******
The four surviving men gathered crates and tore them apart, whilst the women cut rope into lengths to bind the raft together. It was an arduous task for the weak survivors, but their perseverance was rewarded after much toil.
“Will it float?” asked Cheryl.
Ben nodded. “We’ll use some empty oil barrels for extra buoyancy. We’ve done enough for today. Tomorrow morning, we’ll attach the barrels and launch the raft. We should rest now. Tomorrow, you’ll need all of your energy.”
“That’s all well, but where is land? We may head further out to sea,” sighed Danny.
“We’ll tackle that problem when we come to it. I know that if we stay on here, we’ll die. Davenport will do everything he can to prevent us leaving his precious ship; therefore, we must guard the raft. We’ll each take it in turns on watch.”
******
Ben sat by the raft in darkness, a blanket wrapped around his frail frame. He moistened his mouth with a sip of champagne. His thoughts were with Natasha. The disappearance of her body, although it prevented her torso from being ravaged, preyed on his fragile mind. Her dying was bad enough, but it was like he had lost her all over again. He did not know if to laugh or to cry. She was spared the indignity of being eaten, but what had Davenport done with the body?
He checked his watch; it was close to midnight. A wind had gotten up in the last few minutes, and Ben felt the refreshing spray of seawater sprinkle his thin face. He cocked his head to one side. He could hear music, soft music coming from inside. He struggled to his feet and followed the source of his curiosity. He walked the long corridor, unsure if he should leave the raft unguarded. Perhaps it was another one of Davenport’s tricks to separate him from the raft.
Ben stopped outside the Ballroom. The veins protruded from his head, and his heart raced, as he heard the unmistakable sound of a band playing. What was his chief concern were the voices; the high jinxed voices of people who seemed to be enjoying themselves. He opened the door slowly and looked on, to see that a party was in full swing. Ben entered the room and froze, paralysed at the sight before him.
People enjoyed themselves. They danced and drank their punch, oblivious of the thin, gaunt strange who stood and watched them. His eyes were attracted towards the long tables. A sumptuous spread occupied them. Ben’s eyes watered when he eyed the chicken, York hams, beef, pork and other wonderful delicacies. Cream cakes, trifles, champagne, wines. A sumptuous feast indeed.
Ben scanned the magnificent room, and his eyes fell upon Penelope and her lover, Frank Pollock. He kissed her neck and she giggled loudly. They were all in attendance. Wells and Belinda, Harry and Pauline Bradshaw, Colonel Miles, Grainger, Lord and Lady Braithwaite, even Captain Perkins. Ben shuffled slowly towards the table. Nobody gave him a second glance. He halted in front of Penelope and stuttered her name. She ignored him completely and carried on her frolics with Pollock.
Ben now turned his attention to the food. The band played Jazz and tempted more couples to the dance floor. He ran his tongue over his dry, cracked lips and his eyes took in the fare before him. He reached out for a chicken leg and felt nothing. His hand passed through the drumstick, just as if it was not there. He tried again, this time with a cake, but with the same result.
“Hungry, old chap?”
Ben turned slowly around to be face to face with an immaculate looking Davenport.
“You! What have you done with my wife?”
“Your wife? I did you a great favour, Mr Duncan. There can be no worse indignity than eating one’s own spouse, don’t you agree?”
“Why can’t these people see me, Davenport?”
“Because, dear boy, I choose for them not to see you.”
“Who are you?”
“I’ve told you who I am. I’m James Davenport.”
“Why are you doing these terrible things? We haven’t harmed you.”
“Haven’t you, Mr Duncan… haven’t you? You still haven’t worked it out, have you? I thought you were an intelligent man. I gave you more credit than you were worth.”
“You must stop this madness, Davenport. We’d never set eyes on you before we took up your offer of the cruise. You have us mixed up with someone else.”
Davenport snipped his cigar. “There is no mistake, Duncan. I’ve waited seventy-six years for this.”
