Kit stepped into the bedroom, then abruptly turned and raced back into David’s arms. “I love you, Dad!”
“I love you too, sweetheart.” David hugged her and gently guided her toward the bedroom. “You have sweet dreams.”
David watched her climb into bed and bring her favorite teddy bear close, and for a moment all the world seemed right.
Quickly he turned and motioned Karen over to the door leading to the passageway. “Can you stay with her for a while?” he whispered.
“Sure,” Karen whispered back. “But won’t you need me in the sick bay?”
“I’ll let you know once I’m down there.”
Karen glanced over her shoulder to make certain Kit wasn’t within earshot. “What about Juanita? Do you think she’s got the avian flu?”
David shrugged. “I can’t be sure. But chances are she does.”
“If she does, only God knows what it will do to Kit.”
David nodded somberly, knowing that Juanita’s death would shatter the child. Juanita was Kit’s mother-figure, and her death would mean Kit had lost two mothers in her short life, which was two too many. Sighing to himself, he said, “Let’s hope for the best.”
Karen put her arms around David’s neck and brought him close. “If we don’t get out of this mess alive, I want you to know that I never stopped loving you.”
“I know,” David said quietly.
Karen pecked his cheek and said, “Work some of your magic, David. Get us through this nightmare.”
David disengaged from her embrace and hurried down the passageway, which was now completely deserted. All the doors were closed and there were no sounds coming from within. It was as silent as a cemetery, he thought just as the ventilation system clicked on and the air began to move. Again David wondered if the ventilation ducts were spreading the deadly virus to every corner of the Grand Atlantic. But the system couldn’t be shut off because the ship would become unbearably hot, particularly for the elderly and those feverish from the flu. But at this point, did it really matter? The virus didn’t need a ventilation system to spread. It was doing very well on its own.
David took the elevator down, all the while trying to think of additional measures to protect Kit. But there weren’t any. The only sure way to avoid the virus was to get off the ship. But that was impossible. They were stuck out in the Atlantic Ocean, hundreds and hundreds of miles from the mainland, and the CDC would make sure they remained there.
The elevator jerked to a halt, and David exited on the G level. As he approached the sick bay, he could see the crowd of people stacked up outside the reception area. A few were standing; some were sitting in chairs; most were sprawled out on the floor. There had to be at least a dozen patients waiting to be seen, and all of them seemed to be coughing. Half didn’t have their N-95 masks on. Shit! David grumbled. Things were going from bad to worse.
He made his way through the mass of humanity, stepping over bodies and trying to avoid their outstretched arms and legs. The reception area was packed as well. People were lying on the floor side by side, squeezed in like sardines. Finally he reached the examining tables. Sol Wyman was on one, Will Harrison on the other. Marilyn was still crying over her dead son’s body. Off in a corner, Arthur Maggio was slumped down on a metal stool, his eyes closed, his arms hanging down by his sides. David couldn’t tell if he was sick or simply asleep.
Carolyn hurried up to his side. “It’s a madhouse down here! It’s turned into absolute bedlam.”
“So I see,” David said, now noticing more sick people sitting on the floor beside the examining tables. “Couldn’t you move any of these people back to their rooms?”
“It’s the goddamn crew!” Carolyn erupted disgustedly. “They won’t help transport the patients back to their cabins. They’re afraid to even touch the gurneys and wheelchairs.”
“Did you tell them that if they’re masked and gloved, they’d be safe?”
“I tried, but they wouldn’t listen,” Carolyn said wearily. “They see death coming, and they want to stay as far away from it as possible. And there’s a definite mean streak running through them as well.”
“I’ll try to come up with a way to change their minds,” David said, remembering a basic tenet in mob control. Find their leader and persuade him. The others will follow. “Is there a member that the others seem to listen to?”
Carolyn nodded. “A tough-looking Asian, with angry eyes and big muscles. I’ll bet he spends a lot of time working out.”
“I’ll talk to him.” David’s gaze drifted over to Sol Wyman, whose skin color looked good despite his noisy respirations. “How is Sol doing?”
“He seems to be holding his own, but that probably won’t last,” Carolyn replied, then shook her head sadly. “Every time Sol coughs, poor Marilyn says she wants to die with him.”
“The way things are going, she’ll soon have her wish.” David gestured with his head toward the elderly ship’s doctor, who was asleep on a metal stool. “And what about Maggio?”
“I think he’s drunk.”
David grumbled under his breath. Now the old man would be in the way and totally useless.
The air was suddenly filled with a loud cacophony of coughs and groans and moans. Someone had a throat full of sputum, and it seemed to take forever for him to clear it. Again David noticed that over half the patients either weren’t wearing their N-95 masks or had them on improperly.
“Let me see if I can move this crowd out,” he said and walked to the space between the reception area and the examining room. Raising his voice so that it would carry into the passageway, David addressed the ever-growing group. “Let me have your attention, please! My name is David Ballineau and, for better or worse, I’m the lead physician down here. Now you must follow my instructions or I won’t be able to look after you, and you’ll continue to just lie on the floor, which can’t be very comfortable.”
