HAYWIRE: A Pandemic Thriller (The F.A.S.T. Series Book 2) (24 page)

Justin grabbed her shoes and yanked them off.

‘Justin, wait. It’s not possible.’

Justin pulled off her socks, placing her bare feet back on the wheelchair’s footrests.

He pointed at her feet. ‘Try to move your toes.’

His mother looked at her feet and then back up at him.

‘I don’t even remember how, Justin. Please put my shoes back on.’

‘Not until you try,’ insisted Justin. ‘And I mean
really
try. As hard as you can. But don’t tell me which foot.’

His mother closed her eyes.

Her toe moved.

Her big toe.

Just a fraction of an inch.

‘Holy shit!’ hissed Justin, grabbing her hand. ‘Your left toe moved. I saw it!’

His mom nodded. ‘I think I felt it.’

‘Close your eyes,’ Justin ordered.

His mom didn’t argue.

He pinched her pinky toe. ‘Which toe did I pinch?’

‘I didn’t feel anything.’

He pinched again, hard this time, using his fingernails.

‘The pinkie on my right foot,’ his mom said.

Justin sat back, astonished.

His mother didn’t open her eyes for at least a minute.

‘What’s happening, Justin?’

Justin began speaking before he even realized what he was trying to say. ‘On Wednesday night we shared our dinner table with an old woman using a walker. She had a hunched back, remember?’

His mother nodded. ‘Her name was Vera. Her husband’s name was Ted.’

‘I saw her in the atrium, Mom. She was running. She leaped right over a bench. And her hunched back was gone.’

‘Was she with the Marines?’

Justin shook his head. ‘No, Mom. She wasn’t evacuating. She was chasing us. She was trying to kill us.’

His mother blinked a few times.

‘She was sick?’

Justin nodded. ‘She was sick in the head, but her body seemed...healed. She moved like she was young again.’

Justin nodded at his mother’s legs. ‘What if the same thing is happening to you?’

Justin couldn’t see any other explanation. It was too much of a coincidence. Whatever had affected all those crazy passengers must also be affecting his mother’s legs.

‘Then why aren’t I crazy?’ his mom asked.

‘You tell me,’ said Justin, picking up her shoes and socks. ‘You’re the expert.’

Ben Bryant watched the Marines slip past another large group of enraged passengers. Coordinating the movements of all three groups of Marines would have been impossible without Karen’s help. She kept dashing back and forth to the map, double-checking Ben’s directions before the Marines moved. Together they had managed to keep all the Marines heading toward Neve Kershaw and her son.

Yet again, Ben wondered what he would do without Karen on the bridge.

‘Sir!’ said Radar Officer Hayman. ‘We have two incoming helicopters.’

‘Bearing?’

‘Head on.’

Ben grabbed his large binoculars and scanned the horizon ahead.

He recognized the shape of the helicopters.

‘Two Sikorsky Sea Kings,’ Bryant identified. ‘Search and rescue. They’re painted bright yellow.’

How did they get here so fast?
he wondered.

He pointed to Karen urgently. ‘Warn them away from the ship. Explain we’re quarantined with sick passengers. Ask them to start searching the perimeter for any passengers lost in the water.’

Karen nodded and relayed the message.

She waited, and then repeated the message.

She shook her head. ‘They’re not responding.’

Ben used his binoculars again. The helicopters looked much closer now.

‘They’re coming in fast,’ he said to himself. ‘Why are they flying so low?’

Even without the binoculars he could plainly see them now. They grew by the second.

One helicopter suddenly gained altitude.

The other flew straight at the bridge.

Ben put down his binoculars and began backing away from the front windows. He grabbed Karen’s shoulder and drew her from her seat.

The incoming chopper flew straight toward the bridge.

The remaining bridge crew surged from their seats and raced to the back of the room.

The giant Sea King helicopter filled the viewing window. Ben heard the thumping rotor blades. He could see the pilot’s face. He could read the writing on the helicopter’s fuselage. He could see every detail of the machine about to crash into the bridge.

Vibrations shook the bridge under his shoes.

He turned toward Karen, shielding her body from the glass he knew would come crashing into the bridge like a thousand deadly spears.

The entire bridge shuddered as the helicopter impacted.

Ben’s heart thumped madly, waiting for whatever came next.

It wasn’t glass.

It wasn’t an explosion.

The helicopter didn’t come crashing into the bridge.

Ben released Karen and looked around.

‘Where did it go?’

‘The roof,’ pointed Karen. ‘They landed on the roof!’

Ben looked up.

The roof of the bridge? But there’s no helipad up there. There’s no way down from up there.

Like most modern cruise ships, the
First Lady of the Sea
sported a hammerhead bridge. Styled after the head of a hammerhead shark, the wide bridge allowed the crew to look right back along both sides of the ship through floor to ceiling windows.

‘What the hell are they doing?’ Ben demanded, striding angrily back to the comms station.

Before he could demand an answer, Karen pointed upward. ‘Listen.’

Ben did.

He heard heavy boots landing on the roof as people leaped from the helicopter.

This is crazy,
Ben thought.
There’s no way down from there.

Sparks suddenly spewed down over Ben’s head.

He ducked away before his uniform caught fire. He swiped burning embers off his jacket.

What the hell?

He stared up in amazement. A tiny volcano was erupting through the bridge ceiling. The point of red-hot, spark-spitting heat rapidly began moving.

