Blood Cruise: A Deep Sea Thriller (17 page)

34.

“We’re in the ship, boss,” Mikey said into the radio as he waved his rifle at Nick. “Get a move on, Sheeran. You’re going first.”

“What was that?” Tony asked over the radio.

“Nothing, boss,” Mikey said. “Just telling Sheeran to hurry his ass up.”

“It’s dark as hell in here,” Nick said as he opened a hatch and peered down into the deep blackness of the ship. “Anyone bring a flashlight?”

Chip stepped up and smacked one against his shoulder.

“Get going,” Chip snarled and gave Nick a nudge with the barrel of his rifle. He glanced back at Niya. “Then you, lady. No way I’m moving around in the dark with you at my back.”

“I don’t have to be at your back to kill you,” Niya said, but didn’t argue as she stepped behind Nick.

The four of them descended the stairs to the next deck. Nick shone the light around and stumbled a little at the shock of what was before him.

“Is that blood?” Nick whispered. “Am I looking at blood? Because that’s a lot of blood.”

“Hey, boss?” Mikey called out. “Things already ain’t right here.”

“Didn’t expect them to be,” Tony said. “I was told the ship might be in some distress when we find it. Just follow the instructions I gave you and work your way to the fifth deck down. There should be a vault there. If we’re lucky, someone will be there to meet you. Don’t matter if they are or not. You know what you need to confirm, so confirm it and I’ll make the call.”

“Okay, boss,” Mikey replied. “I’ll call ya back when I know more.”

“You do that,” Tony said and the radio went silent.

Mikey tucked the radio into his belt then put both hands on his rifle. “Keep moving, Sheeran. This ain’t the first time you’ve seen blood.”

“Not this much blood, man,” Nick said as he took a deep breath through his nose then shook his head. “Oh, man, that stinks. Is blood supposed to smell like that?”

“That’s not just blood,” Niya replied, her .45s out and in both hands. “That’s death. I can smell piss and shit.”

“Something else,” Chip said.

Niya looked over her shoulder at the man and gave him a sweet smile.

“Yes, there is something else,” Niya said. “What is it?”

“Pussy,” Chip said. “Smells like pussy.”

“Dude,” Nick said. “Not the thing you say to a lady like Ms. Romanski.”

“No, Mr. Sheeran, it’s not,” Niya said. “But I’m not going to faint because of it. I am well aware of what pussy smells like and Chip here is very wrong. You are smelling sea life. The fact you attributed it to female genitalia tells me that you probably don’t have a serious girlfriend.”

“That ain’t true,” Chip said. “I got a couple of them.”

“Then my condolences to the women in your life,” Niya said. Chip started to respond, but Niya held up one of the .45s. “Don’t. We need to be quiet and pay attention.”

“Yeah,” Nick said as he swallowed hard and aimed the flashlight at the end of the blood-coated passageway. “Paying attention is good because I see a foot up ahead.”

The four of them made their way slowly down the passageway, their shoes making loud squelching sounds in the sticky blood that had coagulated on the floor. With every step closer, Nick visibly stiffened until he was moving like a wooden robot.

“Let me take point,” Niya said and moved in front of Nick. “But keep that flashlight aimed ahead. Can you handle that, Mr. Sheeran?”

“Yeah, yeah, I can handle that,” Nick said.

Nick aimed the flashlight’s beam directly at the foot that was clad in a heavy black boot. Niya approached the corner cautiously then swung around fast, both pistols up and ready. She shook her head and kicked at the foot. It rolled across the floor. Alone. Unconnected to a leg or a body.

“If you are upset by the blood in that passageway then I would advise you prepare to suck it up, boys,” Niya said as she nodded at the passageway she faced. “It’s about to get a lot worse.”

Nick stopped where he stood, but a hard jab by Mikey’s rifle got him moving again and he staggered around the corner, almost bumping into Niya. He lifted the flashlight, stared at the scene before him, then turned and threw up.

“That is not being prepared,” Niya said.

Chip and Mikey came around the corner, rifles to their shoulders, faces set like granite. They both turned around and puked, adding their sick to Nick’s pile. Niya grumbled then elbowed Nick in the ribs.

“Stand up and keep moving,” Niya said. “We have three decks to cover.”

“Great,” Nick said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

The passageway was littered with severed body parts. Boot-clad feet, bare feet, glove-clad hands, bare hands. Arms, full and partial; legs in the same shape. A head here, a dismembered torso there. And enough blood to keep a vampire happy for eternity.

