The Turning (Book 1)

by Micky Neilson

  Those yellow eyes were surely the eyes of Satan. I am the adversary, those eyes said. And I am here to test your faith, Enrique Pablo Ocampo. A low growl rose from deep in the animal’s chest. With the name of the Holy Mother on his lips, Ocampo pulled the trigger and a deafening boom rolled down the hall.

  ***

  It was, of course, Alexander’s imagination, but it seemed as though the ringing of his satellite phone was growing more insistent. He had returned to deck four and was now standing once again in his room, just behind the closed door.

  After letting the old man stew in his own juices a bit more, he answered the phone. Though he had learned long ago not to expect any sort of kudos from Dad, the old man’s response was still somewhat surprising, even for him.

  “Are you a blithering idiot?”

  The hunter exhaled. “I’m sorry, you’re breaking up.”

  “You risked incapacitating the ship!” Alexander imagined he could hear the spittle flying from Dad’s lips.

  “It was a calculated risk.”

  There was a protracted silence. Then:

  “My associates have initiated a temporary blackout,” he began. “They’re looking for answers and I’m in short supply. Give me your level of confidence… in eliminating the target and delivering the package if the ship makes port.”

  Alexander smiled. “Confidence is high.”

  “Very well,” came the reply. “Do try not to fuck this up any more than you already have.” The line went dead. Despite his father’s vociferating and the ungodly pain in the hunter’s arm, he was in high spirits as he replaced the phone in his pocket.

  From somewhere outside, he heard the distant but unmistakable sound of a shotgun blast.

  ***

  Tony, Chief Alisante, and the rest of the red parties had attempted to access the aft engine room through the forward section, but smoke had halted their progress. They sealed the connecting door, then checked the other entry points to make sure that the aft engine section was locked down tight. What they found at the aft port access hatch gave Tony a chilling confirmation of his suspicions regarding sabotage: the handle to the inner door had been knocked clean off. Lying nearby was a massive pipe wrench.

  This fire was set on purpose.

  Important information to convey, if not for the goddamned radio sil—

  Suddenly his handheld crackled: “All stations, all stations, all stations, this is Sector Juneau, this is Sector Juneau, this is Sector Juneau. Silence lifted, silence lifted, silence lifted…”

  Tony let out a long breath, waited for the message to finish by announcing the relevant frequency, then cut in: “Cutter Liberty, this is Away Team. Engine fire does not appear to be accidental. Repeat, engine fire does not appear to be accidental. Over.”

  The fire team was making its way back toward the I-95 now as the response came: “Roger, Away Team. Be advised, Fiesta Rapture is approved for entry at Ketchikan. Suspected heart attack is cleared to disembark upon arrival. Wait.” There was a pause, and then: “All other crew and passengers must remain on board until threat is neutralized. Over.”

  “Roger, Liberty,” he replied. As they proceeded down the thoroughfare of the I-95, he continued chewing on what he had just seen. If there was a saboteur, were that person and the “animal” one and the same? Someone in a suit, maybe? He had heard of stranger things. Yet… he couldn’t put his finger on it, but that just didn’t feel right. There was much more to all of this than what they could imagine, he was sure of it.

  Then, the animated voice of Electrician’s Mate Third Class Ocampo came in:

  “This is Bravo Four,” he said. “I’m on deck seven, port side. Cabin seven two three zero. The animal has been eliminated.”

  Tony and the others stopped. There were sighs of relief as the lieutenant leaned his head back and closed his eyes. It felt as though the weight of the world had been lifted from him. Chief Alisante clasped his shoulder. Smiles and congratulations were exchanged…

  Everything was going to be okay, after all.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ocampo had pulled the trigger. The shotgun had bucked against his shoulder. It fired rounds that were high-expansion, designed not to ricochet, but still they should be more than enough to do the job. With one arm—arm?—raised, the beast had recoiled.

  Think again.

