A New Island

by Nick Niels Sanders

  Maria stopped. James stopped, eyes adapting to the sudden darkness, ears shocked at the sudden silence as the generator shut down, looking out across shimmering water to a starlit beach. The moon had set some time ago, so it was very dark, but as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see the figures of Valerie and Michelle walking along the sandy beach away from the ship and the village. The sound of Maria’s voice brought him back to reality.

  “I think this is better, don’t you?”

  James looked. Rewrapping her pareo just under her bust, tying it in front with long ends dangling in front, she had not only left her breasts clad only in the six floral wreaths, decorating but not concealing, but she had also left a small gap in the front of her wrap, incompletely filled in by the ends of the pareo, with skin vaguely visible between, especially when she lifted her knee in placing one foot on the lower railing. “Yes, I like that.” Having a daily exposure to naked people in his office had never kept James from having a special interest in Maria’s anatomy.

  “Come with me.” She hung something over a hook by the ladder as they ascended to the next level, and moved forward to the observation deck below the bridge.

  “You need a little adjusting too.” She helped him remove his shirt. She untied his sulu and pulled down his briefs. He stepped out of them, fully expecting the sulu to be rewrapped, but it went on the floor with her pareo. “Feel the wind on your naked skin. Isn’t it sensual?” She replaced two flower necklaces over his head, her hands flowing down his torso in a caress of love.

  It was very sensual, as was the realization that he and Maria were now dressed only in flower necklaces. Shaded even from the stars, on that observation deck, looking toward the beach, washed by a gentle breeze, they made love.

  “I think I really must be on vacation now.”

  “Yes, I think you are. And I sure do like it.”

  “Let’s go to bed.”

  And they did, collecting and carrying various bits and pieces of clothing, including the panties Maria had left hanging by the bottom of the ladder, slipping naked and unseen, into their cabin. Sleep came quickly.

  Is there a Doctor in the House?

  There was a persistent loud knocking sound. James had little difficulty pulling himself awake but somewhat more difficulty in figuring out where he was and where the noise was coming from. A muffled voice was saying: “Doc, my wife is sick. I need you to come and see her.”

  Reality flooded back. They were on board a small cruise ship and he was on vacation, and someone wanted him to be a doctor – someone sounding suspiciously like George Fuller. “Just a sec,” he yelled in reply, slipping out of bed and into a silk dressing gown. Whether asleep or feigning, Maria lay quietly on the bed, breathing gently. He covered her before moving to the door.

  It was George, short legged, short sleeved yellow pajamas testifying to the urgency of his concern. The Fuller’s cabin lay at the opposite end of the passage. Joan was lying on the bed, pale, sweaty and inert, in a pink nylon nightgown. Her eyes moved as he came into the small room.

  “How are you?”

  “I’m schick,” she slurred.

  “She was nauseated after supper. She threw up. Then she had diarrhea. I thought it was something she ate. But now she is having trouble talking and she told me she was having problems with her vision too.”

  “What kind of vision problem are you having?” James was kneeling at the side of the bed now, taking her pulse and watching her breathing.

  “Dubble vizzun,” she managed with some difficulty.

  “George, get a glass of water. Can you drink a little water?”

  “Ahll shraw.”

  When the glass of water came she took a small sip. James noticed that her lip seemed to droop. Her eyelids drooped; she swallowed with effort and almost choked on about three drops of water.

  “OK. That’s enough. Your symptoms, Mrs. Fuller, are suggestive of botulism, which is a kind of food poisoning. George, I think you had better stay with her; I am going to see if I can get Captain Wilkie to take us back to Lautoka so we can get her more complete treatment – there is an antitoxin that will help her a lot, but there certainly isn’t any on board.”

