by Ralph Kern
“Thunder, Steel. I ha—”
The RPG round lanced out of the building, a trail of smoke behind it. It seemed to travel in slow motion straight toward him, the whoosh noise of the rocket washing ahead of the grenade itself.
Jack began to react, his muscles moving slower than the spear of the RPG round racing toward him. He dove, striving to reach the safety of the ground. The lance streaked closer and closer as he felt himself falling to the dirt. Time moved slower and slower. A race between him reaching the sandy dirt and the grenade striking.
He wasn’t quick enough.
The world washed out in an explosion of noise and pain before fading into darkness.
With a cry, Jack sat bolt upright on the bed, sweat pouring off his body, heart racing and his chest heaving. He looked around, panicked. Slowly the nightmare faded as reality took over.
Giving a deep breath, Jack lowered his head, pinching his nose, taking a moment to calm himself. He was long since used to the dream and how to shake it off. He’d had it nearly every night for the last six months, after all.
Shaking his head, trying to clear out the cobwebs, he slid a finger in his ear, wiggling it in a vain attempt to clear the tinnitus he’d had ever since Syria. At least that’s clearing up, he thought to himself. It had slowly eased in the last few months. The incessant buzzing noise had gone from crippling to merely annoying, which at least allowed him to hear people talk now.
Jack lay back and let the thudding of his racing heart fade back to normal as he gazed out of the large round porthole at the blue ocean racing by outside.
Jack briefly considered trying to go back to sleep, but the thought that the dream would greet him again proved too much.
With a sigh, Jack pulled the sweat-soaked bedsheets off his body and swung himself around into a seated position on the bed. He took a moment to wipe the crusted sleep from his eyes before leaning down and reaching for his prosthetic leg, which was propped against the bedside cabinet.
The prosthetic that had replaced the lower half of the left leg he’d had taken from him on the war-torn battlefields of Syria.
Chapter 4 – Day 2
Laurie gritted her teeth in frustration. The sea breeze caused the pages of her notebook to whip over unless she held it open, while the bright sunlight washed out the view on her laptop. The noise of the dozens of children splashing around the Atlantica’s central pool wasn’t helping her concentration, either. The screams of delight as they flung themselves down the waterslides and the hustle and bustle were nice to watch, but difficult to work next to.
Finally giving up on the idea of topping up her tan while doing her work, she closed the laptop and stuffed it, along with her notebook, into her rucksack before standing from the sun lounger. Making her way down the stairs away from the pool to the side of the ship, she saw most of the seating areas were also busy, filled with an older crowd gathered around the tables chatting away, playing cards, or just watching the world go by.
Laurie spotted one table which seemed empty apart from a lone man, seated at one corner of a table quietly gazing at an E-reader, a half-empty bottle of beer in front of him.
“Excuse me?” Laurie said as she approached the man from behind.
The man looked at her, his eyes hidden behind his mirrored aviator sunglasses. He was dressed casually and the lower part of an indistinct tattoo was just visible on his muscular right arm beneath the hem of the tan short-sleeve shirt. Oddly, he was wearing a pair of chinos in the mid-day heat.
“Are any of these seats taken?” Laurie gestured toward the other end of the table.
“Err no,” the man croaked. It sounded like the voice of a person had who hadn’t spoken to anyone else all day, his unused vocal chords activating for the first time. It was surprising—it was noon, after all. He gestured at the empty chairs. “Please, feel free.”
“Thanks.” Laurie pulled her laptop back out of her bag and opened it up on the table as the man’s attention went back to whatever he was reading. She lowered herself into the seat and powered up the computer, finding the lesson plan she had been working on.
She begrudged working on her holiday, but the simple fact was these things needed to be done. Still, she wasn’t going to turn down her father’s offer of an all-expenses-paid holiday on a Caribbean cruise, even if that did mean she would have to spend the odd day tapping away at a keyboard, generating classes and lectures for the sixth formers due to start their A-levels in September.
