Day Four

by Sarah Lotz

  Steeling herself for the yaw of the ship, she moved carefully over to the window, and with a flourish like a magician whipping a tablecloth away, she ripped open the curtains. She jumped – there were shapes, dark shapes, crawling just metres away from her.

  They’re back.

  But no. They were just people, people crawling over the lifeboat in front of her balcony. A bloom of red light exploded above her, turning the foam flecks that tipped the ocean’s meaty rolls into rubies, and for several seconds the scene unfolding in front of the balcony was clearly visible. A man and a woman, their clothes clinging to them, were frantically pumping the winch that worked the lifeboat’s davits. A large figure (no, it wasn’t him, her saviour), was balancing on top of the boat, attempting to unclip a rope. The ship tipped, he lost his balance, slipped and disappeared.

  She stepped back and shut the curtains.

  ‘Helen?’

  The relief at hearing Elise’s voice nearly floored her. ‘They’re leaving the ship. People are getting off the ship.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Oh indeed.

  Helen crept over to what she hoped was Elise’s bed. After the bright red light (flares, they had to be flares) – she was having trouble adjusting her eyes to the darkness.

  ‘There a storm?’ In between words Elise huffed like a bagpipe with a hole in it.

  ‘The sea’s getting rough.’ It was worse than rough.

  Helen resisted turning on the light (and who knew if it even worked anymore?); she didn’t want to see her friend’s pallor. She didn’t want to see how close she was to the end.

  ‘Thank you . . .’ huff, puff, gasp . . . ‘for taking care of me, Helen.’

  ‘You would have done the same for me.’

  ‘Is the . . . is the ship in trouble?’

  ‘What, more so than before?’

  Elise tried to laugh, but this set off a wheezy coughing fit. Water on the lungs, Helen thought, although she had absolutely no idea what that actually meant. ‘You go. Leave me. Get to safety.’

  There is no safety. The boat dropped again, and she felt like she was on a funfair ride, her stomach doing a loop-de-loop. It was exhilarating. ‘I’m not going to leave you.’ She lay back and fumbled for her friend’s hand. ‘You think it will be like a scene from Titanic?’

  Another wheezy sound. ‘I’m dying, Helen. I can feel it.’

  ‘You’re not dying.’

  ‘I’m not scared. Thought . . . thought I’d be scared, but I’m not.’

  Another roll, or pitch or yaw, or whatever the hell it was called. She heard something crash in the bathroom, and the sound of what had to be her laptop – the laptop with her final message on it – tumbling from its perch next to the television and thwocking onto the carpet.

  The Angel of Mercy

  The door of the storeroom opened, letting in a faint sliver of greenish light from the exit sign in the corridor outside.

  Uh-oh, Jesse thought. The aliens are here.

  The silhouette of a man stood in the doorway. Jesse watched as he shuffled in and looked around. There was something familiar about him – Jesse couldn’t be certain, but judging by his body shape, he looked very like the missing patient. The one who’d gone AWOL. The one Devi thought might be responsible for the girl’s death.

  Jesse didn’t speak, and the man didn’t seem to sense he was in here. It was laughable really that someone would show up and invade his hiding place. The whole point of coming here in the first place was to regroup and have some alone time after the lights died. And by regroup he meant spike his veins full of Demerol, ha de fucking ha – and let’s not forget the morphine chaser. Jesse had made himself a little nest next to a pile of empty cardboard boxes that had once held tinned tomatoes. He’d been planning on staying in here until the storm blew over or the ship sank. And lucky for him, the pethidine did seem to be keeping the seasickness at bay after all.

  The man said something to someone and grasped hold of the morgue’s hatch.

  ‘It’s full,’ Jesse opened his mouth to say. ‘Already occupied.’ Flippant, trying to be funny, but really, what else was there to say? The guy appeared to know what he was doing. And Jesse hadn’t forgotten how he’d acted after attacking the steward. Crazy. Befok. Best let him alone. Jesse was in no state to defend himself if the man went for him.

