The Final Outbreak

by M. L. Banner

  Twice they stopped because they thought they heard someone else in the metal tubular walkway, crowded with cables and ducking. When they realized it was nothing, Bohdan moved them farther forward, but they were always looking back behind them, watching and listening for someone else who was never there. These were not the actions of men just doing their jobs.

  Otto decided it was better to bite his tongue. He’d do what they told him to do, and then he’d tell captain all about this. Maybe he could garner some favor by reporting what their errant crew members were doing in the dark shadows of his ship.

  “Here,” Bohdan commanded one of the two crew members; their names, also Slavic sounding, escaped him. And unlike all the crew before all this craziness started, many, like these men, no longer wore name badges. Otto first assumed they were recent recruits, like him. He understood that lots of the existing crew were being relocated to different positions and even different departments, based on the ship’s needs. For instance, he had heard of room stewards going to engineering or wait staff going to mechanical, which was the suspected job path of these men. Except they at least had the right color uniforms, which he did not.

  The crew member Bohdan had been commanding set down his tool bag, opened it up, and pulled out a small reciprocating saw. The other crew member, the largest of the two, already had a drill out, and started drilling holes into the top of a long span of aluminum tubing running along the confines of the small access hallway they were in. Otto was no expert on the mechanics of a cruise ship, but he knew this to be duct work for the ship’s HVAC system.

  The moment the driller finished making four holes, the other crew member with the saw began cutting from hole to hole. And within less than a minute, a rectangular cutout was made.

  “Are you sure this will work?” asked the driller.

  “Yes, have faith, my friend,” Bohdan reassured him, standing about five meters forward from their newly made hole. "We will be safe again after this. Now, make your next holes here." He tapped an area a little more on the side of the same aluminum ductwork.

  Once again, the driller expertly completed his work, this time drilling four holes in the upper-side of the tubing. And the moment he was finished, the other worker stepped in and sawed another square piece out of the tubing.

  Two holes, but for what? Otto wondered.

  Both Bohdan and the driller moved back toward Otto, near the first hole’s location, where Otto was standing hunched over, still collecting his breath. “Okay Anton. You grab the water bottle from fat boy.”

  This insult bristled Otto and he was immediately reminded of the nursery rhyme taught to him by his mother after school kids picked on him for being overweight: “Stöcke und Steine brechen meine Knochen” (Sticks & Stones may break my bones), “aber Namen können mich nicht verletzten” (but names will never hurt me).

  It still hurt.

  Anton, the driller, who originally carried the bottle up the access way ladder, once again effortlessly snatched the water bottle from Otto, hoisted it up and over the ducting, above the first hole. Then he lowered it, neck first, into the small hole at the top of the ductwork. Gently he let go and the bottle’s weight pushed down on the soft material, making it and the brackets supporting the ducting crinkle slightly. But it held.

  He still had no idea what the hell they were doing there... Creating some sort of flood in the ducting? It made no sense.

  “Your turn,” Bohdan demanded. Then Otto realized Bohdan was speaking to him. “Take this.” He held out a thick plastic bottle that rattled, which he must have pulled from the small satchel he’d been carrying, demanding Otto take it.

  Otto did as instructed and waited for his boss’ next command, not sure he wanted to know where this was going.

  "Pay attention now,” Bohdan instructed. “Don't breathe when you do this. When I tell you... Open bottle”—Bohdan demonstrated by pretending to twist open the cap—“and pour in 10 or 12 tablets. Then close. Then quickly move forward from here”—he pointed to the end-point of the access way, only a few more meters away—“and we’ll follow you from behind. Okay?”

  Otto wasn't terrifically worried at this point, thinking this was just some sort of stupid joke three men were conspiring to do together and he figured they were already saddled with Otto. So they’d get him to come along for the gag, making him the mule to slug the water bottle around for them.

  But then Otto caught a glimpse of the bottle’s label and he saw what it was. He glanced up to Bohdan. “What could you possibly need hydrogen phosphide for?”

  “Not to worry, tourist. We just killing some pests,” Bohdan stated resolutely. The other two giggled.

  That’s when Otto panicked.

  99

  Flavio

  Flavio had two immediate problems upon entering the ship. First, his new friend the black cat had followed him onto the ship, shadowing his every step. More importantly, he didn’t know any of the names of the four men and one woman who were security and were waiting just inside the ship. He wanted to get everyone set before the men from the island came on board to do their inventory and start the process of collecting the agreed-upon food from their ship.

  Cat meowed much too loudly and Flavio immediately felt the prickles of what he was sure was the other security guards’ scorn as they eyeballed their new second in command, who just allowed an animal to follow him on board.

  “I need four security to remain here and stay on radio channel”—he turned to TJ—“what channel are we on?”

  “It’s SC2, sir,” answered one of the two women in his detail, with a dark complexion and strong South African accent. “We were already instructed to remain on comms. Ms. Kashatri, Mr. Akashi, Mr. Ivanov and I will remain at this hatch, sir.”

