De-Cons: Day One
Miller tempered his expectations knowing that Cortez and his team were locked up as well only a few feet away—unless this was all an elaborate ruse and the excursion team was secretly whisked away as the others slept. Miller wouldn’t get much rest these next three days, regardless. He imagined his companions felt much the same. Not everyone was willing to wait for answers.
Radzinski sat at the far end of his cell with his back against the wall, staring at his cell door. He opted out of wearing his towel; he wanted to be able to move unencumbered should this thing go south. More south than it already was, in his eyes.
Frustration was a constant, so Radzinski asked loudly, “Cortez, did you fuck us?”
“No, Radzinski, I did not fuck you,” Cortez answered. “If this was some sort of ploy, do you think me and my team would be locked up in cells beside you?”
“Maybe. Maybe this is all some elaborate plan to get us to trust you.”
“Trust me for what? You’re already in cells and you have nothing to take. The truth of the matter is that you’re sixteen more mouths to feed. It remains to be seen if this impending drain on resources was worth the effort.”
“Relax, Radzinski,” said Miller. “Cortez saved our asses back there when he didn’t have to. Let’s just trust that these cells are nothing more than an inconvenience. It makes sense to quarantine newcomers to the ship.”
“Hey, Miller,” Radzinski replied. “Fuck you.”
Laughter erupted from three cells down. It was Ahole. “I was just about to tell you both to shut the fuck up and let the rest of us sleep, but that was too funny. Kudos,” he said. “Now, with all due respect, shut the fuck up!”
Hours passed, but they felt more like days in the nearly black cells. The occasional cough sounded like an announcement from a bullhorn. Unfortunately for everyone, Bernie was the first to have to make use of the de-cons amenities.
“Hey, somebody?” he yelled.
“No one’s going to answer you, mate.” Ahole sighed.
“I got to go, bad.”
“Piss in the bucket. That’s what it’s for. Weren’t you listening?”
“It ain’t that, man. I mean I got to go.”
“Ah, Christ. You’re going to stink up the whole block. Can’t you hold it?”
“For three days? We just got here.”
“Do what you got to do, but when you’ve finished, cover the bucket with your towel. Have some bloody courtesy.”
Lillian didn’t make a sound as she tried unsuccessfully to hold back tears. She wrapped her towel around her as tightly as she could. For as long as she could remember, she feared small spaces; small dark spaces were even worse for her. As a child, she accidentally locked herself in the dryer while playing hide-and-seek. She was trapped in there for hours before her father, Tobias, found her. Lillian had been claustrophobic ever since.
Vanessa was aware of Lillian’s aversion to tight spaces, so to mask the sobs rising from the next cell over, she began a conversation with Genevieve regarding the practicality of the detainees’ attire.
“Do you mind if I ask you something, Genevieve?”
“Please,” Genevieve answered with a welcoming tone.
“I know you said that we should be patient, but I need to know: why are we nude? Is that really necessary?”
“You have a towel. Use it if you’re uncomfortable.”
“You know what I mean.”
“We have to know if you were bitten. Catch it early enough, and we can send you on your way.”
“You could try asking.”
“We tried that. People lie.”
“Point taken. It would be nice if they could have at least given us robes or something—or at least a bigger towel.”
“I understand your concerns, but I can assure you that these issues were discussed at length. It was agreed that returning excursion teams would forgo comforts of their own as a sign of solidarity with the newcomers to help ease justifiable tensions. And then, of course, you may ask if the excursion teams return to using comforts when we don’t bring anyone home. The simple answer is no. It was psychologically taxing to have pillows and blankets and robes after one excursion and then revert to only a simple towel for the next. So we suffer—if this can truly be considered suffering—for three days at a time for the benefit of everyone.”
“All of that makes sense, and thank you for being so candid considering we only just met, but that doesn’t really answer my question. Why are we nude?”
