by Dayle, Harry
But now? Now the world had changed, in so many ways. Time was running out. They were surely going to end their days on the ship in the weeks to come. So here it was, his last shot at happiness. He had shed his responsibilities, and he knew Lucya would never set foot on the bridge as long as Melvin was in charge. No, they would see out their remaining time as passengers on a cruise ship. They would savour every moment as though it was their last, knowing it really could be.
With that thought in mind, and a smile on his face, he got out of bed and strode into the tiny shower room. A heavy hammering on the door brought him out again.
“Okay, coming. Don’t break the door down! I know you’re eager to get back into bed.” He clasped the handle and swung the door inwards.
It wasn’t Lucya. Instead, he came face to face with two men. One looked Chinese. Shorter than himself, older too, with thinning hair. He was dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts. The other man was about the same height as Jake, but was of a more substantial build. He was blond and blue eyed, with sharp features.
Both men were carrying guns. Jake recognised them as the semi-automatic weapons from the secure cabinet on the bridge.
“Get some clothes on; you’re coming with us,” the blond man said.
He spoke with a clipped accent. German, Jake thought, or maybe Austrian. His mind was set racing. What could they need him for? He’d relinquished control. Did they need someone to pilot the ship? Pedro could do that, or any one of a number of sailors aboard.
“Why?” he asked.
The two men looked at each other, then back to Jake.
“Melvin said you weren’t very intelligent. Let’s see, two of us, armed. One of you, naked. I think we give the orders, and that you follow them, yes?”
“Or what, you’ll shoot me? I assume from your being here that you need me, so shooting me isn’t going to help, is it?”
“Not you. But your girlfriend? Ja, I could maybe shoot her.” The blond man smiled, just a tiny bit. “I mean, after I’ve had some fun with her first.”
Jake felt the blood drain from his face.
“Ja, that got your attention, no? So now you’re thinking, maybe we’re bluffing?”
It was precisely what Jake was thinking, or at least hoping.
The blond man continued. “But I can tell you that she left this cabin four minutes ago. Her hair was messy, and she was not wearing shoes.”
“Where is she now?”
“She is enjoying the company of my colleagues. Being reunited with Tania Bloom. So, if you want to see her alive again, I strongly recommend that you follow my earlier instruction.” The smile disappeared. “Get dressed and come with us.”
The Chinese man nodded once. Jake turned and scrambled to find his clothes. They had been removed in haste, and were spread around the small cabin. A sock here, a shirt over there. With panic rising, he pulled on his trousers and shirt.
“Take me to her, now!” he shouted.
“No, not yet. You need to be dressed properly, Mr Noah. Put some socks on, tuck your shirt in. Take your time.”
“What?”
“I said take your time. Your girlfriend is not going anywhere, she can wait.”
Jake didn’t understand, but he was in no position to argue. He put on the rest of his clothes and tidied himself up the best he could, his hands shaking.
“Shoes,” the blond man said. “And your jacket, too.”
As soon as he was fully dressed, the Chinese man gestured with the barrel of his gun that Jake should step outside. He took one last look back at his cabin; he had a feeling he would never see it again. It wasn’t much, but it was home for much of the year. The clock radio next to his bed showed the time was 21:30. He and Lucya had slept for longer than he thought. He swallowed hard, shut the door, and looked at the blond man.
“Where now?” he said.
“Follow me.”
Forty-Four
THE THEATRE WAS almost full, not quite as packed as it had been three days ago, when everyone had jammed in to witness the end of the world, but considerably busier than for the memorial service. A few seats remained empty, and there was plenty of standing room. Conversations were being held in hushed voices. There was a real air of anticipation, if not quite hope. On the stage stood a tall red-haired man, and an equally tall but much more muscular, somewhat older man. It was the latter who spoke first. He had no microphone, but the acoustics were excellent in the well-designed auditorium, and he projected his powerful voice into every corner. As soon as he began to speak, the crowd fell silent, devouring his every word.
“Ladies, gentlemen, allow me briefly to introduce myself. My name is Flynn Bakeman. I’m here this evening as an independent moderator. The purpose of our time here is to elect someone to take charge of this ship, now that the captain has stepped down. I think everyone will agree that this should be done quickly, efficiently, and democratically. This gentleman to my side is Melvin Sherwood. Many of you will already have met Melvin. He has been working with the bridge crew representing passenger interests. Now, if we can get things underway, can I ask anyone who intends to stand against Melvin to come and join us on the stage? If there are too many candidates we will probably need to hold two rounds of voting. So please, come and join us if you wish to stand for election as captain.”
A voice from the back called out “What is this, the X Factor?” It was met with a few sniggers, but the noise quickly abated as those present looked on intently, waiting to see how many people would get up onto the stage.
Only one man did. He had been sitting in the front row. Those who had arrived earliest in the theatre would have seen that he was the first person seated. In fact had anyone gone to the theatre hours earlier, when Melvin had finished his announcement, they would have found this man’s seat occupied.