  Flavio allowed his gaze to hover on the guard, surprised at how competent she was. He assumed most of these guards were not going to be professional after seeing the way their former security director ran things on this ship for the past year.

  “Thank you, Ms...” his eyebrows raised up, exaggerating his question, as he waited for an answer.

  “Sorry, sir. Violet Johansson, sir.”

  “Thanks again, Ms. Johansson. Can two of you also work the metal detector machine right now? I want to make sure our guests don’t have any weapons.”

  “Yes, sir. We were instructed to do that as well.”

  In fact, Flavio could see that two had already taken their positions at the machine.

  “Okay, I can see I not needed here. Could whoever is left come with Mrs. Villiams and me and escort their men down to deck 1?”

  “Aye, sir” came from a heavy-set guard. Then all eyes turned to watch the men from the island approach and mount the gangway leading up to their hatch.

  “Mrs. Villiams, could you go and stay out of sight, but smell each man after they come through metal detector? I have feeling about these men.”

  TJ nodded and without a word, stepped through the metal detector. It immediately emitted an ear-piercing beep-tone and she reacted to it immediately, doubling over and clutching her ears, as if in pain. Flavio squinted to see where in her skimpy outfit she could possibly be carrying any metal on her, while she scurried through and disappeared around the wall leading to the stairwell landing.

  His newest friend Cat continued her incessant purring. He couldn’t have this, when he was trying to do his job as each of the island men scaled the gangway single file. He didn’t want Cat hurt, but he couldn’t deal with it right now—not even sure what he’d do with it after all this.

  Flavio scooped up Cat—Vicky missed her cat and would love it sprang to his mind. He held it out to a portable fabric curtain that was used with others to partition an area for private screenings of passengers who set off the metal detector. Cat grabbed hold of the curtain and began to climb up it, leaving small holes where each of its claws had been.

  Flavio quickly returned to the exit and stepped up to the first man who had come on board.


  “I am Flavio Petrovich, second in command of security for the Intrepid. I’m here to make sure your men don’t get lost on way to and back from our food storage. Dah?”

  “Ain’t... that sweet... We have... tour guides,” huffed the squat man, who looked homeless, but well fed: his thick jowls waddled as he spoke, stopping every other word to take in a gulp of air with his giant mouth; his huge belly protruded out from a stained T, which seemed several sizes too small; and he was entirely plastered in a thick sheen of perspiration and dirt. Each of the man’s wide nostrils appeared extra flared. And Flavio caught a flash of something white inside, but the man turned before he could see better.

  “Please proceed through metal detector. Then wait for me with your other men.”

  “So long... as we get... our food... mate,” said the man, flashing a set of equally dirty teeth. He then lumbered, as instructed, through the metal detector. No beeps or anything. Flavio stood in the way of the next arriving man, while he watched the squat man continue into the hallway, scanning his surroundings. Squat man abruptly stopped, a smile slithering onto his mug at the entrance to the stairwell. Flavio knew right away what the man was leering at: TJ. Flavio felt his stomach turn when he attempted to imagine what the man’s sewer of a mind must be thinking right now.

  Flavio turned to and spat out a retread of his directions to all of the other men, who all nodded their acceptance, each then processing through the metal detector and each finally lolling in the hallway with the others.

  Not once did the metal detector chime an alert. And TJ didn’t show or indicate any sort of alarm. After the final man, she popped her head out from the wall’s edge to look back; finding Flavio’s gaze, she gave him a thumbs-up.

  All appeared right, but Flavio couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in his gut that they were missing something.

  100

  Entropy

  Otto glanced again at the bottle and then back at the tablets he had just poured out into the HVAC ductwork, then at the three grinning goons: two preparing to run back to where they had just come and one trying with difficulty to yank the cap off the water bottle. The obvious intent was to release its contents down the ductwork, so it would make its way... To the tablets.

  Otto was a civil engineer who built exquisite German bridges and perfect German roads; he was not chemist. But he took enough chemistry in his primary schooling to know when water mixes with aluminum phosphide, it will produce either toxic phosphine gas—often used on ships to kill rats—or if there’s too much gas, or a flame introduced to it, an explosion.

  Bohdan had told him that they were “killing some pests.” He suspected that these goons were planning to kill the parasitics the ship was holding in the big lounge. There had been many rumblings by former passengers and existing crew about how twisted it was to keep monsters on board the ship. Some of the more vocal folks advocated poisoning their food, or just tossing them overboard. Part of him didn’t disagree with the idea: the parasitics posed a huge threat to everyone on the ship and if all of the crew—including the new inductees like him—were able to vote on it, Otto felt sure they would have unanimously voted to get rid of the parasitics. He had even heard Bohdan mention a meeting last night that Otto now felt certain was to give this man the go-ahead to take this very action. But this much gas would kill many of the non-infected people on the ship too.

  It was also then, during his brain’s rapid-fire assessment, that Otto connected the fact that Bohdan instructed him to move forward after planting the tablets. They were planning on running back the other way, leaving Otto to die from inhaling the toxic gas. Otto would be their fall guy. The one they could point their fingers at as the instigator of this crime.

