by Dayle, Harry
Flynn and Eileen stared at each other.
“You hear that, Eileen? You hear how he spoke? ‘Under control’? Nobody says they have a situation ‘under control’ unless they are afraid of losing control. This is where it starts, right here. But I need to be smart!” He looked serious now. “Only fools rush in. I will take my time. I will not fail Him. When the time is right, I will complete His work!”
Ten
JAKE WASN’T CONVINCED that Hollen’s message had been very effective. Everywhere he went, people were stopping him to ask him questions. In some of the bigger areas of the ship that he visited, he was virtually mobbed by crowds of passengers and crew members alike.
“Did the world end?”
“Are we the only people left alive?”
“Is it true the ship is sinking?”
“Why aren’t we moving? When are we going home?”
This last question was the most common, and the most difficult to answer. All he could do was repeat the party line: “Everything is under control. We are in the process of securing the ship and assessing the damage. The captain will update us all in due course.”
He did his best to try and calm people, send them to their cabins, but it was clear he was never going to win this battle. In desperation he headed back down to his cabin to change out of his uniform. He had already searched two decks for the captain and there was no sign of him. A detour via his own cabin down on deck three would slow down the search briefly, but once no longer recognisable as a senior officer, he knew he would be able to pick up the pace. And anyway, he supposed, the chances were good that Johnny would find Ibsen in his quarters and that this search was pointless.
Taking a crew only staircase, hidden behind an unmarked door, he reached deck three in no time. Jake had worked on other cruise ships before coming aboard the Spirit of Arcadia, some of them considerably larger. Normally the senior officer cabins were on the upper decks, one of the privileges of rank. But the Pelagios Line, who owned and operated the Arcadia, were not known for awarding perks or spending money on staff unnecessarily. The upper decks represented an important revenue stream; they weren’t to be wasted on pandering to the crew. So Jake, like all the other crew members, was based down here in the bowels of the ship. His cabin was barely big enough to house the double bed, small desk and chair, single armchair, wardrobe, television, and shower room that it was equipped with. Indeed, getting around between these items of furniture more often than not involved turning sideways and walking like a crab.
He changed quickly, jettisoning his navy blue jacket and swapping his previously white shirt, now turned grey by the ash, for a plain black t-shirt. With arms bare he noticed that the temperature had already begun to drop now that the heating system was off. He rummaged through a shelf of clothes in the wardrobe and found a grey sweatshirt, which he pulled on as he stepped back outside into the corridor. That was the moment he heard the first gunshot.
Eleven
LUCYA AND GRAU knew before they arrived that there was going to be trouble in the medical centre. The corridor leading down there had been pressed into service as an overflow waiting room.
“Oi, where do you think you’re going? Get in line you bloody queue jumpers!” a young bearded man was shouting at them. He had his arm around a small woman who had terrible burns to her face. She was weeping softly onto his chest. Several people turned to look, and some began mumbling in agreement.
“Sir, I understand you are impatient to be seen, but I am the chief medical officer abroad this ship. It would be very much in your interests to let me and my colleague through quickly so that we can start processing the wounded.”
“Oh yeah, Granddad? And I’m the bleedin’ captain! Get to the back of the line and wait your turn!” Another man joined in, moving to block their passage.
Lucya unhooked Grau’s arm from her shoulder, steadied him, and strode up to the angry passenger. Unencumbered by the wounded medical man, the stripes on her uniform were now plain to see. She wasn’t a tall woman, around five feet four in flat shoes, but when she spoke it was with a ferocity so unexpected it stunned all present to silence.
“Now you listen to me, sir.” She stabbed her index finger towards his nose, emphasising every word. “This is not a military ship so we don’t have a brig where we can hold troublemakers. But personally, I’ve always been in favour of capital punishment as a way of maintaining order at sea. Doctor Lister asked you to let us through. I suggest you oblige immediately or you are going to be in even more serious need of medical attention than you are now. Got it?”
The man swallowed hard. Someone further down the line whooped, and a couple of people giggled nervously. He stepped back in line, saying nothing. Grau smiled and hobbled on towards medical.
Lucya was of the opinion that “medical centre” was a somewhat grand name for what really amounted to a couple of small rooms stuck in the bow of the ship. With the number of passengers piled into the corridor outside, it had never seemed so inadequate. Two nurses were trying to maintain order and treat people at the same time. Normally the first room was used as a reception and waiting area. A door at the back led to the main treatment room. Given the size of the task at hand though, both rooms were being used to tend to the injured.
“I’ll take care of your hand and then you’d better get on,” Grau said, surveying the chaotic scene.
“This is ridiculous. You can’t cope with this many people in this space!”
“No, I know. I’m going to commandeer the gym, but that’s my problem to organise, not yours. Come on, we need to patch you up.”
“And who is going to patch you up?”
“I’m an old man. I’m used to working at reduced capacity,” Grau said with a grin. He leaned his crutch against a cabinet, opened a cupboard, and pulled out a large plastic box. With a quick rummage inside he produced a sterile patch.
