Chucklers (Book 1): Laughter is Contagious

by Jeff Brackett

  She hesitated. She understood why he’d taken the truck, and truth be told, he could have simply forced her to get out when she’d first refused to take him back. But he’d seen her safely back to shelter, made sure she was inside before driving off. All in all, it was the most polite carjacking she’d ever heard of. “Yeah, I guess I’m probably gonna need some help along the way, anyway. And you seemed pretty handy with that pistol.”

  That reminded her. “That’s right!” She brushed past Matt, leaving him looking after her quizzically as she hurried to Uncle J’s bedroom. She checked in the closet, but found nothing. Turning to leave, she bumped into Matt.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Uncle Jimmy had a shotgun around here.”

  Matt looked around the small walk-in. “No gun safe. Did he leave it loose?”

  “I don’t know. He only took it out when we found snakes or had a problem with coyotes or wild dogs getting into the hen house.”

  Matt stepped out of the closet so she could follow. He dropped to the floor and looked under the bed. “Ah hah!” He dragged out a metal case about the right size to hold a rifle or two. “I don’t suppose you know the combination?”

  Peeking over his shoulder, Erica saw that there was an electrical keypad recessed into one end of the case. “No, I don’t.”

  “What was Uncle Jimmy’s birthday?”

  “What?”

  “These things usually have a six digit combination. That naturally lends itself to dates.”

  “Oh. Try zero, two, one, two, four, nine.”

  He punched the numbers and finished with a hash mark. The keys lit up and flashed three times, and Matt tried the drawer and sighed. “Nope.”

  She thought for a second. “Then try zero, four, two, four, nine, five.”

  Matt punched them in and there was an audible click. Erica smiled sadly. Uncle Jimmy had used her birthday. Matt slid the locking lever to the right, and the cover opened a tiny bit. He pulled it down and slid the drawer out of the safe. There lay Uncle Jimmy’s shotgun, as well as several boxes of shells.

  Picking it up, Matt worked the action on it to see if it was loaded. Satisfied that it wasn’t, he started to examine it, nodding in approval. “Pretty nice. It’s a Mossberg 500. Nothing fancy, but a good, reliable twelve-gauge.”

  He handed her the shotgun and started laying the boxes of shells out on the bed. “Should make a nice addition to the arsenal.”

  She grunted. “Arsenal? You call a pistol and a shotgun an arsenal?”

  Matt stood. “Okay, you’re sure you’re leaving here?”

  “Yeah. I’m sure.”

  “All right.” He grabbed a pillow off the bed, and stripped the pillow case off of it. Stuffing all the shotgun shells into the pillow case, he slung it over his shoulder. “Then follow me.”

  Erica followed him all the way outside and back to the Xterra, where he opened the back. Her jaw dropped at the sight. “Where did you get all this?”

  Matt swung the pillowcase off his shoulder and into the pile of weapons in the back. “At home. It’s not really all that much. Couple of rifles and six pistols. Now a shotgun.”

  “Not that much, huh?”

  “Considering what we went through last night, do you really think it will be enough?”

  He had a point. She looked back at the house, thinking about what she would need to pack and realized she had definitely decided to leave.

  “So when do you want to go?”

  Chapter 64

  Charles Griffe

  The Engine Room

  Chris’s personal badge had gotten them past the locks on the “Crew Only” doors leading to the lower decks. Once they had made it there, the entire atmosphere changed. Everywhere had been lit by a different type of emergency lighting than they had been forced to deal with in the rest of the ship. A steady red light, allowed them to save the batteries in Tabby’s little flashlight. Evidently the designers had decided that a pulse of red light every few seconds was insufficient for vital areas of the ship.

  But Tabby pointed out the most startling difference. “Listen.”

  They all stopped, craning to hear what she was talking about. After several seconds, Charlie shook his head. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Exactly. No screams or laughter… not even that hoarse wheezing they’ve been doing lately. There’s no sounds that makes you think anyone’s down here at all.”