  The thing had lifted its right leg over to join its left, then stepped the left over the corpse’s legs and finished rotating to face Ocampo. Then, incredibly, impossibly, it stood.

  I am the adversary…

  Ocampo had racked another round and fired. Boom! The beast flinched. Without pause Ocampo repeated the action: boom! The beast stepped backward. Again—boom! And again, and again…

  The animal fell back into the room, onto the floor, and rolled to one side.

  Gunsmoke hung heavy in the air. Ocampo was vaguely aware that he was breathing so hard he might hyperventilate. He swallowed, lowered the shotgun slightly, and tried to slow his breathing. Then he keyed his mic.

  “This is Bravo Four,” he said. “I’m on deck seven, port side. Cabin seven two three zero. The animal has been eliminated.”

  ***

  Taormina had worked wonders with Vera. The old gal had actually woken up long enough for the Guardsman to pull aside her mask and give her some aspirin. He had called the hospital in Ketchikan through the infirmary’s direct line, and started an IV. Things had been kind of looking up… and then that call came in and Ginny’s heart froze.

  A voice on the radio announced that the target had been “eliminated.”

  Ginny should have felt overwhelming relief. Instead she felt oddly… hollow. Why? Could Brandon still mean that much to her after all that had happened? After what he had become?

  That wasn’t him. Not really.

  She realized that there was an undeniable part of her that had been hoping—desperately, if she was being honest—that he would make it through the night. Preferably without killing anyone, yeah. But if he could just get through… maybe with the morning and with the ship being docked finally, he would turn back and he would be the old Brandon. And yeah, they would lock him up for what he did, but at least he’d be alive. And maybe… maybe they could get him help?

  She thought about the pills. If Brandon really wasn’t crazy, if what he had told her was true, then what if the pills were actually supposed to work? What if they had worked in the past, just like he said? He had been clinging to hope this whole time and now… now he was dead? Gone? Just like that?

  The end?

  ***

  “What is it?” Tony asked Ocampo over the radio. “Can you identify the animal? Over.” He was back on the bridge now. Chief Alisante called over to Tony: “I’d like to request—”

  Ocampo’s voice put in over Tony’s radio: “Negative…”

  “That we release the C02,” Alisante concluded. Tony was busy trying to process both things at once. “What? Yes, yes. Approved to release C02 if everyone’s clear,” he replied to Alisante. Then back to Ocampo: “Repeat. Bravo Four, say again.”

  “I don’t know what this thing is, sir,” Ocampo replied. And damned if he didn’t sound sincere. He certainly wouldn’t joke about something like this. Tony was dying to know just what the hell they had dealt with, and he was still not convinced that whatever it was had acted alone. But at least the damned thing was dead.

  Looks like I’m comin’ home, Jen.

  “Roger. Stand fast,” Tony told Ocampo. He then radioed Liberty and provided a status report.

  The Ketchikan pilot had lined up the ship with the berth. The Rapture was firing side thrusters to maneuver into place. Chief Alisante had departed to oversee the casting of the mooring lines. Now that the threat was neutralized, Tony and Captain Gentili could begin working on the logistics of evacuating. The heart attack patient would be first, then passengers, then crew. Coast Guard Ketchikan would assist with this endeavor. Tony’s plan was to disembark by groups, beginning wi
th the theater. There was still the matter of identifying the accomplice/saboteur, but that was a matter that would be addressed in the processing of every single human being who had been on board, once they were no longer on the ship.

  With any luck, the Rapture would see no more loss of life. With any luck, people would remain calm and do as they were told.

  ***

  Alonso Costanza had really, really had enough of this shit. Pam had talked him down, temporarily, as she so often did, but time had passed and still—still!—no word other than to “hang tight.” Alonso had been hanging tight long enough. He strode back to where the gook was standing at the door and pushed him to the side. The dink pushed back and that’s when Alonso lost his cool altogether. As he so often did. He shoved the slope hard enough to bounce him off the thick metal door frame and into the rim of the bar.

