HAYWIRE: A Pandemic Thriller (The F.A.S.T. Series Book 2) (3 page)

Amy stared in shock at the door.

Two of Shelley’s teeth were embedded in the wood!

That impact would send most people to the emergency room, but Shelley didn’t even pause as blood began pouring from her ruined lips and nose. She scrambled across the tiles like a giant wet spider, trying to tackle Amy.

Without thinking, Amy snatched the big bottle of bath salts from the vanity.

She swung the bottle like a tennis racket.

Smash!

The bottle exploded against Shelley’s jaw. She fell sideways toward the toilet in a cloud of colorful bath salt crystals. She missed the toilet, but her head struck the tiled wall with neck-breaking force.

Amy backed away, feeling bath salts crunch under her bare feet.

She tried to close the door, but Shelley’s foot blocked it.

Across the cabin, Kim pushed herself up on one elbow. ‘What was all that about? Can we go back to sleep now?’

Amy shook her head, pointing into the bathroom.

She wasn’t pointing at her dead friend in the shower enclosure.

She wasn’t pointing at the blood-smeared tiles or the teeth embedded in the door.

She pointed at Shelley.

Because Shelley began getting up again.

Ted held his sick wife’s convulsing limbs to the bed.

They’d been married fifty-nine years this month. This cruise was an anniversary present from their children.

Where is that doctor?

The doctor
knew
Vera was the oldest woman on the cruise! If she fell and broke a bone, well, the last time had nearly killed her.

Ted didn’t know how he’d cope without Vera. She was the reason he woke up in the morning.

Food poisoning
, he’d heard a steward say.

Apparently half the ship had it.

That’s absurd....

Ted knew it couldn’t be food poisoning. He and Vera shared the same lamb curry last night. He’d eaten most of it.

Whatever the cause, the windowless cabins and ducted air conditioning had turned the ship into a giant frothing petri dish of disease.

Vera violently arched her back again, becoming so rigid that only her heels and shoulders touched the bed.

Her thin, seventy-pound frame flopped down.

Her body hit the bed and didn’t move.

She lay deathly still.

Oh, God - she’s dead.

Ted checked her pulse with desperate, shaking fingers.

Her heart was pumping so quickly he could barely tell one beat from the next.

And she was hot! So burning hot!

He stumbled over to the cordless phone and pushed the emergency button.

The phone rang out again.

Still no answer! This is appalling!

In the bathroom he folded a wet face cloth so the little cruise ship emblem wouldn’t irritate Vera’s skin. At their age, even the slightest abrasion could take weeks to heal.

She would be in enough pain when she woke up.

He frowned over the phone. Perhaps he should go and find the doctor himself?

But I can’t leave Vera alone.

‘I’ll look after you, old girl,’ he muttered to himself, setting the phone back on the wall. She had looked after him long enough. Practically every day for the last fifty-nine years. They’d planned to do the cruise next year on their diamond wedding anniversary, but with Vera’s health diminishing, they brought the trip forward.

Ted glanced at the bed.

Vera was gone.

Where is she?

She hadn’t left the cabin. He’d have heard her.

He found Vera standing at the writing table.

She’s up. She’s standing!

‘Vera,’ Ted said. ‘You shouldn’t be up. I’ve called the doctor. What are you doing?’

Vera didn’t answer.

Instead, she turned around just enough to place Ted in her peripheral vision.

Her left eye twitched oddly.

Ted approached his wife slowly. She looked out of sorts.

He stopped.

Vera looked different.

She looked taller.

Her back is straight!
Vera hadn’t stood with a straight back in more than fifteen years.

She held the hair dryer. Last night when Ted had taken too long in the small bathroom, Vera had used the hair dryer at the writing desk.

‘Put that down, Vera. You’re sick. You need to–’

Ted didn’t finish his sentence because Vera smashed the hair dryer into his face.

Vera swung the appliance with enough force to collapse Ted’s left eye socket.

Too surprised to dodge, Ted took the full force of the blow. Plastic and bone shattered with almost the same sound. He hit the floor face down, barely conscious, but with faculties enough to crawl for the door.

He needed to escape the cabin. He needed to reach the hallway.

He glimpsed Vera walking barefoot on the carpet behind him.

Pacing him.

Stalking him.

Halfway to the door she landed on his back. Her boney knees slammed into his spine. Her full weight drove him flat against the carpet.

‘Vera, please stop. It’s me, Vera. It’s Teddy.’

Ted barely recognized his own croaking cries.

Vera looped the hair dryer cord around his neck.

As she pulled the cord tight, Ted heard two things.

He heard Vera grunting, and he heard screaming coming from the cabin next door.

Coleman studied his photo of David again.

His son turned ten next month.

He looks more like his mother every year,
thought Coleman.

Especially his eyes.

Coleman’s one fear had been that David would be permanently scarred by his experiences last year, but David seemed to have bounced back.

He looks like his mother, but inside he’s like me.

Coleman slipped the photo back into his vest.

He could hardly wait to get home.

Deployment was good, but time with David was better.

Exercise Talisman Sabre was the biannual joint military exercise with the Australians. Coleman’s team had arrived on the heels of the operation.

For the first time in Coleman’s military career, he’d been assigned the responsibility of field-testing new weapons.

Australia’s harsh environment proved the perfect testing ground. His team had put the weapons through hell.

Overall, Coleman was impressed, but there would never be any replacement for the world’s third precious metal: brass.

‘Captain.’

The Black Hawk helicopter’s co-pilot passed a set of headgear back to Coleman.

Coleman glanced at the pilot. The Australian pilot tapped the rank insignia on his shoulder, indicating a senior officer was calling.

The pilot also raised an eyebrow at Coleman.

A very senior officer then,
Coleman realized as he fitted the headset.

He signaled the co-pilot the go-ahead.

‘Captain Coleman is ready, sir,’ said the co-pilot. ‘We can both hear you now.’

‘Confirm that,’ reported Coleman into the microphone. ‘This is Captain Alexander Coleman, Fleet Anti-terrorism Security Team.’

‘Captain Coleman, this is Admiral Broadwater.’

The Admiral paused, as though giving Coleman a moment.

Admiral Broadwater was the supreme military U.S. authority in the Pacific Ocean area. Admiral Broadwater commanded the U.S. Army Pacific, Marine Forces Pacific, U.S. Pacific Fleet, and the Pacific Air Forces. He answered directly to the Secretary of Defense and the President.

The Admiral wasn’t known for contacting officers in the field.

‘Yes, sir. How can my team assist, sir?’

‘I’m changing your orders, Captain. We have a civilian emergency on board an American cruise ship. It seems there’s a riot on board.’

Coleman pressed his headset closer to his ears.

‘Could you repeat that, sir? Did you say a riot?’

‘Yes, Captain. Many of the passengers are sick. We have reports of multiple fatalities and violence. Hundreds of passengers have called their families and the media to confirm the reports of mob violence. The ship’s bridge is currently in lockdown.’