  Listening again, Charlie realized she was right. He turned to Chris. “Any idea why that would be?”

  Chris shrugged. “Not really. Maybe anyone down here decided to move to the upper decks. Once you’re out, you can’t get back in without the right key card.”

  “But why would they go out there to begin with?”

  “Not all of them did.” Shane indicated another pair of bodies on the floor ahead.

  “But there aren’t even as many bodies down here. Why would that be?”

  “Who knows?” Chris clearly wasn’t worried too much about it. He started walking again. “Maybe there just weren’t enough people down here to keep them entertained.”

  Why do you want to start looking gift horses in the mouth?

  Charlie sighed. “I guess there’s a reason we call ‘em crazies.” The group moved on. The lower four decks were the working areas of the ship, and Charlie had nearly run into Chris’s back when the other man had stopped at the entrance to a huge open area. He turned and stopped them before anyone went past. “Guys, remember what we talked about with the smiling, right? Don’t let yourself laugh. We don’t know if that’s what happens, but let’s not take the chance, all right?”

  Charlie thought that was an odd thing to remind them of, and peered over Chris’s head into the room beyond. There was a bit of a foul stench coming from that direction, but with the number of bodies lying about the ship, they had become somewhat used to that. Then Chris stepped aside to let them pass, and Charlie suddenly understood.

  They had entered the food preparation areas. It was a kitchen half the size of a football field and the sight of all that food made Charlie want to laugh. There were dozens of rows of counters, sinks, bread racks, refrigerators, ovens, utensils, dishes, and anything else one could possibly need to feed the thousands of people aboard the Bahama Queen. Charlie stepped toward one of the long counters and saw the source of much of the smell. There were hundreds of crabs, fish, lobsters and scallops rotting in the sinks. His stomach turned as he remembered throwing up the lobster thermidor on the night the madness aboard the cruise ship had begun. Choking back the bile, he continued to look around for something else to eat as the rest of the group “oo-ed” and “ah-ed” as they wandered through the foodstuffs.

  The seafood was obviously not fit for consumption, but there were racks and racks of cheeses, fruits, cakes, and other non-perishables. They all sat on the floor for several minutes contentedly gorging themselves silly on cheese sandwiches and canned drinks followed by whatever fruits or pastries caught their fancy. Some of it was stale, and it was all room temperature, but compared to what they had been forced to eat over the last several days, it was a veritable feast.

  Finally, after they were all sated, Chris reminded them that it wasn’t the only reason they had come down to the bowels of the ship. In better spirits than he’d been in since the power had gone out, Charlie stuffed a handful of cookies into his pockets and got to his feet with the others.

  As they started to leave, Tabby called for their attention. Waving a large carving knife in the air, she pointed to a drawer she had pulled open. “Might be a good idea to grab a few. Hell of a lot better than a piece of mirror.”

  Within moments, everyone had armed themselves with knives or in Chris’s case, a large meat cleaver. “Everybody ready?”

  They all nodded, and Chris led the way. They passed huge washing machines, pallets full of canned foods, toilet paper and other items for the cruise. Eventually, he brought them to the lower most deck of the ship and stopped
outside a door. The sign beside the broken window read Engine Control Room. The good mood they had all shared vanished as soon as they entered.

  “Shit!” Chris cursed.

  Charlie picked up a shard of plastic that had once been part of a control panel. He shook his head and tossed it away. “I don’t suppose we’re going to get anything running in here, are we?”

  “We’ll see.”

  Felicia began to sob again. “Why would they do this?”

  Charlie rolled his eyes. He’d forgotten just how much she could complain.

  Chris shrugged. “Like Charlie said, there’s a reason we call them crazies.”

  The entire control room was a wreck. Someone, or several someones, had smashed or broken anything they could get their hands on. The room was a minefield of broken glass, plastic, and oil.

  Charlie reached to stand a computer monitor back up when Tabatha tugged at his sleeve. “I wouldn’t touch anything.”