  The patient carried on with his imaginary conversation, yanked the morgue’s hatch open – Jesse winced at the whiff of putrefaction that wafted out of it – and then, without even a moment’s hesitation, crawled inside, right on top of the deceased passenger. He leaned out, scrambling to shut the door, but he couldn’t reach it.

  The ship pitched steeply, seemed to hang, then rose up again, leaving Jesse’s guts somewhere on the storeroom’s ceiling, the movement dislodging the door’s safety catch and slamming it shut.

  Jesse blinked. Fuck. Now what? It was the passenger’s choice to crawl inside there. Best place for him. He was dangerous, nobody wanted someone like that running loose through the ship causing havoc. They were in enough shit as it was.

  He fumbled for another ampoule, but he was out of stock. Had he dropped the others as he’d stumbled through the dark heart of the ship? He must have. If he’d taken them all he’d be dead by now.

  The ship rose again, then appeared to change its mind and tip sideways.

  Time to return to the clinic. He’d rather go out whacked off his face than drown in a morgue storeroom next to a crazy man. He dug in his pockets for his penlight, and shuffled on his knees to the door. It took him several tries to open it. The second he lurched onto his feet, the ship threw him across to the wall, but that was fine, he couldn’t feel a fucking thing. Using the penlight to guide his way – the light was ridiculous, but it was all he had – he edged up the stairs to the I-95.

  Shuffle, shuffle, you can do it. And then, instantly (he must have spaced out), he was at the clinic door. Through you go, shuffle shuffle, easy does it, and on to the pharmacy cabinet. Light in his eyes. He blinked. A flashlight. He wasn’t alone.

  A hand grabbed his arm. ‘Oh thank you, Jaysus. Jesse, Jesse, we’ve got to go.’

  Martha. And she was wearing a life jacket. He shone his penlight into her face. She was crying, bright spots of colour on her cheeks. ‘What have you been doing to yourself?’

  ‘I killed a girl, Martha.’ Where did that come from? It had just popped out by itself.

  ‘Jesse, we have to leave now. I’ve been waiting for you, but they won’t hold it for much longer.’

  ‘Where we going?’ He fell against her as the ship dipped again.

  ‘Off the ship.’ She almost dropped the torch and swore under her breath. ‘I can’t hold you up, Jesse.’

  ‘What about Bin?’

  ‘Bin’s sick, Jesse.’

  ‘We can’t leave Bin.’

  ‘We don’t have a choice.’ She was dragging him now. ‘You think I want to? They won’t let him on if he’s sick.’

  ‘I’m sick too.’

  ‘You’re pissed.’ She was sobbing now. ‘Please, Jesse. Come on.’

  ‘I’ll go get Bin. I’ll catch up with you.’

  He was glad he couldn’t see her face. ‘No, Jesse.’

  ‘Really . . . I’ll go get him. Make them take him.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  She released his arm, the light danced over to the door, paused and then it was gone.

  Now. To business. He made for the pharmacy cabinet, another roll taking him off guard. Time slowed, his legs slid up from under him and he landed on his tailbone. A numb shock, no pain.

  Jesse could hear glass breaking and something sliding across the floor. The door slammed. He fumbled for the penlight. Someone was standing right in front of the cabinet. He trailed the light upwards. The man put his fingers to his lips.

  Jesse realised he knew who he was.

  The dark man. Alfonso’s dark man had come for a little visit.

  A
nd Jesse began to laugh.

  The Keeper of Secrets

  Devi spat out a mouthful of blood and bile, and rolled onto his back, the movement causing a white-hot flare of agony at the back of his skull. Slowly, carefully, he took stock. Every muscle was burning. His hands and feet felt like they’d been dipped in ice. His ears were filled with a roaring sound – he was unsure if it was coming from inside his head or not. And then a creaking and an ear-splitting screech, as if nails were being scraped along the ship’s sides.

  Ram. Ram had done this to him.

  Something soft tickled his forehead. Light spiked his eyes. A voice: ‘Devi. You are awake.’

  ‘Where am I?’

  ‘In the control room. I couldn’t leave you. I came to find you. I couldn’t leave you, Devi.’

  Devi tried to sit up, but his muscles didn’t want to obey him.

  ‘Did they leave the ship?’ Speaking made his jaw feel like it was going to splinter. ‘Did it get evacuated?’

