Infernal: Emergence

by Ricky Fleet

  “Oh, William. It has been a superb cruise, I shall hate for it to end,” Margaret said, cuddling in closer to her husband.

  “We still have four days until we reach Seattle, I’m sure we can make the most of it. Tomorrow we shall go for a swim and play a few games of shuffleboard before sitting down to dinner.”

  “I would love that,” she said with delight, “You know I am not the strongest swimmer though.”

  “Then I will show you, my dear. There is really nothing to it,” he replied.

  “I will be swimming like Ann Curtis before we arrive home,” she giggled.

  “Don’t think you get to compete in the Olympics though,” William said sternly, “You need to stay home and care for our children.”

  “Of course, darling,” she said meekly, before brightening, “When do you think we will have our first son?”

  “Oh it’s going to be a son, hmm?” He smiled.

  “You always wanted a boy first and I shall provide you with one,” she declared.

  “I do need an heir to pass on the family name, father would be thrilled. I should imagine that I will be made partner within two years and then we will be secure enough to start a family.”

  “It seems a long way away,” she complained.

  “The time will vanish in the blink of an eye. You can use the opportunity to make sure the house is in order, maybe even begin to decorate the baby room in blue,” William offered.

  A shout carried from the corner and a member of the cruise staff came into view. Dressed in an immaculate white uniform with three stars and a stripe on the epaulettes, Chief Steward Jenkins gave them a friendly wave.

  “Five minutes, sir, madam,” he informed them with a curt nod, “I suggest you retire to the ballroom to refresh your drink before the captain counts down.”

  “How exciting,” clapped Margaret.

  “Much obliged, Jenkins. I had lost track of time,” said William, slapping the mariner on the back in thanks.

  “Anytime, sir. We are here to serve.”

  And with that he was gone, calling out to the other guests further down the breezy deck.

  “You’d better take that Mae West off. It looks ridiculous and is creasing your dress,” William said with a scowl.

  “I just thought it was better to be safe,” Margaret replied quietly, unclasping the padded life preserver. They had been nicknamed Mae Wests because of the physical endowment it appeared to give the wearer.

  “Don’t be so ridiculous, it’s not like we are sailing on the Titanic.”

  Linking arms, they pushed through the outer door and entered the stunning atrium. The domed glass ceiling was utterly black now and the illumination came from banks of golden stemmed lamps which followed the spiral staircase and crystal chandeliers placed above the thick red carpet.

  “Good evening,” greeted another steward who waited at the foot of the stairs.

  “It will be when I get another whiskey,” joked William.

  “Indeed, sir,” replied the man without smiling. Peculiarly, sweat was beading on his face despite the chill of the main lobby and his eyes looked fearful.

  Ignoring the unsightly perspiration as a possible illness, William pulled Margaret away and gave him a wide berth. The last thing they needed was to be coming down with the flu for the rest of the journey. Looking down as they reached the top of the stairs, the man was watching intently and begun to follow. For some unknowable reason William felt knots of apprehension as the unblinking worker took each step and hurried through the ballroom doors to be among people.

  “You’re hurting my arm,” whined Margaret.

  “Sorry, darling,” he said, looking at the red imprint of his grip, “I just didn’t want to miss the show.”

  Clicking his fingers at the waiter, they ordered a whiskey and a Singapore Sling with a crisp dollar bill promised if the drinks were brought with haste. Their table had a subdued lamp in the middle to provide extra mood lighting in addition to the high hung light fixtures above the main dance floor and stage. The place was packed with nearly every guest on-board and the cacophony of clinking glasses and laughter nearly drowned out the pianist who was playing Shostakovich while the rest of the band took a well-earned drink. The alcohol and cigarette smoke mixed with the perfumes and colognes of the revellers to provide a mixture of glorious scents and William quickly forgot about the uncomfortable encounter in the lobby.

  “Your drinks, sir,” said the waiter, placing the glasses on the table.

  “Stanley, you are a good man.” William smiled and slipped the dollar into his shirt pocket.

  “My pleasure, sir,” Stanley graciously excused himself.

  The pianist finished the song with a flourish and everyone gave a round of applause. The dancefloor emptied as the guests retreated to collect their drinks in readiness for the captain’s announcement. Stepping onto the stage, he had changed from the uniform he had been wearing all evening as he mingled with the clientele. The welcome was subdued as confusion swept through the crowd and the sporadic clapping died down quickly.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please forgive my mode of dress. I was unfortunate enough to spill a glass of red wine trying to catch a female guest who had fallen earlier.” He held his arms wide in self-abasement.

  Some of the guests had been convinced and congratulated him on the selfless act. Others were quietly wondering why he hadn’t simply changed into a spare uniform that must have been stowed in his cabin. The black shirt he now wore had a high collar and a gold medallion swung from the neck. It contained strange glyphs and lettering that William couldn’t make out from his position, but those seated closely shifted nervously.

  Looking at his pocket watch, he smiled and spoke, “It is now eleven fifty-nine. If you would all like to raise your glasses, I will count down the new year.”

