by Sarah Lotz
‘Helen,’ Elise croaked, fumbling for her hand. Her skin was hot and clammy, her nightdress damp from sweat.
‘Do you need to go to the bathroom?’
‘Nuh-uh. Thirsty.’
Helen held the glass to Elise’s lips. She managed three small sips, which was better than nothing. She should really change Elise into another nightdress. The first time she’d done it, she’d been shocked at how much of her life Elise had kept hidden from her. Naked, the body revealed secrets. The mastectomy scar, a cruel slice of raised flesh, had shaken her. Elise had never told her about it, and Helen had never noticed – or been too self-absorbed to notice – if her friend wore a prosthesis. Yet Elise’s body was beautiful in its own way, the smooth thighs and belly, bulky, but devoid of the cellulite that had plagued Helen no matter how many hours she spent walking.
The PA system beeped, signalling another of Damien’s interminable messages. There’d been one earlier from the captain (about bloody time, she’d thought), saying that as all communication systems were still disabled, a tender boat had been dispatched to alert the coastguard of their position. It was clear they were in far more serious trouble than the crew was letting on. She tried not to listen while Damien ran through his usual excuses and platitudes, but then something else caught her attention:
‘. . . helping to keep our spirits up, our guest celebrity, the wonderful Celine del Ray, will generously be performing again in the Dare to Dream Theatre in just half an hour. All are welcome!’
Helen shuddered. Just the thought of Celine made her feel queasy. The woman was a fraud. A sick, manipulative con artist.
Someone rapped on the door – perhaps it was Maddie again, checking up on them. Celine might be a monster, but Maddie had been kind. She peered through the peephole and saw the doctor – the one who’d come to see Celine on New Year’s Eve – standing a little to the side. About time.
‘May I check on the passenger?’ he said, when she waved him in. His eyes were tinged with yellow and striated with veins, and a surgical mask hung limply around his neck. ‘I believe she was seen by a nurse yesterday?’
‘That’s right.’
‘How has she been?’ He stifled a yawn.
‘Not good.’
‘Vomiting? Diarrhoea?’
‘Yes. But not for the last hour. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?’
He made a noncommittal sound. ‘Her name? I’m sorry, I know you told me what it was last night . . . the night before. Lost track of time as well.’ He tried to smile and failed. Helen almost felt sorry for him. Almost. ‘Her name is Elise. Elise Mayberry.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Please just take a look at her, doctor.’
Helen watched anxiously as he listened to Elise’s chest and attached the cuff to her upper arm and took her blood pressure. ‘Well?’
Another noncommittal grunt.
‘Doctor, I need to know. Is it possible that . . . that she could die from this?’ Don’t leave me, Elise. Don’t leave me.
‘It’s very unlikely. Her pulse is fairly strong. I’m not too worried about her blood pressure, but you must make sure she has enough fluid intake. If she doesn’t improve then I might put her on a drip.’
‘When will all this be over?’
He sighed and stood up. ‘I wish I could tell you. This must be very hard for you. Are you getting enough rest?’
‘I’m fine.’ Not true. She’d barely slept since Elise had fallen ill. But this wasn’t about her.
She saw him out and then lay down on her bed. It would be so easy to do. The sleeping pills were in Elise’s handbag, hanging over the chair. But they couldn’t slip over the side now, even if Elise was up to it. Even if they could ensure no one would fish them out again. The water that lapped around the ship was as flat as a stagnant pond, its surface sullied with red plastic bags. If she jumped, she’d gulp down someone else’s waste. No. She had to be brave. It couldn’t be much—
There was someone – a man – on the balcony. She let out a small scream, remembering that dark figure she’d seen in Celine’s room on New Year’s Eve. She squinted her eyes to reduce the glare from the sunlight, and peered at him. He looked familiar, and then it came to her. Jaco, the musician. She hurried over to the door and slammed it shut, just as he turned and offered his hand to a tall blonde woman, who was climbing across from the metal ladder leading up to the lifeboat directly in front of the suite. It had never occurred to Helen how easy it was to access the stateroom from the deck below them.
