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

by Shane M Brown

  When Karen retreated, Ben stepped forward. ‘We need that equipment. Can you understand me? Do you know what that equipment does?’

  The tall man with the sour expression finally spoke. ‘We need to re-task it. This will only take a minute. Then we can talk.’

  He spoke with the crisp efficiency of a person accustomed to giving orders.

  Maybe they’re some kind of Special Forces unit, thought Ben. Perhaps they came through the ceiling to avoid being contaminated. The search and rescue choppers were probably the only available transport to the ship.

  Ben felt slightly relieved.

  The man working inside the comms station installed an entirely new piece of equipment. He typed program code quickly into Karen’s keyboard.

  Ben looked back at Karen.

  She shrugged and shook her head.

  She doesn’t know what he’s doing either.

  ‘It’s done,’ the man reported. ‘It’s operational.’

  ‘What is that?’ demanded Ben. ‘What’s operational?’

  The tall, blond man rolled up his sleeves. He rubbed the dark patches under his eyes. His eyes lingered a moment on Karen.

  ‘My name is Christov,’ he said, waving around at the ship. ‘And I’m here to help you. This mess. This problem you have on the ship. This is my responsibility now. I’m here to make things right.’

  Ben’s instincts warned him that this wasn’t good news. This intruder sounded like a businessman launching a hostile takeover. He sounded confident and efficient.

  Ben pointed at the comms console. ‘What have you done?’

  ‘My technician transformed your ship’s radio transmitter into a wide-spectrum radio jammer. No unauthorized transmissions can leave the ship now.’

  He’s isolated us, realized Ben, glancing at Karen. They’ve cut off all radio transmissions. We can’t contact the lifeboats. We can’t contact the mainland. Our cell phones won’t even work.

  The hand radio he’d used to guide Erin and the Marines wouldn’t work now either.

  You idiot, he berated himself. You didn’t even tell the Marines about the incoming helicopters. They have no idea what is going on up here. We can’t even contact each other.

  Christov scanned the officers’ shoulder epaulettes, checking their rank. ‘Where’s the Captain?’

  ‘He’s sick,’ answered Ben. ‘Half the bridge crew is sick. Half the ship is sick. They’re killing each other. You’ve got no idea—’

  Christov cut Ben off. ‘I know exactly what’s going on. That’s why we’re here. You’re the first officer, correct?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You’re responsible for the ship’s navigation, correct?’

  Ben nodded again.

  ‘Good. Show me our location. On a chart. A paper chart. Nothing electronic. Our exact location.’

  Ben looked across the bridge at their dynamic positioning system. The huge screens displayed the wind speed, barometer reading, current direction, meteorological forecasts, and most importantly of all, their latitude and longitude.

  ‘We always use paper charts,’ said Ben.

  At the chart table, he marked their location with a sharp pencil.

  ‘We’re right here.’

  Christov checked his watch. Ben noticed that Christov had a digital countdown running on his large black wristwatch. Less than three hours remained on the countdown.

  A countdown to what? wondered Ben.

  Christov took the pencil and began making calculations on the chart.

  With Christov occupied, Ben glanced over to check on Karen. She stood in a group with the other officers, watching metal crates being lowered from the helicopter.

  Large crates.

  Three so far.

  What the hell is in those? wondered Ben.

  Bright orange symbols covered the crates. Ben didn’t recognize the threatening-looking symbols. Christov’s men struggled to lift the crates onto trolleys. They handled the crates extremely cautiously, confirming Ben’s suspicion they contained something dangerous.

  ‘Here,’ announced Christov, drawing Ben’s attention back to the chart. ‘Alter the ship’s course. Take us here.’

  ‘There’s nothing there,’ said Ben, studying the chart. ‘It’s open water.’

  ‘Make the course correction, Officer Bryant.’

  ‘I can’t leave the lifeboats,’ explained Ben. ‘We need to remain close to coordinate the rescue. It’s maritime law.’

  ‘The lifeboats are on their own,’ said Christov.