“There is a very valid reason why we only provide you with a towel.” Genevieve paused. “Some of the first people that we rescued were only too happy to come home with us and to see Haven towering over the horizon. But when we introduced them to the cells, some were convinced that they were being kidnapped—or worse. No amount of persuasion would convince them otherwise. Back then, we supplied the cells with robes and pillows. On more than one occasion, we had people hang themselves with the robe’s sash and even the robe itself in one instance. So a bit of discomfort now saves lives. And I’ll reiterate: you have a towel.”
What little chatter echoed through the cellblock went quiet on that note. The excursion team and Miller’s people spent the remainder of the day in relative silence.
De-Cons: Day Two
Lillian pounded on her cell door. If it was night or if it was day, she had no idea. It was impossible to gauge the passage of time in de-cons. The uncertainty, though trivial to most, only compounded her fears. “Let me out of here!” she screamed while banging ever harder on the unmoving hatch. “Please let me out. Please!”
Her screams faded to a whimper as she slid down the steel door and onto the cold metal floor. Lillian crawled along the ground, inching her way forward to the tiny circle of light. She lay there under the swaying bulb, staring at it as tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Lillian, can you hear me?” Vanessa asked from an adjacent cell. “Listen to me. Just breathe. Focus on the motion of the boat. If you lie still, you can feel the boat moving through the water. Can you feel that? Do you hear me? Lillian?”
If Lillian could hear Vanessa’s attempt at comfort, she didn’t respond. Lillian was tormented by panic. Despite Vanessa’s good intentions, Lillian was completely alone.
Lillian’s anguish did not go unnoticed by the two guards on duty in the large room that led into the cellblock.
“Is she ever going to shut the fuck up, goddammit?” Krysler shouted. He always shouted.
“She’s scared. Give the poor girl a break.” Joelle tried to calm Krysler. He wasn’t having it.
“Oh, boohoo. Poor scared girl. This is the safest she’s been in months. I guarantee it. I got to listen to this shit for two more days, not to mention these refugees always smell like shit. Poor me is more like it.”
“I think it’ll be alright if I just go talk to her for a little bit. Maybe it’ll help calm her down,” Joelle suggested.
“Oh no. Fuck no. You break protocol and Todd will have your ass. Mine too. No, you’re going to stay right here and suck it up.” Krysler side-eyed her while lighting up a cigarette. “Jesus Christ, where the fuck do they find you people?”
Aiko did her best to keep Casandra comfortable. This baby was coming, but if Casandra could somehow hold out for another day, Aiko would be able to find the ship’s infirmary and Casandra could deliver her baby in a safer environment.
“You’re doing fine, Casandra. Now concentrate,” Aiko said sternly.
Aiko’s bedside manner was a little more to-the-point than Casandra had grown accustomed to. This baby was coming whether either woman was ready for it, and any hopes for waiting out the quarantine were dashed. At this point, getting the birth over with and Casandra back to some semblance of normalcy before these doors opened was about the best Aiko could hope for.
“I can’t do this here,” Casandra pleaded.
“You’re going to have to.”
“Where’s Bernie?”
&
nbsp; Bernie offered what he could from his cell. “I’m right here, sweetheart. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
“Bernie, I’m scared,” Casandra whimpered.
“It’s just us.” Aiko’s voice was calming, soothing. “You can do this.”
Aiko heard a commotion out in the hallway, and it was growing louder. Whatever its source, it was making its way down the cellblock. Krysler was arguing with a new woman, someone with a British accent whom they had not yet met.
“I will not have this woman go through childbirth on a dirty cell floor,” the woman demanded. “Not when we have a perfectly good facility one deck up.”
“She stays,” said Krysler with an air of uncertainty. “Or should I call Todd?”
“Call your master. I’ve gone over your head and Todd’s. Captain’s orders. Now step aside.”
From Jeremiah’s viewpoint, he watched as a team of what appeared to be doctors—or at least they were dressed that way—rush Casandra and Aiko from their cell.
