by Sarah Lotz
The sound of shouts greeted him as he hurried into the darkened depths of the crew bar. Ashgar was pushing against the chest of a skinny white guy, who Devi recognised as the assistant chief of the IT department. Jaco, the ship’s musician, was being restrained by two of the bar staff. On the few occasions Devi had visited the bar, he’d found Jaco to be pleasant and friendly. The tension was getting to them all. A female casino croupier was sobbing in the corner, her hair drenched with beer.
‘Fuck you!’ the IT guy shouted, lunging for Jaco.
‘You should do your job and fix the fucking Internet!’ Jaco roared back.
‘I’ve told you! There’s nothing to fucking fix.’
Ashgar was struggling to restrain the man, and Devi was about to step in, when Ram materialised, and moved between the furious crew members. It was all he had to do. No violence. Just a look.
‘You will be calm?’ Ram said without raising his voice.
‘He started it,’ the IT guy moped.
‘Are you going to stop? Do you want me to close the bar?’
A food and beverage manager, drunk beyond reckoning and sitting with a group of staff waitresses, booed. There was no brig on this ship, so Ram instructed Ashgar to take the IT guy to his cabin. He assessed Jaco. ‘Are you calm now?’
‘Yeah. I’m sorry, okay?’
‘Good. Do not let it happen again.’ With barely a glance at Devi, Ram headed for the door. Devi followed.
‘Sir!’
‘What is it, Devi?’
‘May I speak with you?’
‘Did you rest?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. And you have eaten? You will need your energy for tonight.’
‘Sir, about last night. I looked at the footage again. A man most definitely followed Kelly Lewis to her cabin.’
‘I need you up on the main deck, Devi. Madan and Pran are the only ones up there.’
‘But, sir. The footage.’
‘We cannot concern ourselves with that now, Devi. We have followed procedure. Did you see the man actually assaulting the girl?’
‘No. But it is clear that he conned his way into her cabin.’
‘Then the FBI will deal with that when we reach port. We cannot risk a rumour like this getting out into the public domain. The passengers are disgruntled enough.’ Ram nodded and turned away.
Devi could no longer retrain himself. ‘Sir! There is a murderer on board!’
Ram paused and wiped his fingers slowly over his moustache. ‘I will forgive this insubordination once, Devi, but do not make a habit of it. Go up to the main deck. Then you can relieve the control room.’
‘Sir—’
‘That will be all, Devi.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Twitchy with adrenalin, Devi watched as his superior walked away. How could Ram be so bull-headed about the situation? Was he simply concerned about needlessly panicking the already frightened passengers, or was this the first stage in an attempt to cover it up? Still unsettled, he made his way into the passenger area and through the atrium. The Guest Services counter was closed and shuttered, as were the cocktail bars that ringed the space. A passenger stopped him as he was heading up the stairs. ‘When will the bars be open?’
‘There will be an announcement soon.’
‘That’s what everyone says!’
Devi mumbled something about being needed elsewhere and moved past her.
On the Promenade Dreamz deck, applause spattered out of the Dare to Dream Theatre. A beefy fellow standing outside it nodded at him as he passed. A couple had moved their mattress into the hallway next to the elevator by the VIP deck. They were not blocking the stairs, so he left them to it.
If anything, the main deck was even more populated than it had been when he was on duty. He strolled past the pool, making for where Madan and Pran were trying to explain to a passenger why he could not block the entrance to the muster station with a corral of sun-loungers and pillows.
Madan greeted him with a tired sardonic smile and Pran raised his hand, as if he was about to salute and then thought better of it. Devi knew very little about him. One of the younger guys, he’d just started his first contract and was officially still in training. With his beaky face, a struggling moustache and eloquent eyes that should have belonged to a girl, Devi doubted Pran had the backbone for the job.
‘Gandu,’ Madan muttered under his breath to the sun-lounger hoarder’s back. ‘It’s bloody awful, Devi. Crazy cones.’
