Sea Sick: A Horror Novel Part 3

The two of them walked away, both nodding at Jack as they did so. Conner still seemed curious about their interaction, but seemed happy enough to forget it. Jack thought about following their lead by getting some food, but still didn't fancy hotdogs. He would eat later. For now, he'd relax in the sun and enjoy his whisky. He lay back in his lounger and let out a deep, soothing breath.

In front of him, standing against the railings of the balcony, an elderly couple smooched like teenagers. Jack looked past them, down at the pool area, and nosed at the other pa.s.sengers. There were kids swimming, adults drinking, and lots of people eating the freshly served hotdogs. The one family that stood out was a mother and a young boy. She was covering his knee with a wad of plasters from her handbag, covering up a wound that was too far away for Jack to see clearly. For some reason, he was positive the young boy had slipped poolside. He thought this not because it was a likely conclusion, but because it was a one-hundred percent certainty in his mind he just knew. Could almost picture it.

The next thing he noticed was a lot of people sneezing. It seemed like a particularly nasty cold had found its way onboard.

Jack reached down and picked up his scotch, then finished it in one burning gulp. As if by magic, the brunette waitress reappeared to take another order from him.

"Perfect timing," he said to her.

She replied in an eastern European accent that surprised him. "What can I get you?"

"Same again, please. Where are you from?"

"Romania."

Jack nodded interest. "Most of the staff seem to be Filipino," he said."You stand out."

The waitress smiled politely. He noticed her name badge read TALLY. "They hired me because I speak many languages."

"Really? What do you speak?"

"Russian, German, French, and of course, English and Romanian. I speak a little Mandarin also."

"Wow," Jack said, genuinely surprised. "That's impressive. My name is Jack. It's nice to meet you, Tally."

"I'll be right back with your drink."

Jack watched the girl walk away and had the sense that, although she was faultlessly polite, she too was having a bit of a bad day. There was something about her curtness and short, clipped answers that told him so. She seemed stressed. Then again, working on a cruise s.h.i.+p was most likely a thankless job at the best of times.

Within two minutes she was back. The double scotch that he'd ordered was more like a double-double. "I just charged you for one double," she said. "You look like you need it."

"Is it that obvious I'm having such a weird day?"

The waitress shrugged. "I can sense these things. You give me a shout if you need another."

Jack offered up his gla.s.s in thanks. "Will do, Tally. Thanks."

The waitress walked away and Jack lay back again in his sun lounger. He could actually feel his body beginning to relax. It was a tingling sensation.

Sun, booze, pretty waitresses. Maybe this week won't be so bad after all.

When Jack opened his eyes it was dark. Not completely, as the deck was lined with spotlights, but dim enough that the sea and sky had become a featureless black sheet beyond the boundaries of the s.h.i.+p. It was as though the Spirit of Kirkpatrick was sailing through Limbo, heading through an endless abyss. Jack would be glad to see land again.

The tingling heat in his chest told him that he'd consumed more than a few whiskies during the afternoon and early evening. He had intended to take it easy on the booze, but his problem was that trying to stop once he'd started was a battle he always lost. He was on holiday, though. He could forgive himself for one night of indulgence.

Nothing wrong with falling asleep, drunk in the sun. Most people I come across in my line of work fall asleep in the gutter.

Jack glanced at his watch and saw that it was a little after eight-o-clock; still plenty of time left to enjoy the evening. He'd not yet explored the s.h.i.+p, and thought perhaps he'd do that now.

He stood up from the sun lounger, his bones clicking, his muscles stiff. From the Sun Deck there was an entrance leading inside the s.h.i.+p. A plaque beside the door read: HIGH SPIRITS. Jack thought it was as good a place as any to start his exploring.

Inside, he found a cosy barroom with a small stage and dance floor. There was a chubby comedian currently telling jokes and doing his best to make the audience laugh.

"The wife and I were sat, having a cup of tea, with my mother-in-law the other day when, out of the blue, she says to me, 'I've decided I want to be cremated.' I said..."

...alright get your coat.

Jack had heard the joke before and probably didn't think it was funny the first time. Still, he should give the comedian a chance he could only get better. A drink was in order and Jack ordered one from the bar in the corner. He chose to remain there on one of the stools. A gentleman sat beside him, nursing a pint of foamy lager. The guy's head was hanging low as if he lacked the strength to support it.

"You okay there, pal?" Jack asked.

The man turned his head limply. His face was a grim mask of perspiration and his eyes were bloodshot. "Huh?"

"You don't look so good, buddy. You want me to get someone?"

The man ignored him and turned back to his beer. The congestion in his nasal cavities made his every breath sound like a thunderous snort. Jack glanced behind the bar and caught the eye of the Filipino waiter.

"There's a nasty cold onboard," the crewman explained.

"You're telling me," said Jack. "Is something being done about it?"

"The s.h.i.+p will dock at Cannes in the morning. A shuttle can take people to the local hospital if necessary. I think it is nothing to worry about, though."

Jack examined the sickly man slouching beside him and raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't be so sure about that."