  There she goes again. Bossy bitch, ain’t she?

  But Charlie was beginning to get the hang of not reacting to his father’s comments. “Why not?” he asked Tabby.

  “Everything in here’s coated with blood.”

  In the red light, it took Charlie several seconds to realize that the dark, viscous fluid that he’d thought was oil was blood, but once Tabby pointed it out, it seemed obvious.

  Felicia whimpered and drew close to Charlie.

  Chris spoke from the other side of the console. “Looks like they shut everything down and then smashed the controls.” He reached for a large red button on the console and twisted it clockwise. The button popped up about an inch from where it had been recessed.

  “What’s that?” Charlie asked.

  “Emergency shutoff.” There was a small green button on the console next to the shutoff, and he put his finger over it. Then he pulled his hand back and turned to the others. “Before I do this, remember what I said outside the kitchen area.” He pointed at the button. “If this works, we may get power again. After everything we’ve all been through, some of you might want to laugh or cheer or something. All I can say is don’t.” He put his hand back over the button. “I’d hate to have to kill any of you.”

  He pressed the button and they looked around. After a second, Charlie looked at Chris. “Was it supposed to happen right away?”

  Chris pursed his lips. “What did I forget?” He looked around the room and stopped after a moment. He snapped his fingers. “Breaker bars!” He moved briskly to a panel on the far wall and opened it up to reveal a series of electrical breakers. “There we are.” He flipped each breaker arm up and closed the panel again. Moving back to the console, he pressed the power button once again. This time, the room was immediately filled with a small hum and the lights flickered on. Charlie sighed, biting his lip to keep from smiling. Then he noticed Chris’s expression. The younger man was looking around the room, and worried frown on his face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  But he didn’t answer. He just turned away from the mess and crossed to a large window on the other side of the room.

  They all followed him and peered out over a room that appeared cavernous. In it rested the engines themselves. They were massive things, each one the size of Charlie’s den. He waited for Chris to say something, and after a few moments of silence, Charlie cleared his throat. “All right, so what are we looking at?”

  Chris spoke without turning. “Enough engine power to suck down almost twenty-five hundred gallons of fuel per hour when we’re under way. Enough to produce almost one hundred thousand kilowatts of electricity, to power all the lights, elevators, electronics, galleys, the water treatment plant, and all the other systems that keep the Bahama Queen running.” He turned to Charlie. “And of course, they also power the ship’s propulsion systems.”

  Charlie just blinked at him.

  Finally, Chris shrugged. “Sorry. They made us memorize a lot of the stats during our training.”

  “So what’s the problem? They’re running, right?”

  “Yes, they’re running.”

  Tabby caught on before anyone else. She looked back at the smashed consoles. “But you can’t steer the ship from here, can you?”

  Chris shook his head. “We had to get the engines back online first. But Tabby’s right. Getting the engines started, and controlling where you’re going are two different things.”

  Everyone in the group began to mutter.

  Chris held up his hand and continued. “Now I need to get to the bridge.” He sighed. “Assuming it’s in better shape than the engine control room, I should be able to get us safely into port.”

  Tabby nodded. “So where’s the bridge?”

  Chris looked at her. “Deck Twelve.”

  Charlie gaped. “Twelve?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And we’re at the bottom? On One?”

  “Yeah.”

  Charlie was silent a moment. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t we first meet on Twelve?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Three days ago?”

  “Yeah, nearly that.”

  “It took us three days to get from Deck Twelve down to here. Going down the stairs. Now we have to go back up?”

  “Yes.” He raised an eyebrow, as if waiting for Charlie to figure something out.

  “What?” Charlie found himself raising his voice. “It’s still going to take us forever to get up there.”

  Chris just shook his head. “Not if we hurry. I figure we can make it to the elevator in about ten minutes.”

  Charlie looked around them at the glowing lights. Electricity, boy. Once more, he had to fight back a grin.