“We need to be in a hospital,” a hoarse voice cried out.
“We don’t have a hospital, so we’re going to have to make do,” David said firmly. “Now I want you to do exactly as I tell you. All of you must return to your cabins immediately. When you leave, give us your name and cabin number, and we’ll arrange for someone to come by and examine you. That way, you’ll all be seen much quicker and be given medicines to ease your symptoms.”
The coughing started once more and seemed even louder than before. Gradually it subsided and some of the sick struggled to their feet and staggered down the passageway. But most of the patients stayed in place, either unwilling or unable to walk back to their cabins.
Carolyn came up alongside David and said in a low voice, “I’ll bet they’d leave if we had deckhands to help them into wheelchairs and gurneys.”
“Yeah, but we don’t.”
“So what do we do?”
“Pass out Motrin and Tylenol pills and keep reminding them of the soft mattresses awaiting them in their cabins,” David advised. “They’ll eventually become tired of lying on a hard floor.”
“God!” Carolyn breathed. “They must be absolutely terrified.”
“So are we,” David said. “It’s just that we know how to hide it.”
Marilyn Wyman’s sobs grew louder. She kept repeating, “No, God! Please, no!” The sick people on the floor around her didn’t appear to notice the grief-stricken woman or, if they did, they didn’t seem to care. Every person for themselves, David thought. It was always that way when it came to survival. Except for mothers. They would kill for their young, and die for them if necessary.
David sighed deeply and, stepping over people, moved to Marilyn’s side. He placed a hand on her shoulder and waited for her to look up. “In a little while, we’ll move Will to his cabin, if it’s all right with you.”
Marilyn nodded, her eyes puffy and bloodshot above the N-95 mask she wore. “I’ll want t
o go with him.”
“Of course.”
“And will you please bring Sol too?”
“As soon as we get you and Will settled.”
“Thank you for being so kind, David,” she said and again rested her head on Will’s chest. She stroked her boy’s arm, as if willing it to come to life.
David walked back over to Carolyn, who was now leaning heavily against the wall. “When we leave with Will’s body, give me some Valium pills for Marilyn.”
“Five-milligram pills?”
“Yes, but a bunch of them.”
Marilyn began sobbing again and murmuring quietly to Will, as if he were still alive.
Carolyn shook her head sorrowfully. “Even if she survives, her life is destroyed.”
David nodded. “She’ll never get over Will’s death, never in a million years.”
Carolyn nodded back. “Will was such a sweet, gentle kid. Everybody liked him.”
“Particularly Kit.”
“Have you told her about him yet?”
“Yeah, a few minutes ago.”
“How’d she take it?”
“Badly,” David said and looked away. He swallowed hard, his mind going back to Kit’s tears. “They were best pals.”
Carolyn smiled knowingly. “They were closer than that.”
David’s eyes narrowed as the revelation sunk in. “Boy-girl stuff, eh?”
“Boy-girl stuff,” Carolyn repeated, thinking that men were sometimes so oblivious to emotional bonding. “She’ll really hurt for a while, David.”
“I know.”
“Where is Kit now?”
“I left her with Karen.”
Carolyn’s face tightened, her dislike for Karen Kellerman obvious. From past experience, Carolyn knew the woman was tough as nails and only softened when she wanted something in return. “I wouldn’t have picked her to be with Kit right now, and I think you know why.”
David shrugged. “I had no choice. Juanita is sick and may well have the damn flu.”
“Oh Christ!” Carolyn moaned and slumped even more heavily against the wall. “Things are really going from awful to worse.”
“By the minute,” David added and gazed at Carolyn, who appeared weary and drained from handling a sick bay filled with dozens of sick people all by herself. God! She was holding up so well. But the fatigue was showing through in her face and posture. “You look beat. Why don’t you rest for a while?”
“I’m just getting my second wind,” Carolyn said and forced herself to perk up.
“You don’t lie very well.”
“I know, but I’m getting better at it.”
David gave her an affectionate bump with his hip. “I think I could grow to like you.”
Carolyn grinned. “You say that to all the girls.”
“Just the pretty ones.”
The landline phone rang loudly and continued to ring. Other buttons on the phone lit up, indicating even more incoming calls.
“It never stops,” Carolyn sighed through her fatigue and picked up the receiver. As she listened to the voice on the other end, her expression changed to dead serious. Almost in a whisper she said, “Yes, I understand.”
Slowly she placed the phone down and steadied herself against the desk. The color left her face.
“What?” David asked anxiously.
“Richard Scott has taken over the bridge, and he has a gun pointed at the captain’s head.”
sixteen
Richard Scott and his three fellow mutineers were armed with shotguns, and they were holding the weapons like they knew how to use them. Standing at the far wall of the bridge, with their hands atop their heads, were four of the officers aboard the Grand Atlantic. Only the new captain, Jonathan Locke, had put up any resistance, and he had an ugly bruise on his forehead to show for it.
“Do you have any idea how many laws you’ve broken?” David asked pointedly. “You could spend a hundred years in jail.”