“More stairs down that way,” Mikey said, spitting on the floor again and again. “Get moving.”

“Are none of you worried by any of this?” Nick asked. “These bodies were ripped apart, man. Ripped the fuck apart! How?”

“Not our problem,” Chip said.

“Seriously, dude?” Nick snapped. “Not our problem is your answer? I’m thinking maybe you aren’t appreciating exactly what we’re seeing here!”

“Whoever did this might still be on board,” Niya said to Nick. “You want to keep yelling and letting them know our position?”

“Well, no,” Nick said. “But, still…” He waved the flashlight around.

“I see your point,” Niya sighed. “But Mr. Giraldi is under the impression that we were to expect this. We keep moving and find this vault.”

“Better be nothing but gold in that vault,” Nick muttered as he carefully worked his way through the body parts, following directly behind Niya as the woman led the way. “And my yacht sale better be real when this is all done. Tony can’t go back on that, right?”

“You are nothing if not single minded, Mr. Sheeran,” Niya said. “You are also annoying. Quiet for the rest of the time or I slice your tongue out.”

Nick almost replied, but clamped his mouth closed instead.

“Very good,” Niya said. “Here are the stairs.”

The flashlight showed a set of stairs just as bloody as the passageways behind them. No body parts, though, so other than the occasional slip of the heel, the way down to the next deck was uneventful.

They made their way through the next passageway and then the next before they came to something that made even Niya pull up short and gasp.

“What are they doing?” Chip asked. “Why are they like that?”

Niya kept her pistols up and trained on the eight bodies arranged on the passageway floor. They were seated in a circle and facing each other, their hands in their laps and their legs crossed. The problem was that none of the legs or arms matched the bodies they were attached to. None of the heads did either as facial skin tone clashed with the skin tone of the necks the heads were precariously perched on.

“Is this some serial killer cruise ship or what?” Nick asked.

Niya inched closer and closer then waved Nick forward. “I need light.”

Reluctantly, Nick followed her until they both stood directly next to the macabre-looking tea party. Niya knelt down and studied the first body closely. She sniffed it and drew her head back quickly.

“There’s something on them,” Niya said.

She placed one of her pistols in its holster then reached out and ran her fingers across the jagged edges where the body’s neck and head were joined together. She held up her fingers to the light, rubbing her thumb and forefinger together.

“More blood,” Nick said.

“No, it’s not blood,” Niya replied.

“It looks like blood,” Nick said.

“Is blood black?” Niya asked.

“What?” Nick replied and bent closer. “Oh. Yeah, I see what you mean. Not blood.”

“What is it?” Mikey asked from the spot where he and Chip stood, several feet back and away from the circle of corpses.

“Ink,” Niya said. “That pussy that you smelled? It’s ink.”

“Ink?” Nick asked. “Why the hell would there be ink on these bodies? Who would do that?”

“
Wha
t
would do that is a better question,” Niya said, standing up. She held out her free hand. “Give me the radio.”

“Can’t do that,” Mikey said. “You got something to say then you say it to me and I say it to Mr. Giraldi.”

“Never mind,” Niya said. “I have an idea of what is going on. I heard the same rumors as Mr. Giraldi, I just didn’t act on them. Looks like my reticence didn’t matter in the end.”

“Want to fill me in?” Nick asked.

“No,” Niya said. “But I suggest we retreat back to the speedboat and get away from this ship as soon as possible.”

“That’s not happening,” Mikey said. He and Chip raised their rifles and took aim at Niya. They pretty much ignored Nick. “We keep going. I have been given a job to confirm the package for Mr. Giraldi. That’s what we are going to do.”

“Can’t really confirm anything if you are dead,” Niya said.

“We’ve been told the package is contained,” Mikey said. “If I return without confirmation then Mr. Giraldi will gut me and toss me overboard.” He waved his rifle at the bodies. “I don’t know what did this, but it don’t scare me as much as Mr. Giraldi.”

Chip nodded in agreement.

“Contained?” Niya laughed. “Does this look contained?”

“Something bad happened, I ain’t denying that,” Mikey said. “But if Mr. Giraldi tells me the package is contained then the package is contained. You didn’t have to come along, but you did, so that means you do what Mr. Giraldi wants.”