  The free alcohol served as a balm to the more cautious members and the smile of their captain was disarming. Everyone decided to go with the flow and picked up their drinks.

  “Ten, nine, eight…” he counted down to zero and from the ceiling, bags of gold and silver confetti were released, twinkling in the light as the pieces fell to blanket them. The band kicked off a beautiful rendition of Auld Lang Syne and everyone toasted each other good will and a successful year to come.

  “It was wonderful,” Margaret shrieked over the din but William’s attention was elsewhere.

  Members of the crew appeared and lined the balcony above, though not a single one was joining in the celebration; their emotionless faces filled him with dread. Upon seeing the furtive movements of their staircase friend locking the main doors his apprehension peaked.

  “Something is wrong here,” he whispered to his wife who was oblivious to the unfolding events.

  “What’s wrong, is I am dry again,” she giggled until seeing the concern written on his features.

  The band stopped playing and the crowd erupted with appreciation. Thinking the performers were approaching the front of the stage to take a bow, the sight of the machine guns didn’t immediately register.

  “Oh my God,” William gulped as every member of the cruise liner’s staff raised a gun. The balcony crew was covering them from their elevated position and nervous laughs fell silent as the captain raised his own ugly looking automatic weapon.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, as well as being privileged enough to take part in the inaugural voyage of the SS Freedom, you have the honour of being part of something so much greater. If you would be so kind as to wait until the rest of your fellow passengers arrive, I will explain the purpose of your detainment,” the captain explained.

  “I demand to know what the hell is going on!” shouted out a fat Texan, banging his meaty fist onto the table sending glasses flying.

  “Please be patient, sir. All will be revealed in due course,” he replied, smiling his authoritative captain smile. It was disarming most of the time, but with death in the air people weren’t placated.

  Standing up and i
ncreasing the volume of his protest, the man started wagging an accusing finger, “You had better start explaining or I swear to God I will end your career. You will never set foot on a ship again!”

  The smile was gone, replaced by a contortion of barely suppressed rage, “Sir, if you don’t sit down I will kill you where you stand. Then I will kill your wife.”

  “Do you know who I am?”

  “No one,” answered the captain and raised the gun.

  Pulling the trigger, the Thomson machine gun spat fire and lead across the short distance between the men. Bullet holes punched through the white tuxedo and the slugs found their way to his pudgy face as the recoil lifted the barrel. The jaw shattered and ripped away before a final round blew out the back of his head in a welter of brain matter. Innocent victims behind the brash man were writhing on the floor and screaming from the stray bullets and his wife fell to her knees at his side.

  “You killed him!” she screamed, tearing at her own hair in grief.

  “One moment, madam,” said the captain, snapping another magazine home.

  Revellers scattered from the inevitable barrage, some trying to drag the injured away from the kill zone. Holding her head high she didn’t even blink when he opened fire again, her life had already ended with the death of her beloved husband. Nearly cut in half by the assault, her body slumped to the floor and added a fresh colour to the gold trimmed rug.

  “Any more questions?” asked the captain looking around the room. Apart from the faint whimpers of the dying all was quiet. “Good.”

  More patrons were pushed into the room, some with bloodied faces. They all looked terrified and the armed guards surrounding the whole room only intensified the fear. One of the women saw the carnage at the foot of the stage and collapsed in a faint.

  “Excellent. Now that I have your undivided attention I can explain the situation,” said the captain.

  His friendly exterior was gone, replaced by a glowering, hate filled mask that barely looked human. Starting to pace as if gathering thoughts on how best to proceed, he swung towards them without warning and the whole room flinched.

  “I think the most logical way of putting this is that you have a new captain,” he started until seeing the guests searching the room, “No, you can’t see him, but you can be sure he is watching. He is always watching.” The last was muttered and his eyes glazed with insanity.

  “William, I am scared,” whispered Margaret.

  “Shut up or he will shoot us too!” he hissed through pursed lips.

  “Now you are probably wondering what all this has to do with you fine folk. Part of serving the new captain involves… how can I put it… a sacrifice.”

  The room erupted with begging and wailing. Men were falling to their knees and trying to beseech their captors for mercy but the steely eyes betrayed nothing. They would have had more luck talking to the paintings which adorned the walls.

  “You have already had your damned sacrifice!” called out a woman who had missed the hail of bullets but now cradled her dead husband who had been hit in the chest.

  “You misunderstand,” smiled the captain, “I need half of you to die for the sacrifice to be worthy.”

  “What the hell do you mean half?” shrieked a man.

  “You can’t do this to us!” sobbed a woman.

  “Of course not, my dear, we aren’t barbarians,” remarked the captain, nodding to unseen men, “You are going to do it for me.”

  As fresh dissent swept over the captives, waiters and waitresses appeared from the shadows and placed a tray on each table. The groans and sobs grew into an unceasing din as the terrified guests surveyed the proffered gifts. Brutally edged clubs, knives of varying lengths, piano wire and rope garrottes, barbed knuckle dusters, and vials of coloured liquid were a small sample of the objects on the large silver platters.

