“The whole ship is going to be that way soon.”
Karen looked away for a moment, then came back to him. “I can’t take this anymore, David. I’ve had enough. That’s why I’m getting off this ship with the others.”
David was taken aback by her honesty. He had expected her to hide the fact she was deserting. “The sick passengers will still need a doctor.”
“No, they won’t,” Karen said at once. “The ones I’ve tried to treat all died. And the few who I just left to die, like Mrs. Sullivan, are up and walking around.”
David stared at her in disbelief. “Are you referring to the little lady, with dyed-black hair, who has bad emphysema and chronic bronchitis?”
“That’s her,” Karen told him. “She should have been dead ten times over, but she’s currently walking around her cabin with a little fever and cough that’s getting better by the hour. And I did nothing for her, other than tell her husband things were hopeless.”
David blinked as he rapidly digested and assimilated this new information. Another survivor! That makes two for sure—Juanita and Bunny Sullivan. And if Kit continues to improve, that’ll be three. Everybody else was dying horrible deaths, by the hundreds. Yet these three managed to survive. How? Why? What was the common denominator? They were all females, for starters. Maybe females, for some reason, can mount an immune response against the Asian flu virus. No! That can’t be it. Deedee Anderson and the corpse next door and dozens of other victims he’d seen were all females. Gender wouldn’t be the reason they survived. It had to be something else.
“You should get off this ship too,” Karen broke into his thoughts. “And take Kit to some big-time medical center where she’ll at least have a chance.”
“Yeah, I guess I should,” David said, thinking that Karen could be good or bad, depending on the situation. Touched by her concern for Kit, he reached for her hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “I’ve got to scoot.”
“Me too,” Karen said and moved in closer to kiss his cheek. “Catch you at the lifeboats.”
“We’ll see.”
David hurried down the passageway and into the sick bay. He went directly to the high shelves in the laboratory area. There, next to a closed closet, was the stationary metal stool Carolyn had described. It was round, with a corrugated rubber sheet atop it for better traction. But it was only two feet tall rather than three. It would have to do. He picked it up and dashed for the door. But before stepping into the passageway, he carefully peered out to make sure Karen was gone. He still didn’t trust her.
———
David’s second hiding place was even better than his first, but it was far more dangerous healthwise. He was now in the compartment where Will Harrison had hidden the dying, infected bird. Although the area had been sanitized with disinfectant, David was still concerned that the deadly virus was lingering about, waiting for the opportunity to find a new host. He was careful not to touch anything with his bare hands and even more careful to keep his N-95 mask securely in place.
Shifting his body around, he leaned back wearily against the metal stool he had brought with him. The stool was the second important reason he’d chosen the generator compartment as a hiding place. It was one of the secret locations that was big enough for both him and the stool. But the most important reason for his choice was the possible presence of the virus itself. No one, except for a fool, would search the area where the sick bird had been given shelter.
David gazed around the area, with its bundles of wires and large pipes and screened-off generators. A good hiding place, he thought again, but it had one major drawback. It had no back door or exit. He was for all intents and purposes trapped. But so what? It was just a smaller trap aboard a larger trap called the Grand Atlantic. That’s what the ship was now, a deadly trap. And it was all caused by a sick bird that had lost its way and a thoughtful little boy who tried to help it. And that confluence of seemingly minor events on a cruise ship led to hundreds of deaths and maybe millions more. It was like the perfect storm, except this time it wasn’t the weather. It was a God-awful pandemic.
Overhead the ventilation system clicked on. David felt a stream of warm air brush against his face and hair. With a yawn, he leaned back farther against the metal stool, aware of his heavy eyelids and mounting fatigue. I need a little snooze, David told himself, just enough to keep me going. He checked his wristwatch. Midnight. Eight hours to landfall. Closing his eyes, he set his mind-clock for 3 a.m. and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
———
David was suddenly awake. The sound of a door shutting echoed throughout the stairwell. Then he heard footsteps on their way down. In a fraction of a second, David was on his feet and searching for a place of concealment. The generators were screened off, so he couldn’t get to them, and the space under the pipes was too small to accommodate his body. Off to the side, David saw the ragged blanket that Will had used as a nest for the sick bird. The footsteps came closer and closer, accompanied by a harsh cough. It’s the redheaded mutineer, David thought hurriedly. He grabbed his hatchet from under his belt and dove for the blanket, then stretched out on the floor and covered himself completely.
The footsteps stopped. For a moment, David hoped the mutineer would turn around and go back on deck. But he didn’t. The footsteps started again. David lay perfectly still, even taking very shallow breaths so his chest wouldn’t move the blanket. He tightened his grip on the hatchet.
Now the footsteps seemed close enough to touch. Then David felt a hard object poking his kneecap. Christ! He’s probing the blanket with his shotgun! Which is loaded!
“Well, let’s see here,” the mutineer said and jerked the ragged blanket back.
He saw a brief flash of metal just before the sharp edge of the hatchet split the frontal bone of his skull into two. Once past bone, the blade easily sliced its way through the cerebral cortex all the way back to the occipital lobe of his brain. The mutineer remained upright for a few seconds, then fell backward, like a dead weight.