  Ben pointed to the chart. ‘We can’t abandon them in the open ocean!’

  Christov moved like a flash.

  He stabbed the sharp pencil right through the back of Ben’s hand, pinning his hand through the chart to the cork underneath.

  Air expelled from Ben’s lungs, but no sound emerged as he stared at his hand in shock.

  That really just happened.

  There was a pencil speared through his hand.

  Ben glanced back at Karen. She hadn’t seen yet.

  He felt dizzy. Not from the pain, but from the sudden validation that beside him stood a callous, evil, man. His life, his wife’s life, and the lives of his bridge crew were all in this man’s hands.

  Christov spoke as though nothing unusual had transpired. As though he hadn’t just crucified Ben’s hand to the chart table.

  ‘I need your assistance, First Officer Bryant. I have a schedule, so I want our relationship to be a civil one.’

  Ben nodded.

  Blood ran down the pencil onto the chart.

  Christov continued calmly, ‘If you don’t cooperate, this bridge will rapidly become very uncivilized. Do you understand?’

  Ben nodded.

  ‘Speak up, First Officer Bryant.’

  ‘I understand.’

  Christov stared at Ben. ‘I don’t think you do. I don’t think you understand at all. But you will soon.’

  Christov yanked free the pencil.

  Ben squeezed his hand to stop the bleeding.

  Christov dropped the pencil onto the chart. ‘Now alter this ship’s course.’

  ‘I want to cooperate,’ began Ben, ‘but I can’t—’

  He never finished his sentence.

  Christov grabbed Ben’s throat and shoved him toward the pilot’s chair.

  Ben nearly fell, but grabbed the chair’s armrest.

  Christov waved at the bridge officers, including Karen.

  ‘Against the glass! All of them!’

  Christov’s men shoved the officers up against the glass on the starboard side of the bridge.

  Ben wanted to tackle the man who’d touched his wife, but he couldn’t risk exposing his relationship with Karen. He needed to pretend she was just another bridge officer.

  Four gunmen stood back and raised their weapons.

  Ben realized what he was seeing.

  A firing squad.

  An execution.

  With his wife in the firing line!

  ‘Wait,’ Ben cried out in terror. ‘I’ll do it. I’ll do it!’

  Christov raised his hand, halting the gunmen.

  He looked at Ben. ‘Of course you will. You’ll do everything I tell you.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ agreed Ben urgently. ‘Just don’t kill them.’

  Christov signaled his men to lower their weapons. ‘I’m not unreasonable, Officer Bryant.’

  Thank God, thought Bryant, realizing the mistake he’d made in resisting this man.

  Christov said casually over his shoulder. ‘I’ll just kill one of them. Which one, Officer Bryant?’

  Ben must have misheard. ‘What?’

  ‘I’m going to kill one of your officers right now,’ said Christov clearly. ‘But you get to choose who dies. So, which one of these four is expendable?’

  Christov signaled a single gunman to raise his weapon.

  ‘You have three seconds to choose,’ Christov instructed.

  Ben couldn’t believe it.


  He looked from Karen to the gunman and then back to Christov.

  ‘I need all of them. None are expen—’

  ‘Too late,’ stated Christov.

  ‘Wait!’ yelled Ben.

  The gunman opened fire.

  Ben met Karen’s eyes as the gunman fired into the line of officers. The automatic weapon roared. The glass behind Karen shattered outward. Following the glass spouted plumes of human blood.

  Following the blood tumbled a body.

  It wasn’t Karen.

  It was Andrew Hayman, the ship’s radar officer.

  Andrew’s body tumbled off the bridge.

  Karen and the other officers ran from the still falling glass and the gaping hole over the ocean.

  Gunmen shoved them to the carpet.

  ‘On your knees,’ they shouted. ‘Get on your knees. Hands behind your head!’

  ‘Stop,’ begged Ben. ‘I’ll do it. I’ll do anything you want. For God’s sake don’t hurt anyone else!’

