Ark Of Hope: Beyond The Dark Horizon

by Roger David Francis

  “Please, stop, I don’t feel well.”

  The waiter looked down at the silver tray he was carrying. “You do appear to be a bit pale, Miss. You should eat something. You’ll like this,” he said, and held up a wriggling slimy octopus. “It’s very fashionable to try out new things. The chef has gone to a lot of trouble to create these wonderful dishes, are you sure you wouldn’t like to try a little bite?”

  “No, leave me alone.” Cassie felt faint, she wished he’d just go away.

  “Oh dear, I can’t do that I’m afraid, I have to keep an eye on you, instructions from the Captain.” His tone darkened, “Very enterprising man is our Livingstone-Bryson,” he said with a raw edge to his voice, “rigged the gambling tables in favour of the ship. I didn’t mind that, it was a clever ploy but the bastard was secretive; I saw him sneaking into the Midshipman’s cabin to have hot sex with his cheating wife. Dirty little whore she was, wouldn’t let me have it even after I begged.”

  He shook his head as if to clear it, “Just wouldn’t give it me. I tried to blackmail her, told her I’d tell her husband, big brute of a man, but she laughed in my face. Guess what? She’s here too.” He laughed. “Listen to me telling you my business; I should be attending to my duties, the passengers will be waiting for their next feed.” He dropped his voice to a whisper, “Serves them all right. You want to know why they’re here, enjoying the cruise for the second time? They pushed me off the lifeboat, said it was just for passengers so now I’m getting my own back. You can’t blame me, can you, Miss?”

  Cassie shook her head and began sidling past him.

  “I don’t understand,” she whispered.

  “Of course you don’t, you weren’t here but they were; every last one of them.” His lips curled into a sneer. “They all thought they were better than me.”

  “I have to go,” Cassie said breathlessly.

  Gary Wurner went on, a dreamy look in his eyes. “It’s taken me years and a lot of help from my friends in Hell but I got them back on board in the end.” He grinned. “All the ones who pushed and shoved me to one side, climbed over my bruised and battered body, not stopping to help me as if I was nothing,” his eyes shone with rage, “But no matter, I got every one of the bastards, even the crew members.”

  He paused looking thoughtful, “Damn Chef, hit me with a frying pan, said I was blocking his way out of the kitchen, but that was okay. I had my meat cleaver in my hand; he stopped complaining when I sliced his head into two halves.” He tittered spitefully, “Looked like a big ripe peach, he did.” His expression sobered as he went on, “They all played their part in stopping me escaping off the sinking ship. And now,” He waved his arms around, “It’s their turn to suffer.”

  Cassie ran.

  Chapter 8

  A weak sun was struggling to filter through the shifting clouds as Robbie stood leaning over the ships rail wondering why he thought he’d seen the moon earlier. According to his watch, it was only three o’clock in the afternoon. Maybe one of the partygoers had let off some balloons or maybe he’d just dreamt it.

  It was quiet, the storm seemed to have finally passed over and the waves beneath him were rippling across the water. Oddly he was thinking about Professor Bunting and his flat earth theory. What if he was right? Robbie wondered. Could the population of the world really have been conned, but why? Fear perhaps. What a terrifying thought that there might actually be a place where the world ended, just dropped off into nothingness, was that even possible? If it was then no wonder it was the best kept secret. Imagine the widespread panic it would create. People would be afraid to fly on aeroplanes in case they disappeared into a black hole. Brett seemed to think there was something in the theory, or maybe he was just toying with the idea, caught up in the Professor’s enthusiasm.

  Perhaps he should have paid a bit more attention, Robbie thought, but it was too late now, the Professor had gone and so had his research.

  Robbie sighed. He wasn’t feeling too good, his stomach was still gurgling and he thought he could feel the last of what he’d eaten lying in wait getting ready to spew its contents again. His mouth felt dry, leaving a bitter aftertaste that was unpleasant on his tongue. What he needed, he decided, was a beer. He thought of the dining room and began making his way there. At the far end he’d noticed a bar, there was bound to be bottled beer or lager there. The fact that it might be sixty years old didn’t bother him in the slightest.