“This will take away the burning sensation and protect the remaining skin. It also contains a mild anaesthetic which will help with the pain,” he said, sticking the self-adhesive patch on Lucya’s hand. “It will be good for twelve hours, then it needs to be changed, so come back and see me then.”
“In the gym,” Lucya said, smiling.
“Yes, in the gym. I hope you will bring with you good news from your radios.”
“I hope so too, Grau, I really do.”
She left quickly, intending to return to the bridge as instructed, but at the stairs she hesitated. Her hand had been dealt with quickly; perhaps she had time to change out of her clothes. They were covered in smelly ash, and had begun to melt in places, no doubt from the heat of the burning lifeboats. She took a snap decision and headed down towards deck three.
Twelve
THE SOUND HAD come from further down the corridor, a couple of cabins away at most. Jake’s heart leaped into his mouth. He had heard a gunshot only once before. He was just a child at the time, visiting a store with his father late one night. It was in their home town of Portsmouth, a wealthy area with a low crime rate and an even lower incidence of violent crime. On that particular night the store was having its takings collected by the security company. A pair of masked gunmen had burst through the doors just as the security van driver emerged from the cashier’s office. They didn’t even threaten him in order to take the cash, they just shot him once, in the neck. His bullet and stab-proof vest and his helmet offered no protection, and he was killed almost instantly. Jake witnessed the whole thing. The gunman had even winked at him, through his balaclava, on his way out. He’d had to provide a statement to the police. He’d also needed a year of counselling from a specially trained child psychologist.
The sound of the gunshot brought the memory flooding back. Sweating, he paced silently along the passage. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. There was no question of trying to locate the source of the sound. Better to get back to the bridge and find Max Mooting, tell him to get down here pronto. He was passing the door to Johnny Hollen’s
cabin, and stopped. Was that a groaning sound coming from within? He hesitated. There was nobody else out here in the passage. If someone had been in that cabin with a gun, they were still in there. He had turned to walk away when the cabin door flew open. A tall, thickset man with horn-rimmed glasses stepped out. In his right hand he held a semi-automatic pistol. In his left hand, a whistle.
“Hello, Jake,” the man said. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion.
“Captain Ibsen, we’ve been looking for you. Are you alright? I heard a gun,” Jake said, staring at the gun in his captain’s hand. A hand, he realised with horror, that was being raised into the air. A gun, he saw, that was now pointed directly at him. He tried to speak, but managed only one word: “Why?”
The captain took a step towards him. “This is my duty, First Officer. We were supposed to die, like everyone else. We all saw it on the final broadcast, the fate of the world. Death. Now it is up to me to see that fate is met on my ship.”
“You’re going to try and kill everyone on board?”
“Not an easy task, I grant you. But I suspect that if I eliminate the senior crew, the general panic caused will give me a helping hand in terminating more lives.”
Jake tried to back away. “Captain, where is Staff Officer Hollen? What have you done, Captain Ibsen?”
“I told you, I am eliminating the crew. I am going in order of rank, more or less, so you’re next.”
He took a step towards Jake, curling his finger around the trigger. Jake felt his trouser leg become warm and moist. He hung his head, resigned to his fate. Then, slowly, a smile crawled its way across his lips. He raised his head again and looked the captain in the eye. The expression clearly unsettled Ibsen.
“Something amuses you?”
“Three things, actually,” Jake said. “The first thing is, aren’t you being a bit dramatic about all this? I mean, if you are going to kill me, just kill me, right? The second thing, well I’ve just realised that I’m not afraid of dying. I nearly died twice today, already. A bloody great asteroid missed me, and then I avoided a molten ash cloud. I must be the luckiest man alive, or I really should be dead already. Either way, if you kill me now, I’ve already won an extra hour or two of life that I should never have had.”
“The third?” Ibsen asked.
“The third?” Jake queried.
“You said three things amused you. What is the third?”
“Oh! Oh yes, the third.” He paused for effect. “The third thing is, you should probably watch your back if you’re going to go around pointing guns at people.”
Ibsen swung round. He completed the move just quickly enough to see Lucya swing a bottle of Dom Pérignon at his head. It connected with crack that rang out through the corridor. Ibsen’s arms dropped to his sides, his grip on the gun, which clattered to the floor, lost, along with the whistle. The captain followed, landing with a thud.
“Thanks,” Jake said, wiping his brow with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.
“My pleasure,” Lucya said.
“Johnny!” Jake ran into the staff officer’s cabin.
He found his superior, half lying, half sitting against the wardrobe. The quarters were bigger than Jake’s, not exactly spacious, but there was enough room to circulate freely. Jake froze, staring at Hollen. Blood soaked the carpet around him, and more continued to trickle from the bullet wound to his chest.
“Shit,” Lucya said from his side. “Is he still alive?”
“I…I don’t know. How do we tell?”
Lucya dropped to her knees and put her fingers against Johnny’s neck, feeling for a pulse.
“Nothing. I can’t feel anything. I think he’s dead, Jake.”