David jumped to his feet and, with a tug, extracted the hatchet from the mutineer’s skull. Blood poured out onto the floor and began to congeal around the shotgun next to the body. David quickly picked up the weapon and checked its chamber. It’s empty! Shit! But it was loaded before, David thought back. The mutineer had used it to kill the big rat in the storage area. And that’s probably why it’s unloaded now. Richard Scott had considered the man to be too trigger-happy and removed the shells from his weapon. Shit! David cursed again and tossed the weapon aside.
He used the blanket to clean the blood from his hatchet, then glanced at his watch. It was 2:40 a.m. The darkest part of the night. Perfect for what he had to do next. He grabbed the metal stool and started up the stairs.
thirty-five
In bright sunlight, passengers began lining up to board the lifeboats. Most were ill, some very ill, a few appeared to be at death’s door. And every one of them is carrying the virus, David thought from his final hiding place. He was in a storage cabin on the lower deck, with an excellent view of the passengers and the large lifeboats that were suspended over their heads.
Richard Scott was giving orders to the crowd of people, most of whom, like Scott, were wearing life jackets. “There will be room for everyone, but we must allow women and children to board first.”
There was a murmur of approval from the throng, although many started to inch forward.
“I’ll be in the water, along with some of my men, to see that everything goes smoothly,” Scott continued on. “If this is done correctly, we’ll be ashore within the hour.”
Some in the crowd applauded lightly.
Oh yeah, the Great Savior! David thought cynically. Scott couldn’t care less about the passengers. His obvious plan was to surround his lifeboat with a half-dozen of those carrying the women and children. It would be the ideal cover for him and his
mutineers. Two-thirds of the way in, they’d split off from others and be the first ashore. All the rest could fend for themselves.
David gazed out the porthole and saw the city of Nassau in the distance. They were at the mouth of the main harbor, no more than a mile from shore. And the ocean was clear, with no ships or vessels between the Grand Atlantic and land. From what David had read, the lifeboats were powered by small diesel engines that propelled them along at six knots per hour. At that rate, passengers could expect to reach the beach in ten minutes. But that was only true under ideal conditions. And conditions were about to be far less than ideal.
“Please help me!” a female voice cried out.
David’s eyes went to a middle-aged woman who was kneeling over a motionless man. Despite her plea, none of the passengers stepped forward. David couldn’t tell if the man lying on the deck was dead or alive.
“Please help me!” the woman implored again. “I think my husband has passed out from the flu. We have to get him ashore.”
“Move him over to the side,” Scott ordered. “Women and children first. There will be no exceptions.”
“Perhaps we should take him back to his cabin,” a voice in the crowd suggested.
“Stay put!” Scott said tersely.
David watched the woman drag her limp husband away. The passengers parted to give her room, but no one offered to help. They weren’t about to lose their place in line, David told himself. Or maybe they were intimidated by Choi, who was standing beside Scott and holding a ball-and-chain apparatus. The chain was about three feet long, and at its end was an iron ball the size of an apple. When swung with force, it was a deadly weapon, capable of crushing bone and killing with a single blow.
“All right,” Scott called out. “We are about to lower the lifeboats. You will form a single—” He stopped in mid-sentence and abruptly turned as the elevator door opened and passengers in front of it stepped aside.
David had to crook his neck to see what was happening. The crowd moved apart for Jonathan Locke and the mutineer named Tommy. Locke, looking weary and disheveled, was leading the way. It took David an extra second to notice that Tommy had his shotgun planted in Locke’s back.
“What?” Scott asked, annoyed.
“The Navy is ready to come in and begin fueling,” Tommy replied. “They have instructions they want us to follow.”
“Do what I told you before,” Scott barked. “Have the captain tell them to wait because we’re having trouble with our anchor.”
“Locke won’t talk to them unless we give him his insulin.”
“Put your shotgun to his head.”
“I already tried that.”
Scott grumbled under his breath, then rushed over and grabbed Locke by the collar. “I don’t give a damn about your insulin! You make that radio call now.”
“I’m begging you!” Locke pleaded. “I can feel my blood sugar going sky high. If I don’t inject myself with insulin now, I’ll lapse into a diabetic coma.”
“The radio call first,” Scott demanded.
“No!” Locke rebelled. “Give me my insulin or you make the call yourself.”
Scott’s face reddened. He glowered at Locke, trying to intimidate him, but the captain didn’t budge. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”
Locke remained steadfast and returned the stare.
“Then we’ll do it the hard way.” Scott turned to Choi and gave him a nod.
Choi brought the chain on his weapon up to shoulder level and began to menacingly swing the metal ball back and forth.
The bastard! David seethed. So that was how Scott persuaded Locke to join the mutiny. By blackmailing him and threatening to withhold his insulin if he didn’t follow orders. Christ! It would only take ten minutes to obtain, prepare, and inject the insulin. But Scott wasn’t going to allow it. He was on a tight schedule, and every minute counted.
“You’ve got five seconds to make up your mind,” Scott warned Locke. “If you still refuse, I’ll turn Choi loose on you.”