“That’s not what that means, but I’ll keep playing along,” Niya said. “Mr. Sheeran? You can stop shining the light on these poor men. They are dead. That has been confirmed. Let’s go confirm that the package is contained like Mr. Giraldi believes it to be. Because confirmation will keep us safe according to the genius over here.”

“This package, it’s not gold, is it?” Nick asked. “And it likes to play with ink? Are we talking about a cyborg printing press or something?”

“You are a funny man,” Niya said. “A complete coward, but funny nonetheless. If you live through all this, we may have to get drinks. I like funny men. We can work on the cowardice part.”

“Drinks are good,” Nick said. “Would now be a good time?”

“Shut up and walk,” Mikey ordered.

“Right. Maybe later,” Nick said. “We have to confirm that the ghost of Gutenberg the Ripper is still locked in his vault. Gotcha.”

35.

Joey knocked a second time, waited for thirty seconds, then stepped away from the cabin door and kicked out hard, his foot hitting the spot right below the handle. The doorframe cracked and the door swung inward. Joey rushed inside, his rifle covering the cabin with a fast sweep to the right then back to the left.

“Nice,” he said to himself as he saw Maggie lying on top of her bed, half naked in only her underwear and her butt up in the air. “I’ve had worse jobs to do.”

Maggie snored loudly and there was a large pool of drool under her face. She mumbled something in her sleep then let out a small fart and giggled. Joey grimaced and took a step back.

“Gross,” he said. “Chicks shouldn’t fart.”

“That so?” Jessica asked from behind him.

He swung around quickly enough to knock the pistol from Jessica’s hand, but not fast enough to block Jessica’s elbow as it hit him square in the jaw, sending him spinning further into the cabin and slamming against a dresser hard enough to put a dent in the very expensive wood. He kept hold of his rifle, but couldn’t get it up in time to ward off the oncoming woman.

Jessica knocked the rifle to the side with her left hand then kept her momentum going, clocking Joey in the temple with her right elbow. Joey had a good foot in height and at least a hundred pounds on Jessica, but there was not much the man could do against a well-placed elbow shot. He rolled along the edge of dresser then fell to a knee, his rifle slipping from his stunned grasp and sliding away across the smooth carpet.

A heavy boot came at his face, but he dodged to the side, his shoulder catching the heel instead of his cheek. He collapsed with his back against the dresser and barely managed to cross his arms in front of him and stop the next kick aimed right for his throat. Joey twisted his hands around from their crossed position and grabbed Jessica by the leg. He threw himself to the side, using all his weight to take Jessica with him.

Her leg firmly in Joey’s grasp, Jessica had no choice but to tuck her shoulder and go into the roll as the large man spun her about. As her shoulder hit the ground, Joey got his legs up underneath him and launched himself upright. He still had Jessica’s leg and he yanked on it hard as he walked backwards towards the cabin door.

Maggie grumbled and farted again and Joey gave her a harsh look.

“I’ll teach you how to be a lady when I’m done with this bitch,” Joey said as he reached the doorway.

That was as far as he got before he was forced to his knees after Jessica’s other boot landed right in his crotch. Joey’s face went green as he grunted and involuntarily grabbed for his badly bruised nuts. Two more elbows to the face and he was on his back out in the passageway.

Joey gasped for breath and struggled to keep from throwing up. The woman wasn’t big, by any stretch of the imagination, but she was pissed off and knew exactly how to land a kick to the balls. Joey reluctantly flipped himself over onto his stomach and crawled as far and fast as he could manage. Which was about four feet before Jessica came out into the passageway with Joey’s rifle to her shoulder.

“Shit!” Joey cried as he rolled to the side, bullets tearing up the floor where he’d just been.

“Did you say you were going to teach that woman how to be a lady?” Jessica shouted as she fired again.

Joey was able to roll out of the line of fire once more and landed with his back against the wall. He reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out his .45, but he didn’t get a shot off as pain exploded in his legs. He screamed as slug after slug tore into his thighs. He screamed a second time as a burning hot muzzle was shoved against his scalp, the metal singing his hair and scorching his skin.

“Did Giraldi send you down here to rape innocent women?” Jessica asked. “Or was that you taking your own initiative?”

Joey grimaced and gritted his teeth as he watched his blood flow from his wounds and pool under his legs.

“I asked you a question!” Jessica shouted.

“Shit, okay, okay!” Joey yelled. “I thought that was a rhetorical question!”