  He wished Jade was with him. He’d had high hopes for this trip away, imagining the two of them spending their days together sunbathing on the beach and having a bit of fun under the big stripy holiday towels Jade had bought with her. He was intending to buy her a locket for her birthday in two weeks time, now he wasn’t sure if he’d make it off the ship, let alone to the jewellery shop.

  He thought of his sock drawer back at the hotel hiding the engagement ring he’d bought a few months ago, waiting for the right moment to ask her to marry him, now he wondered if he’d left it too late, the future he’d planned for them over before it started. It was a depressing thought.

  He couldn’t quite work out what the hell was going on. As weird as it was he wasn’t prepared yet to make the leap into believing they were on a ghost ship. He still liked the idea of a fancy dress party; that would satisfactorily explain the daft Halloween type stuff going on. The ghosts, the fake blood, the unexplained mist that had probably been pumped out of a fog machine, it made sense.

  The waiter, Gary Wurner, whom he’d thought he’d made friends with, seemed to have slipped him a few drugs in his food, probably thinking he was doing him a favour, but still, no harm done. As usual Brett was running around looking for answers, knock yourself out, pal, Robbie grinned to himself.

  Someone coughed behind him and he turned in surprise.

  The man in front of him was about thirty years old. He was thin and shivering, wearing a short sleeved shirt and knee length shorts. His eyes flickered from side to side.

  “I’m looking for Carter,” he whispered.

  “Carter? I’m sorry, I don’t know anyone by that name,” Robbie told him.

  “Yes, you do, don’t lie to me. I saw the waiter slip you the bottle. I’ve got the money together, three and sixpence, I’ll take two pills.”

  Understanding dawned and Robbie shook his head. “No, sorry, pal,” he told the man. “Gary did give me some little black tablets but my friend threw them away, can’t help you.”

  “Liar.” The man began smacking his lips together. “Give them to me or I’ll tell the Captain you’re dealing.”

  Robbie frowned. From the way the man was twitching it was obvious he was already high on something. Glancing around quickly Robbie realised they were the only two people on the deck and all of a sudden he felt vulnerable. He took a step backwards. “You’ve got it wrong, mate,” he told the quivering man, “Gary’s the bloke you need.”

  “I need Carter,” the man persisted, “I’m in pain.” He lifted his arm up and Robbie cringed. The skin was split open from his elbow to his wrist, the tendons pulsing. Robbie took another step away and bumped into someone.

  “Mind yourself Sir,” Gary Wurner stood smiling. He was carrying a tray with surgical instruments on. He shook his head sadly. “They get like this sometimes, out of control. It’s very sad, don’t you think?” He plucked a long bladed pair of scissors from the tray. “I’ll patch him up, don’t you concern yourself.” He nudged Robbie out of the way and plunged the tips of the scissors directly into the open wound of the man’s arm. “I’m not wasting Carter on the likes of you,” he hissed in the man’s face.

  Squealing the man tried to twist away but Gary Wurner kept poking and scraping his arm. Robbie watched horrified, he could hear the blade scraping against the bone. The waiter turned his head. “You can go now, sir,” he told Robbie, “you’ve got your own problems.” His lips twisted into a sneer. He looked like he was dancing with the man, both of them swaying together, blood dripping onto the deck. Unable to wat
ch any longer Robbie turned and ran along the deck. He had to believe it hadn’t happened, that it was all in his imagination and by the time he reached the door to the dining room the strange incident had become something he’d dreamt, drug induced.

  He could hear the chattering of people, the clink of wine glasses and he nodded his head in satisfaction, it looked like he’d been right after all, there was a party going on. He pushed open the door of the dining room and was delighted to find it full of people. He stood savouring the moment; just wait till he told the others. Ghost ship, he thought, don’t make me laugh.