“Aiko?” Jeremiah shouted. “Aiko? Where are you taking her?” Jeremiah pounded on his cell door; it didn’t budge. “Open this goddamned door right now!”
Bernie joined Jeremiah in a futile attempt to gain the attention of the guards. Before long, Vanessa and a few of the others joined in the chorus. They received no response. The outer door slammed shut. The cellblock went quiet.
De-Cons: Day Three
Sometime during the late afternoon of the third day in de-cons, the Pepperbush survivors were awoken to the sound of Todd’s booming voice. “Congratulations, people, your time in de-cons is officially over. You’ve all passed with flying colors.” His voice carried through the hold. “Everyone up. Let’s go. On your feet. I don’t have all day. Line up in single file. I need you out of here. These cells need to be disinfected. You people reek.”
A series of loud thunks echoed through the steel room as one by one all the cell doors were unlocked. The Pepperbush survivors assembled in the tight hallway that ran through the center of the cellblock as Todd continued his instructions.
“Upon exiting this room, you will see a table. On said table will be a pile of fresh bathrobes. Please discard your filthy towels and put on a clean robe.”
“Where are you taking us?” Samantha asked.
“Quiet,” was Todd’s only reply.
Vanessa placed Lillian between herself and Sam. Whatever lay ahead, she had no intention of losing track of either of them. “Stay close to me,” she whispered.
Lillian nodded in agreement. Sam made it clear he was on board. As did Markus.
Miller stepped forward, inching past the group. A light nudge in Sam’s side and they were all in agreement that, whatever lay ahead, they would stick together. “I don’t see Cortez or any of his unit,” he asked, trying not to reveal his misgivings.
“They have jobs to do, and so do I,” Todd replied. “Now get back in line. Don’t think I can’t see you whispering.”
“Look, whatever you have in mind, take me instead,” Miller offered. “I’m sure we can work something out.”
“Take you where?” Todd asked with a look of disgust. “Get in line. I won’t tell you again.”
Miller took point but leaned into Radzinski’s ear on his way to the front. “Follow my lead,” he whispered.
“You got it.” Radzinski was already sizing up their captors. Though they rarely saw eye to eye, the two road-weary soldiers knew instinctively that they could count on each other when it mattered.
“Single file. Let’s go,” Todd demanded.
Two guards armed with shock sticks followed Todd at the front of the procession; two more brought up the rear. Between them, the Pepperbush survivors marched in silence.
The narrow corridor opened into the large storage room they first gathered in. A group of blue-jumpsuit-clad workers who took notice of the newly released survivors passing by shot disapproving looks at Miller and his people. Nearby, a set of inventory-takers in the far corner took stock of a pile of weapons, examining each and then placing them into plastic bins. All the while they crunched endless numbers on their clipboards.
The weapons’ destination couldn’t possibly be known to Miller and the others. Why clean weapons now at the exact time that they were being released from de-cons? he wondered. He assumed it was some sort of intimidation tactic.
A heavy clank echoed, and the sea door at the other end of the storage room swung open.
“This way, please.” Todd continued their march deeper into the bowels of the ship.
They meandered through corridors and up multiple flights of stairs. Some in the group were already hopelessly lost in the twisting and turning maze.
“Rights, lefts, hallways, flights of stairs. They’re trying to disorient us,” said Sam.
Miller didn’t respond; he was carefully taking note of their surroundings. He realized that they had doubled back at least once and was curious about the subterfuge.
The flickering lights and dingy hallways that made up the bowels of the ship eventually gave way to carpeted floors and decorated walls. This stretch of the journey emptied into a large, bright, open room. A vase with what looked to be fresh-cut flowers rested on a pedestal. Artwork hung on the walls. Shades were drawn over the windows, but brilliant sunlight still shone through.