“Seventy-six years? You’re insane. We weren’t even alive then. What happened to your grandfather had nothing to do with us.”
The teasing man puffed profusely on his cigar. “Oh, but you did have something to do with the events that occurred in 1925. Work it out, Duncan.”
Simon Holt and his staff approached, carrying silver salvers.
“Mr Davenport, we’ve prepared this just for you. It is very special indeed.”
Ben glared into the face of the chef, but the poisoner either did not see him, or chose to ignore him. “Holt, he is the cause of all of this, don’t you see?”
The grey haired man ignored him and applauded the cook. Holt and his chefs lifted the lids off the salvers. Ben fought for breath and focused on the heads of Natasha, Joe and Wendy, which were displayed on the salvers, an apple in each of their mouths. Ben collapsed to the floor, held his head, and sobbed unashamedly.
The music ceased and he raised his head. The Ballroom was empty. He rose to his feet and scoured the room. It was deserted. No food, no band and no dancers. He was on his own. He staggered towards the door and heard the laughter when he exited the Ballroom.
He walked swiftly towards the deck. As Ben had feared, the raft had disappeared.
******
He was not the most popular of the party the next morning; after all, it was his idea to guard the raft. He tried to explain to the others what had lured him away from the raft, but was careful to omit the severed heads on the salvers. Ben feared for Wendy. She was still alive, so why was her head on the salver?
Joe had passed away that night, as the gangrene finally defeated him. It was decided to dispose of his gangrene-riddled body over the side, before they could be tempted to eat the infected body.
Ross pulled Ben to one side. “There’s something you aren’t telling us, Ben.”
Ben spoke reluctantly. “What I told you about the Ballroom is true; only, I omitted a couple of things… I saw Natasha’s, Joe’s, and Wendy’s heads on platters. I didn’t want to upset Sarah and Norman with the details.”
Ross was visibly shocked. “What do you think Davenport meant by his insane accusations?”
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, Ross. He told me to work it out... Perhaps our ancestors had something to do with all of this. You yourself said that your great-grandfather was lost at sea. Do you know where?”
“No, my grandfather used to tell me stories as a child. That one stuck in my mind.”
“Perhaps we are all related to Davenport’s sailing companions, and something went wrong.”
Ross smirked. “But that is pure speculation, Ben. It’s a bit difficult to take in… A ghost ship.”
Ben was adamant. “Either I’m correct about these ghosts, or I am insane. You have to decide which, Ross.”
“I don’t believe you’re insane, but why is it that only you have encountered these so-called ghosts?”
“I wish I knew. Either I threw the raft over the side or Davenport did. Believe what you will.”
“I’m with you, Ben. How do we fight Davenport?”
“We don’t. We must build another raft and launch it immediately.”
Ross objected. “Most of the others are now too weak. I think they’ve given up hope.”
“We’ll build the raft. Maybe Danny will help.”
“Even if we put to sea, we still don’t have any food, and our drink supply is just about exhausted.”
“I know this sounds macabre, Ross, but I believe Wendy will die pretty soon. We can use her body for meat.”
“Shit, Ben. What do you base your assumption on? You saw her head on a pla
tter?”
“Yes. I realise how absurd this might sound, but maybe it was a sign.”
Ross placed a reassuring hand on his friend‘s shoulder. “I’ll ask Danny to give us a hand.”
“Not just yet, Ross. I want to have a closer look around that library, paying special attention to those photographs.”
******
The starving pair examined each photograph, as they progressed through the dim, eerie library. Some of the books lay open on the tables, as though the readers would return to finish reading them. The whistling of the wind could be heard outside, above the incessant ticking of the ancient grandfather clock. A storm was definitely brewing. Many of the old photographs were of Davenport Senior, who bore a canny resemblance to his grandson.
Ross shouted, “Over here, Ben!”
“What is it?”
“Take a look at this.”
The old black and white photograph was similar to the one Ben and Ross had viewed days earlier, only this one had the names of the passengers beneath the picture.
