by Ricky Fleet
“Don’t,” she begged faintly, but it was too late.
Punch after punch was hammered into her shattered face with the spikes cratering her once beautiful features. Brain matter leaked out from the ruptures in her forehead, slopping down the expensive dress as she collapsed. A sense of malevolent satisfaction flooded his psyche and with relish he fell onto the defenceless body and commenced a frenzied attack on the remains of his betrothed.
“Good,” cheered the captain with glee.
In moments the ballroom resembled a slaughter house. Screams of the dying mixed with the sounds of choking and flesh being cleaved. Thuds of metal crunching through bone echoed back from the vaulted ceiling as other victims gurgled their dissolving innards from the force fed poisons. The older man who had been ready to take his own life stood proud and tall, embracing his wife and waiting for the end. A man of morals and principles, the evil voices had found no purchase within the corridors of his consciousness. Several other couples had not succumbed and stood fearfully amongst the writhing mass of bodies tearing at each other.
“Kill them slowly!” shrieked the captain.
Members of the waiting staff stepped carefully over the carnage and pulled out razor sharp sickle knives. With swift, brutal strokes they laid open the stomachs of the uncompliant guests, disembowelling them. Struggling to hold their trailing guts in, they fell to the floor and joined the butchery. Bemoaning their grisly fate while trying to console their dying companions, the captain clapped his hands with delight.
“Most excellent,” he remarked as the room gradually fell silent except for the gasps of exertion from the murderers.
“Are you satisfied?” William asked, breaking his gaze from the pile of crushed meat that was once his wife.
“You have all done well,” answered the captain, “The master is most pleased.”
Shadows in the room seemed to loom, reaching for the damned.
“Who is your master? The government? The Nazis?” William demanded.
“Not exactly,” the captain roared with laughter, “You needn’t let it concern you. If you would be so kind as to follow my colleagues, they will direct you to the lifeboats. The SS Freedom has another destination entirely.”
Murmurs of concern rippled through the survivors but the guns ensured compliance and the broken men and women staggered away from their dead partners. Two hundred and eighty people had walked out of the ballroom, with any injured being put down instead of carried to their salvation. Climbing aboard the gently rocking boats, they stared without seeing. The insidious power that had promised so much was now gone, leaving the remaining guests to despair at their own hatefulness.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the captain, “We will now be making a mayday call before we reach our end.”
William wondered why he hadn’t said ‘port’, “And what is to become of us?”
“You will be rewarded. Lower away!”
The way the captain had said the word rewarded caused William’s stomach to twist in fear. It was the accompanying smirk which spoke of deception.
“Wait, take us with you,” begged a blood soaked lady, dress torn from the mortal battle which had taken place minutes earlier.
The ropes creaked and the crew lowered the line of life boats in unison. William reached down for a life preserver, but upon lifting it he could see the buoyancy floats had been cut away and discarded somewhere. They were now nothing more than extra layers of heavy clothing.
“You will be joining us soon enough, my dear. Though perhaps not in the way you were hoping,” said the captain over the balcony.
“You aren’t going to make a mayday call, are you?” William asked.
“You are an astute fellow. We are also nowhere near any known shipping lanes so there will be no rescue, not that it was ever a possibility anyway.”
As the wooden hulls reached the ocean’s surface, jets of ice cold water rushed into the boats and soaked their feet.
“Oh my God, there are leaks. Pull us up!” screamed a man on a different craft.
“Well of course there are, my dear sir, how else could I ensure you all drown?” replied the captain as if he was engaging in conversation with a buffoon.
The ropes were cut and fell with a splash by each boat and the survivors yelled and clawed at the smooth metal of the topsides, desperate for a handhold on the flat surface but finding no purchase.
“Full steam ahead!” yelled the captain from further down the ship.
With an increase in pitch, the engines churned the water at the stern as the power was pushed to maximum. Some of the more knowledgeable guests knew that the wake would capsize their tiny, holed boats but any chance of survival was worth clinging to. Sliding the oars through the metal oar rings, the men started to pull with all their might. One after the other the paddles snapped and gales of laughter came from above.
“Oops, sorry!” called down one of the crew.
The rowers looked at the clean channels which had cut most of the way through the wooden handles in disbelief.
“We aren’t meant to get away from the boat,” William stated, utterly defeated.
Shrill moans broke the night as the high wake approached. More people discovered the life vests were now just extra weight to drag them to their watery graves. The screams turned to prayers for a God they had willingly abandoned. Waves crashed over the sides, tipping the doomed revellers into the frigid sea and those that managed to reappear coughed the salty liquid from their lungs.
“What shall we do?” asked a lady who was treading water next to William.
“There is nothing we can do,” he replied.
In the distance the cruise vessel exploded, fire rising into the night from the sundered middle section. For almost a minute the area was lit up from the blazing inferno until the stern and bow gave up and slipped beneath the surface forever, plunging them into darkness.
“I’m so sorry, Margaret,” William whispered.