  “I don’t understand,” whined Margaret, but William had no illusion about what was coming.

  “Hush yourself,” he growled and his wife started to cry even harder.

  Instead of being angry at the growing tension, the captain was looking around and nodding, “I see you are beginning to understand. The choice of your demise is in your hands, quite literally. In case any of you are still confused, the liquids are some choice poisons which will cause an agonising death. How you get your loved one to drink it, I leave in your hands.”

  “I fought against the Nazis. You can be damned sure we will fight you too, come on boys!” yelled a young man.

  Two more brave veterans joined him from adjoining tables and using the largest knives they rushed the nearest waiters. As sharp knives cut the people down, their faces showed no sign of pain or fear at death.

  “Why the hell aren’t they fighting back?” asked one man, cutting the throat of another waitress.

  “You must know this is futile,” chuckled the captain who finally gave an order to respond.

  The armed guards above opened fire and the three were cut to ribbons in a hail of lead. Two more staff were killed but none took steps to move out of the way and save themselves.

  “Set an example, please,” asked the captain politely and the gunfire resumed.

  Everyone at the surrounding tables met their fate at the blazing end of the Thompsons. When the guns fell silent more than twenty guests had been slain and tendrils of smoke rose as the red hot bullets caused tiny fires in the pockmarked threads of the carpet. Vital fluids draining from the perforated corpses quickly found the holes and extinguished the danger before it could spread.

  “You needn’t all perish on this fine vessel,” begged the captain, “My master only demands that one of each couple should die.”

  Seeing how insurmountable the chances were, one older guest looked into the eyes of his wife and gave her a final kiss, “Then it shall be me.”

  He picked up a knife and pointed the tip at his heart.

  “Stop!” screamed the captain before the gentleman could end his own life, “Maybe I am not making myself clear. One of you needs to kill the other one for the ritual to work properly. Suicide will only ensure the death of the partner.”

  “But why?” cried Margaret, ignoring the wishes of her husband.

  “Because love is the biggest lie, my dear. By committing the ultimate sin against those you purport to adore, it will prove that it is all just a fallacy,” he explained.

  “I won’t hurt my husband,” she dismissed the notion.

  “Then you are very brave, but can the same be said of your husband? Is he willing to die alongside you?”

  Margaret glanced to the right to gain strength from William’s stoicism; if they were going to die at least they were together for the end. Instead of affection, his eyes regarded her with fear and calculation. Forehead sweating and furrowed in deep thought, William kept glancing down at the instruments of murder.

  Laughing heartily the captain mocked, “It would appear not.”

  “William, you can’t seriously be considering his proposal?” Margaret wailed. “What about our life together, the children we were going to have?”

  He wouldn’t, or couldn’t answer. His throat bobbed with attempts to swallow from a mouth as arid as the hottest desert. Shaking in apprehension he picked up his whiskey, ice striking the glass with a musical tinkling. Downing the liquor in one gulp, the fire burned its way into the pit of his stomach. An apt comparison to his soul which would surely be damned if he carried out the heinous act.

  “William, please look at me,” she begged.

  “I can’t.” A set of knuckle dusters with sharpened points was calling to him from the polished platter. Like a secret lover, it whispered dark promises, using images of his continued existence to beguile.

  “William?” Margaret could see she was losing him. His face went through changes; the fear was replaced with a smirk and he nodded to unspoken questions. Terror gripped her heart when his hand slowly reached out and picked up a bizarre implement she had never seen before. His fingers slip
ped into the four welcoming holes and, with a shiver of anticipation, his fist clenched around the cold metal.

  “Ahh,” said the captain with satisfaction, “I see my master is with you all, giving you strength. Allow him in and your doubts and fears will disappear, you will see the glory that awaits those with the vision to heed his command.”

  “I’m sorry, darling,” William croaked, barely sounding like himself.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Margaret pleaded, holding out her hands defensively.

  “But I do,” he replied, taking a step toward her, “I have too much to live for. I am the future partner of Kalladon Associates, and when father retires, I shall inherit the whole company. You must have known you were marrying above your station when I proposed to you.”

  “Well, yes,” she admitted. As the daughter of a dressmaker, she wasn’t part of high society but William had been smitten at first sight. He had been searching for a dress for his mother and their works were well regarded across the city.

  “Then you see why it has to be you?” William said, drawing his arm back.

  “Begin!” shouted the captain and all hell broke loose.

  “William, no!” Margaret screamed as the weapon smashed through her feeble guard, gouging holes in her left cheek.

  The second blow caught her upturned arms and the bones fractured, tearing through the pale skin. His wife rendered helpless, William had a gut-wrenching realization of what he was about to do. In spite of the self-justification and bravado, his wife was in agony and it tore him up inside. She had fallen to her knees and sat in a growing pool of blood that ran from her ravaged limbs. Her torn, bloodied face looked at him with confusion and betrayal. The anguish was nearly enough to break free of the unseen force within his mind but, like a vice, something clamped down and cast out the pity.

  “I love you,” William whispered, fighting through the corruption in his skull.