  A haze of cigarette smoke hung over the diners and a mixture of smells assailed his nostrils. Cigar smoke, freshly cooked meat and perfume. Underlying it was the pungent stench of decay and Robbie frowned. It was almost sickly and he was surprised to find his stomach contracting. Still, he thought, a beer will put everything back into perspective.

  Stepping through into the room he began making his way past the tables and the diners to the bar area realising as he did so that the room was becoming quiet. As he walked by each table the people stopped talking and stared at him. By the time he reached the bar a heavy silence hung over the room. The back of his neck began to prickle, a sure sign that something was wrong. He turned his head and was disconcerted to see every face turned towards him. Their expressions were grim, no-one was smiling and some of the diners had their forks and spoons halfway to their mouths, frozen in mid air, as they watched him with eager furtive eyes.

  “Happy birthday, Sir,” The middle aged barman said with a tight lopsided smile.

  Jolted, Robbie could only stare at him bemused. “It’s not my birthday for two days,” he found himself saying. He had a sudden insight and laughed. Of course Cassie would have set this up; she was probably with Brett and Jade hiding at the back of the room waiting to jump out. It occurred to him then that this whole experience was a set up, not just the birthday surprise but an elaborate extravaganza; the capsized boat, the ghost ship. And then he remembered the storm and shook his head. No, the idea was ridiculous. Still, a party, it was just what he needed. He chuckled.

  “We thought we’d celebrate it early, Sir.” The man behind the bar was saying as he polished a wine glass, “After all, you never know what might happen to you in the next two days, we wouldn’t want you to miss out on a birthday treat, would we?”

  “It’s very kind of you,” Robbie said.

  “Kind? Oh, no, Sir, it’s not every day we get to celebrate someone living another year, is it? In fact there are people who will never have another birthday ever again. Can you imagine that?”

  “No,” Robbie said. “Unless of course they’re....”

  “Dead, Sir? Is that what you were going to say?”

  “Well, I don’t want to be morbid.”

  “Nothing morbid about death, Sir, it’s all perfectly natural.” He smiled showing a row of neat yellow teeth. “It’s how you die that’s the killer.”

  Robbie was beginning to regret his decision to have a drink. The diners were still staring at him and he was starting to feel uncomfortable. Party or not, he decided he’d had enough. He turned to leave.

  The barman raised his voice. “All together now,” he bawled.

  An invisible band struck up the familiar chords and everyone began singing; “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear stowaway, happy birthday to you.”

  The barman raised his eyes. “Did they say stowaway Sir? Oh dear, I think you’re in trouble.”

  The diners had begun a slow handclap and Robbie could feel sweat gathering under his arms. He knew he was still grinning inanely but his face felt frozen in fear. He could see that their faces were turning ugly with anger but he didn’t know why. One man spit out a stream of red mucus on the floor and rubbed his foot into it.

  The barman bent down and produced a large bottle of champagne. He waved it in the air with a flourish. “Do you think he deserves this?” he shouted into the crowd.

  “No!” they roared their disapproval.

  The barman ducked down again and this time he came up with a noose dangling from a long rope. “Do you think he deserves this?” He bawled again.

  “Yes!” The noise was deafening as the diners all began banging their knives and forks on the tables. The barman held his hand up for silence.

  “What do you think, Captain Livingstone-Bryson?”

  All eyes swivelled to the Captain’s table. Livingstone-Bryson stood up slowly, his gaze sweeping around the room. “I think,” he started and then stopped as snot began running down his nose; he honked it up and swallowed hard, beginning to cough. Terrified, Robbie watched as the Captain’s Adam’s apple began bobbing up and down in his throat. He seemed to be struggling to get the words out. “The young man needs to be punished,” he managed to croak in a raw voice before gasping and falling back in his chair.

