by M. L. Banner
“At most... five hours.”
81
Alone
TJ pulled the door closed behind her and sobbed into her palms. She felt utterly alone.
She found her bed, in a cabin separated by what felt like miles from her husband, when it was only a few decks.
She was absolutely exhausted, having not slept for many days now, even though her new body demanded sleep, and lots of it now. She literally could sleep for a week and it still wouldn’t be enough.
As she stared at the ceiling in the dark—she could make out every detail—she longed for her husband and for his touch.
She pulled the necklace out of the folds of her running shorts. The clasp broke and it was the only way she could prevent losing it, and yet keep it close to her. Her fingers ran over each of its intricate curves and angles, knowing its shape and look so intimately now.
She considered the reasons behind Ted buying this: he had thought of her as a warrior, because she had always insisted she was a warrior, taking the job of a warrior, until her fears took that away from her. Now she was afraid of nothing. Almost.
She wished she could go back to being that fearful person.
Her previous fear of animals was a distant concept. The only fears she held were not being able to be with people, without wanting to hurt them. And most of all, she was terrified that she’d never be with her husband again.
She tried to tuck these fears back into the dark recesses of her mind. Before all of this, she was really good at repressing her fears, or at least hiding them so she didn’t have to deal with them. So she would try to do this now.
She focused on his face tonight. He looked so handsome, with his perfectly shaved face. Even his mustache was gone. She grinned to the darkness at this.
TJ kissed the necklace, and then placed it above her heart, until finally she drifted off.
~~~
Ted let the door to his empty cabin slam shut, and all at once, he felt like he would collapse from fatigue. He’d been working for endless hours on the video project, the monitoring, the endless wardroom discussions, the confabs with Molly and Chloe. But, it was that image of his wife, with tears streaming down her cheeks, that sucked every last bit of energy from him.
When the meeting concluded, he tried to find his wife, but the endless questions poured out and Jean Pierre asked him and the others stay and answer them for an hour. So he did.
After an hour or so, he did what Jean Pierre asked and told the audience that they were concluding the meeting, because the acting captain couldn’t be here to attend to a problem on the bridge. So they would have to reconvene again soon. And fellow crew members would be in touch with each of them soon.
They concluded and the wardroom members broke free and met up with Jean Pierre and Niki, who also left early.
That was when they heard the details of the problem. Their fuel problem was real, though not quite as bad as they’d first heard: Niki was able to change the efficiency of some of their systems to buy more time. They also turned off all air conditioning throughout the ship, except in the Wayfarer lounge where all the parasitics were still being held. Even with that, they had maybe a day and a half of fuel left.
It seemed fortuitous that Ted had found the group who had fuel for trade. They made contact and were set to meet in the morning. If all went well, they’d avert one more disaster.
And what a disaster it would be: if they ran out of fuel, not only wouldn’t they be able to go anywhere, but their parasitic problem would come back. And even though they had them locked behind doors, there was no way those doors would hold back the strength of two or three of them, much less a few hundred.
Ted looked over at the empty space where TJ should be lying beside him. She’d separated herself from him, out of fear of what she might do. And he was pretty sure that’s what she was crying about tonight. His own tears welled up as he patted her side. “I miss you, darling,” he whispered.
That’s it; I can’t sleep, he thought.
He was wired for sound, though his body was exhausted. He couldn’t sleep now, even though his body demanded it.
He often found peace and the ability to sleep when he wrote. So he grabbed his Mont Blanc box and pulled out the pen she had given him for their anniversary. Right when this whole thing started... It was on Day Five, the day I lost her...
A couple of tears crept out, and he furiously wiped them away.
Ted pulled out his journal, and reread his last notation. He examined his pen, with “T.D. Bonaventure” embossed on its shaft.
He clicked off the pen cap and slipped it onto the back of the pen.
Another tear burst out and was immediately wiped away.
He paused for a moment, thought about it, and began to write.
The Journal of TD Bonaventure
DAY FIVE cont...
Part III
SYMPTOMATIC
“Your eye is the lamp of your body.
When your eyes are good, your whole body also is full of light.
But when they are bad, your body also is full of darkness.”
Holy Bible, NIV, Luke 11:34
PRELUDE
When the Rage Began
Before the earth-rattling crash, twelve year-old Dominic Sanchez cast his fishing line into the bay. Almost immediately he got a nibble.
His audience was two of the multitude of stray cats which populated his island. Each meowed its anticipation at what it knew would be coming soon.
“Hey Pedro,” he said to the scrawniest of the pair, “hang on. Let me reel ‘em in first.”
Little Pedro continued his pleading, rubbing up against Dominic’s leg for added measure, to remind Dominic that they were waiting to be fed. The larger of the two cats, Beatriz, sat patiently, knowing that Pedro would do the begging for both of them.
Dominic yanked on the rod ever so slightly, snagging the hook deeper into his prey. When he knew he had it, he reeled in the fish. From the line’s light drag, he suspected it wasn’t very big. And barely a minute later, he pulled the little thing out above the water, where it flopped spasmodically.