A Jamaican woman wearing a traditional green and yellow floral dress stood in front of a closed double door. Her hair was done in long, wild braids that were wrapped up behind a beautiful yellow headwrap. A few stray braids wrestled for freedom and dangled at her side; the look was carefully managed. Two women flanked her on either side. Their darker-colored skirt-suits contrasted starkly with the Jamaican woman’s brightly colored flowered dress. The women at her sides wore their hair long and straight without a stray hair to be found. The trio of women all sported warm, welcoming smiles.
“They’re all yours, Raeni,” Todd said with a nod.
“Thank you, Todd. I’ll take it from here,” Raeni replied in a soothing Jamaican accent.
Todd waved his left arm in the air. His men turned, and the five of them retraced their path back into the bowels of the ship as quietly as they came.
“Be at peace, children. Welcome to your new home,” Raeni said as she turned to face an ornate wood-framed, frosted-glass double door. Her two companions swung the doors open wide. “Welcome to Haven.”
Miller and the Pepperbush survivors walked into the light; it was blinding. The contrast from where they stood to where they came from highlighted just how filthy they really were. The scent of fresh sea air smacked the group in the face. Sprawled before them were dozens of people of all descriptions and walks of life. These people mingled in the sunlight as soothing beats from a steel-drum band flowed through the party-like atmosphere. Revelers danced and children played. Waiters and waitresses served cocktails and finger foods out on the bright open deck while children and adults alike splashed in a large swimming pool.
Beneath a canopy behind the steel-drum band, bartenders happily mixed drinks. A similar scene minus the band played out at the other end of the deck. Emerging from the shadows just off the sun-drenched deck, a fit young man streaked across the deck and jumped into the pool, performing a naked cannonball. The ensuing wall of water soaked a pair of topless sunbathers at the pool’s edge. They laughed it off. For all intents and purposes, the survivors of Pepperbush had found themselves on a full-fledged cruise ship complete with all the amenities of a dream vacation at sea.
Radzinski slowly walked toward the pool’s edge. He cupped his hand over his eyes while squinting to take it all in. “What the fuck?” he exclaimed.
CHAPTER FOUR
Nourishment
Vanessa stood at the pool’s edge. Two playing children ran past, nearly knocking her into the water. “Is this for real?” She covered her mouth, momentarily embarrassed over an ear-to-ear grin she unsuccessfully tried to hide. “This place is amazing.”
“Give yourselves a moment to
take it all in, children, and do not worry.” Raeni beamed with a brightness not often seen of late. “You are not the first to be taken aback by the sheer splendor of Haven, and God willing, you will not be the last.”
“How… How is this possible?” Even Miller was in awe.
“New lives await you, but first, let us fill your bellies. Please, come this way.” Raeni escorted the road-weary group up a flight of stairs leading to another set of ornate double doors that opened into a sprawling dining room.
The vast dining room overlooked the pool area at one end and the bow of the ship at the other. Far at the bow end of the dining room—almost missed by the group—sat the excursion team, enjoying a meal of their own. Cortez was curiously absent from the gathering.
“Hey, you made it.” Ahole waved. “Good on you.”
His fellow excursion team members waved or offered a greeting of their own. None excused themselves from their plates.
Before the Pepperbush survivors and overlooking the pool area sat a large table with settings already prepared for each of them.
“Please, have a seat,” Raeni offered with a smile. “Anywhere you like.”
No sooner had the survivors taken their seats than a group of waiters emerged, carrying covered silver trays. They placed the trays on the table and removed their shining lids. Steam escaped, wafting around the group. The aroma of freshly cooked meats and vegetables circled the road-weary travelers. Mouths watered and eyes teared. The spread was of a quality not experienced in ages: succulent cuts of ham alongside carefully prepared sausage and moist chicken dripping in juices was presented with side dishes of buttered vegetables seasoned to perfection along with fresh breads and a variety of seafood.
The Roaming (Book 3): Haven's Promise Page 4
