HAYWIRE: A Pandemic Thriller (The F.A.S.T. Series Book 2)

by Shane M Brown

  ‘I’m listening,’ prompted Coleman.

  ‘No one is coming to help the lifeboats,’ said Bryant. ‘No one is coming to help us. Not yet, anyway. The Pegasus has orders to stand off from the lifeboats until the infection is identified.’

  ‘But we have badly wounded passengers on those lifeboats,’ objected Erin. ‘They need medical assistance right now.’

  Coleman shook his head. ‘They’re doing the right thing. This infection must remain quarantined to the ship. What’s your status, Officer Bryant?’

  ‘We’re secure on the bridge,’ confirmed Ben. ‘The sick passengers can’t reach us.’

  Coleman’s posture relaxed very slightly. ‘All right then. It’s time to tell us what you know. We were sent to quell a riot. This isn’t a riot. These people are psychopathic. What’s happening on this ship?’

  Erin shook her head. No one knows anything.

  But Ben’s answer surprised her.

  ‘Last night we rescued a woman from a life raft,’ Ben said. ‘We’re certain she brought this on board.’

  Erin hadn’t been told about this. She could barely believe what she was hearing.

  ‘Is she still alive?’ asked Coleman.

  ‘Unknown,’ answered Ben.

  Erin felt furious. The Captain rescued someone? Someone sick? And he didn’t bother even telling me!

  Ben Bryant was someone Erin trusted. She tried to stifle her anger, but she couldn’t.

  She blurted over the radio, ‘Why didn’t you tell me about this, Ben? I had a right to know. I’ve been risking my life out here!’

  ‘Those were the Captain’s orders,’ replied Ben. ‘When I objected, he shouted me down. You know his style.’

  Erin did.

  The Captain conveniently forgot the ship was a floating hotel. As the Hotel Manager, Erin needed to know about anything affecting her passengers.

  The Captain’s chauvinistic attitude proved a constant challenge, but it hadn’t put her life at risk before.

  ‘What were the Captain’s orders?’ asked Coleman, putting a settling hand on Erin’s shoulder.

  Bryant replied, ‘After we advised mainland operations about the severity of the symptoms, we were contacted by the U.S. Agency for Infectious Diseases. They had protocols. They didn’t want a ship-wide panic. They informed us we had an infectious disease expert on board. A passenger. Her name was Neve Kershaw.’

  ‘Was she sick?’ asked Coleman, suspecting the worse.

  ‘No. Thank God. She put a response plan together in minutes. She suggested using the fire teams to extract healthy passengers. On her advice I quarantined everyone to their cabins and cut off the air conditioning to slow down the infection. She also ordered a full spectrum of medical tests on the woman we picked up.’

  ‘What did the tests show?’ prompted Coleman.

  ‘We don’t know,’ replied Bryant. ‘The results are still down in the hospital. The staff evacuated. I don’t know how far the medical staff got in their work. And the results wouldn’t mean anything to me. We needed Neve Kershaw.’

  ‘She evacuated?’ asked Coleman.

  ‘I doubt it,’ replied Ben. ‘I don’t think she survived.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Coleman.

  ‘She was in a wheelchair,’ explained Bryant.

  Erin remembered welcoming Neve on board.

  ‘She was traveling with her son,’ Erin remembered. ‘He was only fourteen or fifteen.’

  Another Marine cut into the conversation.

  ‘Captain, this is Myers. I have information.’

  ‘Go ahead, Myers.’

  ‘We saw a woman in a wheelchair cut through the atrium.’

  ‘Was a boy with her?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Which direction?’

  ‘Toward the promenade,’ replied Myers. ‘They were moving fast. The wheelchair wasn’t slowing her down, but about ten hostiles pursued them. We gave them the best head start we could, sir.’

  ‘Good work, Myers.’

  Coleman turned to Erin. ‘How can we find them?’

  Erin spoke into her radio. ‘What about the promenade security cameras, Ben?’