She began filling out a spreadsheet in the school’s required format for lesson plans, populating the cells with little notes. She had thirty weeks of physics classes to fill, and that started with the basics.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the man take a long swig on his bottle before slowly and deliberately setting it down.
Now, that will help, Laurie thought to herself. In the center of the table was a touchscreen used to order drinks and she tapped on it, requesting a glass of house white. She glanced at the man, wondering whether to interrupt him. Why not? It would be nice to strike up a conversation with someone who is my side of forty.
“Hello again,” Laurie called to the man, who looked over to her and cocked his head, his aviator sunglasses reflecting a distorted image of herself. “I’m just ordering a drink; want me to request one for you, too?”
The man seemed to watch her, taking a long moment to respond. “Sure, thanks, why not? Bottle of beer, please.”
“Coming right up.” Laurie smiled and tapped the screen, requesting a bottle of Budweiser, the brand he was drinking. Laurie presented her wristband to the small sensor next to the touchscreen. It bleeped in response, completing her order, and the screen flashed to say someone would be over with the drinks.
“I’m Laurie,” she stuck her hand out. The man reached over the couple of seats that separated them and shook it.
“Hello, Laurie. I’m Jack.”
His grip was cool and his hand calloused. He was obviously no stranger to manual labor.
“Pleased to meet you, Jack.”
“Likewise.”
“I love this table service,” Laurie said, wanting to strike up some kind of polite conversation with the near-monosyllabic Jack as they waited for the harried-looking waiter to bring their drinks over. “Very high tech, and sure as hell beats waiting at the bar.”
“Yeah,” Jack replied, seeming to be striving for words. “It’s good.”
Laurie nodded at him. He seemed to not really want to talk. Well, I have work to be getting on with anyway, she thought with a mental shrug, and looked back down at the laptop screen.
“What are you working on?” Jack asked after a few moments.
“Homework, unfortunately. It has to be done, even on the high seas.”
“Poor you.” Jack finally smiled. “And what is it you do that requires homework to be done?”
“I’m a teacher, for my sins. Physics. I have to start getting next term’s lessons all arranged. I’ve had weeks to do it already, which I mostly spent procrastinating. Hence why I have to do it on my holiday.”
“That sucks.” Jack nodded sagely. It was curious... whenever he was listening to her, his head was cocked like he was paying rapt attention to every word she said.
“What about you? What do you do back in reality?” Laurie asked.
“I’m kinda between jobs at the moment. You know, re-evaluating stuff.”
“We all do that at some point, I guess. Who are you on holiday with?”
“I just came on my own. I came into a bit of money recently and thought I’d treat myself.”
“Very wise. You can’t take it with you.” Laurie smiled. “My dad brought me along to keep him company. He insisted on it, in fact. But if he wants to bankroll me, who am I to turn him down?”
“That’s a generous father you have,” Jack said.
“Yes, he is.”
They both looked up as the waiter brought their drinks over and set them on the table. They tha
nked the well-presented young man as he cleared away Jack’s now empty bottle.
Jack is rather good looking, Laurie thought as she took a sip on the wine and looked at him. A bit rougher than my normal type, and he clearly doesn’t believe in going clean-shaven, but a girl has her needs. Pity I doubt I’d be able to sneak away from daddy. C’est la vie. Very curious he’s wearing a pair of trousers on the deck, though.
“Sunburn?” Laurie gestured as Jack’s legs.
“What? Oh, yeah something like that,” Jack replied as he realized she was indicating to his lower half.
“It’s a bitch. I’ve managed to avoid it. I’ve got some great after-sun. Here, let me get it for you.”
“I’m okay, thanks.”
“No, I insist. It’s in here somewhere.” Laurie rummaged in her rucksack. Pulling out the small blue bottle of cream, she presented it to Jack. “Go on. Go put some on; it’s far too hot to be wandering around in a pair of trousers.”
Jack held his hands up. “I’m fine, honestly.”