‘I was up here this morning.’
‘Pran and I had a badbad situation this afternoon. Had to restrain a lunatic.’
‘What?’
‘A passenger attacked one of the stewards. Pran almost soiled himself, didn’t you, boy?’
Pran looked down, embarrassed.
‘What did he look like?’ Devi asked.
‘Who?’
‘The man who attacked the steward. What did he look like?’
‘Why you asking that?’
With only a moment’s hesitation, Devi filled him in on what he’d seen on the footage. Madan whistled through his teeth. ‘It would not be the first time some fucker spiked the ladies’ drinks, eh? But I do not think my lunatic is your guy. This one was out of it. The man you are speaking of sounds organised.’
Devi had to admit Madan was right. ‘Ram wants to keep it quiet.’
‘I am not surprised.’
Madan gestured at a group of men who were haranguing one of the waiters handing out water next to the towel station. ‘Pran. Go talk to them.’ Pran nodded and did as he was told. ‘There will be trouble soon,’ Madan said to Devi.
Madan was right. There were only five security personnel on this ship, and Madan and Ram were the only two who Devi knew would be of any use in a crisis. Madan had no police background, but he was cool in a crisis. They had the MRAD device, but he wasn’t sure that even Ram had experience with that. Devi had had a fair amount of experience dealing with riots in his old life: a flare-up over the murder of a Muslim businessman in Dharabi; an anti-rape march that had turned violent. It didn’t take much for the crowd mentality to kick in and turn into a mob, and on a ship, there was nowhere for a crowd to disperse.
Another guest sidled up to them. ‘When will they be opening the bars?’
Madan let all emotion leak from his face. ‘There will be an announcement soon, sir.’
‘And my wife needs to charge her iPhone.’
‘There will be an announcement soon, sir.’
‘When?’
‘Move along, sir,’ Devi said.
The man huffed, but did as he was told.
Madan gestured for Devi to follow him to the side deck that housed the muster stations. He took out an e-cigarette and dragged the vapour deep into his lungs. A firing offence if Ram caught him, but Devi knew that Madan was adept at bending the rules and taking chances. ‘Listen . . . this situation. It is not right. The fire. It was small – and nothing like the ones we dealt with during training. They think it started from a fuel leak, but I have connections, Devi, and that wasn’t it.’ Madan waved at the ocean beyond the railings. ‘The gulf is busy, Devi. There are always ships.’
He was right. There were no lights anywhere in the distance. ‘What are you saying?’
‘I am thinking that the ship has drifted off course. It is the only explanation for why they have not come for us yet.’
A bickering couple emerged from the side deck, their arms filled with pillows and duvets. The sky was suddenly a burst of light. Whoops and cheers came from the main deck.
‘Why would they set off fireworks?’ a woman called.
But Devi knew. Those weren’t fireworks. They were flares.
The Wildcard Blog
Fearlessly fighting the fraudulent so that you don’t have to
Still stranded. Still no Wi-Fi. Still no signal.
The pool deck is overrun with hung-over passengers, who have dragged mattresses and sheets into the open air as the
lack of air-con has turned the cabins on the lower decks into sweatboxes. Place is beginning to resemble a Middle American refugee camp.
So far we’ve got: a dead passenger, missed flights, flares, a smell so bad it makes you want to cry. And did I mention that the propulsion system that runs the toilets is down and we have to ‘poop’ (Damien’s favourite euphemism) in bags? So there’s that too.
Been scrawling notes on the back of the entertainment flyers as have to save the battery. Just over 4 hours left. I have the spare, but I’m not taking any chances. I’m sending this the second I get online, warts n all. People need to know what’s been happening here. And I’m going to be the first to tell them.
Going to break the day’s total insanity down for you in a timeline:
9.30 a.m. Just had an encounter with The Predator’s PA. Frosty, but I think we made a connection. Helps that she’s cute ;). Possible in to Celine???
Was still feeling ropey, decided to start my hunt for The Predator after I’d had a shower.