“The Empress of Medina, Plymouth, 1925,” uttered Ben. “The names of the so-called male passengers from the lower deck are here, along with their wives. Thomas Cummings, Philip Cooper, Robert Quinn, David Duncan, and I guess the black guy is your ancestor, Douglas Harper. Don’t you see, Ross? This photograph is original. We’re looking at our ancestors. The surnames match. Our wives are innocent victims in all of this.”
Ross seemed to find it difficult to take in. “In all of what, Ben? Are you trying to say that Douglas Harper is my great-grandfather?”
“Why not? It’s starting to add up. It makes sense. What did they do to Davenport that was so terrible?”
“All what we’ve been through, we were re-enacting the past?”
“Yes, Ross, but not with actors; but with the original passengers and crew of the Empress Medina. That’s why Davenport wanted us to play out these roles. It was to not confuse the original voyagers, as much as it was for us not to suspect them.”
Ross again examined the eerie photograph. “But, why go to all of this trouble? Simon Holt was obviously the culprit.”
They looked at the dog like features of the chef in the photograph.
Ben considered. “I think that was only part of it. I believe something dreadful happened after the poisoning began.”
They both turned around quickly when the aroma of cigar smoke polluted the air.
Ben shouted out. “Davenport! I know you’re here. Stop this madness. Whatever our ancestors did had no bearing on us.”
They waited, but the ship-owner did not show himself.
“Now do you believe me, Ross?”
“I think I always believed you, but didn’t want it to be true… Davenport is not going to let us off this ship alive.”
Ben‘s eyes scanned the room. “He’s watching us. He’s enjoying our suffering.”
They exited the library, and the stench of cigar smoke still lingered in the air.
Chapter Twenty Four
The strong wind inhibited them in their efforts to build the raft, and time was definitely not on their side. As they lay in the Garden Lounge, Ben examined each of his remaining companions. Ross was strong and was bearing up. Danny kept up the pretence of being well, but Ben was not so sure. He suspected it was merely a charade. Norman Quinn was naturally lazy, and definitely not a born survivor. He would unashamedly take advantage of his comrades, unable or unwilling to contribute to their survival. Ben’s hatred for him grew as each hour passed.
Ben’s eyes turned to Quinn’s wife, Wendy. She mumbled to herself, incoherently. She was weak and could not last without food for too much longer.
Sarah, like Cheryl never complained. Sarah had withdrawn into a shell of isolation after the death of her husband, Joe. She appeared to have lost the will to live.
Cheryl clung to her husband Ross like a limpet. Those two were natural survivors, Ben told himself. He acknowledged from his army training how much abuse the body could take. He had been on numerous survival courses, but nothing prepared him for such an ordeal. Survival had assumed a tribulation of greater proportions than the army had prepared him for, and eating human flesh of his friends was definitely not on the agenda.
Ben eventually nodded off and dreamt that night. He dreamt of Natasha, who frolicked on the beach that she loved so much, and of making love in the dunes. Her smile lit up her face, and her red hair gently blew in the wind. Her blue eyes stared lovingly into his as she straddled him. Ben looked past her and saw a lone figure, watching them from the surf. It was unmistakeably the extraordinary and enigmatic, Penelope. She waved at him, and was seemingly oblivious to him making love to his wife. Ben looked up again when in the throes of passion. Natasha now stood in the surf, and it was Penelope who was making love to him.
“Nooo!” he screamed. He wakened from his nightmare, sat up, and felt such shame. That Penelope chose to intrude in his dreams was the reason for his indignity. The perspiration ran down his face as he looked all around him to confirm he had been dreaming. He saw a dark shape laid besides him. He reached out to touch it. Champagne. Davenport had delivered another crate. The mysterious host seemed to want to preserve their death, thought Ben. Keep them alive as long as possible.
Ben woke the others, and their eyes lit up when they observed the crate of champagne. Quinn shook Wendy and attempted to wake her from her slumber, but she did not stir. Ben shouted for her to wake up. In his heart, he recognised that she never would.