“You shouldn’t suffer, bless you. Here, take it.” Laurie thrust the bottle into his hands.
“Okay.” Jack took the bottle and turned it over in his hands. “I’ll... I’ll go put it on.”
Jack started to get to his feet, staggering slightly as he stood up.
“Had a few already?” Laurie winked as she saw him totter.
Jack gave a sharp intake of breath, before standing silently for a long moment. “I’ll go put some on. Be back soon.”
“Hey, it’s always happy hour somewhere in the world,” Laurie called teasingly after him as he walked away.
***
“Goddamn it.” Jack gritted his teeth as he concentrated on walking. Over the last few months he’d strived hard to hide his injury, and for the most part succeeded. He didn’t think anyone would even notice if they didn’t already know, but sometimes it caught him out and he forgot himself. Calm down, she was just trying to be friendly.
The glass doors leading into the interior of the ship slid open and he found himself in the plush stairwell. Without even thinking, he ignored the glass elevators racing between the lower bowels of the liner and the top deck and started down the stairs. He’d long since made it a personal policy not to use elevators. Despite it being ten decks down to his cabin, he was keeping to that policy. Practice made perfect, after all.
The only concession Jack made to his disability was occasionally clutching the banister as he walked down the stairs. Finally reaching deck four where his stateroom was, he set off down the long corridor that ran down the portside length of the ship. Reaching his door, he pressed his wristband against the lock and it clicked open.
Slumping on the sofa in the small cabin, he rested, gazing into space for a long moment. His mind was whirling. He couldn’t be sure, but the girl on the deck had seemed to be hitting on him. But she didn’t know... and if she did, she’d run a mile.
If Jack had responded, reciprocating that hint of interest, once she found out she would reject him. As far as he was concerned, it was better if he didn’t put her in a position where she would have to find some excuse to ditch him.
Rotating the blue bottle in his hands, he looked at it again before gently setting it down on the glass coffee table.
I think I’ll eat lunch in here, Jack thought. Again.
Without prompting, the large LED TV embedded in the wall came alive and the captain appeared, backdropped by the bustle of the bridge.
“Ladies and Gentlemen. As you are aware, Atlantica is a brand new ship and, as expected with any maiden voyage, there is always the possibility of glitches in the ship’s systems,” Solberg said in a calm reassuring tone. “We have, unfortunately had a slight problem. You may have noticed already some disturbances to your internet and phone access.”
Jack rubbed his false leg, cocking his head as he listened to the captain speak, picking his voice out through the ringing in his ears.
“In the early hours of the morning, we set our course back to Nassau. We will be traveling at our best speed. I can assure you, there is plenty of slack in the itinerary. Over the next week, I envisage we will make up for any lost time. As of now, we are not anticipating any lost time on any of our island stops and you will not lose out on any excursions.
Well that explains the breeziness, if the ship was hauling ass. Jack thought back to the windiness of the deck.
“I emphasize, there are no safety concerns. If you have any questions, our staff will be more than happy to help. Enjoy your voyage.”
Jack reclined back into the soft couch as the screen went dark again. Finally, he reached across to the phone and picked it up.
“Hi, can I order a ham and cheese panini? Thanks... no, no fries, salad please.”
Chapter 5 – Day 2
Karl Grayson never thought he’d get bored of his favorite movie, but after at least the twentieth time, it was finally starting to drag.
Still, the tired, tight, cluttered cabin of the tiny yacht was not exactly filled with all the mod-cons. The small portable DVD player he had was about as exciting as it got. Hitting the pause button, Grayson pulled himself off the bunk and made his way across the cabin to the cabinet which contained his stash of cigarettes. He was down to his last few packets, and as determined as he was to make them last, at the moment he felt the urge for one.
