Okay, I give up. I’m done writing for the night. I just want to snuggle up with Jeremy, watch the movie, and try not to think anymore. The movie helps take my mind off things. It adds some slight sense of normalcy in what is fast becoming anything but a normal situation.
September 9th
(Cruise – Day 9)
9:55 a.m.
I hesitate to write “cruise” at the top of my entry since I no longer consider this a “cruise”. It’s more of an imprisonment or an internment.
I don’t really have anything new to report since last night. To be honest, I’m feeling pretty down right now. Jeremy is doing his best to stay upbeat about things, but I can tell he’s having a tough time with all this too.
I wonder how things are back home. I wonder how Pete and Lily are doing. I wonder if they’re still feeding the fish. I wonder how things are at work, with friends and family. I hope that everything is okay, but if things are looking as bad back home as they are aboard ship, I have no illusions that when we get back (if we EVER get back) our lives could be altered forever. I feel like we’re cut off from everything out here, which I guess we pretty much are.
On other fronts, Jeremy and I had our first argument as a married couple. It seems so stupid when I think about it now. I was in the bathroom, and he knocked on the door, asking me to hurry up so he could get in before the morning’s fresh water service ended. Poor guy, I jumped all over him for rushing me. It wasn’t a big deal at all, and I was just fiddling around in there, but I blew up over nothing. It’s the darn stress of this situation. It’s really got me on edge – and that’s an understatement!
Anyway, I apologized to him. He said he totally understood. He’s so great in that way; always willing to look past those little faults and imperfections. I think that’s one of the reason’s I fell for him in the first place. He’s so easy-going in so many ways – SO unlike me.
Breakfast was two granola bars for each of us, two (lukewarm) breakfast sausages, an over-ripe banana, and more fruit punch (or whatever it is). Jeremy calls it “red juice”. “Sugar water” is what I call it.
Jesus, it’s so damn quiet on this ship. Those first few days, it was all onboard announcements, people talking in the hallway, kids running past, and every so often we’d hear people talking on the balconies around us or seagulls squawking when we were near islands or in port. Now it’s so still, deathly still. I suppose that’s a poor description considering the circumstances, but it’s an accurate one nonetheless.
I’ve been wondering about our dinner mates. I’m sure that if Jack was sick with this Su flu thing, and it’s as deadly as it apparently is, then he’s probably succumbed to it by now. And as for his wife Vivian, god only knows. She was stuck in their cabin caring for him, and he probably passed the flu on to her, so I’m sure she’s no longer with us either. So weird to think about, people who were walking and talking among us just a week ago, now gone forever – probably lying at the bottom of the sea, wrapped in sheets, their ankles bound with weights to drag them down into the darkest depths.
And what about Lauren and Brent, and their kids Amy and Nicholas, the family of four at our table that we hardly got to know? Those poor people, I can only imagine what it would be like going through this with kids. It’s horrific enough without them, but children in this sort of situation must be completely terrified. I can’t imagine being a parent through something like this, trying to keep the kids calm, occupied, and at the same time, safe. What in the heck would you do with two young kids penned up in one of these tiny cabins? They must be bouncing off the walls at this point…if they’re still alive that is. God, what a depressing thought. Or what if the parents got sick and died? Who’s caring for the little ones?
I certainly feel for them, but it’s out of my control. ALL of this is out of my control. Kids or no kids, young or old, sick or healthy, we’re all in the same boat here…LITERALLY!
11:04 a.m.
It seems like we’re on radio silence. We haven’t had any recent updates from a ship’s officer nor have we had any updates through the ship’s directory channel on the television. We’d really like to check things out around the ship again, but we’re afraid that if we’re caught, we could be forced into the “quarantine lounge” as we’re calling it. With all those sick people in there, it would likely be the end of us.
No, I’m afraid that for right now, it’s best to stay out of sight and out of mind. Neither of us like it. But at this point, it’s all about self-preservation. Who knows how desperate the crew is getting. They might just start rounding up passengers to march them into captivity (where they can catch the Su flu and die) in order to conserve resources.
We still don’t have the news channel on television that we were watching earlier. Part of me wishes we had it so that we knew if they are getting a handle on this thing back in the states. But the other part is almost glad it’s unavailable since I know that we’d be watching it if it was. This makes us watch more mindless shows, which helps us focus on something other than the spreading flu (although it’s impossible to ignore).
1:33 p.m.
We haven’t received our lunches yet. I don’t know if they’re just running behind or there are other issues at play here. But we’re obviously not the only ones wondering about our food. About 20 minutes ago, someone was banging on cabin doors (including ours), yelling about someone having taken their food. Of course we did no such thing, but they apparently thought that someone was responsible for their lunch not having made it to them. We could just as easily have accused them of taking ours, but we haven’t seen any lunches set in the hallway. And after the crazy person pounding on the door, we’re not opening the door or saying a word for a while. These people might be infected with the flu or just looking to try to scam us out of our own food.