The man made his way up the four steps at the side of the stage. He was short, a little hunched over, and rather scruffy. He wore grey trousers, a blue shirt, and a beige jacket. The untidy thin brown hair on his head seemed mismatched with his wiry and bushy beard. Guided by Flynn, he took up position next to Melvin. The two men shook hands, then turned to look out to the auditorium.
A few minutes went by, but it had become clear that nobody else was going to take the challenge. Melvin had to try and suppress a grin. The competition was even less than he had expected. Finally, Flynn spoke again.
“Thank you, sir, for your courage. Now, I would like to invite our two candidates here to speak for a few minutes. Each can present their ideas for exactly how we should proceed in the coming days. In order to keep things fair, I will allow each man a maximum of five minutes in which to speak. When both have had their turn, we will open the floor to questions for a period of thirty minutes During this time we will all have the opportunity to cross examine these men. I will then call for a vote by way of a show of hands. If it’s too close to call, we will take a count by asking you to leave through one of two exits. So if that’s all clear, then I give the floor to our first candidate.”
Flynn took a couple of steps back, and Melvin stepped up to the front and centre of the stage.
“Thank you, Mr Bakeman, and thank you, sir, for presenting yourself.” He nodded towards the scruffy man. “And thank you to all of you for coming here and supporting democracy. My name is Melvin, and until three days ago I was a passenger, an entrepreneur, a son, and a brother. This was my first vacation in more than five years. The last five years I have created a business. I was out of work, but I didn’t want to live off the state. So I borrowed money from friends and family, and I started a business. I worked every single day of the last five years, many days I worked sixteen or seventeen hours. My hard work paid off, and I was able not only to support myself, but also to take on employees and support them and their families too. I tell you this for one reason. That reason is this. To show to you that I know how hard work and commitment pays off. I understand what it takes to get through the hard times, the times when you
can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. I know that if you make a plan, and stick to it, keep doing what you believe, then eventually, inevitably, that work will reward you.
“This ship needs a plan. To say there are dark days ahead would be a massive understatement. I think we all comprehend the enormity of the problem here. We are a floating city, with severely limited resources. We have to act decisively and quickly, before those resources come to an end. If you elect me tonight, to take the captain’s chair, then I will immediately order this ship to sail for Scotland. It is well within the range of our fuel reserves, and it has one unique feature that I believe will be our salvation. There is a hardened military facility in the north of Scotland, a place that was designed to withstand nuclear attack. If anyone has survived this disaster, they will be in such a facility. Moreover, the bunkers in this base are kept stocked with supplies to last months or years.
“I am not suggesting this trip will be easy or without danger. The facility is inland and will require an expedition through dangerous toxic ash. As your captain, I will lead this expedition. I will take on the risk, because I believe that the reward will be survival for us all. That is all I have to say, thank you.”
Melvin stepped back. There was silence. Then somebody, one person near the front, began to clap. They were joined by another, and then another. Soon the whole auditorium was resonating with the sound of a thousand people clapping and cheering, and shouting Melvin’s name.
Flynn waited for the excitement to calm down before once again taking centre stage.
“Thank you, Mr Sherwood. A passionate speech indeed. So now I would like to ask our second candidate to take the floor.” He looked at the bearded man. “If you would like to step forward, you have five minutes.”
Flynn once again stepped back, taking up position next to Melvin. The scruffy man moved to the front of the stage.
And that was when all hell broke loose.
Forty-Five
THE BLOND MAN led Jake down the corridor to the stairs, with the other man bringing up the rear. They climbed three flights, emerging on deck six. The men made no attempt to hide their weapons, but the ship appeared deserted anyway. Jake assumed that most people had gone to Melvin’s election meeting, and anyone who hadn’t was staying put in their cabins, awaiting the outcome.
“This way,” the blond man grunted. He set off in the direction of the theatre.
The theatre was huge, spanning three decks. There were several sets of doors on each deck, giving access to the different tiers and blocks of seating. They didn’t use any of them. Instead, they stopped at an innocuous white door. It was not labelled. The German waited to one side, watching Jake, while the Chinese man pulled out a key, inserted it into the lock, and turned it with a click. He pulled down on the handle and the door opened with a squeak.
“In.” The blond man pushed Jake towards the room.
He stumbled forwards and found himself in a small dark space. The back wall, to Jake’s left, was filled with racks of technical-looking equipment. The far wall had more of the same. The front wall, to the right as Jake entered, had a window inset into it. The window was directly opposite the very centre of the theatre stage, and gave an excellent view of the whole theatre. Underneath was a very wide black desk, covered in knobs and sliders. Jake had never been in this room, but he could see that it was used to control the stage lighting and sound.
His captors exchanged a few quiet words, then the Chinese turned and left, closing the door behind him.
“Sit down, relax a little. We have some time to kill.” The blond man pulled up a chair and positioned it so that he was looking out over the stage. Jake remained defiantly on his feet.
“As you like,” the man said, shrugging. The gun lay across his knees, its presence a constant threat.
