The Roaming (Book 3): Haven's Promise

by Hegarty, W. J.

  Inventory-takers and warehouse workers kept meticulous record of everything that entered and left stowage, including bodies, living and otherwise. Notes or not, Bernie’s fate and the accepted tale behind it didn’t sit well with Sam. He’d have to get some one-on-one time with Todd, maybe even Joelle if he wanted to get to the bottom of this. Krysler would be of no help. That he was sure of.

  Krysler was a gearhead in another life, hence the moniker. He glommed onto Todd on day one. He was always the type to talk trash, knowing he had a big friend right around the corner to back him up should the need arise. Krysler was small and obnoxious but nobody fucked with him because of his proximity to Todd. He fit right in with the grimy underbelly of Haven. With Todd acting as a surrogate bodyguard of sorts, Krysler had free roam of the bowels of the ship. Not a soul looked up to Krysler both physically and metaphorically. He was a waste of space and a drain on resources, but worst of all, he was a drain on morale. For every kind soul working in stowage and de-cons like Joelle or the fishermen, you had Krysler and his lackeys tearing you down as fast as you attempted to rise.

  Todd kept Krysler on a short leash. Krysler wasn’t about to run around the upper decks assaulting his betters or those in the good graces of the Financiers—a position Krysler secretly yearned to achieve. He merely passed his time bullying those who had nowhere else to turn. Todd, of course, turned a blind eye to all of this. As long as Krysler kept his section of the ship running in an orderly fashion, Todd really didn’t care what Krysler did or who he hurt along the way.

  Krysler seemed to never shut up—the man constantly ran his mouth—and when he was out of things to say, that was when the insults started. It didn’t matter who you were; everyone around him would eventually find themselves on the receiving end of his crass brand of humor, which often bordered on the cruel. “God, fellas, would you look at this pair? A decrepit hick and a city boy. One is too old to pull his weight and the other probably hasn’t worked a day in his life. They’ll both be a drain on resources. You can count on that. I can hear them already. The first time they work up a sweat down here, they’re gonna cry about getting screwed over with job placement. Shit, if anyone’s getting fucked in this situation, it’s us. Jesus, look at these two. What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?”

  Markus took a half-step toward Krysler before Sam casually stepped between the two. Krysler was so impressed with his own insults he didn’t take notice.

  “Okay, enough teasing these boys.” Joelle moved from behind Krysler; her dark ebony skin glistened under the hot lights. Joelle often intervened when she knew Krysler was going too far; she’d seen it all before. New hires entered stowage and within minutes were provoked into a confrontation with the little loudmouth. She was aware of the consequences of landing on Krysler’s bad side, but today she was willing to chance it. Imagining Sam under the boot of this little prick flooded her mind with thoughts of her childhood in London’s East End. Joelle thought of her own father and the decades he spent answering to self-important assholes for what amounted to a pittance. A tinge of anger, resentment, and sadness guided her this day. “Shall I show them around, Krysler?”

  “Have at it. A couple of washouts from the looks of it. I don’t even want to waste my time.”

  “Right this way, gentlemen.” Joelle led them away from Krysler and his more obedient lackeys.

  “Thanks,” Sam offered to break the ice.

  “For?” Joelle feigned ignorance.

  “One of us was about to hit that smug son of a bitch.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t be the first. Just do me a favor, would you? Try your best to ignore the little asshole.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Sam tipped his hat.

  “So what is all this stuff?” Markus shook a box of tiki masks. “Why are you saving things like this?”

  “You never know. Someone may decide they want to decorate their room with a little island flavor.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I kid. When we docked at St. Lucia, most passengers were in a mad dash to get the hell off the ship. I’ve got no clue where they think they were going, but for the most part, they left with only the clothes on their backs. Hundreds of rooms had to be cleared, so here’s where their belongings ended up: in mass storage. The idea was that this stuff, though largely useless to us, may be valuable for trade someday. I know the idea of bartering with other survivors may seem impractical when you consider that we don’t even dock in port any longer.”

  Markus held up what appeared to be a chainmail shirt. “And this? This actually seems useful.”

