He yanked the pin at the top of the grenade and felt the spring-loaded ‘spoon’ release in his palm. Once he dropped the grenade into the pile of explosives he would have just five seconds. Five seconds of life left to live; just five more seconds of pain and grief and anger. It was five seconds longer than Jack wanted or needed.
He opened his palm and let the grenade fall. It seemed to roll slowly through the air, bouncing into the crate and coming to rest amongst its brothers.
Jack started to count.
“One…”
I…
“Two…”
Love…
“Three…”
You…
“Four…”
Laura…
“Five…”
Day 250
Sixty-miles off the coast of France, Commander Harrington looked down from the foredeck of the Merchant Navy Bulk Carrier, Barstow. The rolling sea of the Mediterranean was littered with debris: passenger belongings, clothing, wooden fixtures of the ship, and scrap pieces of metal. While nothing had been determined yet, it seemed as though the passenger liner, Spirit of Kirkpatrick, had suffered some kind of explosion, perhaps from within the engine compartment. Harrington had been a seaman for many decades and seen such things before, but not with a passenger ship in modern times. With lawsuits being the way they were, safety checks on passenger vessel were beyond overcautious. It would remain to be seen what the cause was, but Harrington wouldn’t be surprised to find out that the explosion was deliberate.
The time of terrorism isn’t yet over, it seems.
The Commander was no stranger to death at sea, but the thought of one-thousand passengers and five-hundred crew members sinking to their deaths had left a numb space in his chest. Civilians were not suited to terror. They did not embrace it like servicemen did. He pitied the suffering that they would have gone through as they realised their time was up. The worst kind of death is one you can see coming, even if only by a few minutes.
What the hell happened to you people? There wasn’t even an SOS.
If it had not been for the fact the Kirkpatrick had gone radio silent, no one would have even known it had gone down. If Harrington hadn’t been in the area, there would have been barely a trace that the ship had even been there. Already the debris on the water’s surface was sinking beneath the waves. His men were currently doing their very best to retrieve whatever they could before it was lost forever.
Midshipman Brown approached with his trusty clipboard in hand. He saluted Harrington from a few yards away. “Commander! We’ve just received word that the French Coast Guard is just a few clicks out. They’ve requested that we hand the situation over to them now and that we have their thanks for our quick response.”
“Typical French. Don’t like the British stepping on their toes. Okay, Midshipman, let the crew know we’re out in thirty.”
“Aye aye, Commander.”
Harrington took a stroll along the deck, glancing over his men and supervising the wrapping-up of their efforts. They had divvied up the detritus they’d salvaged into separate containers: some containing scrap metal and parts of the ship, while others contained personal belongings that could later be claimed by the passenger’s families. Harrington walked up to one of those containers now and examined its contents.
There were many things inside: paperback novels, a jewellery box, and all sorts of other mundane possessions. There was even a scorched police badge. One thing that caught the Commander’s eye in particular, though, was a little girl’s dolly. He picked it up and studied its angelic face while trying to imagine the child it must have belonged to. He felt his heart sag. The child’s toy was a soggy mess and seemed to sum up the tragedy quite succinctly. Its frilly dress had already started to succumb to the exposure to salt water and its small plastic hands had gone a sickly green as if some sort of chemical reaction had taken place.
Harrington decided to take the dolly with him, and made a personal promise that he would try to find out whom the toy belonged to. It would be difficult, he knew, because whatever secrets the Spirit of Kirkpatrick had to tell were now well and truly lost beneath the sea. Perhaps the world would never know the true story of whatever happened to its passengers and crew. Maybe they would not want to know, even if they could.
Harrington turned around on his heel, dolly in hand, and addressed his crew. “Come on, men. Let’s get back to the mainland. I don’t want to think about what happened here anymore. We’ve been around enough death and misery for one day.”
Two hours later, Commander Harrington felt a cold coming on.
