Day Four (35 page)

A dark shape threw itself into her arms knocking her off balance. A surge of hope that it was the boy, but then she heard Trining sobbing: ‘Althea! What’s happening, Althea?’

‘Everyone is evacuating the ship.’

‘There was no signal. Why haven’t they come to get me?’

Because they do not care. No one cares anymore.

‘Please give me your flashlight.’

‘No! Why? Don’t leave me, Althea.’

‘Give me your flashlight and then I will take you to your muster station. I have to get something from my cabin.’

Trining handed it over, and Althea raced into her cabin and shone it over the bunks, underneath them and into the tiny bathroom. Nothing. He wasn’t here. Could he be on Five where she’d first seen him?

‘Althea!’

‘Go, Trining. Go to the muster stations.’

‘You are not coming with me? Please, Althea. I still feel weak. And I’m scared.’

Fuck-darned Trining
. ‘Come on.’

She took Trining’s hand and pulled her along the staff corridor, using her for balance now that she could no longer use the wall. The ship yawed, and she slammed into Trining’s shoulder.

‘It is going to sink!’ Trining screamed.

‘It is not going to sink.’

They made it past the bar and out onto the muster deck, where a cluster of crew members were waiting to climb into the chute that fed into the inflatable lifeboats. Althea had only ever seen this done in calm weather; she didn’t dare look down over the railing. Someone shoved a life jacket over her head, the wind blew salty spray into her face. The ship groaned and the ocean raged and roared.

A hand pushed her forward.

‘Althea!’ A waving hand. Maria. Maria was near the front of the group, helping people clamber into the chute’s mouth.

‘I have to get the boy,’ she said to Trining.

‘What? I cannot hear you.’

The boy isn’t real
.

He was real.

‘Don’t be afraid!’ Maria was shouting. ‘Althea, come! It’s your only choice.’

The Suicide Sisters

Screaming. She could hear screaming.

The ship’s movement was far more pronounced – up, down, side to side – rolling and pitching, rolling and pitching.

Helen had closed the curtains and locked the balcony doors after their uninvited visitors had left. Once or twice she thought she’d heard sounds from the corridor outside. The sleeping pills had held her under. She’d only taken two (
for now
), but they’d done their job and blocked almost everything out. She sat up, unable to bear looking over at Elise in case she’d slipped away to join Peter.
For God’s sake!
Died.
Not ‘slipped away’. Died.
The room was dark, but she didn’t remember turning off the lights.

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.

And 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.