The BIG Horror Pack 1

by Iain Rob Wright

  “And you were right,” Jack said, remembering the trapped children from his own experience on the Sports Deck.

  Tally continued. “When the attacks started, some of the children started leaking…leaking blood from their eyes. A couple members of staff locked up the healthy children in the football enclosure to keep them safe, and without thinking, I ran in after them. It wasn’t as safe as I’d hoped.” She started sobbing. “We were trapped in there for hours, Jack, while mutilated children and their torn-apart families tried to get in at us. There was so much blood up against the glass that, after a while, I couldn’t even see out anymore. I could just hear the moans and whining of the infected people. The dead people.”

  “You think the infected are dead when they attack?” Jack had made a similar summation himself a long time ago – ever since meeting Doctor Fortuné. It was good to hear he wasn’t alone in this theory.

  Tally nodded emphatically. “I saw a man with his intestines hanging out. He kept tripping on them as he walked around the deck. There was no way he was alive. The infection kills them and then they get up again. It is evil, Jack. Whatever it is, and whoever created it, is pure evil. Being with all those children, trapped and scared, while other children – dead children – tried to get at them, it… it broke me. I kept going back, hoping I could do something to stop it, but it happens the same way every time. There’s no way to stop it. We are in Hell.”

  Jack looked at her and could see the pain etched across her face. Even if things worked out some way, neither of them would ever be the same. A part of their souls, their spirit, had been broken.

  “We can put a stop to this, Tally. Someone is responsible and they need to pay. We’ll make them pay.”

  Tally nodded at him. It seemed as if she was finally back on his side. “You still think it has something to do with what is down in the cargo?”

  Jack said, “No. Donovan showed me everything. He’s as clueless about all this as we are. The cargo is full of money and pharmaceuticals – normal pharmaceuticals. The money is just a payoff to some dodgy Tunisian official. Plain old corruption.”

  “How can you be so sure he is telling the truth, Jack? He shot you.”

  Jack shrugged. “I’ve spent the last two weeks getting to know the guy. He seems on the level.”

  “Maybe it’s just an act.”

  Jack frowned. “What are you getting at? What happened after Donovan shot me? He said that you two talked about things, so you know he’s like us, right? That he keeps repeating the day.”

  Tally nodded. “I know. He told me. He was expecting us that second night when he shot you. He planned to get rid of you so that he could be alone with me. Killing you was okay, he said, because it wouldn’t be real – just like what he was planning on doing to me. The bruises would be gone in the morning.”

  Jack swallowed. “What do you mean? What are you saying?”

  Tally looked him in the eyes. “What do you think I am saying?”

  Jack felt sick. He had shared drinks with Donovan, night after night, as friends, and the whole time he had been hiding the fact that he had…that he had… He couldn’t even say the word.

  Jack closed his eyes and shook the thought away. It hurt too much to think that his mistake, getting shot by Donovan, had cost Tally so much. Him being killed was indeed temporary, but what Donovan had done to Tally would stay with her forever. There was no reset button for rape. No wonder she had hid herself away.

  Jack held Tally in his arms and they kissed. Neither of them instigated it; it just happened. They kissed until midnight stopped them.

  Day 216

  Jack awoke in a rage, but managed to calm himself down as memories of kissing Tally soothed him. She was gone now, of course, disappeared with the reset, but somehow he could still feel the warmth of her body next to his.

  The alarm clock read 14:07. Jack had wasted almost ten minutes in a fuzzy daze as he thought about Tally, but now that those thoughts were gone his mind returned to vengeance. Donovan was a savage dog that needed putting down. Jack had dealt with monsters like him before, during his career as a police officer, and he should have been able to spot the man’s true nature. Instead, he’d spent two weeks making merry with the guy. It made Jack’s stomach turn.

  He got out of bed and decided to forego his usual shower. He got dressed immediately from the clothes in his luggage and also removed the unopened Glen Grant bottle. Then he stormed out of his room towards the elevators.