  Rogelio didn’t answer him. ‘Many of the passengers have gone, I think.’

  With a monumental effort, Devi made his arm move and touched his face. It was wet. Sticky. ‘Help me up.’

  ‘No. You mustn’t move.’

  But he had to. He could still be on the ship. The murderer. The man who had killed Kelly Lewis. The hard drive had been destroyed on Ram’s – or the captain’s – orders and the proof of what he’d done was gone.

  But he still couldn’t make his body do what it was supposed to do. Sparks danced in front of his eyes when he lifted his head.

  The ship seemed to throw itself upwards. Then it fell.

  Whichever way he looked at it, he’d failed.

  The Wildcard Blog

  Fearlessly fighting the fraudulent so that you don’t have to

  Shitfuk a storm crazy bad.

  this is my last will & testememtn. So so sickI leave evefything to the james randi foundati Christ I can’t write anymore and I oep that someone reads this

  The Witch’s Assistant

  The ship was listing badly to the left once more, but the violent motion had stopped. Maddie didn’t recall this happening gradually; it had felt like it had ceased within minutes. Her ears ached, but the creaks and howls and what sounded like the rending of metal had also faded away. Not once, not even when the ship’s movement had been at its most extreme, had she heard anyone in the theatre scream. No screaming, no begging for mercy, no prayers. They’d got sick. Of course they had. The smell of vomit was thick in the room, but Maddie fought to ignore it. She was hit with a sudden flood of euphoria. She was still screwed, of course she was. She was still on a ship drifting to nowhere, but she was alive, and that was something. She’d made the choice not to leave – if you leave, you will die – and she would now find out if she’d made the right one.

  ‘Is anyone hurt?’ A tremulous voice. It sounded like it belonged to Eleanor.

  A groan from her left.

  She dragged herself to her feet – she’d ridden out the storm on the floor beneath a row of seats – and focused on the stage. It was dark, but there was a darker shadow in its centre. She should help the Friends, but first, she had to see. Maddie crept towards the stairs that led up to it, picking her way through the detritus on the floor – bags, a scatter of water bottles and bizarrely, a whole salami – wincing as her foot slipped in something wet.

  A woman was moaning from somewhere, but Maddie ignored her and continued onto the stage. Celine was still in her wheelchair (how had that not tipped over during the storm?), and her head was hanging forward, mirroring her pose on the night the ship had stopped.

  ‘Celine.’

  No answer.

  ‘Celine.’

  And then, like a doll coming to life, her head jerked up. ‘Madeleine. Did you think you were going to die?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Scary, wasn’t it?’ Her voice was cold.

  ‘Celine. Just what the fuck is going on? Who . . . are you?’

  ‘I’m Celine del Ray, medium to the stars.’

  ‘The Celine I knew would have told everyone to sod off a long time ago. She wouldn’t have bothered to gather all these people together. No way. The Celine I knew would have been the first person off the bloody ship.’

  ‘You’ve got me. You can call me what you like. Jessie, or Stacy, or Tommy. Or Nonanthla, or Hiroko, or Jeremiah. Whatever you prefer. Your soul, my soul, all just old souls together. What’s the matter with your matter?’

  ‘Oh Jesus.’

  ‘Him, too. Brain damage. It can change the personality. Isn’t that what you think?’

  ‘Celine . . . I saw . . . I saw . . .’ I saw Lizzie Bean, sitting in your bathtub.

  ‘Ghosts? Spirits? Ghouls?’ She laughed. ‘That was fun. I enjoyed that part. Although I’m not sure I got Papa Noakes quite right. Celine didn’t give me much to work with.’ Celine patted her hair, tapping a few stray strands back into place. ‘What is it you want out of life, Maddie? I’ve been thinking about you, trying to figure you out.’

  ‘I want to get off this ship for a start.’

  ‘You’ll get that wish soon.’

  ‘How?’

  Surprising her, Celine yawned. A huge jaw-cracking yawn. ‘Run along now, Maddie. It’s time to get moving. You haven’t seen anything yet. This was just the appetiser. The main course will blow your fucking mind.’