She pulled her hand away, stood slowly, and backed away from the body. The two of them remained there, in stunned silence, not sure what they should say or do.
Finally Lucya spoke.
“We should get Max down here. I’ll go and find him. You need to tie Ibsen up before he comes round. Johnny must have a belt or a tie or something you can use.”
Jake said nothing. He was still staring at his colleague, processing what had happened.
“Jake.” Lucya placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to go and find Max. Tie him up, okay?”
“Yeah. Um, yeah, sure, you’re right. I’ll tie him up.”
Lucya left the cabin and Jake began to search for something he could use to secure the captain.
Johnny appeared to have very few clothes in his cabinet. The first drawer was full of magazines, mostly about building ecological houses and green energy generation. The second drawer was full of knick-knacks that he must have picked up from various ports of call. Cheap souvenirs, tat made for tourists. The third drawer held some clothes, and bundles and bundles of letters. Johnny wasn’t married, and had never mentioned a girlfriend, or boyfriend for that matter, so Jake wondered with whom all the correspondence took place. He realised just how little he knew about his immediate superior. They had never really been friends, though they had got on well enough, he thought. Yet looking through these possessions was like rifling through the drawers of a complete stranger.
A click behind him caused Jake to snap out of his train of thought. He looked around expecting to see Max or Lucya. Instead, for the second time he found himself looking at the wrong end of a gun.
“Your girlfriend isn’t here to save you now, sonny,” Ibsen said. He was having trouble standing up straight, clearly still somewhat concussed.
“I still don’t understand why you think we must die, Captain?” Jake blurted out the first thing that came to mind, playing for time. He stood slowly as he spoke.
Ibsen grabbed the open door to steady himself.
“Because it is God’s will, Jake. You can see that, can’t you? God meant for everyone to die today. Punishment for our sins against this planet, no doubt. But by a freak of nature, we survived.”
“Maybe it was God’s will we survived?” Jake took a step towards his captain.
Ibsen fired the gun.
Thirteen
LUCYA RACED THROUGH the labyrinth that was deck three. She charged straight past the express elevator that would, under normal circumstances, have carried her to the bridge. But the ship was without power, so in the dim glow of the emergency lights she carried on to the stairs and started to climb.
Seven decks later, she arrived at the bridge out of breath. There was a group of passengers outside, banging on the door, shouting angrily.
“You can’t hide in there all day. We demand to know what’s going on,” a large woman dressed entirely in red called out in a high-pitched voice.
“You ask us to go to our cabins, but how are we supposed to do that when there’s no light in half the ship?” another passenger bellowed. He held his hands cupped around his mouth as a makeshift megaphone.
Lucya could hear more angry people approaching. This was, she decided, not the best place to hang around for long. She couldn’t imagine Max was on the bridge. Given his nature he wouldn’t have stayed in there listening to the angry mob, he would be out there confronting them. She headed back to the stairs, went down a deck, and outside to where she had last seen fires burning.
The air outside had cleared considerably since she had been on her mission to free the burning lifeboats. Most of the fires were out, and the ash in the atmosphere had drifted away on the breeze. It was cold again; the arctic chill bit at her cheeks.
She found Max organising a group of older men, fighting one of the remaining fires. A storage locker filled with deck furniture was burning furiously. The men were armed only with tiny red fire extinguishers that they must have found somewhere inside, in a bar perhaps. Max was showing them how to aim at the base of the flames for maximum effect.
“Max. Max!” Lucya called at the top of her voice. The hiss of the extinguishers discharging in bursts made it difficult to be heard. She sprinted over and pulled him round to face her.
“What’s the panic?” Max asked, clea
rly surprised to see her.
“Johnny’s dead.”
Fourteen
AT THE PRECISE instant Captain Ibsen pulled the trigger, Jake lunged towards him. A tenth of a second’s hesitation and he would surely be dead. Instead, he knocked Ibsen through the open door and the two of them crashed to the floor of the corridor. The gun clattered to the ground and skidded away from the men.
Jake had never been in a fight in his life. He had absolutely no idea what he was going to do; his plan had extended no further than avoiding being shot. Now he’d achieved that, he had lost momentum, and therefore the advantage. Ibsen was stunned, but his considerable size and weight gave him the upper hand. He rolled over so that he was astride Jake, and dealt him a heavy right hook to the cheek. Jake saw it coming, and though he wasn’t able to avoid it entirely, the fact he had begun to move his head away meant the blow lost some of its force. Even so, as the captain’s knuckles connected with his face, he felt a flash of pain like he had never experienced, and his vision lost its focus. Instinctively, he lashed out with both hands curled into fists. Ibsen grabbed the left hand, but the right caught him in the gut, winding him. Jake tried to wriggle free, but the big man was not so easily beaten. Ibsen pinned his left hand to the ground and wrapped his right around the younger man’s throat. For Jake the world came back into sharp focus, then started to fade as the supply of oxygen to his brain was cut off. He wriggled and squirmed, but to no avail. He could feel the life begin to drain out of him, and once again found the sense of calm he had felt the first time the gun had been pointed at him that day.