  On his way to the upper decks, Jack could not keep still. He paced the small enclosure of the lift and cursed beneath his breath. He felt unsteady, his body coursing with adrenaline, but he also felt strong and powerful, ready for action.

  The elevator doors opened and Jack leapt out. He had only meant to step forward, but his anger made his every move erratic and aggressive. The fury inside of him was like nothing he’d ever felt before. By making Jack trust him, Donovan had made him feel like he had somehow played a part in Tally’s torment. He was going to find the man and kill him. Then, when the day reset, he would kill him again. And then again and again for as long as this whole thing lasted. Donovan would spend the rest of his days suffering, as Tally would for what he did to her.

  Jack knew Donovan would already be in one of the ship’s drinking establishments by now, for his day started at 6AM not 2PM like his. Carlo’s Casino was the cowboy’s favourite hangout. Jack was confident her would find him there. And find him he did.

  Donovan was standing at the Blackjack table and seemed pleased to see Jack. He lifted his glass in the air and smiled. “Hey, pardner. How you doing?”

  “You son of a bitch!” Jack sprinted across the room and made it over to Donovan before the man even had time to lower his drink. He was completely unprepared for the blow from the Glen Grant bottle, which cracked his skull right above his left eyebrow. The bottle did not break.

  As Donovan fell backwards onto the floor, the small gathering of people inside the casino screamed and backed away to the corners of the room. Jack glared down at Donovan, who seemed shocked and confused, holding out his hands in front of him defensively. “What the…what the hell, pardner? Why would you…?”

  “You’re going to regret the day you ever laid a finger on Tally, you piece of shit.”

  Before Donovan had chance to reply, Jack bashed his skull in. The heavy whisky bottle finally broke and he was quickly arrested. He spent the remainder of the day in the brig. But it was worth it.

  Tomorrow, he intended to do the same thing all over again.

  Day 234

  Jack had taken care of Donovan a dozen times now. Sometimes he would fail to find him, while other times he would find the cowboy trying to hide out in one of the bars or blending in with the crowd on the sun deck. Whenever Jack spotted Donovan he attacked with a righteous fury that only seemed to grow each time they met. Sometimes Jack would bludgeon the man to death like he had with the Glen Grant bottle. Sometimes he would use a knife. Once, he even threw the man overboard and let him drown. But no matter how many times he killed Donovan it never made Jack feel any better.

  At first Donovan had fought back but, after failing to defend himself for the tenth time, even with his concealed handgun, the man had seemed to resign himself to being murdered. He focused more on hiding from Jack than trying to stop him. But Jack had become an unstoppable menace, unwilling to accept any outcome other than Donovan’s murder.

  Yet he was beginning to tire of the violence. It left a ragged dent in his soul and clawed at the sickly wound that had been opened years before. Jack had allowed rage to overcome him once before, when Laura had died, and it left him feeling numb inside, broken and weary.

  Maybe what he needed more than Donovan’s death were some answers. Perhaps he needed to understand the pervert’s motivations in order to gain closure. He wanted to hear the man beg for his life, repent for his sins, and admit what he’d done.

  Jack checked all of the ship’s bars today, and all of the r
estaurants, but Donovan was nowhere to be found. It was early in the day so most of the passengers were outside in the sun, which made it easier to search the Kirkpatrick’s interior. But after almost two hours of looking, Jack had come up empty. Wherever Donovan was right now, he wasn’t in plain sight.

  Where the hell is he hiding? Where would he feel safest?

  The answer came to Jack and seemed obvious. There was only one place where Donovan had ever managed to get the better of Jack. One place where he knew the layout enough to have the upper hand...

  The cowboy was in the cargo hold.

  Jack was standing inside the Beluga, the ship’s àl a carte eatery. It was a lavishly decorated room, with chandeliers and wall-mounted swordfish. The tables were set with black and white linens and the silver cutlery sparkled. It was the last room Jack had searched for Donovan, but had been another dead end. Now he was certain he knew where the man was.

  He headed for the door, but noticed Ivor and his family sitting at one of the tables. Ivor was staring into space, straight-backed and unmoving in his chair. Vicky was holding Heather in her arms and seemed close to tears. The little girl looked terribly ill, yet not as bad as she was going to get.