  James rose, rapidly replaced at the bedside by George. He left, closing the door quietly. The best way he knew to get to the crew quarters was through the galley; switching on lights along the way, he went out and up to the main deck, then through the galley to the crew quarters. He found the captain’s quarters and knocked on the door without response. He banged louder. Still no response. He tried the door, and it opened. The scene inside was a mess, with Captain Wilkie lying in the middle of his bed, his dark face dusky, his lips bluish and open eyes pointing at different spots on the ceiling. There was no pulse. “Damn!” was James’ only vocalization, but just that much observation of the Captain’s body gave indications that were at least consistent with botulism. He moved on to the next cabin, and the next. The result was uniform – seven crew members, all as dead as their captain.

  He paused to think. A small flock of ideas winged their way through his mind. They would need to find one of the passengers who could run the ship; the issue seemed now to be less about getting back to Lautoka immediately and more about getting back at all; there might be a two-way radio – could they radio for help? He knew he would not be the one to run the ship or to figure out the radio; there were others who could do that. But where there were eight dead crew members and a critically ill Joan Fuller, there would be others who were ill and would need attention and support. His feet got him back below as he worked through the combinations. He stopped at his own cabin, rapped on the door, entered.

  “Maria.”

  She was awake.

  “I need your help immediately, put on a bathrobe and come. Fuller’s cabin – number 16.” He turned and was out the door as she rolled her naked body out of bed, groped for her bathrobe and followed.

  He knocked on the door one short of opposite the Fullers, number 13, where Jim Hargrove and Ron Haskell slept. A groggy response let him know they heard his request for help in the Fuller’s cabin. He moved down the hall and found George still at his wife’s side – to James it felt as if hours had gone by, but in this cabin, it was as though he had been gone less than ten seconds. “More help is coming. I’ll explain in a couple minutes when everyone is here.”

  He reassessed Joan. Her breathing was still strong, but her eyes were now pointing in discernibly different directions, and the musculature of her face was relaxing. Her prognosis without antitoxin was very grave.

  Maria, white terry bathrobe wrapped tightly and securely belted at the waist, arrived closely followed by Jim (wearing blue flannel pajamas) and Ron (wearing gray sweat pants and a plain white tee shirt).

  “Here it is. George got me up because Joan’s ill. Seems to me she probably has botulism. Proper care requires getting her to Lautoka as quickly as we can. I went to the captain and found that he and the entire crew are dead – probably of botulism as well. Now we are faced with figuring out how to communicate and how to get to Lautoka on our own. Sooner or later we’ll need to wake everyone, but I thought we ought to start a few. There may be a radio – anyone have any idea how to work one?” George and Ron both nodded. “Can anyone here handle a ship this size with any degree of confidence?”

  George nodded: “I’ve not handled anything this size, but half or a third this size, twin diesel like this one.”

  “You three go to the bridge to see if you can radio for help. Depending on what you find, we may have to consider casting off and making our way to Lautoka. Let me know what’s happening. Maria, will you stay with Joan? I’m going to check on our fellow passengers.”

  There were nods all around. The three men left. Maria settled onto the bed by Jean, offering a caress and a comforting word. Joan seemed to relax to this ministration. James rose and moved two cabins up the hall to the cabin 10, the one occupied by the two young ladies
. It took some knocking to wake them. He found them both feeling well, if sleepy. He let them know briefly what was going on, and checked to be sure his memory was correct that Valerie was a registered nurse. If there were more sick people, he was certainly going to need more nursing help.

  Visiting the cabins one by one was not easy. Even loud banging on the door of cabin 7, just forward of the gangway on the port side got no response and the door was locked on the inside. He got a similar response at cabin 5, next forward on the port, and another at cabin 1, the most forward cabin on the port side.

  At this point, Jim Hawthorne reappeared with the news that George and Ron had found the radio and had managed to power it up, but it did not appear to be working. They were going to lift the gangplank and get under way toward Lautoka. In the meantime, Jim was feeling a little nauseous and was going to lie down. He hoped he wasn’t coming down with botulism, and James hoped so also.