The man's snorting breaths had lowered in pitch now and sounded more like growling. Jack put a hand on the man's sweat-soaked back and leant over him. "Hey, buddy. I think we best get you to the s.h.i.+p's doctor. You don't look good at all."

The man shrugged away from Jack's touch, his movements erratic and aggressive.

"Hey, calm down. I'm just trying to help."

The man swung his arm around in a wild arc, swiping his pint of beer across the bar and onto the floor. The man glared at Jack and his eyes suddenly began to leak dark fluid down his cheeks. He snarled like an animal.

Everything came back to Jack at once, like bullets lodged in his brain. He'd been here before. Not exactly like this, but he'd lived this day before. He remembered the attacks; the crazed pa.s.sengers ripping each other apart like cavemen as they bled from their eye sockets. He remembered with pixel-clear clarity.

Everybody was dead.

"Oops, looks like someone's drunk too much over there," said the comedian from the stage. "Don't worry, mate. Rehab is for quitters anyway. Give my regards to the floor."

Jack put his palms out to the sick man and tried to calm him down. "Snap out of it!"

The man rushed forward. Jack sidestepped and kicked out his leg. The man hit the floor in a heap.

For a second, the sound of laughter flittered across the gathered audience as the comedian made another joke at the sick man's expense, but then Jack's ears picked up a scream. He examined the room, trying to seek out its source. He wasn't surprised by what he saw.

Conner stood amongst the crowd, las.h.i.+ng out at a nearby woman. Thick pools of blood seeped from his eye sockets.

The sick man that Jack had tripped had started to climb up off the floor. Jack kicked the arms out from under him and sent him sprawling back down onto his face. Conner was still attacking the woman in the crowd, oblivious to the bystanders fighting to pull him off. Jack knew he needed to get out of there, right now. Things were about to get worse he remembered.

Jack ran.

As twisted, confusing memories came back to Jack, the layout of the s.h.i.+p became familiar. He now knew that the corridor leading away from High Spirits would take him down some stairs to the Lido Restaurant. Claire would be in there along with some other people. There was no way he should be able to know that, but he did. He knew it for sure.

As Jack fled further down the corridor and eventually down the stairs, he discovered he was right. Set into the wall were the double doors of the Lido Restaurant. He skidded to a stop and waited outside, wondering whether or not he should go inside. Things inside the restaurant hadn't turned out so well for him last night or tonight? I'm living the G.o.dd.a.m.n same day all over again.

Or had he dreamt it all? Was it all just some freaky premonition, or was he actually repeating the day? The more he thought about it, the closer to insanity he verged. Neither answer was comforting. He made a decision and barged through into the restaurant.

The same people were in there from before. They were not yet fully riled-up as the commotion in High Spirit had only just begun, but they were beginning to look anxious. Jack didn't waste time speaking to any of them. He immediately turned the latch on the frosted-gla.s.s doors. Then he dragged the nearest table over and placed it as a barricade.

"What are you doing?" asked the burly chef he'd met before and yet, at the same time, hadn't.

"We need to make sure this door stays closed," Jack explained. "There's been an outbreak."

The a.s.sembled group panicked, but it wasn't enough to stop them standing around uselessly. Jack remembered how the people had previously refused to help him when he needed their a.s.sistance.

"Claire!" He shouted out at the crowd, not seeing her but knowing she was there somewhere.

The group parted and she came to the front. "You're that guy from earlier?"

"Yes, I am. I'm a police officer and I need your help. We need to get every table we can in front of this door. We've got about ten minutes before people start trying to smash their way in."

"What people?" the chef asked, looking at Jack like he was a madman.

"The infected pa.s.sengers. Whatever is wrong with them has made them psychotic."

"You're the one's that's psychotic," said Claire. Jack was surprised at her opposition. "You were acting like a weirdo earlier as well. Going on about deja vu and knowing Conner's name without him even telling you."

"Yeah," said the chef. "I think you need to sit down, sir, while we get security. Whatever is going on out there may just as well have been your doing."

The chef moved towards the doorway and Jack stepped in his way. Jack was the smaller of the two men, but he knew he could easily take the other guy down. Still, he would prefer to avoid any fighting if possible. He was trying to help these people, whether they deserved it or not. Something bad was coming their way.

"Step away from me," Jack told the chef calmly yet firmly."If we don't get this door secured, people are going to get hurt."

"Is that a threat?" The chef was inching closer, his body language clearly hostile.

Jack sighed and put his hands up in supplication. "No, it's not a threat. Just please trust me, okay?"

"Sorry, I can't do that, sir. Please move aside."

Jack kept eye-contact with the man and said, "No."

The chef made a grab at Jack, but was quickly surprised to find himself being twisted into an armlock. He hissed with pain. "Let go of me!"

"I can't do that," said Jack."I need that door barricaded, right now. Claire? Start dragging tables over here. Anyone that fancies being useful should help her."

Claire huffed, but did as she was asked. Together with an elderly couple that Jack recognised as the lovers from the pool balcony, she started sliding a table across the floor. It was unbelievable that the rest of the group were still standing around and doing nothing.

When Claire and the old couple reached the doorway, they placed the table down in front of it but they did so several feet short.