  ‘I’m searching them now,’ replied Ben. ‘I can see a crowd of sick passengers. I can’t see...wait, I’ve got them. I can see them. I know where they are. They’re in trouble, Erin. They’re trapped in Murphy’s Irish Tavern.’

  Erin knew the way.

  ‘What’s the fastest route?’ asked Coleman.

  ‘Head to the promenade,’ said Ben. ‘But listen carefully. There are large groups of sick passengers all over the ship. I’ll guide you through them, but you’ll all have to move exactly as I tell you.’

  ‘My team has split up,’ said Coleman.

  ‘I know. I have you all on camera.’

  ‘Can you guide all of us?’

  ‘I’ll have to,’ replied Ben. ‘You’re going to need everyone. The promenade is crawling with sick passengers and they’re all heading toward Neve Kershaw and her son.’

  Justin peeked over the wooden countertop.

  He ignored the smell of beer and scanned the promenade.

  Cobbled walking paths meandered around tall palm trees. Between the trees hung strands of lights that glowed day and night. Shops and restaurants lined the entire perimeter.

  And the crazies were everywhere.

  Justin studied them carefully.

  Without someone to chase, they resembled a bunch of raggedy homeless people looking for dropped change or leftover food.

  They were looking everywhere.

  Searching.

  They were searching every inch of the promenade.

  They’re looking for us, thought Justin. They’re searching for people to kill.

  And their searching wasn’t random.

  At first it seemed each crazy was doing its own thing, but Justin now saw they were searching systematically from one end of the promenade to the other. Sometimes they overlapped, but their progress pressed always forward.

  Closer and closer to Justin and his mom.

  They looked like confused, homeless people now, but when they found Justin and his mother, they would turn hateful and vicious again.

  How long have we got?

  Justin scanned the structures between the sickies and the Irish Tavern.

  They only have to finish searching the Duty Free Shop, the Pizzeria, two photo booths and the Art Gallery before they reach us.

  He’d pushed his mother into the Irish Tavern because it looked dark and had plenty of places to hide. Running, he had swerved her chair around all the tables and up behind the bar as the crazies came bursting out onto the promenade.

  We’ve only got a few minutes, Justin estimated.

  He’d found a heavy metal wrench behind the bar. It looked like the tool used for connecting kegs of beer to the pipes under the bar.

  Crouching, he accidentally clipped his mother’s shin with the wrench.

  ‘Ouch,’ she whispered.

  ‘Sorry,’ whispered Justin automatically.

  It took a few moments before the significance of his mother’s complaint struck him.

  ‘What did you just say?’

  His mother’s eyes went down to her legs.

  ‘I think I said ouch,’ she replied.

  Justin looked from the wrench in his hand to his mother’s leg. For all of Justin’s life, he had never witnessed her react to anything touching her legs. She had to be careful when playing wheelchair basketball because she could injure her legs without even realizing.

  Her spinal damage left her legs completely numb. Justin had seen the decade-old X-ray and MRI scans. The damage was irreversible. Therefore, she couldn’t have felt him clip her shin with the wrench.

  ‘Why did you say that?’ he asked.

  Neve shook her head and rubbed her eyes. ‘Sorry, Justin. It’s just stress. I’m making things up in my mind now. Forget about it.’

  Justin began to turn away, but spun back.<
br />
  ‘But how did you know?’ he asked.

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘How did you know I hit your shin with the wrench? You didn’t see me do it. You weren’t looking down.’

  His mother groped for an answer.

  ‘Phantom pain,’ she finally said. ‘I haven’t felt it for years. It can return during stressful times. That’s all it could be. It’s all in my head. Just forget about it.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Justin, a moment before whacking his mother’s other shin hard with the wrench.

  His mother lunged for her shin, her eyes opening wide in shock or surprise or pain.

  Justin didn’t know which, but he was sure of one thing.

  ‘You felt that, didn’t you?’ he demanded quietly.

  His mother stared at him, then at the wrench, then at her legs.

  Justin didn’t need an answer. He knew she’d felt it. Maybe not like an able-bodied person might, but she’d definitely felt it.

  Justin grabbed her shoes and yanked them off.