10 ish. En route to cabin, saw a girl crying hysterically at one of the tables inside the Lido buffet, a group of people around her. Stopped to eavesdrop. She and her buddies are part of the singles group and one of the girls in their group died yesterday. Security are saying it’s alcohol poisoning but the group isn’t convinced. Could be more sinister. There’s been no PA message about this yet, but this must be why there’s that sealed cabin on my floor. Gonna hunt down Trining to get more info. Didn’t see her this morning.
10.20 a.m. Cabin stinks as there’s no airflow. Had a shower, no hot water. Still no Trining, but spoke to Paulo, the harassed steward working on the other side. Said he knew nothing about a dead passenger (could tell he was lying) and told me Trining is sick (hope to Christ I didn’t infect her).
10.30 a.m. Shit. Literally. Message from Damien. Propulsion problem with the ship. Toilets not working. ‘Use the shower for a number one, a red bag for a number two.’ Red ‘hazardous waste’ bags will be handed out. Tried to flush my toilet – made weird gurgling noise. V relieved stomach no longer explosive. Need to find a way to talk to an officer or even Damien. Deafening silence from the captain about the situation. Thinking maybe it really is a cover-up and some kind of conspiracy with Foveros head office to keep the news we’re broken down out of the press. This story could be a real coup for me. Asked Paulo if he could find a place where I could charge my laptop/phone. Gave him 50 dollars to grease the wheels.
Had a nap, woken by the sound of screaming at 11.30-ish. Couldn’t find where it was coming from.
11.45 a.m. Went back to the Tranquillity deck (altho is it tranquil? Is it fuck). Massive lines for Lido buffet (sandwiches and hotdogs – no thanks) so ate a bag of Cheese Curls I brought on board. They stayed down.
My 2 main goals are to track down The Predator and find out why the fuck no one’s come for us yet. There should be helicopters, a tug at least, maybe another Foveros cruise ship. Everyone around me complaining about missed flights, the crappy cold food, no coffee, and no booze.
12 p.m. Decided to check out the Bingo. Damien on stage. Smaller in person and with tragic facial hair. Kept making jokes about poop bags. Have to hand it to the guy, he had everyone eating out of his hand. Said if we’re not out of there soon, there will be extra cabaret. Awesome!
1 p.m. Wandered around, checked out the Starlight Dreamer Lounge. Lots of people with Friends of Celine lanyards hanging around. Could tell they recognised me so decided to leave them to it.
Went up to the mini-golf course. Hung out with the singles group again. Most of them are on the deck lower than mine. Said some of the cabins were flooded with sewage water.
Heard via one of the singles (Donna from Providence) that Celine del Ray was going to do an open event at 2 p.m. Asked where she heard it from, and she said a couple of old men were going around telling everyone. The girl who was crying (Emma or Amanda or something, a Brit) says she wants to try and ‘get in touch with Kelly and find out for sure how she died and if she has a message for her mom.’
Tried to explain to them the concept of cold reading. They didn’t take it on board.
Saw a guy pissing over the side.
2 p.m. Tried to get into the Starlight Dreamer Lounge to see The Predator strutting her stuff, but was stopped by a couple of oldies on the door who recognised me from the night before. Thought about arguing, but too fucking tired, no energy. Will try later. Looked around for the PA, couldn’t see her. Hung around for a while hoping to catch Celine coming out of the stage door. No such luck.
4 p.m. Queues for food intense. Managed to get myself a ham and tomato sandwich and a banana.
5 p.m. OK. This is getting crazy. We’re not in the Antarctic in 1917. We’re in the Gulf of fucking Mexico. Why has no one come for us yet?
6.30 ish. Trouble brewing. People are not only scared (because hey, we were supposed to back at port almost 12 hours ago), but getting snappish with each other. Couple of men almost came to blows over a fucking sun-lounger.
Joined ‘my’ group again.