Now is as good a time as any, David thought resolutely. He gathered a mouthful of saliva and spat on the floor for luck, just as he’d done in Special Forces. He opened the door of the cabin and walked out onto the deck.
Scott spun around and glared at him with intense hatred. “You killed my brother!”
“He deserved to die,” David said matter-of-factly.
“You’re going to pay a terrible price for that.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re more interested in saving your own skin than getting vengeance for the actions of a stupid half-brother.”
“We’ll see about that,” Scott growled and motioned to Choi, who promptly began swinging his iron ball again.
“Save the theatrics,” David said without inflection. “And let’s get down to business.”
“Which is?”
In his peripheral vision, David saw Carolyn move to the front of the line. She was holding a sleeping Kit in her arms. David directed Scott’s attention to the two. “I want my daughter to be in the first boat that leaves. I’ll accompany her and so will the nurse.”
The large crowd murmured their disapproval.
David turned to them and snapped. “Put a lid on it!”
They quieted instantly.
David came back to Scott. “Yes or no?”
Scott hesitated, as if weighing the pros and cons of his decision. “Why should I give you anything? You don’t have any cards to play.”
“Oh, I have a big one.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
“Like what happened to Arthur Maggio in the stairwell,” David answered in a low, barely audible voice. “I could conveniently forget that.”
Scott shrugged, but he too lowered his voice. “You weren’t an actual witness.”
“Tell that to a judge and jury,” David said in a monotone. “See how well it goes over.”
Scott hesitated again, longer this time. “How do I know you’ll keep your word?”
“You don’t,” David said. “Except for the fact that I have this habit of standing by my promises.”
“That’s not much of a pledge.”
“That’s all you’re going to get.”
Scott considered the proposition at length before nodding slowly. “You and your daughter will be in the first boat, but not the nurse.”
“Agreed,” David said immediately and watched Scott and Choi exchange knowing glances. Choi had been given the go-ahead to kill him. But when? David asked himself. And where? Probably not here and now because there were too many witnesses. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
Scott snapped his fingers at a small group of crewmen, who promptly activated the mechanism to lower the suspended lifeboats. Slowly, a large lifeboat descended toward the deck. The passengers stepped back and aside to make room for the orange, fiberglass lifeboat. They applauded as it came down to eye level.
“Son of a bitch!” One of the crewmen hollered. “Someone has scuttled the lifeboat!”
Scott rushed over, with David only a half-step behind. They stared at the damaged lifeboat. There was a broad, foot-long gash in its side. The fiberglass covering was split wide open, the damage irreparable. It didn’t take an expert to know the boat would sink within minutes of touching down on the water.
Scott’s face lost color. “Check the other boats!” he yelled to nearby crewmen. “Check every one of them!”
The remaining lifeboats were gradually lowered toward the deck. The rate of descent was too slow for some of the crew. A few impatient crewmen climbed up on ladders to perform their inspections. The passengers kept their eyes glued to the boats, hoping that most were still serviceable. Within a minute, the deckhands began shouting down their reports.
“Scuttl
ed!”
“Scuttled!”
“Scuttled!”
“Scuttled!”
“Same here!”
“And here!”
Scott bellowed, “Are any of the boats intact?”
There was no response.
“What is this?” David screamed. “Some kind of sick joke?”
“It’s no joke,” Scott shot back, “and whoever did this will die for it.”
“Him! He do it!” Choi shrieked and pointed a finger at David. “Him!”
“Piss off!” David hissed, then turned to Scott and Tommy. “Can the damage be repaired?”
“No way,” Tommy said. “This isn’t wood. It’s fiberglass, and we don’t have the time or equipment to patch it.”
“Are you an expert on boats?” Scott asked sharply.
“No,” Tommy replied. “But I know fiberglass.”
“Well, let’s be sure.” Scott signaled to a group of crewmen and yelled to them, “Get the ship’s carpenter up here.”
“Can’t,” a crewman yelled back. “He’s damn near dead with the flu.”
“Christ!” Scott grumbled, then eyed David suspiciously. “How do we know Choi isn’t telling the truth? How do we know you didn’t somehow scuttle the lifeboats?”
“Yeah, right,” David snapped. “I did it so my little girl can die aboard this goddamn ship.”
“He do it!” Choi growled and lifted up the ball and chain, then began swinging it like a pendulum. “He die!”
The crowd of passengers quickly backed away, giving Choi and his deadly weapon plenty of room. Then everybody became still and silent.
“You’d better control him,” David cautioned.
Scott shrugged. “You’ll have to fight your own battle. Besides, Choi owes you something, doesn’t he?”
David unbuttoned his white coat and readied himself for what was certain to be a life-and-death struggle. Scott had decided to turn Choi loose and remove the only witness to Arthur Maggio’s murder. Choi was now swinging the iron ball in a circle well above his head. His eyes were filled with so much hate, it was almost palpable. David slowly backed up, scanning everything and everybody around him. The crowd of passengers had moved aside and spread out to give everyone a good view of the fight. Scott had his shotgun pointed downward. Tommy had the muzzle of his gun planted on the deck, while he leaned on its wooden stock, like a spectator at a sporting event.
Plague Ship (A Ballineau/Ross Medical Thriller) Page 25