  The Condemned Man

  The darkness was so pure that he couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or shut. He breathed in. Sniffed. There had been a bad smell when his friend had brought him here at first, but he had got used to that quickly. He’d felt sick for a little while, but that had passed, too.

  He wriggled his toes, hearing the crackle of the lumpy mattress beneath him. Sometimes it squished. Soft and hard in places. He had to contort his body to make himself comfortable.

  A churning, grumbling sound. He reached out a hand; the snug sleeve walls of his hiding place were vibrating. Was this what had woken him? He couldn’t feel his left arm – he was lying on it, and it had gone dead. He flexed his fingers, feeling the tingle of blood circulating again.

  He said a silent prayer of thanks to his friend for bringing him here. A large storage locker. Yes, that was what it was. That’s all it was.

  His fingers found the wall again. A low throb, as if he was connected to a heartbeat. Gently at first, he pushed against the hatch. Just checking. Just checking it opened. He was safe in here and didn’t want to leave, but he just wanted to make sure it did open in case he had to run again.

  It didn’t move. But that was okay, he wasn’t pushing very hard. He shifted his position to get more leverage, the mattress crackling beneath him.

  Not a mattress.

  Shhhhhh.

  That’s not a mattress, Gary. You know where you are.

  Shhhhhh!

  He pushed against it with his shoulder this time. Nothing. His foot. Yes, he could kick at it.

  Getoutgetoutgetoutgetout.

  He scrunched his body around, but there wasn’t space. He lashed out with his left leg, making a hollow bonging sound, but still it didn’t move.

  Getoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetoutget

  He just had to—

  The mattress rippled beneath him.

  The Devil’s Handmaiden

  She’d waited it out in her cabin. And still the boy hadn’t come.

  Trining had handed Althea her flashlight just before she’d been funnelled down into the life raft, and Althea was grateful for it now. Who would have thought that she, Althea, would ever be grateful to Trining of all people? Her wrists were bruised where Maria had tried to drag her into the escape chute, but she hadn’t been sick. Queasy, yes, but that was all.

  The crew corridors were deserted, all she could hear was the sound of her feet sloshing through the water that had pooled on the metal floors. Her shoes were soaked, her toes numb. She stepped over a discarded life jacket, a sodden suitcase and the tangled insides of a sma
shed radio.

  Mrs del Ray would know where he’d gone. If she hadn’t decided to abandon the ship too. Perhaps Althea was the only one left on The Beautiful Dreamer. Sailing alone forever until she starved.

  The ship was listing badly now, slumping like a drunk. She trekked past the entertainment staff’s cabins, and through the door into the back of the stage. Voices. She pushed through the curtains, saw flashlights dancing over the darkened seats and aisles of the theatre. Broken lights, the crumped body of a rolled-up backdrop that had fallen.

  And there was Mrs del Ray. Sitting in her wheelchair in the centre of the stage, as if nothing had happened. Down below, people were helping others to stand. She could smell the sickness; the storm had been bad, of course people would have been sick. Althea hurried up to her and dropped to her knees.

  ‘I can’t find him. The boy. I can’t find him.’

  ‘Shhh. Listen.’ Mrs del Ray cocked her head to one side. A low groan, as if the ship was sighing in despair, the lights flickered, died, then flickered back to life. Althea detected a slight vibration under her feet. It stopped, then started again. Mrs del Ray gave her a wide, hungry grin. ‘Here we go.’

  The Suicide Sisters

  The storm had blown itself out. The ship was no longer being thrown around like a toddler’s toy.

  Helen was glad of the darkness. She didn’t want to see. She didn’t want to know. Elise hadn’t made a sound since the ship’s movement had ceased. Deliberately avoiding looking too closely at her, she sat up and slid off the bed, moving carefully across to the TV cabinet. A shard of glass stabbed into her foot. Her legs protested as she got down onto her hands and knees, scrabbling on the sloping floor for Elise’s handbag. Her fingers found it, and she dug through it until she found what she was looking for.

  Keeping her eyes averted from Elise’s direction, she pocketed the Zopiclone, carried the last bottle of water over to her bed, and lay back.