******
The champagne refreshed them, but their immediate concern was food. The same thought must have occurred to each of them; that they must feed on the body of Wendy to survive. This was not going to be as straightforward as it seemed. Norman would not leave go of his dead wife. He embraced her tightly, rocked back and forth and wept quietly.
Ross approached the grieving man. “Norman, we have to take Wendy before it’s too late.”
“No! She never gave her consent. She refused to sign your sick document. You don’t come near her, do you hear me?”
“Ross is right,” added Danny. “You have to give her up, otherwise we’ll all die.”
Norman looked up, his puffy, red-rimmed eyes full of anger. “Wendy is fine. She’ll wake up any minute now… you’ll see.”
Cheryl had lost her patience. “She’s dead, damn it, Norman. We’ll all be dead if we don’t use her.”
“Use her, Cheryl?” whimpered Norman. “Don’t you mean, eat her? What’s up? Can’t you allow yourself to say it?”
“I didn’t hear you complain when you ate Joe’s arm,” butted in Sarah.
“That was different. It was done fairly; besides, Joe wasn’t dead when we ate his arm.”
“No, but he is now, thanks to your negligence.”
“It was a mistake, Sarah. Anyone of us could have made it.”
Ben listened to the argument. “They’re right, Norman; you have to give her up. We can do it the easy way or the hard way. Have we your consent to eat her body?”
“Oh, so the Sergeant Major speaks and we must obey. Who made you our leader, Duncan? So you were in the army. That does not give you the right to assume command over us. No, you certainly bloody don’t have my permission, and never will. If you use force, and we ever do reach shore, I swear that I’ll tell everything.”
Ben responded. “We’ll bear that cross when we come to it… Ross, Danny, take Wendy to the galley.”
Quinn kissed his dead wife one more time and left the group to their grisly task of cutting up the body. Ross again volunteered to carry out the gruesome task. He was the appointed butcher. Danny and Ben held Wendy’s arms and looked away, as Ross proceeded to saw at the lifeless arms. The legs were then severed from the torso.
This time, they did not try to disguise their food. They were too weak, and past caring. They stood and watched the limbs being cooked, like a customer would await a burger at a barbecue. They had decided to make haste with the cooking of the li
mbs, as their hunger was great. The rest of the mutilated body lay on the galley table. They would cut the rest of the meat up later if necessary.
The pungent smell of cooked human flesh, which would normally have nauseated them, was inviting to their nostrils. Each of them acknowledged what they had become, due to their extraordinary and abnormal ordeal. Their cannibalistic instinct now seemed so natural to them.
The limbs were placed onto a serving platter and carried into the Garden Lounge, where the eager diners waited. Only Norman was absent, his will power obviously strong enough to refrain him from eating the flesh of his wife.
Ross carved slivers of flesh off the limbs and passed the plates around. This time there was no hesitation, as one by one, they savoured the meat, unsmiling, and eating unashamedly. It resembled a scene from a medieval banquet, for they discarded the cutlery, and instead ate with their bare hands.
“I don’t know about the rest of you, but that was the most welcoming meal that I’ve ever tasted,” said Ross, who burped loudly and immodestly.
Ben agreed. “If we ever do make it home. It’s imperative that we keep this quiet. God only knows what will happen if the public learn of this.”
Danny swigged his champagne. “That’s all very well, Ben, but remember what Quinn said.”
“He’ll come to his senses by then. We must save him some meat. If he’s hungry, he’ll eat it.”
******
Norman gripped the railing on the stern of the ship. He cried loudly and cursed into the strong wind. His attention was drawn to a strange, swirling mist on the deck. It was a peculiar sort of a mist, like a cloud, only it moved slowly towards him and hovered only feet above the deck. Norman, his back against the railing had nowhere to go, as the strange phenomena drifted towards him.
As it approached, he observed shapes emerge from the mist. The human forms were now visibly clear to him. The people, their faces partly obscured by the mist, laughed loudly. Others chanted his name.
The Cruise Page 16