  “Come on, Anton. Finish it,” Bohdan yelled at the big man, who couldn’t seem to get the cap off the bottle by tugging at it through the little hole they had made on top of the duct-work. They weren’t the brightest bulbs in the pack.

  But somehow he did. Otto could see the air bubbles shoot upward in the clear bottle, indicating that water was pouring out into the ship’s ducting.

  Otto knew at that point what was going to happen and there was little he could do to stop it.

  Maybe one thing.

  Otto subconsciously patted his left pocket to confirm the presence of one object he needed. It was there.

  His next decision was his last, but it gave him much satisfaction: in spite of the captain or his crew’s stupidity in assigning Otto with such menial duties, he alone was the only person who could mitigate the loss of life Bohdan and his crew were going to cause. Knowing this made it worth sacrificing his life for all those he’d save, even if he suspected no one would ever know he was the hero.

  As quickly as he could move, he jammed the open bottle of tablets sideways into the hole, so that all of the tablets would come in contact with the water. He could hear the water’s effect on the tablets he’d already poured out and white vapor began to billow out from the hole.

  “Come on, let’s go.” It was Bohdan’s voice.

  “What about the fat man?” asked one of the workers.

  Otto was already running in their direction. And because of Otto’s movement toward the three men, each of whom had turned to consider the man and the question, all were momentarily puzzled enough by Otto’s movements and hesitated.

  It was just enough time.

  “What the fu—” Bohdan breathed before being hit by all 122 kilos of Otto König.

  ~~~

  “Pull back! I repeat, exit the lounge immediately,” Deep hollered once again into his radio, even though he knew it was no use. The guards had explicit instructions to turn off their radios during feeding sessions, so as to not to risk startling or otherwise awakening the parasitics. Neither the guard entering the lounge nor the other two guards outside the main entrance would hear Deep’s warning.

  The radio silence was supposed to last from the moment just before they opened the main door to begin feeding until the feeding was completed and the door was sealed tight. Physically switching off their radios negated any chance that someone would forget and cause a loud tone or voice, or that some other crew member would call out on SC1. Their reasoning was that the other two guards were already monitoring through a crack in the main entrance, watching the backs of the two who were tasked with feeding the parasitics.

  The radio silence was supposed to be for the feeding team’s protection. But now that rule put everyone in jeopardy.

  Deep hesitated with the channel selector. He wasn’t yet ready to alert the security on SC2 because they were too far from their location and had their hands full with the trade out on the dock. That left the general security channel, SC3. If there were any other security personnel left who weren’t either part of the away team or the feeding team, this is where he’d find them. Those team leaders who were not on shift were supposed to have their radios on and switched to this channel. That was assuming there were any team leaders left. Deep wasn’t sure how many they had after the first wave of Rage took the lives or humanity of so many crew members. And those who were left, he feared, would be helping the away team. He’d try anyway, switching the channel from SC1 to SC3. “Attention all security, this is Monitor Room Supervisor Whaudeep Reddy. I have a priority one message for all security personnel: we need additional security support to the Wayfarer Lounge on the double. Repeat, all security personnel, turn to SC1 and report to the Wayfarer Lounge on the double.”

  Deep switched back to SC1 and repeated the same message he did before.

  He expelled a monumental sigh, lowered the microphone from his mouth and fell into his chair. All they could do now was watch, hope and pray there would be no attack. Because if there was, this time, he didn’t think they’d fare well.

  From the main entrance camera, Deep and Molly could see an armed security guard, followed by the feeder, carefully move inside the lounge. From the inside, long-view camera, in the back of the theater, they could see the two men ente
r tentatively. The security guard had his rifle at the ready. His charge, the feeder, carried two heavy shoulder bags of raw meat: the only food stuff the parasitics seemed to eat now.

  At least it wasn’t people, Deep thought.

  The security guard halted just forward from the main entrance camera. He raised his rifle to his cheek and gazed through his sights.

  After the last two attacks, the guard assigned to feeder detail was given a rifle and instructed to use lethal force if he felt either his or the feeder-volunteer’s life was in danger.

  Molly didn’t like this at all, but Deep was glad for it, especially right now.

  They literally held their breaths and scrutinized both monitor views, hoping nothing would happen.

  The guard, with his weapon firmly pressed against his chin, rotated his torso like a gun turret. He seemed ready—almost pleading—for any threat from the parasitics to give him a reason to pull the trigger.

  Neither the guard nor the feeder seemed to have heard Deep’s calls on the radio, nor the other two guards at the door, who Deep could see just through the crack in the main entrance doors. It seemed like business as usual, just tenser than previous feedings.

  Deep’s fingers were interlocked in a prayer-like death grip, now white with the tips angry-red. He mentally pleaded with them to finish soon.

  The feeder had held up behind the security guard, who signaled with one finger, his okay to move forward. The feeder nodded, accepting the quiet command from the guard that neither Deep or Molly could visually make out, but knew was given.

  The feeder took several quick steps forward, walking past the guard, who trained his weapon on the closest pod, only a few meters down the aisle, which led directly to the stage.