  “Those are shark suits, and we do use them from time to time. Prior to the world going to shit, we offered diving tours. The suits were mandatory. Why they’re over here, I don’t know. They should be back with the fishing supplies. Let’s take them, shall we?”

  Markus lifted the considerably heavy box of metal suits as Joelle continued explaining the benefits of chainmail while escorting them toward an open hatch.

  “Early on, Cortez and the other excursion teams tried wearing the shark suits as a form of body armor against the infected. The suits worked, but they were impractical. Far too cumbersome for use on land. Now we use them solely for their intended purpose: diving for clams and spear-fishing. You’d hate to survive the dead only to be chomped by a shark.”

  A cool ocean breeze blew through the opened hatch at the far end of stowage. It was a welcome respite from the dank storage area. Two men were busy lowering nets back into the sea. The men—one Jamaican, the other American—were debating the pros and cons of a seafood-based diet and the fact that neither man particularly cared for eating fish. The discussion was one that both men were eager to cast aside.

  “How’s the fishing going today, boys?” Joelle asked.

  Both men were eager to move on from their conversation.

  The Jamaican answered. “Nets went too low this morning. We snagged a couple of those things, so we had to dump the whole catch.”

  “Bloody hell.”

  “I’ll say,” said the American. “It was a nice haul, too. A few dozen crab, huge stingrays, and a couple of reef sharks.”

  “And tons of fish,” the Jamaican fisherman added. “A shame, really, but we had no choice. Dump the haul and start again, otherwise Krysler’s liable to throw us overboard, too.”

  “I heard that.” Joelle was clearly lamenting the loss of resources but quickly got to the business of her impromptu trip to the fishery. “These two were supposed to start in the warehouse today but Krysler’s in a mood. Until that twerp comes around, I don’t suppose you boys would mind teaching these fellows how to fish?”