Realising their plight was hopeless and they were all damned, he stopped kicking his legs which had lost all feeling within seconds of being submerged. As the water closed over his face and the briny deep beckoned, he tried to picture his beautiful wife for comfort. The pulverized mess melding with the carpet was the only memory which accompanied him to the depths. As his screaming lungs filled with water, he felt unseen presences grasp his limbs. They sought to take him lower than the ocean floor, to a realm where untold suffering awaited.
CHAPTER NINE
Malachi came to in the hospital ward, filled with the sense of treachery and loss that William had suffered. The empathy he felt towards imaginary people was disconcerting; they were no more real than the portrayals on stage and screen. He was willing to admit that he had cried on occasion, but it was the skill of the actor that drew a viewer in. Perhaps the dreams were his own inner movies. It was just a shame they always had to be so horrific.
“Morning, sleepy head.”
“What the fuck?” Malachi spluttered in shock at his friend’s voice.
“That’s a lovely way to greet someone who has sat by your bedside listening to you fart and snore for three days,” Kevin said with a chuckle.
“You’ve been here for three days?” Malachi asked, trying to sit up.
Kevin leaped up and rushed over, “Whoa, slow down, buddy. You aren’t in any fit state to be throwing your weight around.”
Using his armpits, Kevin managed to wrestle Malachi up and puffed the pillows behind to provide extra support. On the spur of the moment, his friend hugged him as though he were the finest china and liable to break under too much pressure. Returning the embrace, Malachi felt some of the fear dissolving like salt in water. It was still there, but diluted and manageable now.
“It doesn’t really hurt,” he explained, fingering the bandages on his stomach.
“It must be the morphine, you lucky bastard.”
Malachi noticed the morphine bag hanging from the medical infusion stand and th
e slow drip of the painkiller into the tube. The dose must have been too low because he felt none of the effects of the strong opiate in his system. No itching, no feeling woozy and drowsy as the medicine numbed the damaged nerve endings.
“Have you really been sat here for three days?”
“Don’t be daft, the visiting hours are only noon until eight,” Kevin admitted with a grin, sitting back down.
It still meant his friend had kept him company during the most dangerous hours of his recuperation. Malachi couldn’t express his gratitude through the lump that had formed in his throat and simply smiled.
Kevin had known him long enough to communicate without words, “You would have done the same for me.”
“I’m not so sure,” Malachi finally replied, “Your farts can curdle milk.”
“What can I say? It’s a gift,” he agreed.
“I expect they would have already turned off your life support,” Malachi said.
Kevin laughed and then got serious, “I nearly turned yours off. What the fuck do you think you are playing at going after those bastards without me?”
“I didn’t plan to,” Malachi protested, “I was trying to follow your advice and go after the redhead.”
“And when you heard her in trouble you should have called me, I would have floored it and been back in minutes.”
“By then it would have been too late.” Malachi didn’t need to elaborate.
“Wankers!” Kevon slammed his fist into the arm of the chair. “I knew we should have battered them all over the bar.”
“You’re too hot headed,” Malachi said with affection.
Kevin laughed, “Says the man who took on three knife wielding rapists to save the damsel in distress. How much damage did you do before they got you?”
“Enough,” Malachi replied, “Broken ribs and a mashed nose I think.”
“That’s a good start,” he replied, scowling. Malachi knew full well what he meant.
“No!”
“Huh? What?”
“You know exactly what I am talking about. No going after them, let the police deal with it,” Malachi begged but Kevin wasn’t convinced.
“We will see what Des says when he arrives,” Kevin glanced up at the wall clock, “He should be here any minute.”
“You’re a nightmare. Please don’t do anything without talking to me first.”
“You and your bloody ‘code’,” Kevin spat the words with frustration.
“Promise me.”
“Yeah, ok.” Kevin relaxed a little. A wide grin spread across his face, “Here comes the fit nurse I have been telling you about in your sleep.”
Malachi held out a hand, “Phone.”
“What?”
“Give me your phone. I’m going to tell Laura you have been perving over one of the nurses.”
“Get stuffed,” Kevin slapped the hand away, “Snitches get stitches.”
Reaching their end of the ward, the nurse frowned disapprovingly, “If you don’t keep the noise down, you will have to leave. And what was that about stitches?”
Kevin held up his hands in surrender, “Sorry. I was just happy to see my friend awake after he nearly died.” It was partly the truth anyway and Malachi had to stifle a smile.
Her face softened and the lines disappeared, revealing her beauty. Hair as black as night framed a face that belonged on a Vogue magazine cover.
“Well if that is the case, I can’t really blame you, but please show some concern for the other patients.”
She checked the instruments to gauge his recovery while Kevin stood just out of view. Kissing his fingertips in a ‘bellissima’ gesture, he then proceeded to outline her curvaceous figure with his hands. Making a ring with thumb and forefinger, a final digit left no doubt about his ignoble desires.
“Would you like to explain to my colleague what it is you were doing behind her back?” a voice boomed from behind and Kevin jumped in fright.
Malachi burst out laughing after playing along while she stealthily approached with a finger raised to her lips. She was trying to maintain the scowl, but the corners of her mouth twitched in suppressed laughter.
“Er, I’ve got to go and make a phone call. I’ll be right back.” Kevin hurried off and cast one final look back at Malachi with a raised thumb and a grin. He was incorrigible.