BAD DELIVERY
“Prep Surgery Ward Two, we need to get this man stabilised in the next five minutes or he’s going to die.”
Vicky nodded at Dr Cathcart and rushed off to get everything ready. The two orderlies hurried behind her with a critical patient on the gurney. From what she’d gathered in the ten seconds of panicked exchanges between her colleagues the man was stabbing victim. They would have to work fast to save him.
She cleared a space to the operating table and quickly switched on the room’s lighting. The harsh glare of the examination lamps came on with an audible hum. The smell of chlorine hung heavy in the air.
“Okay, move him across and I’m page Dr Malone.”
The orderlies lifted the patient from the gurney onto the operating table while Vicky sent a page to the on-duty surgeon. Within minutes, Dr Malone arrived.
“Stab wound to the abdomen?” he asked, attaching the heart-rate monitor.
“Yes,” Vicky replied. “Paramedics called t in en route. Apparently the patient had crawled out of some woods and passed out on the side of the road. Someone driving passed found him and called 999.”
“Any identification?”
Vicky nodded. “Driver’s license. Nigel Moot, age forty-two. He’s on the database; blood type A negative.”
“Rare,” muttered Malone, already fast at work. “Get an IV prepared and a blood line.”
Two more nurses entered the room, obviously hearing the commotion. Without word they pulled on latex gloves and surrounded the operating table to make themselves available. Vicky came over and set a tray of surgical instruments. She handed a bottle of iodine to one of the other nurses and passed a scalpel to Dr Malone. She’s been doing the job long enough now that she knew what was needed when.
One of the nurses pulled down the irrigation hose and begun rinsing out the wound with sterilised water. The blood flushed away, replaced by flooding water. It looked like a puckered, pink mouth, stretching three whole inches across the patient’s torso.
Malone used the scalpel to open the wound very slightly, to get a better view of how deep the blade had gone. The heart rate monitor beeped regularly but slowly.
“No organ damage. He’s lucky, the blade just missed his liver.” Malone used his fingers to slowly part the wound. A brief spurt of blood overwhelmed the water for a moment. “Can we get some clamps on this? I need to suture this room before he bleeds out.”
Vicky grabbed the surgical clamps and secured open the wound. Malone got to work, suturing the wound.”
The patient’s vital signs dipped worryingly towards the end of the procedure, but by the end he was once again stable.
Dr Malone pulled off his gloves over at the wash basin and begun washing his hands. “Get him cleaned up and moved to the recovery ward. He’s going to be fine.”
***
Vicky had forgotten all about the stab wound patient by the following day. She was doing her rounds as normal when she saw the police officers. They were chatting with Dr Malone about something. After a view moments, one of the police officers separated from the group and headed in her direction. She made sure to stop him on his way.
“Anything I can help with, Officer?”
The man smiled, he was young and seemed friendly. “Yes, actually. I’m looking for one of your recovery rooms; room 7.”
Vicky thought for a moment. “Okay, I�
��d be happy to take you there. Is it to do with the stabbing?”
The officer looked at her with an eyebrow raised. “Have you had any dealings with the patient?”
Vicky shrugged. “He’s been unconscious since he arrived, but he’s stable. Came in with a stab wound late last night.”
The two of them began walking, with Vicky leading the way. The Officer had more questions. “Do you know what belongings were found on his person?”
Vicky nodded. She had processed the patient’s possessions herself. “There was a wallet. A photograph of a girl, and a necklace, I think.”
The officer nodded knowingly, but didn’t say anything. They reached room 7 and Vicky went to ope the door.
The officer grabbed her arm. “No need.” He peered in through the glass, as if to verify the patient inside. Then he took a plastic chair from a nearby reception desk and placed it beside the room’s door. He sat down on it.
Vicky was confused. “What? You’re just going to sit here?”
The officer nodded and smiled. He offered out his hand. “My name’s Tom. I’m going to be here until Mr Moot wakes up.”