“Do I seem like I’m in a rhetorical mood, asshole?” Jessica snarled, pressing the rifle harder into Joey’s scalp. “Does the sound of me squeezing this trigger sound at all rhetorical to you?”

Joey pissed himself when he heard the dry click of the rifle’s trigger. Then the fact he wasn’t dead sunk in and he lifted his .45 at Jessica.

“Shit,” she said as she threw herself backwards.

Joey fired six shots at her, but missed every one as they went too high and ended up just ripping hunks of wood from the ceiling. He adjusted his aim as Jessica scrambled on hands and feet towards the open cabin.

“You want to play word games, bitch?” Joey snarled as he fired and Jessica screamed. “I’ll play word games.”

The woman was lost from his sight as she crawled into Maggie’s cabin. Joey had counted eight shots and knew he only had three left in the pistol, one in the chamber and two in the magazine. He ejected the magazine and grabbed a fresh one from his belt, but fumbled and dropped it as pain rolled through the gunshot wounds in his legs.

Joey took a couple of deep breaths and reached for the magazine which was lying in the massive pool of blood that had formed underneath him. He almost had the magazine when it was snatched away from him.

“What the hell?” he whispered as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. “That was a… What was that?”

He craned his neck and his eyes went wide as he watched a long, thick tentacle pull the magazine into the cracked open air vent above him in the ceiling. The tentacle was lost from sight and all Joey could do was stare at the spot where it had been, his mind refusing to admit he saw what he saw.

“That ain’t right,” he said as he grabbed at the last magazine on his belt.

He had a hard time getting it free and looked down quickly. When he got it and slapped it into the waiting pistol, he turned his attention back to the vent and nearly screamed as he saw a huge eyeball watching him. Everything around the eyeball was pitch black, but a kind of black that didn’t quite fit the shadows of the vent.

Slowly, hoping not to draw attention to what he was doing, Joey brought his pistol up and aimed it at the eyeball. He never got a shot off as two tentacles came shooting down at him. One grabbed his wrist and snapped it, while the other snagged the pistol and threw it down the passageway so that it clattered against the wall at the far end, well out of reach.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Joey said.

The tentacles hovered around him then darted down and rolled their tips in his blood. They withdrew instantly and Joey heard a soft slurping noise. If he hadn’t already pissed himself, he would have then as three tentacles came for him.

He screamed and screamed and screamed as he was lifted into the air. Four other tentacles whipped past him and coated themselves in the pool of blood on the floor. They withdrew when not an inch of their rubbery skin was visible. Joey hung there in the passageway, suspended in air by three tentacles, screaming his head off as the slurping sound above increased and intensified.

Then his left leg was gone. Gone. Torn right from his hip with a wet popping noise that made him throw up more than the pain of getting kicked in the balls ever could. Not that the pain of losing his leg wasn’t enough to turn his stomach, but he’d heard a lot of things in his career and the popping of a leg out of a pelvis was a new one. Especially since it was his own leg.

His hands went to the gushing wound where his left leg had been and he pressed his palms against the opening, some part of his brain telling him that if he just stopped the bleeding he’d be alright. That part of his brain shorted out when his right leg met the same fate as his left.

He flailed at the tentacles that were tearing into him. He slapped at their strange skin, clawed at the suckers that opened and closed while they tasted his blood. He tried to dig his fingernails into one, but he couldn’t find any purchase as the tentacle just warped and collapsed under his grip without any damage done.

When his left arm was yanked free from his shoulder, Joey’s conscious mind decided that a vacation was in order. All rational thought left him and for some reason the image of the huge elm tree that was in the front yard of his childhood home burst into his mind. He could see that tree as plain as if it was right there in the passageway with him. Its green leaves fluttering in the summer breeze. He could smell freshly mowed grass and the hint of honeysuckle.

Then his right arm was torn off and he was brought painfully back to reality. His head slumped as the strength began to leave his body. Joey’s chin met his chest and he could feel his heart slowing, slowing, stuttering. A small movement caught the last of his attention and he shifted his gaze to his right.

Jessica was peeking from around the doorway of Maggie’s cabin, her eyes wide with horrified disbelief, her pistol limp in her hand.

Then everything went dark as his limbless body was pulled up through the vent in the ceiling. Of course, his body was too big for the opening, so a good part of him was crushed and mangled as the incredible strength of the creature in the ceiling continued to pull and pull until he was finally up inside duct work, his torso reunited with his severed limbs.