  “Not a problem, Joelle,” the Jamaican said as he guided the men over to an area overflowing with all manner of fishing supplies. “Right this way, fellas. Welcome to the fishery.”

  ~~~

  Paula ran housekeeping so it fell on her to train new hires regardless of her pregnancy. She was in the final trimester with her first child, and though she was overweight before the pregnancy—some would say considerably overweight—she never let that hold her back from looking fabulous. She usually wore tight clothing to accentuate her form; she wasn’t about to let the end of the world or being pregnant slow her down. Paula still wore low-cut tops—very low cut, low enough that when she laughed, her massive breasts jiggled uncontrollably. Samantha and Nisha worried that they might spill over right there in the hallway. The woman looked good, and she knew it.

  Due to her weight, Paula was given a pass as far as uniforms were concerned. The ship couldn’t exactly order custom sizes anymore. The rest of the housekeeping staff wore typical white maid uniforms. Samantha didn’t much care for hers; the fabric was thick, hot, and itchy. Nisha never bothered to put hers on; she was wearing shorts and a sweatshirt. Truth be told, she almost didn’t show up for work. She considered staying in bed all day but changed her mind when Samantha knocked on her door first thing in the morning. Not wanting to make Samantha late, she
left her and Sam’s quarters as she was.

  Paula’s liveliness was infectious. She was quick with a smile and always giggling. Paula was a joy to be around, and people genuinely liked her. Even the Financiers, the Elite snobs who she diligently turned down their rooms for every morning, had nary a bad word regarding the woman. Her ex-husband was home back in Costa Rica. They had been on and off again for years and were amid another break when Paula decided to treat herself to a Caribbean cruise. But not before he left her a parting gift in the form of an unborn child. Paula never concerned herself with the man’s whereabouts—before or after the crisis. If he didn’t care to be a part of their lives before the world ended, he didn’t deserve to be a part of them now.

  Paula and Nisha pushed large carts down a long hallway. One cart was full of fresh linens, the other dirty. Samantha manned a third cart full of cleaning supplies. Spotty mirrors and wet toilets just wouldn’t do. The doors that lined this hall were more spread out than on other floors; these were the living quarters for the Financiers. Typically, no staff were allowed on this floor save for Todd and a select few of his security, but being a Financier came with a few perks, not the least of which was turndown service. Paula and her housekeeping staff had the duty of changing sheets and fluffing pillows for these assholes. They also collected their dirty laundry to be washed separately from the rest of the ship’s guests. Each room’s clothes were placed in their own separate bag so as not to be confused with any others. Just the idea of mixing all their clothes up and the confusion it would sow made Paula giggle. One day she would do it. One day.

  “This is deck twelve, ladies: the home of the Elite. If we pass any of them, just smile and be polite. I doubt they would say anything to us anyway, but you never know. They think they’re above us and I guess technically they are if we’re the ones changing their sheets still.”

  “Must be nice.” Samantha didn’t have much love for anyone who put themselves on a pedestal, especially these days.

  “Mm-hmm,” Paula agreed. “Anyway, if a door has the linens in a pile out front, that means take the dirty sheets with us. Leave new ones on the floor and move on. The same goes for any laundry bags we see.”

  “That means they don’t want us in their rooms. Good to know.”

  “Mm-hmm, I prefer it that way. Still, some of them insist on us little people making their beds for them and cleaning glass.”

  “You’d think with everything happening out there that all this pampering was unnecessary.” Samantha motioned to what she could only assume was the direction of the mainland.

  “You’d think, girl,” Paula said while she unlocked a door and peeked in. “Housekeeping,” she said politely with no answer. “This one’s on my list of rooms to clean. In and out, girls. We change the sheets and make the beds. Don’t look at anything, and whatever you do, please do not touch anything.”

  “Easy enough.”

  “It really is, girl. It really is.” Paula turned her attention to Nisha. If she wasn’t pushing a cart, you wouldn’t even know she was there. “You’re awful quiet, sweetie. What’s the matter? You shy?”

  “Just tired.”

  “Okay. Well, you just pace yourself then.” Paula smiled warmly. “The day will be over before you know it.”

  The women made their way down the hall, loading and unloading linens. Most rooms had their dirty sheets piled in front of their doors, and it was simply a matter of hauling them off, though some of the Financiers appeared more than happy to watch the women clean up.

  The ladies were nearly done with the floor when Todd emerged from a staff elevator. He was pushing a laundry cart of his own that was filled to overflowing with dirty sheets.

  “Good morning, Paula.” He greeted the woman before turning to the two new girls. He scanned them up and down. “Paula should have supplied you with a uniform. Nichelle, is it?”

  “Nisha,” she replied sheepishly. “Paula dropped my uniform off last night. I forgot to put it on. I will tomorrow.”

  “See that you do. Part of what makes my ship run smoothly is being able to easily discern staff from the guests. If I see someone who I can’t immediately identify wandering around where they don’t belong…” Todd rubbed the back of his neck and tapped the side of his thigh with his ring finger. “Well, what am I supposed to think?”

  “I told her she’d be fine for today, Todd. She wasn’t feeling well. She’ll be fully dressed tomorrow. I’ll see to it.”

  “Good,” he replied coldly while flipping through a document. “I see there’s supposed to be another with you. Casandra, was it? She was the pregnant one that came in with your group, correct?” Todd scanned the hallway and briefly peeked inside the nearest open door. “What have I told you about losing track of these people? I can’t have the help wandering around up here unattended, Paula.”

  “Todd, she…” Paula began to explain.

  “I don’t want to hear it, Paula. Get your shit together or I’ll find someone else who can,” he scolded. “This job isn’t exactly rocket science.”

  “Leave her alone!” Samantha snapped. “Paula’s doing a wonderful job. You’d see that if you took the time to look. If you really need to know where Casandra is so bad, she’s in the infirmary. All you had to do was ask. She miscarried after your people threw her in a cage.”

  Todd’s demeanor changed in a heartbeat as if he were playing scenarios in his head. “I didn’t know,” he finally relented. He seemed genuinely shaken over the news. “I’m sorry.”

  “Like the woman said, all you had to do was ask. What’s up your ass today, anyway?” Paula’s smile nearly faded behind the man’s scolding.

  “It’s nothing. I… I’m sorry, Paula. Truly. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

  “Problems at home again?” Paula said with a bit of condescension.

  “You could say that.” Todd put his clipboard away. “Again, I’m sorry I was so blunt, but these people up here live by a different set of rules than the rest of us. Just follow protocol is all I ask.” Todd continued toward the suites but not before giving the trio of women a stern glare.

  Samantha watched him leave. “What’s down that way?” she asked.

  “That’s the suites, baby. No one’s allowed down there except for Todd and the folks who live there.”

  “Who lives there?”

  “No one really knows. Well, people like us don’t. Some of the staff think it may be a few of the musicians or actors, but yeah, no one really knows.”

  “Odd to see someone like Todd doing laundry, even for whoever was down there.”

  Paula shrugged. “He thinks if we see him doing manual labor from time to time, we’ll think he’s our equal. He’s not fooling anyone. He’s just a lapdog for those Elite assholes. Come on, ladies. A few more rooms to go and we’ll be done with this floor.”