Vicky knew the only reason a police officer would be posted outside a patient’s door was if that patient was…
“He’s dangerous. What has he done?”
“I’m afraid I can’t go into that.”
Vicky sighed and looked the officer in the eyes. “This is my ward. It’s my job to look after him. If this guy is dangerous then I have a right to know about it.”
Tom shifted in his seat.
“Look,” Vicky told him. “I’m bound by the same confidentiality that you are. Whatever you tell me goes no further, but at least I’ll know what I’m dealing with.”
Tom seemed to think about it for a while and then finally let his shoulders slump with a sigh. “Okay, but you tell no one. I mean it, not even your family.”
Vicky nodded.
“The guy inside this room is Nigel Moot, a guy we’ve suspected of some pretty horrible crimes. Until now we’ve never been able to get anything on him, but now…”
“Now what? What crimes?”
“For the last three years there has been an active serial killer in the UK. We’re talking dozens and dozens of woman and children murdered and, well you can imagine the rest. We suspect he’s the country’s most prolific serial killer ever after Harold Shipman.”
Vicky felt sick. “My God! How do you know it’s him?”
“Like I said, we’ve suspected him for a while but couldn’t get anything to stick. We put his name on our alert list and when you admitted him last night he flagged on our radar. We sent someone by last night to check things out, and that’s when we found what we needed.”
Vicky shook her head. “What?”
“The photograph was of a recent victim and the necklace belonged to a woman murdered in a Paris suburb.”
“Paris?”
The officer nodded. “The killings have occurred all over Europe and started about three years ago. Nigel Moot began a job as a long distance lorry driver around the same time. With the evidence we found on his possession, we were able to search his truck. In fact we’ve already searched it during a previous investigation, but this time we managed to locate a secret hatch at the back of the passenger cabin. All I can describe it as is some sort of shrine.”
“I don’t want to hear anymore do I?”
“Well, you were the one that insisted. We found body parts, fingers and toes, as well as personal belongings off dozens of victims. We have enough evidence to send this guy away for fifty lifetimes. Which is what makes him more dangerous than ever. The moment he wakes up, you tell me.”
Vicky felt like she was floating out of her body. The mixture of shock, disgust, and horror in her mind made her whole body feel light. She needed to sit down.
“I’m going to take a short break. I need to digest this.”
Tom nodded and seemed sympathetic. “No problem. Just remember that no one can know. The situation is volatile and we need to handle it with care if this guy is every going to face his crimes.”
Vicky floated off towards the staff lounge and was glad to see that it was empty. The last things she needed right now was people asking her if she was okay. She took a seat at one of the lunch tables and clasped her hands together as if in prayer. She rocked back and forth slightly as she contemplated what she’d just been told.
All those women. Children, too. It turns my stomach to think that I helped save the life of a murdering rapist last night. A sick, child-killing demon. I bet he’ll be proud when he realises he’s been caught. He’ll probably end up as some sort of celebrity. Freddy Krueger in the flesh.
Vicky thought about her own daughter, Heather, and imagined the monster violating and killing her. She thought about all the poor mothers that had been given the news that their children had been ripped apart by a sadistic murder – a predator of innocent flesh.
It’s him who deserves to die. Why should he still breath air when so many are gone because of him?
Vicky felt weary. She was only four hours into her ten hour shift, but it suddenly felt like she hadn’t slept in months. Working in a hospital, Vicky was exposed to the horrors of society on a daily basis, but never before had she been in the presence of such pure, uninhibited evil.
I need to look into the monsters eyes. I need to see what’s there.
Vicky didn’t know what had possessed her, but she had a burning desire to go visit Nigel Moot. She leapt up from her chair and spun around. An orderly entered the room as she left it, but she was too consumed with her own thoughts to say hello.
Out in the corridor she saw that Tom was still sat diligently outside room 7. She managed to smile at him.
“You okay?” he asked her.