  For reasons unknown to him, Jack was compelled to take a seat at their table. He wanted to give them reassurance, even if any that he did give would only be empty lies. Fate was going to be unkind to this family, but showing them a measure of kindness would not be a bad thing.

  “Is she okay?” Jack asked Ivor, nodding towards his little girl.

  Ivor broke away from his thoughts and looked down at his shallow-breathing, fitfully-sleeping daughter. “Yes, she’s fine. Just a bit under the weather. Who are you?”

  Jack smiled at the man and offered his hand in a friendly manner. “My name is Jack Wardsley. I’m a police officer from Birmingham. I just saw your daughter and wondered if there was anything you needed?”

  “I think we need to take her to the doctor,” Vicky said. She was so focused on Heather that she didn’t even bother to look at Jack.

  “She’s fine,” Ivor said. He stared at Jack with a stern look on his face. “What exactly do you want, friend?”

  Ivor seemed distrustful of Jack and annoyed by his presence. Jack thought back to the night Ivor and his family had been attacked, when Ivor had mentioned something about Vicky turning herself into the police. Maybe it had something to do with what was going on.

  Jack returned Ivor’s stare and made sure not to blink. It was power struggle that military men like Ivor would often use to measure an opponent. “The police know what you’re planning,” Jack said flatly. “Running away to Germany isn’t the right idea.”

  Ivor’s stern expression dissolved into one of fear. “What…how do you…?”

  “I just did what I thought was best,” Vicky blurted out. “The man deserved it.”

  Ivor glared at his wife. “Shut up, woman!”

  Jack decided it was imperative to keep Vicky talking – she was the weak link here. If the conversation fell too heavily on Jack then it would become obvious he didn’t really know anything about them and that his claims were merely bluffs. “Tell me about it, Vicky,” he said reassuringly. “Help me understand.”

  Vicky started sobbing weakly, but was controlled enough to answer. “God, you even know my name? The jig really is up, isn’t it?”

  “I’m the only police officer onboard, Vicky. Tell me what happened and I’ll make a decision about what I’m going to do.”

  “What do you mean?” Ivor asked. “If you’re with the police then the only thing you’re planning to do is arrest my wife. Well, you’ll have to get through me first, friend.”

  Jack ignored Ivor’s posturing and kept his focus squarely on the man’s wife. “Just tell me the story, Vicky. I’m listening.”

  “Okay,” she said, sighing in a way that suggested she was preparing for an emotional release. “I’m a nurse at the Alexandria Hospital in Redditch. You know it?”

  Jack nodded. He knew of it vaguely. Redditch was a moderate-sized town outside of his usual policing area, but he knew the hospital there had a bad reputation and was regularly at threat of closure.

  “Well,” Vicky continued. “Most of my shifts are on the ICU ward, where I look after people in critical condition. I’ve been on that ward for a couple years now, and I’m one of the most senior nurses on the floor.”

  “Okay.” Jack nodded. “Go on.”

  “A few weeks ago they brought in a guy called Nigel Moot.”

  “Nigel Moot?” Jack knew exactly whom she was talking about. Nigel Moot was a prolific serial killer – the UK’s first high-profile murderer since Harold Shipman. The man had raped and killed over two-dozen woman in the UK, and many more throughout Europe via his job as a long-distance lorry driver. The last Jack had heard of him – which was a week or so before he’d boarded the Spirit of Kirkpatrick – Nigel Moot had died in hospital from a severe knife wound to the stomach. His assailant was unidentified, but it was assumed that it was an unknown, surviving victim of an attack.

  Vicky told him what he already knew, but he let her go on. “Nigel Moot came into hospital with a burst appendix, unconscious and dying. Inside one of his pockets was a photograph of a mutilated woman. When the Police were called they searched his truck and found a secret compartment full of grisly trophies – women’s fingers and other horrible mementoes.”

  “None of that information was released to the public,” Jack said. “How did you find all that out?”