  ~~~

  Casandra awoke violently. She thrashed about the small infirmary bed and tore out her IV in the process. Aiko and Nia raced over to calm her before she fell out of the bed.

  “Easy, easy, you’ve had a busy couple of days,” said Aiko as she carefully helped Casandra rise to a sitting position. Aiko waved Nia off.

  “Where am I? What happened?” Casandra was briefly blinded by the bright lights of the hospital.

  “Honey, you’re in the infirmary aboard Haven,” Aiko said carefully. “Do you not remember what happened?”

  “No, I mean, I do. I remember all of it.” She sighed. “And I’d rather not talk about it. I was just confused. That’s all. You know how sometimes when you first wake up you think you’re someplace else?”

  “I do.”

  “It was like that. For a split second, I thought we were back on the island.”

  “It’s okay. We all get like that from time to time.”

  Casandra’s eyes darted around the room. “Can I see her? Just one more time?”

  “Oh, sweetie. I’m so sorry. She’s gone. Why don’t you lie back and get some rest?” Aiko trie
d to hold Casandra’s hand.

  “I’ve been resting,” said Casandra as she pulled away. “I want to get out of this bed. At least let me walk around the room for Christ’s sake.”

  “Okay, okay. Let’s just go easy, alright? You’ll tear your stitches if you’re not careful.”

  Aiko helped Casandra up and over to a wall where she could better steady herself.

  “I just want to look out a window.”

  “The infirmary is below deck,” Aiko reminded her regretfully. “No windows, sorry. But you know that.”

  “We never should have left the island. Everything went to shit the moment we hit the mainland.”

  “Don’t do that. Leaving the island was our best option. It was our only option. We couldn’t stay there forever. The island was nice while it lasted but we had to move on.” Aiko reattached Casandra’s IV. “You’ve had a rough go of it, Casandra. All things considered, I don’t think we’d be having this conversation if you gave birth out on the road.”

  “Maybe.” Casandra looked around expectantly. She was taking stock of her new surroundings when a particular absence struck her as odd. “Where’s Bernie? I thought for sure his scraggly face would be the first thing I saw.”

  Aiko knew this was coming, only she hoped to put the conversation off for a bit longer. “I’m just going to come out with it. Honey, Bernie was bitten.”

  “How? He was next to me the whole time.” Casandra took a step and nearly crumbled to the floor.

  “Careful.” Aiko helped her back to the wall. “It was chaos back there at the hotel and then the beach. He must have taken a bite when we were jumped by those things or on the way to Cortez’s boats. We just don’t know. They let him go.”

  “What do you mean they let him go?”

  “Are you sure you want to do this now?”

  “Out with it already.” Casandra was close to losing it but pulled herself back. “Please.”

  “They have contingencies in place here. A zero-tolerance policy for anyone bitten. They said he hid his bite well. It was under his left arm, and the guards and the scrubbers missed it. He turned in the early morning of the third day. It’s why they keep new arrivals locked up for seventy-two hours. Just in case.”