She nodded. “Little bit shocked, but I’m okay.”
Tom glanced up at the window of the room behind him. “Are you going to be able to do your job, considering what you know?”
Vicky huffed. “Hey, I still have a duty of care, whatever he may have done. Just make sure you give this guy what he deserves.”
“You can count on it.”
Vicky entered room 7. Suddenly the room she had been in a hundred times felt cloying and oppressive. The room’s occupant lay peacefully in the bed, almost angelic in his vulnerable state. Vicky looked down at the sleeping man’s face and did something she had not expected to do.
She spat.
The sudden impact of her saliva on the man’s cheek jolted him from his unconsciousness. He eyes snapped open and he looked around startled. Vicky’s breath caught in her chest and she stumbled backwards.
Nigel Moot managed to focus his eyes and stared right at her. His eyelids fluttered for a moment and then he said, “She stabbed me. That fucking whore…she stabbed me!”
Vicky felt anger flush through her body. “That whore? Is that what you call all the woman you rape and murder?”
Nigel’s eyes went wide and he seemed to gather his senses more with each passing second. He seemed panicked, but also, somewhere in his expression was a glimmer of smugness.
He’s looking forward to the opportunity to gloat. He doesn’t regret a thing.
“You’re a monster,” she said.
A slight grin found its way to Nigel’s lips and he said, “You have no idea, sweetheart. Maybe when I’m feeling better I’ll fuck you, too. Maybe even your daughter if you have one. I like ‘em young.”
Vicky grinned. She had no idea why, but she suddenly felt herself filled with glee. It was the power of the situation. She knew that, despite all of this monster’s posturing, he had beaten.
Until he gets his day in the sun and the Press start giving him all the page space he’s ever wanted. He’s a loser right now in this hospital bed, but once he leaves…
Vicky stepped towards the man’s bed. “I’m just going to check your drip. You’ve been out for almost twenty-four hours and haven’t been able to imbibe liquids directly. You�
��re on a morphine feed also. That’s why you can’t feel any pain. That’s also the reason why it won’t hurt when I euthanize you like a dog.”
Nigel’s eyes split wide. “What?”
He went to scream out, but Vicky shoved her hand over his mouth. In his weakened state he was unable to fight her off. With her free hand, Vicky turned the valve on the morphine release. She smiled as lethal amounts of the opiate flowed down the IV tube. She stared into Nigel’s eyes as he began to fade, slipping into an embrace that would have felt exactly like sleep.
But the fucker won’t wake up this time.
Vicky made sure that the last words Nigel Moot heard were hers. She whispered into his ear. “When you get to Hell, it’s going to be you that gets treated like a whore.”
As soon as she was sure he was dead. Vicky left the hospital to go and tell her husband what’s she’d done.
CABIN MATES
“I feel well rough, innit,” said Conner, necking back his first beer of the morning. “We must have drank a brewery last night, man.”
Steve nodded his head, his eyes half closed. “Tell me about it! My head is banging.”
“Well, you know what the best thing to do is,” Mike said. He dug into his luggage and produced a full bottle of tequila. “Hair of the dog, baby!”
Conner grinned wide. “Sound. We need to go get Claire later, though. She’ll probably be sunning herself by now.”
Mike sucked his teeth. “I don’t even know why you brought her along, man. We could be knee-deep in pussy by now.”
Conner flicked the back of his hand against Mike’s head making his friend wince. “She’s my bird. You just hatin’ ‘cus you ain’t got no fine bitch of your own.”
Mike shrugged. “Maybe, but all I know is that me and Steve are players for the next two weeks while you got a girlfriend dragging you down.”
Conner stood up from the sofa and went and opened the cabin’s curtains. The morning sunlight hurt his eyes and he had to look away. “Way, I sees it. I have sex on tap and a woman looking after me. You two probably won’t even manage to get laid.”
Sea Sick: A Horror Novel Page 19