Either way, I’m getting really hungry. I’m tempted to lay into the snack stash we’ve set aside, but I’m trying my best to resist. Jeremy is telling me to be patient, to wait a little bit longer just in case our food arrives.
2:44 p.m.
Well, our lunches finally made it to us. I’m glad I listened to Jeremy and waited. Jeremy noticed that several of the lunch boxes delivered to neighboring cabins were still sitting outside in the hallway when he checked about 15 minutes after we retrieved our own lunches. We’re considering taking them. The people in those cabins might be sick or already in quarantine, so they won’t need the food. But I don’t want to be taking someone’s food if they’re just late in picking it up. Then we could be in the same boat where someone is beating on our door wondering why we stole their lunch.
Jeremy said we should give it another 15 minutes and see if the lunch boxes are still out there. It’s only two rooms that haven’t claimed their goodies yet, but it’s extra food that might be useful down the road considering our meals seem to be getting smaller by the day.
Today’s lunch consisted of a cheese sandwich (if you can call it that). It was a single piece of cheese (provolone I think), on somewhat stale tasting bread. There was a bag of chips, a granola bar, and more red juice. We both ate it all. I’m still hungry, so I can only imagine how Jeremy is fairing. He’s far bigger than me, with a much larger appetite. I’m sure the extra snacks we have stashed are looming large in his eyes right now. But he’s steadfast, and he hasn’t said a word about them. He’s so good in that way – willing to forgo his own wants and needs to persevere for the benefit of us both.
Okay, the 15 minutes are about up. We’re going to check on the lunch boxes in the hallway.
3:01 p.m.
Both boxed lunches in the hallway were gone when we checked. Either the passengers in those cabins got them or someone beat us to the punch. Probably that damn guy who was pounding on our door earlier. I’ll bet HE took them. Jerk!
7:04 p.m.
God I’m starving. Still no updates from the crew, and still no dinner! What if they’ve stopped feeding us? What if they’re out of supplies? I’m sure the crew isn’
t starving, that’s for sure. I think passenger service has likely gone out the window in a situation like this. The crew is going to do what it needs to survive…unless the crew is sick or dead.
Jeremy and I need to have a serious conversation.
9:57 p.m.
We never got our dinners, and we’re assuming that lunch was the last meal to be served to us from here on out. It’s crazy to think that less than a week ago, such circumstances were unimaginable. We had more food than we could eat at just about any time of day or night. We had endless buffet tables, regular sit-down dining, cafés and snack shops from which to select, and of course, room service if we chose to partake. But now, here we are, relying on the few niblets we’ve managed to squirrel away from our meals over the past few days. I guess I should be thankful we did that.
But our supplies won’t last us long. And without word on any potential timeframe for returning to the mainland, we have no idea how much longer we may be forced to rely on our meager rations.
So this brings me back to the “serious conversation” I needed to have with Jeremy, and no, it’s not baby related. Baby talk is kaput for the moment. There’s no reason to even discuss it at this juncture. This environment kills any desire for baby making or even enjoyment of the process, which totally SUCKS considering that this is our HONEYMOON! But anyway, our conversation revolved around making another foray outside our cabin to try to find out more about the situation around the rest of the ship. We’re flying completely blind here and are ravenous for information of any sort. Even then, we don’t want to get caught sneaking around the ship for fear of being put into quarantine with a bunch of flu-carrying passengers and crew. Therefore, I think we’re going to wait until later tonight or even early morning to venture outside on our scouting mission.
Jeremy thinks the best time would probably be around 1 or 2 a.m. This way, the majority of the crew and passengers will hopefully be asleep, and we can move around on deck under the cover of darkness. I argued that if that is the case, though, and everyone is sleeping, what will we really be able to find out? If everyone is asleep, we’ll have no idea who or how many people are still alive. But Jeremy remains steadfast, saying that it’s just too dangerous to go out during normal hours. He says that if they’re not feeding us, things must really be bad. I agreed with him on that point, telling him that I thought things were already “really bad” when we saw the lounge quarantine unit.
I guess he’s right, though. We shouldn’t be taking too many chances. But I pressed him on the point that I thought we should try to make it up to the ship’s bridge to see who is actually running the show up there. I also told him that I thought we should try to make it down into the bowels of the ship to where the crew quarters are to see what sort of activity is occurring there, if any. If all seems quiet, we can return at more normal hours to find out just HOW quiet it really is. I had the idea of trying to call room service or use one of the ship’s phone lines in an effort to contact a crew member. But then, if we manage to get a hold of someone, they’ll know we’re still alive. And if they know we’re still alive, they might send someone to force us into captive quarantine. So I guess we’d just better stay quiet and see what we can find out.
11:18 p.m.
Jeremy is breathing heavily here beside me. He must have fallen asleep – lucky! I’m trying to kill some time before we go on our upcoming exploration of the ship. I’m too nervous to sleep.