They’re cutting a hole
, realized Ben.

And they were cutting a
big
hole, at least ten feet across.

‘Everyone get back!’ ordered Ben, just as the final section of ceiling was cut.

CRAAAAASH!

A thick chunk of ceiling
smashed
down inside the bridge.

Bryant felt the entire bridge shudder.

The huge chunk of ceiling glowed bright red around its edges.

Ben squinted through the direct sunlight pouring in their new skylight.

A heavy black boot appeared. Someone was climbing down. No, they were
riding
down on a hook. The man riding the hook descended into the bridge holding the thick metal cable in one hand and an automatic weapon in the other. Ben recognized the weapon. It was a Scorpion Evo submachine gun. No search and rescue unit in the world needed those.

The man holding the weapon wore a blue military police style uniform and a gray protective vest.

He stepped off the hook.

He scanned the bridge like the head of an invading army scanning newly occupied territory.

He nodded, as though finding the bridge acceptable.

Ben stared at him, having absolutely no idea who he could be. He did know, however, that this man wasn’t part of any search and rescue team.

He stood at least half a head taller than Ben’s six foot frame. He had a face you’d never forget. A handsome face made ugly by the way he carried his features. His short blond hair stuck out in all directions. Either he hadn’t slept in days, or someone had drawn with charcoal under his eyes.

His face wasn’t easy to look at. He had the face of someone you didn’t want to notice you. The face of a leader, but the leader of men you didn’t want around you. His humorless mouth and sour expression was instantly repellant.

His glare made Ben want to step aside, but Ben didn’t.

He stepped forward.

‘Who the hell are you?’ demanded Ben. ‘What are you doing on my bridge?’

The man looked Ben up and down before rapping his weapon twice on the metal hook. The hook instantly retracted on its cable up through the ceiling.

In its place, a metal ladder unrolled through the hole. Before the ladder reached the floor, men came pouring down it. They all wore blue uniforms and gray protective vests.

They look like a private security outfit,
thought Ben.

None wore any identification or rank. They all carried the same type of short ‘Scorpion Evo’ submachine gun.

‘Who are you?’ demanded Ben again.

No one acknowledged him. None of the men uttered a word as they took up positions beside every console.

Thankfully no firearms were pointed at his crew.

Do they speak English?
wondered Ben.

The first man down the ladder knelt at the comms console. He began removing a large side panel with an electric screwdriver.

Zzzzzzzzzz.

‘Hey,’ protested Karen. ‘Get away from that!’

Ben grabbed her arm. ‘Stop. Step back. Right now.’

When Karen retreated, Ben stepped forward. ‘We need that equipment. Can you understand me? Do you know what that equipment does?’

The tall man with the sour expression finally spoke. ‘We need to re-task it. This will only take a minute. Then we can talk.’

He spoke with the crisp efficiency of a person accustomed to giving orders.

Maybe they’re some kind of Special Forces unit,
thought Ben.
Perhaps they came through the ceiling to avoid being contaminated. The search and rescue choppers were probably the only available transport to the ship.

Ben felt slightly relieved.

The man working inside the comms station installed an entirely new piece of equipment. He typed program code quickly into Karen’s keyboard.

Ben looked back at Karen.

She shrugged and shook her head.

She doesn’t know what he’s doing either.

‘It’s done,’ the man reported. ‘It’s operational.’

‘What is that?’ demanded Ben. ‘What’s operational?’

The tall, blond man rolled up his sleeves. He rubbed the dark patches under his eyes. His eyes lingered a moment on Karen.

‘My name is Christov,’ he said, waving around at the ship. ‘And I’m here to help you. This mess. This problem you have on the ship. This is my responsibility now. I’m here to make things right.’

Ben’s instincts warned him that this wasn’t good news. This intruder sounded like a businessman launching a hostile takeover. He sounded confident and efficient.

Ben pointed at the comms console. ‘What have you done?’

‘My technician transformed your ship’s radio transmitter into a wide-spectrum radio jammer. No unauthorized transmissions can leave the ship now.’

He’s isolated us
, realized Ben, glancing at Karen.
They’ve cut off all radio transmissions. We can’t contact the lifeboats. We can’t contact the mainland. Our cell phones won’t even work.

The hand radio he’d used to guide Erin and the Marines wouldn’t work now either.

You idiot
, he berated himself.
You didn’t even tell the Marines about the incoming helicopters. They have no idea what is going on up here. We can’t even contact each other.

Christov scanned the officers’ shoulder epaulettes, checking their rank. ‘Where’s the Captain?’

‘He’s sick,’ answered Ben. ‘Half the bridge crew is sick. Half the ship is sick. They’re killing each other. You’ve got no idea—’

Christov cut Ben off. ‘I know
exactly
what’s going on. That’s why we’re here. You’re the first officer, correct?’

‘That’s right.’

‘You’re responsible for the ship’s navigation, correct?’

Ben nodded again.

‘Good. Show me our location. On a chart. A paper chart. Nothing electronic. Our
exact
location.’

Ben looked across the bridge at their dynamic positioning system. The huge screens displayed the wind speed, barometer reading, current direction, meteorological forecasts, and most importantly of all, their latitude and longitude.

‘We always use paper charts,’ said Ben.

At the chart table, he marked their location with a sharp pencil.