Jake looked out of the window. He could see Melvin standing on the stage, and another man too. He recognised that man. He had been with Melvin when he came to the bridge earlier. He had been armed. Another of those guns from the cabinet. A third man joined them on the stage. He was much smaller than the other two, scruffy looking, bearded. There was some more talking and then Melvin stepped forward to speak.
The blond man in the small room set the gun down and got to his feet, extracting something from his pocket. It was a thin black plastic tie, the kind used to attach cables together.
“Sit,” he said, pointing at the chair.
Jake briefly considered refusing, but it was pointless. Screaming for help would be a waste of time, as the room was clearly soundproofed. Fighting back was also not an option, given the size of the other guy, and the fact he had that gun, of course. He took a deep breath, thought of Lucya, and sat down.
The blond man pulled Jake’s arms around behind his back and wrapped the cable tie around his wrists, as well as the central column that held the back of the chair to the base, securing them tightly together. He produced another tie from his pocket and used it to bind Jake’s ankles. There was no way he was going anywhere now. The man walked back to the window and looked out. Jake could see that Melvin was still speaking.
The gun was propped up against one of the equipment racks. The German sauntered over and scooped it up. He unclipped the ammunition cartridge and popped out a number of bullets, which disappeared into his pocket. After slotting the cartridge back into place, he returned to the window, and raised then gun sight to his eye.
“What the hell are you doing? You’re going to kill Melvin?” Jake said incredulously. He struggled against the fastenings, trying to get free, but there was no give, he was stuck fast.
“Shut the fuck up if you don’t want to see your intestines ripped out and spread across this desk,” the blond said without looking around.
Jake did as he was told.
Forty-Six
THE SCRUFFY MAN opened his mouth to speak. If any words escaped his lips, they were never heard. The crack of the gunshot rang out from the back of the auditorium. The noise bounced off the walls, the stage, and the specially placed acoustic surfaces suspended from the ceiling, deafening everyone present for a split second. A red dot appeared in the forehead of the election candidate. The back of his head, along with his brain, was spread over the black curtain that lined the rear of the stage. He crumpled to the floor as if someone had let the air out of him.
Somebody screamed. Then, everybody screamed.
“Everybody get down!” Flynn shouted from the stage. His words went largely unheard. Anyone who could get to an aisle was already running for a door. Those sat further from the exits either cowered in their seats or curled up on the ground.
A second shot rang out. It hit Melvin’s right arm. He cried out, grabbing the wound.
“No!” Flynn shouted. He threw himself in front of Melvin, pushing him out of harm’s way just as a third shot was fired. It caught him in the shoulder, and he fell to the ground with a squeal of pain.
The fourth shot found its mark and Melvin’s head exploded, his brain tissue and bone mixing with that of the scruffy man on the black curtain. His body fell backwards, crashing to the floor.
Flynn struggled to his knees. It was pandemonium. More people were scrambling to get out. But they couldn’t, because all of the doors had been locked. Those people nearest the exits were being crushed by the weight of the mass of bodies pushing forwards.
“Quiet! Everyone stop pushing!” Flynn shouted as loud as he could. He got some attention, but it hardly made any difference.
The four shots had all been fired within a few seconds. When a minute had passed with no further gunfire, Flynn managed with some effort to get back on his feet. That got the attention of some more people, and the panic abated a little. He looked around and spotted a couple of big guys who had been sitting in the front row. They were crouched on the floor, but were not hysterical. They seemed to be holding it together.
“You two, with me!” Flynn called out to them, pointing. Clutching his wounded shoulder, he jumped from the s
tage and started to run up the central aisle of the theatre.
“He’s in the lighting room, look!” he yelled breathlessly.
The two men looked in the direction of Flynn’s outstretched hand and finger, and sprinted after him. Other people also stopped what they were doing and watched the election moderator charge towards the back of the theatre.
“Watch out! He’s got a gun!” someone shouted near the back.
As all eyes followed Flynn, he galloped towards the lighting control room window. Framed within was a man holding a semi-automatic rifle.
Forty-Seven
FROM HIS POSITION, tied to the chair, Jake had a perfect view of events as they unfolded. He watched his blond captor shoot the scruffy man on the stage. He saw him shoot at Melvin. He watched the moderator dive to protect Melvin, and the two subsequent bullets which injured the moderator and killed Melvin. He waited for one last bullet which would surely kill the moderator, but it never came.
As soon as Melvin was down, the man stepped back from the window and turned to Jake. His hand went into his jacket pocket and came out grasping something thin and black. He squeezed it. A steel blade shot out, perfectly polished. He took another step forwards.
Jake, who only hours before had thought he was no longer afraid of dying, found himself very afraid indeed. He closed his eyes and waited to feel the blade on his neck, or through his heart. But he felt neither. Instead he heard a light snipping sound, and the tension around his ankles was gone. He opened his eyes but the blond man was nowhere to be seen. Then, another snip, and his hands fell free. He jumped to his feet and whirled around.