  ‘Justin, wait. It’s not possible.’

  Justin pulled off her socks, placing her bare feet back on the wheelchair’s footrests.

  He pointed at her feet. ‘Try to move your toes.’

  His mother looked at her feet and then back up at him.

  ‘I don’t even remember how, Justin. Please put my shoes back on.’

  ‘Not until you try,’ insisted Justin. ‘And I mean really try. As hard as you can. But don’t tell me which foot.’

  His mother closed her eyes.

  Her toe moved.

  Her big toe.

  Just a fraction of an inch.

  ‘Holy shit!’ hissed Justin, grabbing her hand. ‘Your left toe moved. I saw it!’

  His mom nodded. ‘I think I felt it.’

  ‘Close your eyes,’ Justin ordered.

  His mom didn’t argue.

  He pinched her pinky toe. ‘Which toe did I pinch?’

  ‘I didn’t feel anything.’

  He pinched again, hard this time, using his fingernails.

  ‘The pinkie on my right foot,’ his mom said.

  Justin sat back, astonished.

  His mother didn’t open her eyes for at least a minute.

  ‘What’s happening, Justin?’

  Justin began speaking before he even realized what he was trying to say. ‘On Wednesday night we shared our dinner table with an old woman using a walker. She had a hunched back, remember?’

  His mother nodded. ‘Her name was Vera. Her husband’s name was Ted.’

  ‘I saw her in the atrium, Mom. She was running. She leaped right over a bench. And her hunched back was gone.’

  ‘Was she with the Marines?’

  Justin shook his head. ‘No, Mom. She wasn’t evacuating. She was chasing us. She was trying to kill us.’

  His mother blinked a few times.

  ‘She was sick?’

  Justin nodded. ‘She was sick in the head, but her body seemed...healed. She moved like she was young again.’

  Justin nodded at his mother’s legs. ‘What if the same thing is happening to you?’

  Justin couldn’t see any other explanation. It was too much of a coincidence. Whatever had affected all those crazy passengers must also be affecting his mother’s legs.

  ‘Then why aren’t I crazy?’ his mom asked.

  ‘You tell me,’ said Justin, picking up her shoes and socks. ‘You’re the expert.’

  Chapter Nine

  Ben Bryant watched the Marines slip past another large group of enraged passengers. Coordinating the movements of all three groups of Marines would have been impossible without Karen’s help. She kept dashing back and forth to the map, double-checking Ben’s directions before the Marines moved. Together they had managed to keep all the Marines heading toward Neve Kershaw and her son.

  Yet again, Ben wondered what he would do without Karen on the bridge.

  ‘Sir!’ said Radar Officer Hayman. ‘We have two incoming helicopters.’

  ‘Bearing?’

  ‘Head on.’

  Ben grabbed his large binoculars and scanned the horizon ahead.

  He recognized the shape of the helicopters.

  ‘Two Sikorsky Sea Kings,’ Bryant identified. ‘Search and rescue. They’re painted bright yellow.’

  How did they get here so fast? he wondered.

  He pointed to Karen urgently. ‘Warn them away from the ship. Explain we’re quarantined with sick passengers. Ask them to start searching the perimeter for any passengers lost in the water.’

  Karen nodded and relayed the message.

  She waited, and then repeated the message.

  She shook her head. ‘They’re not responding.’

  Ben used his binoculars again. The helicopters looked much closer now.

  ‘They’re coming in fast,’ he said to himself. ‘Why are they flying so low?’

  Even without the binoculars he could plainly see them now. They grew by the second.

  One helicopter suddenly gained altitude.

  The other flew straight at the bridge.

  Ben put down his binoculars and began backing away from the front windows. He grabbed Karen’s shoulder and drew her from her seat.

  The incoming chopper flew straight toward the bridge.

  The remaining bridge crew surged from their seats and raced to the back of the room.

  The giant Sea King helicopter filled the viewing window. Ben heard the thumping rotor blades. He could see the pilot’s face. He could read the writing on the helicopter’s fuselage. He could see every detail of the machine about to crash into the bridge.

