There was one more grenade in Jack’s hand and he was looking at it through a haze. The Glen Grant had rendered him pretty inebriated, but he was still clear in his focus and lucid in his intent. From the moment he had gotten on the ship, there had only ever been one way he was going to leave it. He just hadn’t been aware of it until now. Whether or not Joma knew things would end this way didn’t matter now. It didn’t change what needed to be done. The only way the virus could be stopped was if every single person onboard died. There could be no survivors, and that meant Jack too.
He yanked the pin at the top of the grenade and felt the spring-loaded ‘spoon’ release in his palm. Once he dropped the grenade into the pile of explosives he would have just five seconds. Five seconds of life left to live; just five more seconds of pain and grief and anger. It was five seconds longer than Jack wanted or needed.
He opened his palm and let the grenade fall. It seemed to roll slowly through the air, bouncing into the crate and coming to rest amongst its brothers.
Jack started to count.
“One…”
I…
“Two…”
Love…
“Three…”
You…
“Four…”
Laura…
“Five…”
Day 250
Sixty-miles off the coast of France, Commander Harrington looked down from the foredeck of the Merchant Navy Bulk Carrier, Barstow. The rolling sea of the Mediterranean was littered with debris: passenger belongings, clothing, wooden fixtures of the ship, and scrap pieces of metal. While nothing had been determined yet, it seemed as though the passenger liner, Spirit of Kirkpatrick, had suffered some kind of explosion, perhaps from within the engine compartment. Harrington had been a seaman for many decades and seen such things before, but not with a passenger ship in modern times. With lawsuits being the way they were, safety checks on passenger vessel were beyond overcautious. It would remain to be seen what the cause was, but Harrington wouldn’t be surprised to find out that the explosion was deliberate.
The time of terrorism isn’t yet over, it seems.
The Commander was no stranger to death at sea, but the thought of one-thousand passengers and five-hundred crew members sinking to their deaths had left a numb space in his chest. Civilians were not suited to terror. They did not embrace it like servicemen did. He pitied the suffering that they would have gone through as they realised their time was up. The worst kind of death is one you can see coming, even if only by a few minutes.
What the hell happened to you people? There wasn’t even an SOS.
If it had not been for the fact the Kirkpatrick had gone radio silent, no one would have even known it had gone down. If Harrington hadn’t been in the area, there would have been barely a trace that the ship had even been there. Already the debris on the water’s surface was sinking beneath the waves. His men were currently doing their very best to retrieve whatever they could before it was lost forever.
Midshipman Brown approached with his trusty clipboard in hand. He saluted Harrington from a few yards away. “Commander! We’ve just received word that the French Coast Guard is just a few clicks out. They’ve requested that we hand the situation over to them now and that we have their thanks for our quick response.”
“Typical French. Don’t like the British stepping on their toes. Okay, Midshipman, let the crew know we’re out in thirty.”
“Aye aye, Commander.”
Harrington took a stroll along the deck, glancing over his men and supervising the wrapping-up of their efforts. They had divvied up the detritus they’d salvaged into separate containers: some containing scrap metal and parts of the ship, while others contained personal belongings that could later be claimed by the passenger’s families. Harrington walked up to one of those containers now and examined its contents.
There were many things inside: paperback novels, a jewellery box, and all sorts of other mundane possessions. There was even a scorched police badge. One thing that caught the Commander’s eye in particular, though, was a little girl’s dolly. He picked it up and studied its angelic face while trying to imagine the child it must have belonged to. He felt his heart sag. The child’s toy was a soggy mess and seemed to sum up the tragedy quite succinctly. Its frilly dress had already started to succumb to the exposure to salt water and its small plastic hands had gone a sickly green as if some sort of chemical reaction had taken place.
Harrington decided to take the dolly with him, and made a personal promise that he would try to find out whom the toy belonged to. It would be difficult, he knew, because whatever secrets the Spirit of Kirkpatrick had to tell were now well and truly lost beneath the sea. Perhaps the world would never know the true story of whatever happened to its passengers and crew. Maybe they would not want to know, even if they could.
Harrington turned around on his heel, dolly in hand, and addressed his crew. “Come on, men. Let’s get back to the mainland. I don’t want to think about what happened here anymore. We’ve been around enough death and misery for one day.”
Two hours later, Commander Harrington felt a cold coming on.
PLEA FROM THE AUTHOR
Hey, Reader. So you got to the end of my book. I hope that means that you enjoyed it. Whether or not you did, I would just like to thank you for giving me your valuable time to try and entertain you. I am truly blessed to have such a fulfilling job, but I only have that job because of people like you; people kind enough to give my books a chance and spend their hard-earned money buying them. For that I am eternally grateful, my friend.
If you would like to find out more about my other books then please visit my website for full details. You can find it at: www.iainrobwright.com. Also feel free to contact me on Facebook, Twitter, or email (all details on the website) as I would love to hear from you.
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Buy more Books by Iain Rob Wright
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Reality TV gone wrong, and deadly. Let the games begin.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Published author, Iain Rob Wright, was born in 1984 and lives in Redditch, a small town in the West Midlands, UK, with his loopy cocker spaniel, Oscar, his fat old cat, Jess, his many tropical fish, and the love of his life, Sally. Writing is the passion that fills his life during the small periods of time when he isn't cleaning up after his pets.
He is the author of several novels, including the critically acclaimed, The Final Winter, and the deeply disturbing thriller, ASBO.
Check out his official website for freebies, news, and updates at:
http://www.iainrobwright.com
***AN SG HORROR RELEASE***
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Sea Sick copyright 2012 by Iain Rob Wright
www.IAINROBWRIGHT.com
Cover Art Copyright 2012 Stephen Bryant
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Editing provided by
Faith Kauwe
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the consent of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
BOOK SUMMARY
SEA SICK
Day 2
Day 3
Day 4
Day 5
Day 64
Day 65
Day 77
Day 89
Day 99
Day 100
Day 101
Day 102
Day 103
Day 104
Day 198
Day 199
Day 200
Day 201
Day 215
Day 216
Day 216
Day 234
Day 235
Day 236
Day 236
Day 245
Day 246
Day 247
Day 248
Day 249 -1400hrs
1500hrs
1600hrs
1700hrs
1800hrs
1900hrs
2100hrs
Day 250
PLEA FROM THE AUTHOR
Buy more Books by Iain Rob Wright
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sea Sick: A Novel of Horror and Suspense Page 19