  “From the police officer of posted outside Nigel’s room. He knew he wasn’t supposed to tell me anything, but I promised to keep it to myself. I was the one who had found the photograph in his pocket. Anyway, once I learned what that man had done, I felt sick to my stomach. I was disgusted that my time was being used to keep a monster like him alive. All of the women he had killed, all the lives he had destroyed, and here he was lying comfortably in a hospital bed being pumped full of life saving drugs.”

  “You killed him.” Jack stated, knowing he was right by the look on her face.

  Vicky nodded and tears began to stream down her clammy cheeks.

  “The beast deserved it,” Ivor grunted. “In all my days in the army, I never once had the chance to put a stop to someone as evil as Nigel Moot. My wife is a hero.”

  “I gave him an overdose of morphine,” Vicky admitted. “I wasn’t thinking at the time. It was like I was on autopilot, and I couldn’t think about anything else except ending that wicked man’s life. It was stupid, I know. The morphine is tightly regulated and I was the only person on shift. It was obvious I did it, but I don’t regret it. That monster was going to pull through and to live out the rest of his days in some plush prison for celebrity inmates. Just look at that Charles Manson guy in America – he’s as happy as Larry. I couldn’t allow that.”

  Jack nodded. He looked at Ivor and could see past the man’s blustery exterior to the emotions beyond. He adored his wife and would truly do anything to protect her and his daughter. This was a good family – a loving and supportive unit. Jack wished their futures held better fortune.

  He sighed. “I understand what you did, Vicky, and why you did it. To be honest I would probably have done the same thing. Perhaps most people would, if only they were brave enough.”

  Ivor grunted. “But regretfully you’re still going to have to arrest her, right? You coppers are all the same.”

  “No,” Jack said, deciding he would tell them a kind lie. “When the boat docks, I’ll allow you to leave. I’ll say that you evaded me. Although, can I give you some advice?”

  Ivor and Vicky both nodded.

  “Give yourselves in. The public will understand why you did what you did and the papers will make you a hero. I’d be surprised if you spent more than a couple years in prison, and when you get out the magazine deals alone will set you up for life. It’ll be better than spending your life on the run. You’ll have nothing to worry about, I promise. People will
understand.”

  “Perhaps he’s right,” Vicky said.

  Ivor shook his head. “We’ve been over this again and again. We’ll be fine in Germany.”

  “Well, it’s up to you,” Jack told them. “I won’t stand in your way.”

  “Why are you helping us?” Vicky asked him.

  “Because I’m guilty, too. I’ve also killed people who deserved it.”

  Ivor’s eyes went wide. “Really? I didn’t know that the British police force were in the habit of using lethal force.”

  “They’re not,” Jack explained. “I wasn’t on duty. My partner had just been killed, and I decided to do something about it. I tracked down those responsible and killed them. The first murder was difficult, but it got easier. I even started to enjoy it by the end. I wished I could have taken out more of them, to be honest.”

  Ivor shook his head desperately. “Good God, man. Why are you telling us all this.”

  “Because it’s the truth. And I’ll tell you something else as well; I’ve never been the same since. So believe me, Vicky, when I tell you I understand what you did and what you are going through. It doesn’t get any easier, I’m afraid. At least you have your family around you. You’ll manage to pull through somehow.” Jack wished it were true. He would truly have liked to see Ivor and his family sail off into the sunset together. But it would never happen.

  “Thank you,” Vicky said. “That means a lot from a stranger – a policeman, no less.”

  “Yes,” Ivor said. “You’re a kind man – in the grand scheme of things, at least. And the things you did… I think most people would understand them, too.”

  Jack got up from the table. “You all take care now. I wish you luck.”

  He wore a smile on his face the entire time as he headed out of the room, on his way to commit another murder.

  ***

  Jack took the elevator down to the cargo hold and resumed his mission to locate Donovan. Funnily enough, out of all the places he’d encountered the cowboy during the last two weeks, the cargo bay wasn’t one of them. In fact, it was about the only place that Jack never found the American. Yet, as he arrived there now, Donovan was standing in plain sight, holding his hands up in surrender.