“Good news, Pedro. You and your wife eat first. This one’s too small for me.”
Pedro and his mate both mewed in anxious anticipation.
The palm-sized Corvina was expertly unhooked and tossed to his two furry friends, whirring behind him. The fish bounced once on the wood dock, before Pedro and Beatriz pounced on it. Each immediately snagged a piece from the fish, before nearly a dozen other cats dashed onto the dock to join in the feeding frenzy.
“Hey fellas,” Dominic yelled at the approaching clutter, scooting away the biggest of the bunch, already attempting to not only take the remaining Corvina, but the pieces his buddies had pulled from it. “Don’t be greedy. Pedro and Beatriz have first dibs on the little fish. And then I get the next one.”
Pedro and Beatriz held tight to their tidbits of food and bolted away from the now lifeless carcass, and the swarms of fur around it.
Dominic re-baited his line, getting ready to cast once more. He figured this time, he’d set it out much farther, where the larger schools of fish should be. Hyper-extending his arm over the frantic felines battling for the bony remnants, he shot his friends a quick glance before relaunching.
Pedro ignored the world, already preening himself after inhaling his small but satisfying first meal of the day. Beatriz seemed riveted elsewhere, probably longing for what was coming next.
This time, Dominic put his whole body into his cast, sending his line perfectly into the air.
He snapped his head forward in the direction his lure should land, then immediately convulsed; his shoulders stiffened, his mouth slacked open.
The weighted hook bulleted through the air, targeting its mark perfectly. But on its downward arc, it bounced off the steel hull of a giant fuel barge headed straight for him.
He was so stunned, he let go of his pole and it too sailed outward, plopping a meter or so away
into the small bay.
The cats and he scattered down the deck, sure the barge would hit them at any second.
The moment he had turned to run, his ears were assaulted with a grinding noise of metal against sand, and then rocks. Halfway down the wood dock, he was buffeted sideways, and his ears were pummeled by the sounds of boards splintering into thousands of pieces.
Dominic did his best not to trip and fall, while the longer-than-he-ever-remembered dock twisted below him even more.
When he reached the point where the dock’s twisted wood met the concrete breaker, the torturous noises had already subsided. He turned to see how far away it was, instantly relieved. The black barge had halted midway through the partially destroyed dock. His breathing became erratic with worry, as he scanned for a sign that they were okay. Then behind the sea wall, a calico tail tentatively approached, telling him his friends were fine.
After a long minute, when there was barely a rattle or squeak from the incoming tide’s pushing the stationary ship against the mangled dock, Dominic began to wonder why there was no activity on the deck of the barge. He’d seen this very craft come into the town’s small port a few times. The moment its mooring lines were accepted, the small crew would buzz around topside like ants at a picnic. Dominic studied these things because he was going to be a captain of a ship when he grew up.
He glared at the dead ship before him and was surprised that still no one appeared to come topside to see where they had crashed. Where are they? They couldn’t be asleep, could they?
Dominic spun around to see if anyone else had heard the crash, still not sure what he should do next.
He was all alone.
The creaking and rattling from the ship’s hull rubbing against the dock almost felt like it was offering him an invitation to come on board. He had never been on board such a large ship.
Not being one of those boys who only read about things in books, Dominic started back down the dock. But because of the crash, the wood dock had been pushed up in an incline and now led all the way to the deck of the awaiting dead ship at the other end.
Dominic’s skin tingled at the thought that maybe everyone onboard could be dead for some reason. Perhaps the captain had died of a heart attack: old people were always dying of heart attacks. The cool breeze taunted his crawling skin further. His imagination produced an image of what the captain’s dead body might look like, draped over the pegs of the ship’s steering wheel.
An upturned board and his lack of attention caused Dominic to stumble.
It didn’t slow him down. Dominic leaned into his ascension and mounted the dock’s steepest incline, which appeared to lead directly to the ship’s edge. It looked like he could literally walk right onto the ship’s forecastle, which was his plan.
Without even looking at it, he passed by the familiar stenciling on the ship’s side, announcing, “Ramirez Fuel Services SA, Punta Delgado, Spain.”
Once at the newly created dock-edge, now bunched up and ragged, he hopped over the two inch span and landed on top of the deck. He froze and listened for someone to tell him to leave. Anyone.
He’d never been on top of a fuel barge, not really having any interest in this type of ship: he wanted to captain a cruise ship or a large luxury yacht. His only boating experience so far was rowing a neighbor’s small row boat.
Other than the ship rubbing against the broken mess of what was left of their dock and a stiff breeze whistling its own tune, all Dominic heard was Pedro’s purring right below him. This ship is a ghost town.
He shuddered at this thought.
His gaze drifted down to his buddy, about to ask if he was ready to explore the ship, when he noticed he was standing in a large puddle of red, starkly cast against the ship’s white decking.
It was blood. Lots of blood.
~~~
Vila de Corvo’s PCP Police Chief, Salvadore Calderon, slammed the door of his Skoda. Almost immediately he blew out an exaggerated whistle at the sight before them. “Well Tomas, here’s one more thing you wouldn’t see on the mainland.”