Jaco tapped on the glass and gave her a wide grin. ‘Hey. Can we come in?’
‘What . . . why are you here?’
‘It’s hell out on deck. We just need a quiet place to chill for a while. I’m Jaco and this is Lulia. Lulia’s one of the dancers.’
‘Hello. Pleased to meet you,’ Lulia said. Long bleached hair and full make-up. The woman had what Graham would have called ‘shifty eyes’. He was always judging people on their appearance and to her knowledge he’d never been wrong.
‘You shouldn’t be up here. My friend is sick. She needs to rest.’
The woman recoiled slightly, but Jaco clung to her wrist. ‘We were wondering if we could sit on your balcony for a while. Maybe get something to drink.’
‘Like I say, my friend is very unwell.’
‘We won’t stay long.’
‘Please,’ Lulia said. ‘People are getting sick everywhere. We just want somewhere quiet to sit while we wait for it to be over.’
‘There must be somewhere else you can go.’
‘No. The crew area is bad. The air is bad.’
Helen’s gut told her to get rid of them, but what kind of person would she be if she didn’t at least offer them a drink? Reluctantly, she unlocked the door. ‘Come in. But only for a minute.’
‘Thanks,’ Jaco grinned at her. ‘I really appreciate it.’
‘It stinks,’ Lulia said, flapping a hand in front of her face. ‘We should have tried to get into the owner’s suite.’
‘I told you my friend was sick. She’s contagious.’
‘We’ll be careful,’ Jaco said.
‘What is your name?’ Lulia asked.
‘Helen.’
Lulia sat down on the couch and crossed her legs, which were spray-tanned and riddled with stubble. She was barefoot, her toes almost freakishly long. ‘You have seen the shows?’
‘Yes.’ A lie. She loathed cabaret with a passion. Elise had gone to see the ‘Daydream Fantastique Extravaganza’ or whatever its ghastly name was on the first night, and had said it was ‘interesting’, which was about as critical as Elise ever got.
‘We have to sing and to dance.’
‘You were very good.’
‘Thank you. Your friend, she is your lover?’
‘No. We’re just friends.’
‘Why you on this cruise? It is for young people.’
‘Enough questions,’ Jaco laughed. ‘Again, really appreciate this, Helen. People are freaking out all over the place. Seeing ghosts.’
Helen blanched. ‘Ghosts?’
‘Yeah. Lots of superstitious people on ships.’
‘And it stinks so bad,’ Lulia said. ‘People poop everywhere. They are dirty, like pigs.’
Jaco waved at the mini-bar. ‘You mind if we grab some water? I’ll go out and get you some more.’
‘Go ahead.’
He dropped to his haunches and peered inside it. ‘Champagne. Never got to drink it on New Year’s Eve, huh?’
‘No.’
‘Tell you what. You help us, we’ll help you. Sound like a plan?’
‘I’m not sure that’s really a good idea.’
He turned his head and grinned at her. ‘Hey. You can trust me. I’m a musician.’
The Angel of Mercy
Martha was waiting for him when he slogged back to the medical bay after doing his rounds. Her hair was tied back in a messy bun, and she was picking at a flake of dried skin on her lower lip.
/> ‘What now?’ He wasn’t sure he could cope with any new developments. On top of the noro cases there were two fairly serious cases of heatstroke and a suspected broken toe. He needed a caffeine injection. He needed a shower. He needed to sleep for more than two fucking hours.
‘Ah, Jesse. We have a bit of an issue. It’s the new patient. The fella that came in yesterday.’
‘What about him?’
‘He’s gone, Jesse.’
He was struggling to take in what she was saying. ‘You discharged him?’
‘No. I came back after getting something to eat, you know? I wasn’t gone long. And he wasn’t in his bed.’
‘But he was doped up to the eyeballs.’ Jesse had made the decision to increase the midazolam dosage last night, after the man had woken and started acting erratically. Other than locking him in his cabin, where he could easily cause harm to himself, Jesse didn’t know how else to restrain him. It was a ship, not a bloody mental ward.