  Christov pointed to the large missing panel of glass. ‘That man looked young. Did he have children, Officer Bryant?’

  Ben nodded. ‘Two. Two young children. And a wife.’

  ‘How old was he?’

  ‘Twenty-six,’ answered Ben.

  Christov pointed at Ben. ‘You just caused his death, Officer Bryant. If you obeyed my instructions, Andrew Haymen would be alive. His children would still have a father. Instead, the blood from his corpse is attracting sharks as we speak.’

  ‘Just do what he says, Ben,’ pleaded Karen from the floor.

  Ben nodded and sat in the pilot chair. He programmed Christov’s coordinates.

  ‘Full speed,’ ordered Christov.

  The ship altered course.

  ‘Now,’ Christov began. ‘You have something I need, Officer Bryant. I truly hope you intend to cooperate.’

  Justin crouched behind the counter in the Irish Tavern with his mother.

  They were trapped.

  The crazies on the promenade kept getting closer.

  When Justin last peeked over the counter, two crazies had reached the door.

  His mother wheeled her chair back a few inches, looking deeper into the restaurant. ‘Maybe there’s a storeroom we can lock ourselves in.’

  Justin shook his head. He’d already checked on the fire map behind the bar.

  If one or two crazies enter the tavern, they might not find us, Justin calculated. Any more and they’ll find us for sure.

  Ding-dong!

  Justin jumped at the sudden chiming sound behind him.

  His mother pointed.

  Justin spun.

  A door chime! Whenever a customer entered the tavern, the little chime under the counter sounded. Sound attracted the crazies. The chime would draw them to Justin and his mom like a homing beacon.

  Ding-dong!

  The chime sounded again.

  Justin searched frantically for the ‘OFF’ button. There was none. Just a switch marked ‘Vibrate/Alarm’. He switched the device over to ‘Vibrate’ mode.

  ‘Use this towel,’ his mother whispered.

  Justin grabbed the towel and smothered the chime.

  He listened.

  The two crazies began flipping tables and overturning chairs, searching for the noise.

  Justin winced as he felt the door chime vibrate again.

  And again.

  They just kept coming. More and more. Every vibration in Justin’s hands diminished their chances of surviving.

  Justin kept count, not letting his mother see his face. Thankfully, she couldn’t hear the vibrations.

  Eight, counted Justin. There are eight of them in here with us.

  One of them might look over the counter any moment.

  Then the crazies would leap over the counter and bury Justin and his mother in a landslide of human bodies.

  Justin tried to think.

  His mother moved fast in her wheelchair, but not through scattered furniture. If they fled for the door, she’d never make it.

  Justin released the chime and picked up his long, heavy wrench.

  He couldn’t fight eight crazies.

  Footsteps came closer.

  Justin glanced around desperately.

  His mom was staring at him.

  ‘I love you, Justin,’ she whispered. ‘I love you more than anything in the world.’

  She thinks we’re going to die now, Justin thought.

  ‘We’re not going to die,’ he whispered back.

  With his father gone, it was Justin’s responsibility to protect his mother. That’s why he’d jumped off the lifeboat. He knew what he needed to do.

  Behind the bar rested bottles of spirits. He selected a large bottle of scotch.

  His mother shook her head.

  In one smooth motion, Justin tossed the bottle at the tavern’s back wall.

  Craaaash!

  The bottle landed on a serving trolley. Knives and forks and spoons went flying everywhere.

  The crazies surged toward the noise.

  Justin leaped onto the countertop.

  ‘No,’ hissed his mother, reaching for him.

  But Justin moved too quickly.

  ‘Wait here,’ he whispered.

  His plan was simple. He’d lead the crazies away, lose them in the corridors, and then return for his mother.

  His sneakers hit the floor.

  The tavern was an obstacle course of overturned tables and chairs. Justin dashed for the door, leaping over a toppled chair. He glanced over his shoulder.

  He shouldn’t have.

  Three crazies spotted him.

  They reacted instantly. Their bodies seemed to move before their brains even registered his presence.