Tomas Novo, the youngest of his two agents, who had pleaded with him to be released into a larger, more exciting police unit on the Portuguese mainland, said nothing. The young man adjusted his hat and waited for his superior. When Sal took up a place beside him, he too gawked at the wrecked hundred-year-old dock and the ship that caused the damage, wedged into the middle of it. Tomas asked, “Do you think she’ll leak?”
“I’m more worried about why I don’t see any of the crew, and what caused the crash,” Sal said. His voice scattered into the wind as he stomped onto the dock. It felt as if it was moving with the tide.
Sal considered his own questions, and then wondered if this day could get any stranger. He and his agent had just returned from investigating two separate animal attacks and then a report of some crazy woman killing her husband. Now this. Their small station was barely two kilometers away. So when they heard the crash, it seemed like the whole town had poured outside of their homes and shops to see what all the clatter was about.
“Tomas, get on your radio and have Val call Ramirez Shipping in Puento Delgado. See if they know their ship has crashed onto our shore.
His junior agent started hollering inaudibly into his radio, while Sal mounted the inclined dock, which ended at the starboard bow of the ship.
Sal tried to block out Tomas’ voice to listen for any other sounds. Other than the wind and the creaking of ship against the broken dock, he heard nothing.
When Sal hopped onto the barge’s deck, he immediately knew something was very wrong, and drew his service Berretta in response.
Tomas hollered something else into the radio and froze beside him upon seeing his superior’s drawn weapon.
Sal pointed, without saying anything. A puddle of blood and the bloody sneaker prints of a child led toward the open doorway a few meters ahead.
When they heard a little boy’s scream, they both went running.
They followed the bloody trail, but with each of their footfalls, Sal felt his anxiety spike. Twice he glanced back at Tomas to confirm it wasn’t some hallucination. He felt like he was seeing things lately, so maybe he was imagining some of this. Each time Tomas met his gaze with the same “this is some crazy shit” look, he knew it was real. He wanted to say to him each time, “Well you wanted some excitement... here it is.” But he held off saying anything until they finished running the insanely long distance from the bow to the doorway.
It was an entrance into the bowels of the ship, where the blood-trail stopped. The door swayed slightly from the ship’s rocking motion, forced upon it by the incoming tide.
Sal was a little out of breath and was relieved when looking back, that his young agent was as well.
“It sounded like a male child to me,” Tomas stated, obviously trying to smooth out his own growing anxiousness.
He was right, it was a young boy, and the shriek sounded familiar to him as well. He probably knew this kid, because he knew everyone in their town. “Follow me,” he said and then glared at his deputy. “Don’t shoot unless you have to.” He didn’t want to get shot in the back by the nervous young man.
Tomas nodded, holding his service weapon down with both hands.
The entrance led into a dark stairwell, which almost immediately descended into a dank murk. A blinking light below flashed a momentary view of the emptiness.
An animal screeched a hollow bray, like it was injured and angry.
It was close.
Sal had a sinking dread that this might be another animal attack, although he had no reason to connect the two attacks on his island with this crash. His heart began pumping ample amounts of adrenaline to his systems. Something else seemed wrong.
Was it him?
In all of his years in police work, he remained safe by being careful to avoid risky situations. Only when one of his men was in peril did he put himself into peril and then, only after he waited for the last possible
moment. He felt different now. He felt like he didn’t care, even if it was risky. Worse, he was looking forward to whatever was down there. His heart pumped happily; his chest heaved joyfully. He should have been terrified, just like his agent was.
Then he heard another bray, much closer now. A form appeared in the yellowish light of the flashing strobe. It wasn’t an animal. It was a man. It was Old Man Ramirez, the captain and owner of this ship. Ramirez lifted his gaze up the stairwell to meet Sal’s and screeched at him. Sal knew then that Ramirez was making the animal sounds he had heard, like he was the animal. Ramirez’ eyes blazed red like two turn signals with each flash of light; they appeared to blink at him. Ramirez then turned and disappeared.
Sal didn’t hesitate. He stepped into the darkness.
82
The Vote
Eleven Days Later
“It’s their blooming eyes,” Boris bellowed. His face twisted into a frown, which Chloe Barton couldn’t see in the darkness. “Their damned red eyes. That’s how you know they’re animals.”
“But they’re not animals, they’re still people...” Chloe pleaded. “They’re infected with a disease and they’re just not in control of what they do.”
“Suppose you’d say the same thing about pedophiles: it’s not their fault, they don’t know what they do. So what? Should we feel sorry for them because they’re diseased?” This came from an officer on the other side of the group. She didn’t know him.
Chloe sighed, feeling like she was swimming against the current in a river of piranhas. “I’m not saying that. I’m just saying that killing them all isn’t the answer. And it’s not who we are as people.”
Boris burst out of his aluminum chair, almost knocking it down. “Hon, I’m saying that’s exactly what we are. The sooner we kill all of the parasitics, the better. For all of us.”