Plucking one out of its pack and grabbing his lighter off the shelf, he climbed the four steps to the deck, lighting up as he went and taking a long, deep drag on the cigarette. He felt the smoke wash down into his lungs, filling them in a most satisfying way. They were a treat for him which he could mostly take or leave, especially when his wife, Kirsten, was around to give him a disapproving glare. Sometimes though, he just fancied one, and right now was one of those times. Moving to the rail overlooking the deep blue sea, he leaned over, idly flicking the ash overboard between drags.
Giving a loud yawn, Grayson figured it was about time for his second nap of the day. He’d noticed in the days he’d been stuck on the boat, he had steadily become more and more inactive—wanting to doze or sleep just so time would go by that little bit faster. It was only his sense of self-discipline, rather than desire, which allowed him to keep his fitness regimen. He ensured he spent at least an hour a day doing body weight exercises.
Throwing the stub of the cigarette overboard, Grayson looked out to sea. A dark speck dotted the horizon, far away. Maybe it was little more than his imagination, but it was the most interesting thing he’d seen in a while. Squinting, he tried to see if it was merely a mirage or something more solid.
Giving up on simple eyesight, he grabbed his binoculars from the where they were stowed by the helm and focused on the speck. It was definitely there. Something big, something real.
Grinning to himself, Grayson opened the lockbox and pulled out the flare gun. He loaded it with a cartridge.
Finally, he thought, as he scrambled for the radio set he already had tuned in to VHF Channel 16, the channel for giving a distress call.
***
“I have a Mayday on 16. A yacht with one soul on board.” Kelly Maine, one of the bridge officers, pressed a hand to her headset earphone.
Solberg glanced up from his console. “Position?”
“Flare, sir,” Staff Captain Kendricks interrupted Maine’s response, the binoculars against his eyes as he watched the burning red point of light slowly descend toward the sea.
“Thank you, Mister Kendricks,” Captain Solberg replied calmly from his command seat. “Is anyone closer to the distressed answering?”
“That’s a negative, sir,” Maine responded.
“Very well. Mister Kendricks, you know our obligations. Lay in a course, best possible speed.”
“Aye aye, sir.” Kendricks lowered the binoculars and called over to the helmsman. “Lay in a course on a heading for the distressed vessel, best speed.”
“Aye aye, sir.” The helmsman glanced at his console, seeing the heading pop up
on his display. “Best speed.”
“Ms. Kelly, if you would kindly inform the distressed we are en route. We are...’
“An hour out, Captain.” Kendricks consulted his display.
“An hour out. And Mister Kendricks?”
“Sir?”
“Prep for rescue and recovery.”
Ponderously, the glistening white Atlantica came about and the mammoth ship began accelerating to her emergency speed of twenty-five knots, striving to reach the distressed vessel.
***
She is a beauty! Grayson thought as he looked at the clean lines of the cruise ship, the name Atlantica proudly emblazoned on her pristine white bow. Blue solar panels studded her flank. She was easily three hundred and fifty meters long and had twelve decks visible which, from Grayson’s knowledge, meant that she had at least several more hidden in the hull itself. It was clear she was a floating palace, full of amusements and frills that would keep her occupants in the lap of luxury. From the rail, high above him, he could see hundreds of tiny figures looking down on him, curious at what the Atlantica would undoubtedly be considering a rescue operation.
Low down on the hull, a cargo bay was already gaping open, the hatch lowered to provide a platform upon which several people were gathered. Even the lower edge was high above the deck of Grayson’s diminutive Mayfly.
“Do you require medical assistance?” a man shouted down.
“No, no thank you,” Grayson called back from the deck of his yacht. “I’m running low on supplies and have malfunctioning navigation and coms equipment.”
“Okay, we’ll be right down.”
A rope ladder dropped from the platform and Grayson took the dangling bottom rung and fastened the tie to an eyelet on the deck, securing the link between the ship and yacht. Three figures carefully began climbing down the ladder to the Mayfly, taking their time to reach the deck on the writhing ladder.
A kindly looking bespectacled middle-aged man arrived first and approached Karl, looking him up and down.