‘I know. I can’t explain it.’
‘Where’s Bin?’
‘Sent him for a couple of hours’ rest. He was on duty all night, poor soul. You know what he’s like, you have to drag him away from his post.’ She pulled at her lip again. ‘And that’s not all, Jesse.’
A sinking feeling in his gut. ‘Go on.’
‘Alfonso is also AWOL.’
‘Seriously? Where the hell has he gone?’
‘I don’t know. I checked his cabin and went down to the generator and control rooms, but no one’s seen him.’
‘So we’ve lost two patients now?’
‘Looks that way. Sorry, Jesse.’
‘It’s not your fault. How in the fuck do they expect us to deal with all of this?’ They weren’t set up for it. Strictly speaking there should be two doctors on board, but Martha said that the shorter cruises tended to ignore this stipulation.
‘You look desperate, Jesse. Are you sure you’re not getting ill?’
He shook his head. He was tired, that was all. Sure, he felt sick to his stomach, but he’d been living on Coke Lite and Pringles for the last three days. And he should be grateful that the whole ship wasn’t overrun with the virus. It tended to spread fast, and considering the conditions it was a miracle they weren’t all down with it. He’d used a red bag, furtively in his cabin last night. Not wanting to leave it for Paulo to clean up, he’d carried it down to the incinerator room. Why he should be so embarrassed about something like that, he had no clue. You’re a doctor. ‘I’m worried about the elderly patient. Elise Mayberry,’ he said. ‘Her pulse is erratic. Does she have a history of heart disease?’
‘Not that I know of.’
He should have asked her friend, the woman he’d cruelly dubbed Aunt Spiker, but the patient he’d seen just before Elise – a middle-aged man on the same floor – had been abusive and abrasive, which had rattled him more than he liked to admit.
‘You wanting to get her down here now?’ Martha asked.
‘Maybe. There are three other cases on that deck alone. How many crew have it?’
‘Seven in total. Maybe more. Problem is that most of them don’t want to stay in their cabins.’
‘It’ll spread like wildfire if they don’t.’
They were interrupted by a message from Damien, informing them that Celine del Ray would be holding yet another performance (or whatever the hell it was that she did) in the Dare to Dream Theatre.
Madness. Encouraging people to clump together in large gatherings while noro raged through the ship was unbelievably short-sighted. He sighed. ‘That’s it. I’m going to insist we go to red alert. You heard anything else about when we might expect the cavalry to fucking arrive?’
‘No, Jesse. Still no Wi-Fi. They sent out a tender boat this morning, but that’s all I know.’ Jesse couldn’t understand why anyone would think that sending out a tender boat was a good sign. The whole thing made no sense. At the very least, Foveros should have sent one of The Beautiful Dreamer’s sister ships to check up on them. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he breathed.
‘We could use him now all right.’
‘Fuck this. I’m going to see the captain. I’m not taking no for an answer.’
‘What do you need me to do?’
‘You’d better stay here. I’ll be back now-now.’
‘Good luck.’
Jesse sprayed his shirt with a liberal dousing of deodorant – shower in a can, the best he could do for now – and got moving. He momentarily lost his way – he wasn’t thinking about where he was going – and had to double back, cutting past the crew bar. It was full, he could smell the beer and hear the rowdy voices. Another one-way ticket to spreading infection all over the ship. The bar would have to be shut. The food stations would need to be disinfected from top to bottom, and anyone showing symptoms would need to be isolated. Jesse had heard about what a nightmare the extra duties were for the crew and staff, but fact was, they didn’t have a choice.
Ram was standing outside the door that led to the bridge, his implacable mask in place. ‘Can I help you, doctor?’
‘I need to see the captain immediately.’ There was only a slight wobble in his voice. Good.
Nothing showed on Ram’s face. ‘He is in a meeting.’
‘It’s an emergency.’
Ram stared at him for several seconds, then gave a minuscule nod. ‘Wait here.’