  The next cabin he tried was #2 (forward most, starboard side), where Paul Moore answered the door asking what was going on. The promptness of his response and the fact that he was wearing a dressing gown over his pajamas suggested that the noise had already awakened him. James explained briefly and sent Paul to see if there was a key cupboard in the crew area with master keys to the cabins.

  The twin diesels roared to life and the boat shimmied its way off the beach, turned, motored slowly to and through the break in the reef, then accelerated away from the island.

  James tried #4 and got no response. At #6 there was a faint response. James tried the door and found it locked. He called his identity through the door and inquired how the occupants (Lord and Lady Richard) were doing. A muffled response was all he got. After waiting a few moments, he went on to cabin #8. The anxious face of Roger Applebee appeared in the doorway. “Oh, thank goodness Doctor. Jayne is ill. Why did you come? Are others also ill?”

  “Yes. Shall I take a look at her?” James entered the cabin. It became apparent that Jayne Applebee had much the same illness as Joan Fuller, and at about the same stage of progression. James shared with Roger the nature of the crisis. The boat was en route back to Lautoka to get more adequate medical assistance. Many of those stricken could be helped by antitoxin, which was not available on the ship. He would get a nurse to sit with Jayne and Roger. It took only a moment to mobilize Valerie, still waking up, still dressed in a long flannel nightgown, to sit with them. Paul Moore reappeared with keys.

  They continued in the same direction James had been moving in; the next cabin was that of Valerie and Michelle; past it, in #12, they unlocked the door to find Pete and Sarah Pinkerson lying side-by-side, dead. At the next cabin, they were greeted by Ralph Carney almost as soon as they knocked. He, like Paul, was wearing a cover over his pajamas. On understanding the situation and assuring James that he and Jeanne were both doing well and had been sleeping well until all the commotion, Ralph wondered what he or Jeanne could do to help out. James asked them to stay awake and close by in case they were needed, but just now what was most needed was for him to be sure how everyone was.

  In the next cabin, Maria continued to look over a fading Joan Fuller, whose lips were now faintly blue and whose respirations were shallower and more irregular than before.

  Turning the corner and starting forward on the port side, in cabin #15 they found Eloise Kershaw lying at one side of the bed, dead, naked above the waist, the beautiful garlands of flowers still around her neck. James pulled the sheet up to cover her. Beside her, barely able to respond, his lips and face ashen, was Marshall. James sat down to talk with Marshall and sent Paul to get the Carneys. They returned in a few moments, Jeanne, in a short nightgown, rubbing her eyes and yawning. James explained briefly that there was really nothing that they could do except be what soothing comfort they could to Marshall. There was virtually no chance that he would survive long enough to benefit from the trip to Lautoka.

  Cabin #13 was where Jim Hawthorne was resting. His nausea had not gotten worse. He was not slurring his speech or having double vision. “Doctor, do you think it could have been the salmon at lunch? I had a very small amount and Ron had none, but some of the others ate a lot of it.”

  “I don’t know, and it really doesn’t so much matter just now. But we will follow up on that later.” James was impressed that Jim, with whom he had been on a first name basis only a few hours before, was now relating to him in doctor mode. He shrugged. Of course, that was the mode in which he was functioning, so why should it be a surprise?

  In the next cabin they found an anxious, pajama-clad, Julia Winters who was feeling well and was watching over a sleeping Mark. Julia had awakened to the noise and could not sleep while the to-do was going on. She would rather be helping, if possible. James assured her they would call on her if they needed her. And they would ask her to wake Mark if they needed him.

  Next was cabin 9, where a tearful Marcella dressed in a long cotton nightgown answered the door and said that Mrs. Thorpe was very ill. James asked Paul to fetch Julia and went in. Mrs. Thorpe was suffering the same syndrome as the others, though not yet so advanced. She was not yet having double vision, but her lips were slack and she was having some trouble speaking. She had spent a good portion of the earlier part of the night purging, but that had now stopped. James briefed Julia on what was expected of her. He judged that Marcella would not be much help in this room, but decided not to take her away until there was something for her to do.