  Chapter 65

  August Grappin

  Lights

  For the first time in the last few days, he began to feel something other than constant euphoria. The pleasure/pain that occasionally escalated into an ecstatic frenzy, was beginning to fade. There was an anxiety, tinged with a frantic need to find more tactile stimulation. He tried to understand what was wrong, but thinking had grown difficult.

  What was it? Why didn’t he feel as much of the pleasure/pain as he had?

  His throat hurt. Could that be it? He didn’t think so. It was a wonderful, exquisite, agonizing rawness that ripped through him as he tried to laugh. But it wasn’t the same.

  He didn’t understand it. In truth, he no longer had the mental capacity to understand it. All he understood anymore was laughing was good. Sharing laughter with others was good. Eating was good. To a lesser extent, finding those who didn’t laugh and making them scream was almost as good.

  But when there were no new people to share pleasure/pain with, he became anxious. And the constant darkness of the ship’s interior made it difficult to find new people. Something in him knew there were more on board, but he and his followers hadn’t seen anyone since before he had last slept.

  He trotted up the dark corridor, occasionally stumbling over the body of one of the ones that wouldn’t laugh. He watched closely for some sign… some indication that a new person was hiding nearby. His stomach growled, hungry once more, and he looked at one of the bodies speculatively. But no, eating one didn’t seem appetizing. Not while there was still so much other food in the eating parts of the ship. Maybe it was time to go back and find more cake.

  He was about to turn and go back to the food place when something changed. Change! Change was a good thing. Change brought amusement.

  What was different? At first, he couldn’t put his finger on it. But after a moment of concentration, he heard it. A sound like the distant buzzing of bees. He slapped a companion wheezing his fading laughter at the sound. And after a moment, they were all coughing, and wheezing their amusement as all around them, the lights flickered back into existence. Distant music lilted through the corridors as some long shut off playlist picked up again in mid song.

  Hunting should get much more fun now.

  Chapter 66

  Erica Chapman
r />   Time To Go

  Less than an hour later, Erica had her things packed. Once she had everything in the truck, Matt took her out back and handed her a pistol. “Know how to use it?”

  “Not really.”

  “Didn’t think so. Hold it like this, grab the slide like so, and slide it back while you push the pistol forward. That chambers the first round.”

  “So, it’s loaded?”

  He sighed heavily. “Yes. It’s loaded.”

  Over the next half hour, he showed her how to change magazines, sight, fire, and load more “rounds” in the empty magazines. Eventually, he seemed satisfied that she wasn’t going to shoot her foot off and handed her two extra magazines. “Each one holds seventeen rounds. If we get in a situation where you have to use it, don’t hesitate. If you’re firing and it stops going boom, thumb the magazine release to change mags, rechamber a round, and keep firing.”

  She stared at him, feeling like someone trying to learn a foreign language. She got it, but only if she concentrated on each word, working to discern the meaning behind each sound. Mags? Rounds? Thumb the release? Oh yeah!

  Then he handed her Uncle Jimmy’s shotgun and the process started again. By the time they were finished, her wrist hurt, her shoulder hurt, and her brain hurt. But at least she was comfortable enough with the firearms that she knew how to not accidentally shoot herself or Matt. Probably.

  Matt grunted in satisfaction. “You got any questions?”

  Brain fried, she shook her head. She was afraid that if he showed her just one more new thing, her skull would explode.

  “All right. Let’s go, then. I’ll take the first shift driving,” Matt said. They climbed into the Xterra, and Erica set the GPS in the console. She looked around a final time as the SUV pulled away from Uncle J’s ranch, knowing that she would likely never see it again. As they pulled out of the gate at the end of the drive, she sighed and faced forward. That was her old life. Careful to keep the barrel pointed away from Matt, she contemplated the pistol she now carried. So, was this her new life? This tool of death and mayhem? She was far from comfortable with it. But she was even less comfortable with the idea of being overrun by a bunch of two-legged homicidal hyenas. Matt assured her that she would get more used to it as time went on. She hoped he was wrong.