‘Okay, but I—’
Ram was already gone, slamming the heavy bridge door in Jesse’s face before he could slip through it. Jesse wiped his sweating palms on his trousers.
A few minutes later, the door clunked open again, and Ram waved him inside. Jesse had only been on the bridge a couple of times since he’d joined the ship. A huge area sided with floor-to-ceiling windows, the air felt fresher in here, although Jesse was certain it was only his imagination. The captain – a tubby man in his late sixties with flamboyant white hair – was standing, his back to Jesse, over by the navigation console, gesticulating at a group of men in officer’s whites. Jesse recognised the hothead – the hotel director – a sniffy Greek who looked as if he was incapable of smiling, one of the IT guys (who was sporting a spectacular black eye and a cut on his right cheek that looked like it was festering), and Damien. A bolshy little man, Damien always entered the crew bar as if he expected everyone to cheer. Jesse hadn’t had much to do with him out of choice, and Martha described him as ‘a total gobshite’.
The rest of the bridge officers, including Baci, Alfonso’s visitor, who gave him a nod of recognition, were gathered discreetly over by the window. Jesse took a second to drink in the view. Nothing but wide, endless ocean. No ships. No oil rigs. Not even the wispy tail of a passing plane in the sky.
Finally, the captain acknowledged him. ‘How is Alfonso, dottore? Can he work now?’
Wrong-footed, Jesse blinked. ‘He left the treatment room this morning.’
The captain barked something in Italian at Baci, who shook his head.
The captain stared accusingly at Jesse. ‘He is not in the control room.’
Jesse breathed in. He couldn’t allow himself to be railroaded. Alfonso wasn’t why he was here. ‘I have been asking to see you since day one of this mess, captain. You must be aware of the situation. There are more cases of the virus daily.’
‘How many?’ This from the hothead.
‘As many as twenty, maybe more.’ Damien sucked his teeth. Jesse let a second pass before he spoke again: ‘I need you to put the ship on red alert.’
‘No. That is not possible,’ the captain said.
‘Sir, respectfully, if you don’t, we’re going to be looking at a major—’
‘The staff are stretched to the limit,’ the hothead said. ‘We cannot give them extra duties.’
‘So you want the whole of the ship to get infected? How will that look when we get back to port?’
‘Do not raise your voice to the captain,’ Damien dived in.
Jesse was aware that Ram was watching him carefully. Fuck. He
hadn’t expected this reaction. ‘I am not raising my voice, I am saying that we need to—’
The hothead spoke over him again. ‘Morale is very bad. If we give my staff extra duties and restrict them to their cabins, they—’
It was Jesse’s turn to interject. ‘Just how long are you expecting this situation to continue?’
The captain sniffed. ‘Not long.’
‘A day? Two days? A week? What? Does anyone even know we’re stranded out here?’
‘The situation is under control, dottore.’
Bullshit. The Coke Jesse had been living on was turning to acid in his gut. ‘Are we lost? Is that it?’
The captain’s eyes hardened. ‘We are not lost.’
‘So why hasn’t anyone come to see where the hell we are?’ There must be some way they could track the ship even if the power and communication systems failed. The Beautiful Dreamer wasn’t a state-of-the-art vessel in anyone’s book, but it must be equipped with transponders and beacons.
‘There is bad weather in the home port. They will come soon.’
‘So you’ve been in contact with Ground Support?’
‘It will not be long before help will be here.’
Jesus. Jesse swallowed a lump in his throat. He couldn’t tell if the captain was spinning him a line or not. ‘Look, all I am asking is that the passengers be informed about the virus and encouraged to dispose of the hazardous-waste bags in a hygienic manner, and food preparations be monitored and restricted. And anyone showing early signs of the virus should be confined to their cabins. That’s vital.’
‘Where do you suggest we put them, doctor?’ the hothead sniped. ‘The lower cabins are uninhabitable.’
The IT guy snorted. ‘Yeah, and most of the crew are seeing ghosts all over the goddamned ship.’