist. He was shocked as he rolled once more that the crazy’s mouth was clamped down on his left wrist. While continuing to roll, Jörgen balled up his right hand and punched the crazy on the side of his head. Each punch caused more excruciating pain, as the crazy bit down harder, holding on like a pit bull.
Still Jörgen kept pummeling him, until the crazy lurched to get a better hold with his teeth and instead received a solid blow. The crazy’s head wrenched back at the same time Jörgen’s shoulder hit something solid.
With the crazy dazed, Jörgen pulled his right elbow back and delivered one final blow, sending the crazy man’s head sideways, into the metal panel he'd found himself against. The crazy’s head bounced hard and he was out.
Jörgen recognized the man who had just attacked him. He was from Florida, some sort of banker who, with his wife, had taken a picture with Jörgen just before the dinner in the MDR. He couldn’t remember now if that was one or two nights ago; it seemed a lifetime. Now this man, who had gone crazy, lay in a heap, bleeding. Maybe he’d even killed the man.
A snarling bray, followed by a scream, pulled Jörgen’s attention back toward the lifeboat. Molly was whacking at the head of one of the crazies with her cane, while Franz tugged the feet of another trying to get free and attack the old woman. Wasano was dashing toward them to help, after he had just dispatched another.
Jörgen pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and wrapped his mangled wrist and stepped toward the lifeboat to assist. He knew this thing was going to hurt like hell when his adrenalin wore off.
In a flash, Wasano was up the stairs and beating the crazy man attacking Dr. Simmons.
Jörgen held up in front of Franz, rolling around with another crazy, thinking maybe he could use his dress-blacks for something useful, rather than ceremony. While Jörgen waited for an opening, he noticed something interesting. This crazy wasn’t trying to bite Franz. In fact, to the crazy, Franz was nothing more than a clutch of seaweed it had accidentally gotten entangled in. It simply kicked and wriggled, attempting to free itself, only gnashing its teeth wildly when it caught sight of either Wasano or Molly, who was now being helped up.
When Jörgen saw an opportunity, he looked at the crazy like he would a football, and not the American kind. He lined up, took one step and drove his foot through his target. Score!
Jörgen was also a pretty good footballer in his day, stepping past the delirious man to get to Molly. “Come on, Dr. Simmons. You’re coming with us now.”
“Thank you, Captain, but please call me Molly.”
They all turned and scowled at Hans, who had wandered back to the enclosure, examining his feet.
With one arm around Molly, Jörgen announced, “Let’s go. I hear more coming.”
60
Outside The Bridge
“A little farther,” huffed Jean Pierre. There was no response.
“Did you hear him?” David brayed at Ted.
Ted nodded, though he was staring in the other direction. He released some of the tension on Jean Pierre’s leg, causing the man to slide down farther. David did the same.
Each held one of Jean Pierre’s legs, who was stretched out, face-down on the long slope of the bridge’s windshield. His target was the area where the window had broken from the tsunami a day ago. The area was temporarily covered in plywood until they could make home port, where it would be replaced. It was there that they thought they’d make their entry into the bridge. Deep had told them the crazies were on the starboard side of the bridge and they might be able to enter unnoticed. Getting in without a sound would be difficult at best.
As he slid closer, Jean Pierre noticed one of the windows beside the broken one was left partially open. If Jean Pi
erre could reach the window, he could slip his hands inside and manually crank it open far enough for them to slip in.
“Almost there. Maybe a foot more.” He said this with his head tucked back, so that he was facing them, and a palm directing his voice away from the opening, so that the crazies inside didn’t hear him.
“Hey Ted,” David cracked. “Please get your head back into the game. Your wife would want you to survive this.”
Ted mindlessly nodded and lowered Jean Pierre as far as they could. Now he and David held onto each of the officer’s ankles.
“Make sure you’ve got his weight supported by his ankles and not his shoes,” David directed.
Ted wasn’t listening. His mind kept flashing the images of his wife’s expression as she fell into the horde below. And then their undulating mass on top of her in an instant. He couldn’t believe she was gone.
“You’re losing him,” David barked.
It was too late.
Jean Pierre’s foot slipped out of the black dress shoe Ted had been clutching. Jean Pierre’s body started to slide down sideways, David’s grasp providing the only resistance. But as Jean Pierre’s body started to twist, David who didn’t have full function of his hands because of cuts from the zip-line, lost his grip as well.
Jean Pierre pressed his palms hard against the glass in an attempt to slow his progression. Their squeaky protests were no help. He slid faster.
Now he was both sliding downward and fishtailing around; his feet were moving faster than his upper body. He eyed the direction he was headed. That’s when he saw his one chance to stop himself and avoid slipping off and crashing five decks down onto the forecastle. All he had to do was snag the bottom of the open window.
His slide sped up, as his heart pounded painfully. With his eyes drilled onto his target, he waited for the right moment. Then he sprang outward, extending his left arm and fingertips to their limits.
His pinkie brushed by the low edge of the window, and his heart sank as he thought he’d just missed it. But somehow, he hooked the bottom of the open window with two fingers. It was just enough.