“Which would be a lot better than dying on this infested ship,” Scott retorted. “I’ll take my chances ashore in a court of law.”
“You’re going to have some problems that I don’t believe you’ve considered.” David briefly studied the mutineers and decided he could take out one or maybe two, but then the firing would start and some people would end up dead. “Big problems.”
“Such as?”
“Such as who will navigate the Grand Atlantic and take you exactly to where you want to go?”
“The first officer,” Scott answered at once and gestured to the group of officers with his shotgun.
David glanced over and, by the process of elimination, picked out the first officer. He recognized the captain who he had witnessed taking command, and the chief radio officer who had set up the conference call with the CDC, and the security officer who had congratulated him on his fine skeet shooting. That left the new first officer, a chubby man, in his late thirties, with a protuberant abdomen, round face, and wisp of a moustache.
David stared at the first officer and wondered if the man had the know-how and courage to vary the ship’s course unnoticed or perhaps sail it in wide circles until all its fuel was used up.
Scott’s eyes darted back and forth between the two men, as if suspecting that a silent message was being transmitted. Quickly he interjected, “And the first officer better not play any games. We know where due south is. In addition, Robbie, my colleague with the rose tattoo, has had a fair amount of experience navigating ocean-going yachts. So we’ll know if we go off course, and the first officer will be punished for it in a very unpleasant manner.”
“But why go through all this?” David argued mildly. “The Navy will never allow you to make landfall in an American port.”
“Who said we’re going to America?” Scott smirked, then looked over to the first officer. “Due south, and you’d better stay on course.”
There was a loud knock on the door. The mutineers abruptly turned and trained their shotguns in the direction of the sound.
“Who is it?” Scott called out.
“Choi,” came the response.
“Come in!”
The door opened, and a heavily muscled Asian entered. He was a short, stocky man, with black hair, almond-shaped eyes, and thin lips that seemed pasted together. He gave David a hard stare and waited for him to look away. David stared back and thought this must be the tough who, according to Carolyn, controlled the crew.
“Sir,” Choi said, addressing Scott. “All crew with you. They no want to stay on death ship.”
“They will leave with us when we reach land,” Scott promised. “And you may tell them so.”
“Good,” Choi said, then asked, “Sir, one problem may be. What if passengers no listen to orders from crew?”
“A little intimidation should take care of that.”
Choi smiled thinly.
“Now return to your post and wait for further information,” Scott directed. He watched the Asian deckhand leave, then turned to Robbie, who was checking the breech of his 20-gauge Browning shotgun. “Keep an eye on him. I don’t trust those sneaky bastards. They’ll turn against you as soon as the wind changes.”
“They’re all that way,” Robbie said and closed the breech of his weapon.
Scott signaled Robbie with his hand to follow the Asian, then came back to David. “You will continue looking after the sick people, and as long as you don’t interfere with us, we won’t interfere with you. If you attempt to contact the outside world, you’ll pay a heavy price.”
“I’ll still have to talk with the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta,” David told him. “They’ll be calling the ship for updates. There’s no getting around that.”
“I know,” Scott said, unconcerned. “So we’ll monitor your calls in the small, private communicatio
ns room adjacent to the bridge. Any attempt on your part to alert the CDC will cause us to end the conversation. From that point on, you’ll have a shotgun pointed at your head every time you have contact with the outside world. Understood?”
“Understood,” David said tonelessly, but he was wondering how Scott knew about the private communications room. Was the chief radio officer a part of the mutiny? Or maybe the security officer who kept the Browning shotguns used for skeet shooting under lock and key? Richard Scott would most likely have tried to persuade someone on the inside to help carry out the mutiny. It would have been the smart move.
“If you have something to say, now is the time to say it,” Scott broke into David’s thoughts.
“I was thinking about the sick passengers,” David lied easily. “In particular, the crew won’t assist us in moving patients back to the rooms. I may have to lean on their leader a little.”
Scott smiled humorously. “If I were you, I’d be careful around Choi. He can be a very nasty character.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” David said, unfazed.
Scott gave David a long look before saying, “There’s more to you than just being a doctor. You look and act ex-military to me. Maybe you were once an MP. Right?”
Yeah, in a way, David thought. Special Forces operatives and military police, like cops everywhere, share the common purpose of keeping the slime of the world at bay. I guess that makes me an
ex-cop in a generic sense. David found himself nodding.
“Well, in case you try to overthrow us, I’m going to take some added precautions. We’ll post a guard outside your daughter’s cabin and keep a close eye on her. She’ll be our guarantee that you don’t try to upset our plans. Do you get my drift?”
David fought to control his temper, but it still nearly boiled over. For a brief moment, he was tempted to snatch Scott’s shotgun from him and quickly pump rounds into the three other mutineers. But it was too risky. Twenty-gauge Brownings didn’t require accurate aiming, and even an accidental discharge could blow him to pieces at short range. David took a deep breath and collected himself, then said in a monotone, “If you harm my daughter in any way, you’ll be the first to die. And it’ll be the worst death you could ever imagine.”
Plague Ship (A Ballineau/Ross Medical Thriller) Page 12