  In the next cabin, #7, just forward of the gangway, they found the Howlands both dead in their beds. James closed the door and moved on to #5, where John and Melodie Taylor were quite ill. John was lying on the bed, looking exhausted; Melodie was in the head vomiting. Maria walked in to let James know that Joan Fuller had died. James thought a moment then decided that it would be best not to tell George, since George had to continue with the task of running the ship. Perhaps Maria could enlist the help of Michelle to take care of the Taylors.

  James and Paul moved on. Cabin #1 was a single; on using the key, they found Marybeth Worthington dead on her bed.

  They skipped Paul’s cabin and moved on to cabin #4. Jeff Jones was lying dead and Marilyn looked as though she were not too far behind him. James sat down to comfort her and sent Paul to see if Marcella would prefer to take are of Mrs. Thorpe or come and help with Mrs. Jones. Paul and Marcella appeared a couple moments later, and James instructed Marcella.

  The next cabin was that of Lord Richard. James remembered a muffled response when last he had knocked. It came again. He tried the door. It was still locked. “Lord Richard, this is Doctor Fredericks. I have a key to the door and I am coming in.” They opened the door. Both occupants were alive, neither had any neurologic deficit, but they were having alternating bouts of vomiting and diarrhea and looking very miserable. James thought wryly that they hardly looked the part of English nobility in their filthy night clothes, bent over the sink or toilet vomiting. Thrusting that thought aside, he delegated Paul Moore to sit with the Kirkpatricks. Knowing that he had now covered the entire passenger compliment of the ship, James summarized the situation for himself.

  Ron Haskell and George Fuller were on the bridge; it was not clear how George would react to hearing of his wife’s death. Jim Hawthorne looked as if he would be OK, but he would need supportive care. He and Maria were both well, as were Mark and Julia Winters, Ralph and Jeanne Carney, Paul Moore, Valerie St Claire and Michelle Jarvis. Jeff Jones was dead and Marilyn moribund. Jayne Applebee was moribund. Pete and Sarah Pinkerson were dead. Eloise Kershaw was dead and Marshall moribund. Susan Thorpe was very ill, but Marcella was not. The Howlands were dead. The Taylors were ill and Marybeth Worthington was dead. So of the 30 passengers, 8 were dead and 3 very nearly so. Five more were very ill (the Taylors, Susan Thorpe and the Kirkpatricks) and three were either mildly ill or at risk for being dysfunctional (Jim, Roger and George). That left him with eleven able-bodied people.

  Suddenly, the ship lurched. James grabbed the doorjamb
of the Applebee’s room; looking into the room he noted that everyone but Jayne was bracing. There was a loud screeching noise; as the ship decelerated rapidly, the noise decreased in pitch and volume. After a moment, all motion seemed to stop. Then there was an incredible silence as the ship’s engines stopped. Briefly, the lights went out, then came back on again, accompanied by a distant noise from the generator.

  James stepped across to cabin 5 to ask Maria how things were going. He found that Maria and Michelle were OK, but the impact had pitched John Taylor out of bed – his neck was bent at a gruesome angle, indicating that he must have died instantly of a broken neck. Melodie had progressed to double vision and slurred speech. He stepped back to cabin 8; Roger Applebee and Valerie were OK, having been able to brace themselves. Jayne Applebee had been tossed around a bit, but it didn’t seem to have mattered. She had probably been dead for at least 10 or 15 minutes. Roger was weeping inconsolably.

  James moved on to cabin 9 to see how Susan Thorpe was doing. He was relieved to find Julia Winters at her post and uninjured. Mrs. Thorpe, however, had died since he had last been in the room. He sent Julia to check on Mark and get him up if he was able. Mark had at least had the advantage of having the bed against the forward wall of the cabin, so he would not have gone far. Julia found him stranding up asking what the Hell was going on.