“I apologise for my friend,” Malachi said.
“I wouldn’t worry, we have got used to his behaviour over the past few days,” explained the playful nurse.
“He hasn’t been a nuisance has he?”
“Not at all, we find him hilarious. He has been too caught up in talking to you to give us his undivided attention,” she said, leaning over to check his wounds.
“Thank God for that.”
Her perfume wafted under his nose and he found himself inhaling deeply. Since regaining consciousness, the realization hadn’t quite hit home about how lucky he was to be alive. Though he had been ready to die, hoping to see his beloved parents again, the chance for continuation was something to be grateful for.
“Do you like it?”
“I am so sorry,” he blustered. She probably thought he was a total weirdo.
“Don’t be,” she smiled warmly, “It’s nice to get a compliment now and again.”
“I was afraid you would think I was a freak, the way I sniffed at you,” Malachi replied.
“It’s not every day my perfume makes a man smile like that, especially a hero,” she winked.
Laying back and groaning, Malachi asked, “I’m no hero. How many people know what happened?”
“Pretty much everyone,” said the dark haired nurse, shining a light into each eye. Once the glare had worn off he could see their name badges, raven hair was Angela and the beautiful smelling one was called Shannon.
“The reporters have been phoning every hour day and night for progress reports,” Shannon remarked.
“Fuck!”
Malachi valued his privacy and now he was under a spotlight. The monitoring equipment started to pick up on the accelerated heart rate and the nurses tried to calm him.
“It’s ok,” said Shannon, “We have a strict privacy policy and no information has been given out.”
“Do they know my name?”
Angela hesitated which gave Malachi the answer he was dreading, “I’m afraid so.”
“But you saved that lady,” Shannon gushed, “You should get the recognition for being so brave.”
He wasn’t convinced and now his complicated life had taken on a whole new level of aggravation. The reporters would doggedly pursue him until the story broke or something else came along to satiate them. Maybe that was the answer? Just hide until it all blows over. Recovering in the hospital should take a few weeks and then he would have to ask for leave from Jim.
“I told her she is lucky to have such a handsome guardian angel,” giggled Angela.
Malachi didn’t immediately put the words together, “Hang on, how have you been able to tell her?”
“She visits every day too, silly.”
The cardiograph lines peaked again and his mouth suddenly dried out. Only this time it wasn’t from fear of invasion into his life, but anxiety about the ramifications of her seeing him unconscious. Had he wet himself at all? Had he screamed and talked in bizarre languages? The demeanour of the nurses gave no indication that he had caused anything out of the ordinary to occur on the ward and he dared to believe his secret was still safe.
“When your friends have to leave, she stays and sings quietly to you. It is so sweet,” Shannon said.
“So anyone can just walk in off the street and see me then?” Malachi asked with more vehemence than intended. His defences were up and he was taking it out unnecessarily on the nurses.
“Not at all, you are in a secure wing with CCTV,” Angela said, pointing up at the cameras.
“Kevin insisted that she be allowed to visit,” explained Shannon.
“I’ll bet he did, the basta
rd,” Malachi said, cooling down. “I’m sorry, I guess I was just a little afraid the arseholes that stabbed me might come back to finish the job,” he lied.
“They wouldn’t get in even if they wanted to,” assured Shannon, peeling tape back from his dressings.
“The police are close to making arrests anyway according to the news. Soon you won’t have anything to worry about.”
“Good.”
Shannon had lifted the bandage and paused, a look of bewilderment passing over her face. Indicating Angela should come and look, the other nurse also frowned with confusion. Before Malachi could question them about the worrying glances they shot his way, Desmond and Kevin came back into the ward. The larger than life Jamaican was wearing a garish ensemble of vibrant colours that could have benefitted from a dimmer switch. In his hands was the biggest bunch of flowers and fruit basket that Malachi had ever seen. Disarmed by the sight, he forgot to ask the nurses about their concerns before they excused themselves.
“Behave,” Shannon chastised Kevin as they passed.
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” he replied innocently.
“Brudda!” Desmond put the gifts down and bear hugged Malachi, “You had me worried there.”
“It will take more than death to kill me,” laughed Malachi, but Desmond didn’t join in.
“A man that can come back from the brink like that,” he nodded knowingly, “Is destined for greatness.”
“Shut up, you big lug,” Kevin teased at the mystical turn in the conversation.
“You mark my words; things are in motion,” Desmond insisted.
“Yeah, my bowel movements,” Kevin said.
“Fuck you, man,” Desmond burst out laughing and left the cosmic talk alone.
“Thanks for bringing the florist and enough fruit to satisfy the monkeys at London Zoo!” Malachi remarked.
“A man needs to eat healthy when he is recovering.” Desmond offered the fruit but Malachi wasn’t hungry. Kevin was starving and gratefully took a bunch of grapes and an apple.
“At least if the hospital food isn’t up to scratch I can feast on all this sugary goodness.”
“I’ll bring you my special recipe jerk chicken with rice and peas when you feeling stronger, man,” Desmond offered and the thought of the delicious food caused Malachi’s previously silent stomach to growl in anticipation.