  Vibrations shook the bridge under his shoes.

  He turned toward Karen, shielding her body from the glass he knew would come crashing into the bridge like a thousand deadly spears.

  The entire bridge shuddered as the helicopter impacted.

  Ben’s heart thumped madly, waiting for whatever came next.

  It wasn’t glass.

  It wasn’t an explosion.

  The helicopter didn’t come crashing into the bridge.

  Ben released Karen and looked around.

  ‘Where did it go?’

  ‘The roof,’ pointed Karen. ‘They landed on the roof!’

  Ben looked up.

  The roof of the bridge? But there’s no helipad up there. There’s no way down from up there.

  Like most modern cruise ships, the First Lady of the Sea sported a hammerhead bridge. Styled after the head of a hammerhead shark, the wide bridge allowed the crew to look right back along both sides of the ship through floor to ceiling windows.

  ‘What the hell are they doing?’ Ben demanded, striding angrily back to the comms station.

  Before he could demand an answer, Karen pointed upward. ‘Listen.’

  Ben did.

  He heard heavy boots landing on the roof as people leaped from the helicopter.

  This is crazy, Ben thought. There’s no way down from there.

  Sparks suddenly spewed down over Ben’s head.

  He ducked away before his uniform caught fire. He swiped burning embers off his jacket.

  What the hell?

  He stared up in amazement. A tiny volcano was erupting through the bridge ceiling. The point of red-hot, spark-spitting heat rapidly began moving.

  They’re cutting a hole, realized Ben.

  And they were cutting a big hole, at least ten feet across.

  ‘Everyone get back!’ ordered Ben, just as the final section of ceiling was cut.

  CRAAAAASH!

  A thick chunk of ceiling smashed down inside the bridge.

  Bryant felt the entire bridge shudder.

  The huge chunk of ceiling glowed bright red around its edges.

  Ben squinted through the direct sunlight pouring in their new skylight.

  A heavy black boot appeared. Someone was climbing down. No, they were riding down on a hook. The man riding the hook descended into the bridge holding the th
ick metal cable in one hand and an automatic weapon in the other. Ben recognized the weapon. It was a Scorpion Evo submachine gun. No search and rescue unit in the world needed those.

  The man holding the weapon wore a blue military police style uniform and a gray protective vest.

  He stepped off the hook.

  He scanned the bridge like the head of an invading army scanning newly occupied territory.

  He nodded, as though finding the bridge acceptable.

  Ben stared at him, having absolutely no idea who he could be. He did know, however, that this man wasn’t part of any search and rescue team.

  He stood at least half a head taller than Ben’s six foot frame. He had a face you’d never forget. A handsome face made ugly by the way he carried his features. His short blond hair stuck out in all directions. Either he hadn’t slept in days, or someone had drawn with charcoal under his eyes.

  His face wasn’t easy to look at. He had the face of someone you didn’t want to notice you. The face of a leader, but the leader of men you didn’t want around you. His humorless mouth and sour expression was instantly repellant.

  His glare made Ben want to step aside, but Ben didn’t.

  He stepped forward.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ demanded Ben. ‘What are you doing on my bridge?’

  The man looked Ben up and down before rapping his weapon twice on the metal hook. The hook instantly retracted on its cable up through the ceiling.

  In its place, a metal ladder unrolled through the hole. Before the ladder reached the floor, men came pouring down it. They all wore blue uniforms and gray protective vests.

  They look like a private security outfit, thought Ben.

  None wore any identification or rank. They all carried the same type of short ‘Scorpion Evo’ submachine gun.

  ‘Who are you?’ demanded Ben again.

  No one acknowledged him. None of the men uttered a word as they took up positions beside every console.

  Thankfully no firearms were pointed at his crew.

  Do they speak English? wondered Ben.

  The first man down the ladder knelt at the comms console. He began removing a large side panel with an electric screwdriver.

  Zzzzzzzzzz.

  ‘Hey,’ protested Karen. ‘Get away from that!’

  Ben grabbed her arm. ‘Stop. Step back. Right now.’