  Justin looked forward again barely in time.

  One of the crazies was close.

  A woman.

  She wore a room attendant’s uniform.

  Twisting her face in hatred, she sprinted to intercept Justin.

  I have to reach the door, he told himself. I can’t let her stop me.

  As the crazy cleaner closed the distance, Justin kicked a chair in her path. One moment her entire face and hands seemed to fill his vision, and the next she fell behind him with one leg tangled in the chair.

  Justin thought he heard her leg break.

  He didn’t look back. Even when he heard the crazies falling over the furniture. They might be fast, but they were dumb. Justin burst through the open doorway at top speed.

  He risked a glance back.

  Three crazies reached the narrow doorway together. Their shoulders collided. One ran full speed into the doorframe. One tripped and came rolling out. The third navigated the doorway, but tumbled over the rolling man.

  That was Justin’s first piece of luck all day.

  He looked ahead.

  Right outside the tavern stood Paradise Printing. He ran between the self-service photo booths, cutting under the giant seashell-shaped awning.

  THUMP!

  Justin went down.

  He didn’t see who tackled him.

  Clang-clang-clang!

  His wrench flew away.

  A woman had him! She had his legs! She wore a yellow bikini under a torn white sun dress. Dried blood clotted her long blond hair into ghastly dreadlocks.

  Justin twisted instantly, trying to break her grip. He got one leg free and began kicking her savagely in the face. His second kick missed, but his third knocked her away.

  Behind her, the insane passengers from the tavern came running. A muscular man wearing only bright orange shorts led the pack.

  Justin needed to escape right now.

  With both legs free, he spun and jumped to his feet. He took two steps before the woman dove around his legs again. The muscular man in orange shorts tackled Justin from the side. The stunning blow knocked Justin flat on the deck.

  In absolute terror, he curled into a ball as the pack fell upon him.

  The breath was crushed from his l
ungs.

  Fists pounded him.

  Hands grabbed all his limbs, stretching him out.

  A huge chunk of hair tore away from his head.

  This is it.

  Justin glimpsed the man in orange shorts lifting his foot, ready to stomp Justin’s head down onto the deck.

  Justin turned his face away.

  The man’s foot never descended.

  Instead, he went flying backward with a shovel embedded in his chest.

  Justin’s limbs came free. He curled into a tight ball again. He heard heavy boots, yelling, and the sounds of violence. He uncovered his face when no one began attacking him again.

  He looked around.

  The Marines!

  The Marines were helping him.

  He scrambled toward his wrench. He snatched it up and stood, ready to fight again.

  But the fighting was over.

  Nine crazies lay scattered around the deck. Some still moved, but only barely.

  Justin saw his mother racing toward them in her chair.

  He pointed at her, wordlessly, and tried to walk toward her.

  He only got three steps before his legs gave out.

  A huge man caught him. A huge black man with forearms thicker than Justin’s legs. The man pulled Justin to his feet.

  The man’s voice rumbled so deeply that Justin felt it through his entire body.

  ‘Hold still, boy. You just took a major ass-whooping. You’re safe now. Your mother’s safe. You just get your legs back.’

  Justin hurt all over, but he didn’t care.

  His mother sped toward him. She hit the brakes and skidded to a halt, wrapping her arms around him.

  ‘You fool,’ she cried. ‘I saw them catch you. I saw them all over you. I thought you were dead.’

  Justin hugged her back.

  Neve Kershaw didn’t want to let go of her son.

  ‘Quickly. Everyone in here. We made too much noise!’

  A ship’s officer beckoned at them from the art gallery.

  Neve recognized Erin, the hotel manager.

  Everyone hustled into the gallery, around the service counter and back into the gallery proper where they couldn’t be seen from the promenade.

  Neve watched the big Marine supporting Justin.

  Her son was walking better now. He didn’t seem to have any broken bones or serious injuries.

  It’s a miracle, she thought. Those killers were all over him. He was buried under them. But he’s still alive. He’s alive and he’s walking right in front of me.