I just keep thinking about all the “what ifs”. What if we don’t return to port? What if we return to port and everything is chaos? What if we get back and everyone is sick, dead, or dying? Work isn’t even a concern anymore. I just want to be home. I hate this cabin, I hate this boat, and I hate this cruise! I wish we’d never come!
I just pray that someone is working on a cure for this Su flu thing. Maybe that’s what we’re waiting for, a delivery of vaccinations so we can safely return to port once everyone is inoculated. I can only pray. But then the “what ifs” start flowing again. What if there IS no cure? What if there is a cure, but everyone who is necessary to develop and distribute it is dead? What if they’re only distributing vaccinations to the wealthy or the elite or the ultra smart people out there? What if no one even knows we’re out here floating around? What if they know we’re out here, but no one can do anything about it?
All I know for sure is that with each passing hour, we seem to be increasingly on our own in all this. And by that, I don’t just mean our ship here in the Caribbean, I mean Jeremy and me. We’re going to have to stay strong for one another, support one another, and protect one another. If anything was going to test our burgeoning marriage, this has to be it. But if we can make it through this test, I feel we’ll be able to take on any future challenge head on.
September 10th
(Cruise – Day 10)
2:48 a.m.
This will be short. I’m super tired and just want to sleep.
Our investigation of the ship only seemed to leave us with more questions than answers. First, we crept up to the Salacia Lounge (the spot previously being used as the makeshift quarantine area). It was completely empty – no passengers, no crew, no sick people, NOTHING! The furniture was still moved aside, and an assortment of cots and mattresses were strewn about the floors space, but that was it.
From there, we moved up to the front of the ship and out onto the open deck toward where the bridge is located. Jeremy made me crouch down behind several stacks of deck chairs while he made his way to a metal stairway. He ducked beneath a chain-held sign at the stairway’s entrance, forbidding passengers beyond that point, and made his way up to a metal exterior door leading to the bridge. I watched as he first peered through a glass window in the door. My heart skipped several beats when he tried the door’s handle.
Ugh…I’m too tired to write more. And we have more work to do later today, so I’m going to stop for now. Jeremy wants to go out again around six this morning, so I need to get some sleep.
5:52 a.m.
I’m still groggy and half asleep, so I hope I can write coherently. Jeremy wants to slip out of our cabin again in about 15 or 20 minutes to try to get a better read on the situation around the rest of the ship.
In the meantime, I’ll try to relate the rest of last night’s adventure as best I can in my dreary, bed-headed state. But first, I’m going to go wash my face – if the water is still running that is. As of last night, they had stopped turning it on and off based on their previous usage hours. I don’t know exactly why, but I’ll take fresh running water at all times over having to plan out our bathroom schedule to keep from falling over one another in that tiny bathroom.
5:58 a.m.
Ahhh…much better. Well, maybe not MUCH better, but better nonetheless.
So I was at the part in my story where Jeremy was testing the exterior door leading into the bridge. It was locked. I watched him peek inside again after trying the door, and then he came back down the steps and got me. He said that he didn’t see anyone on the bridge, which we both found odd, but then again, not all that odd since the ship is just sitting here. Why have people on the navigation bridge if the ship isn’t being navigated?
We then made our way back inside the ship to a stairwell where we descended several decks. Eventually, we came to a portion of the ship where we were barred from going any farther. There was a “Crew Only” sign hanging on a chain across the stairwell, but we completely ignored that, ducked under the chain, and continued lower into the ship.
At the next deck we came to there was a door with another “Crew Only” sign on it. It was locked with the type of magnetic key reader mechanism you might see on a hotel room door. We descended another deck and found another door similarly locked, thus ending our brief excursion into the ship’s crew quarters.
Now we’re getting ready to stake out that same area. We’re going to spend a little time watching that stairwell to see if anyone comes or goes. We picked out a spot two decks above the first “Crew O
nly” sign. From there, we can stand on the stairwell landing and listen for sounds of activity as well as peer down between the center gaps in the flights of stairs. If we’re seen by someone in the corridor, we can hustle our butts upstairs or down to make our getaway. It’s the best plan we can come up with at the moment in an effort to get more information.
7:45 a.m.
God this is weird. It’s like being on some sort of ghost ship. It’s eerily silent.
We staked out the stairwell for almost half an hour this morning and saw no one emerge from or enter the crew areas. We checked the bridge again too…NO ONE!
Where is everyone?! Are they all dead? Did all their bodies get dumped overboard? If so, there has to be someone left to have disposed of all the bodies, doesn’t there?
This is SO weird! It’s actually far beyond weird, it’s downright freaky.
Next move is to search for food. I’m half starved. I can only imagine how Jeremy is feeling, but he’s not saying much. We’re under the assumption that no breakfast is being served this morning, but we need to eat, and our snacks aren’t going to hold out long acting as real meals. We’re allowing ourselves one granola bar each before we head out. As I sit here eating it while I write, I realize that tasting the tiny morsel is almost more torturous than eating nothing at all. I want about ten more!
The Dystopian Diaries Page 35