7.30 ish. People crowded on the Lido deck, pool deck and around the jogging track and waterslides to watch flares going off.
Dumb bastards kept cheering.
If I needed any proof that we were fucked, this is it. Spoke to a sensible-looking guy, older than a lot of the passengers, who said he reckoned the captain has got us lost or that we’ve drifted out of the high traffic area. He says if that was the case we could easily get washed down the Gulf Stream as the current is pretty strong there and end up in the Bermuda Triangle. That’s when things got weird and he went all conspiracy on my ass. Tried to explain that the BT is just a myth and is all bullshit, but he kept going on about those WW2 planes that had disappeared for no reason.
Gave up.
Never fuck with the nuts too much.
8.30 p.m. Lined up for food. Took an hour.
Here are the choices:
Cold hotdogs
Deli meat sandwiches and wraps
Pre-cooked (and now defrosted) lobster tails & shrimp. Fucking buckets of the stuff. People were falling over themselves to get bowls of them. Guess they have to get eaten. Not risking that shit after getting sick.
Sliced tomatoes
Potato salad
Bread, olives, sliced peppers
Piles and piles of desserts. Melting cheesecake and chocolate gateaux leaking cherry blood.
The desserts were gone in thirty seconds.
9.30 p.m. Sat with the singles group, who have all decided to sleep up on the deck. Think Donna tried to hit on me. They were passing round a bottle of cheap vodka. I didn’t have any.
Felt gross again so returned to my cabin. I’m the only person on this deck. It stinks, but too tired to move for now.
Night.
DAY 6
The Witch’s Assistant
The lavatory in Celine’s suite had packed up at around four a.m., signalling its demise with a disconcertingly human-sounding groan. Maddie had held off for as long as she could, but eventually she’d had no choice but to relieve herself in the shower. Thankfully the water was still running, and she stripped off her clothes and doused her skin with Celine’s body wash, the cold water doing nothing to clear her head.
She hadn’t been able to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time, despite taking one of Celine’s sleeping pills. She couldn’t stop obsessing about what the hell her boss was up to.
Unable to stand the happy-clappy atmosphere in the Starlight Dreamer Lounge any longer, she’d returned to Celine’s suite at around six p.m. last night (there was no way she was going to brave her own cabin in the rank depths of the lower levels – she’d made an attempt to go down there to retrieve her stuff, but only made it halfway down the corridor before the stench sent her scurrying back to the higher levels). Maddie had tried to speak to her boss several times during the day, but Celine kept blanking her, concentrating her energies on encouraging the Friends to go out and find others ‘wh
o might need our special kind of support’. Others like Helen, who had clearly been deeply affected by whatever pernicious crap Celine had been spouting. Because that was the thing – Maddie had no clue where Celine was getting her information from. It was possible that she’d convinced Jacob and Juanita and the gang to go fishing for facts for her, but Maddie doubted her boss would take a risk like that. It couldn’t be Facebook or Zoop – they were still offline. But somehow, Celine managed to trot out a series of disturbingly accurate readings for the random strangers the Friends collected on their outings. And her group was growing – by the time Maddie left, it had almost doubled in size. Among the new arrivals were a honeymooning couple from Kansas (‘Know this, your grandmother forgives you for not coming to the funeral’); a morbidly obese woman, whose petulant ‘go on then, entertain me’ expression had slowly morphed from shock to wonder (‘Know this, your husband wants you to have the surgery’); and a man in a wheelchair accompanied by a woman who wore a perpetual mask of martyrdom (‘Know this, your sister doesn’t blame you for the accident’). A few, Helen among them, didn’t stay long, but the vast majority settled in for the long haul. Part of it was the atmosphere. The Friends worked hard to make the newcomers welcome, handing out water and sharing snacks, and even a couple of the waiting staff had hung around well after their shifts. Celine – the old Celine – knew how to work a crowd, but this was taking it to a whole new level. She seemed to be genuinely interested in what she’d always professed to do – helping people.