"You need to get it right up against the door," said Jack.

Claire stared at him and he saw the distrust in her eyes. Her intention wasn't to help him. She had other ideas.

Jack shook his head at her, still restraining the chef by twisting the man's wrist behind his back in a basic hammerlock. "Claire, don't!"

His pleas went ignored. Claire unlatched the doors and pushed aside the table, tipping it over. Then she opened both doors wide.

One of the eyebleeders spotted her and ran towards her. He leapt straight for her, grabbing her in an embrace and tearing at her throat with his teeth. The two of them fell to the ground in a heap. Claire's body was already limp and dying as a thick torrent of blood exploded from her jugular. More eyebleeders flowed in through the doorway. The elderly lovers were the next to go down.

The old man stood in front of his wife, meaning to protect her, but his defiance was made weak as the flesh of his cheek was torn free by the teeth of a crazed stranger. Both the old man and his wife were dead within minutes, ripped apart like two leathery fillet steaks. The eyebleeders moved on to other victims.

Jack had backed away to the far side of the room. His instincts urged him to help these people, but he didn't know enough about the situation to risk taking action. He'd already tried to protect everybody in the room, but they'd turned against him. They weren't his responsibility.

Screw them.

Jack looked around the room and tried to find a way out. The main entrance was blocked by a throng of thras.h.i.+ng bodies, but the s.p.a.ce behind the buffet train looked like it led to a staff area. There was no telling what was behind the door, but it was his only viable option. Jack sprinted across the restaurant, barging and flipping any bodies that dared get in his way. He managed to reach the staff area in one piece.

There was a kitchen inside, simple and confined. There were no exits or ways out of the area other than where he'd come in. If the eyebleeders found him inside, he would have nowhere to run and his only option would be to stand and fight them. He'd cornered himself.

Jack began to ransack the room, looking for a makes.h.i.+ft weapon. He yanked out drawers and pulled open cupboards, but found only crocks and useless cutlery. Just when frustration and despair started setting in, his eyes fell upon what he was looking for. In the centre of the room was an island, and hanging above it was a selection of industrial knives. Jack grabbed the largest he could find: a 12-inch French chef's knife. It felt good in his hand. Heavy.

Jack crouched in the centre of the room, eying the doorway. He was aware of his own breathing and tried to slow it down to keep from panicking. Infected or not, the attackers outside were just people; and he'd spent most his life dealing with people. This was nothing he couldn't handle.

Just an ordinary day.

Jack hardly noticed the screaming anymore the sound was quickly becoming commonplace but he did notice when it started to die down. The sound of silence took hold and suddenly there was a sense of foreboding in the air Jack waited for something to happen.

The silence continued.

Eventually his curiosity got the better of him. He crept towards the door, knife held out in front of him in a standard, right-handed combat stance. It wouldn't be the first time Jack was prepared to kill somebody.

He reached the door and stopped still, listening for anyone that may have been standing on the other side. The first person to attack him would get the knife in their groin. But there were no blood channels in the blade, it would probably get stuck. If that happened, he would have to defend himself against anyone else with his fists.

Here we go.

Jack placed his hand against the door and pushed it open gradually. When it was several inches ajar, he peered out through the gap. The narrow view he had of the room was empty. The tables and chairs of the dining area lay undisturbed. It seemed safe. Deserted.

Jack edged himself through the gap in the door, keeping the knife in front of him. The room was covered in blood and bits of flesh; there was even a severed hand lying on one of the buffet carts. But no bodies. Further into the dining area, several tables and chairs were tipped over and the pools of blood were thicker thick enough that those who shed it must certainly have been dead. But still there were no bodies.

What the h.e.l.l? Where is everybody?

Jack bent at the knees and tensed himself, ready to react to the first sign of danger. Yet there seemed to be none. All was quiet. Almost serene. Was it possible that the situation had been dealt with? Jack didn't know what sort of security a cruise liner employed, but it had to be somewhat competent with so many pa.s.sengers to protect. A brief flash of memory reminded Jack of what had happened the last time the first time he'd been through this madness. He suddenly recalled the efforts of security to control things in the High Spirits lounge. They had failed miserably then, so why would they succeed now? Jack had little faith that the danger was over. It just wasn't here in the room with him.

The double doors of the restaurant were closed, blood and dirty handprints smeared all over the frosted gla.s.s. Jack wondered whether he should go through them. The restaurant was now empty and possibly safe. But staying there and cowering went against everything he stood for. He was a protector, a man of action, not a coward. Jack opened the doors and entered the corridor outside.

There was more blood, over everything. The whole hallway seemed like the scene from a horror-movie ma.s.sacre. Jack headed forward, away from High Spirits and the Lido Restaurant, and towards the Sport Deck at the front of the s.h.i.+p. He pa.s.sed by the upper level of the Broadway Lounge, with its balconied seats looking down at an empty theatre stage. There was less blood in here, but it was still deserted like everywhere else. Jack's stomach was churning, his senses telling him to just get the h.e.l.l out of there. It was the first time in his life that his body was choosing to flee rather than fight.