  A loud cheer went up and someone began singing, ‘For he’s a jolly good fellow.’ The song was taken up by the rest of the diners and Robbie began to relax. It was all just a bit of fun and he grinned as the Captain waved his hand feebly in the air acknowledging the passengers homage to him.

  The room went quiet again and the barman said, “Do you think this is funny, Sir?” He spat into a glass and wiped it with a cloth. “Stowaways are the worst kind of thieves.”

  A low moan rose from the diners.

  Robbie said; his voice no louder than a whisper, “I can explain. You see, my friends and I....”

  “What?” the barman was staring at him, appalled, “you mean there are more of you? A pack?”

  One of the women passengers seated nearby stood up unsteadily, swaying as she clutched a bottle of whisky in her hand. “I’ve seen them,” she said, her words slurred. “They’re like ghosts, lurking around the ship spying on us.”

  “They’ve been having sex in the cabins,” another man panted, outraged.

  “And eating all our food,” an elderly woman gasped.

  “Disgusting,” the barman shook his head in disbelief.

  “No, no, you’ve got it all wrong, there’s just me. I’m trying to tell you, the boat I was on capsized and...”

  “Shut up!” Captain Livingstone-Bryson suddenly screamed at him in a high pitched voice that sounded to Robbie’s ears like a siren going off. “Do you know the penalty for stowing away on a ship?”

  “Like I said...”

  The barman leaned over the counter and poked Robbie in the stomach. “I should be quiet now my friend if I were you, The Captain doesn’t like it when you answer back to him.”

  Robbie stood trembling. He’d got it wrong, this wasn’t a party set up for him by his friends; this was a lynch mob. All eyes were on him and he could actually feel the waves of anger directed at him. His legs suddenly turned to rubber and he clutched at the bar top for support.

  “Take him outside on the deck,” the Captain barked. His head dropped down and he hawked up a gob of phlegm onto his half eaten chicken dinner.

  Before Robbie could react, two burly men each grabbed his arms and began half dragging and half frog marching him out of the dining room.

  Jade stared into the empty cabin. “I told them to wait here for us,” she moaned fretfully. “Now they’re missing and we have to go looking for them.” She rubbed her eyes and Brett thought she looked exhausted.

  “They’re probably searching for us,” Brett said reasonably. “Take it easy. If we stay in the cabin they’ll come back. You could do with resting.”

  “No, Brett,” she said tiredly, “I could do with getting off this awful ship and going home.”

  Brett felt a pang of guilt. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t gone chasing half way around the world to listen to an old man’s wild ramblings about the earth being flat then they wouldn’t be in this awful predicament.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “I know how you feel, but I’m sure we’ll be rescued soon when the storm abates, and you never know, we might end up becoming cel
ebrities, famous for finding the Princess May.” He tried to sound upbeat, make her smile, turn their misfortune into an adventure, something they’d look back on and laugh about but he didn’t think he was succeeding.

  Jade was frowning, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears, her misery palpable. She said in a small voice, “I sneaked frozen double cheese pizzas back to our hotel room,” she sniffed and swiped her hand over her nose. “I was going to persuade one of the kitchen staff to cook them for us tonight. “That’s not going to happen now, is it?” she sniffed. “Cassie was going to sing you a love song in the Karaoke bar, I was dreading it but I’d give anything to be there right now.”

  Brett smiled brightly. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so bad. There was really nothing he could say to make things better. He realised he was nodding his head as if sharing pizzas in their hotel room and singing in the Karaoke bar in a few hours time was a perfectly reasonably thing to expect to be doing.

  “It still could happen, Jade,” he told her, “don’t worry; I’m sure there’s an explanation for what’s been going on. Maybe we’re under the influence of some sort of drug that awful waiter slipped us, you know, having a shared delusion.” He tried to look hopeful but the withering look Jade gave him made him shrivel up inside. He gave up, “Okay,” he went on, “So we’re on a ghost ship haunted by the passengers who lost their lives in the sea when the Princess May sank without a trace. There, I’ve said it now, are you satisfied?”