  Several folks gasped. One person shouted. Alonso hit the button that said “Push Here to Open,” then pulled the latch and swung the large fire door out. He reached back and grabbed Pam by the wrist. “Let’s go, babe. Fuck this.”

  They would go to their room and pack their shit. In the morning catch a flight out of Ketchikan and tell Fiesta cruise lines to go suck a dick.

  The other sheep who had been penned up in the casino along with him might have been surprised by Alonso’s actions, but when he and Pam strode out and around the atrium, through the photo gallery toward the elevators, the sheep followed.

  ***

  Alexander’s patience had at last been rewarded. A crew radio transmission advised that they were to prepare to disembark passengers at Ketchikan, that the animal was no longer a threat. The hunter performed an equipment check and set out to the nearest staircase.

  All he needed to do now was get close, and wait. Ascending the steps, he couldn’t suppress a laugh and a derisive shake of the head. It was adorable, really…

  Those daft bastards actually thought they had killed it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Tony had been talking to Captain Gentili when an officer announced that passengers had pushed their way out of the casino. When the lieutenant darted over to the monitors, the last of the frantic cruisers were rushing off screen. From here on, the situation would escalate quickly if measures were not taken. He keyed his mic:

  “Alpha Two, we have a passenger situation on deck three, outside the casino. Move to contain, repeat, move to contain. Over.”

  “Alpha Two, wilco,” came the reply.

  The bridge watchstander called out from the fire alarm panel: “Sir, the fixed C02 is not responding.”

  Of course.

  Probably due to improper maintenance. Tony had seen it before.

  Chief Alisante had radioed just a minute ago that crewmembers were in place to throw lines. Once they were in position and the ship was tied off, they could get the Ketchikan Fire Department on board.

  “Abort the CO2,” Tony answered the watchstander.

  “This is Alpha Two,” a voice broke in on Tony’s radio. “I have partial containment. Several passengers entered elevators prior to my arrival and departed the scene. Over.”

  “Roger,” Tony answered. He spoke briefly with Ximenez, Officer in Charge of the USCG Ketchikan team. He and his men would round up stray passengers and generally assist with crowd control.

  Tony then radioed his men: “All Away Team personnel, be aware that passengers may now be roaming the common areas. Maintain lockdown of all sectors previously searched and escort any passengers you come across to deck one aft.”

  One by one his team members acknowledged. Except Ocampo.

  “Bravo Four, be advised passengers are in play. Be on the lookout, over.”

  Silence.

  “Bravo Four, respond.”

  Now Tony was getting worried. What if someone had acted against Ocampo to settle up for him killing whatever it was he killed? Tony consulted his mental notes of where his personnel were on the ship.

  “Bravo Three and Bravo Five, proceed to Bravo Four’s last known location, cabin seven two three zero, port side, and give me a status report. Over.”

  ***

  It looked like it was part… human. Part dog, part man. It was the craziest damn thing Ocampo had ever seen. He had just told the lieutenant that he didn’t know what this thing was. Lieutenant Blackwell told him to stand by and now he was getting a closer look at it. One thing he noted right away was that the wounds up close didn’t look nearly as bad as he had thought.

  There was significant bleeding, but not nearly as much as he would have expected. Still, the thing wasn’t moving. Ocampo took off his helmet, tossed it onto the nearby bed and scratched his head. A call came over the radio then, startling him. The lieutenant announced that there was a passenger situation outside the casino.

  If passengers were now moving about the ship, someone might come his way. Ocampo turned back toward the doorway, looking down once more at the man (or what used to be a man before he was turned into a buffet) lying half-in, half out. On the radio, the other team members responded to Lieutenant Blackwell.

  Wait till the guys see this.

  Ocampo was preparing to acknowledge Lieutenant Blackwell’s transmission as well when he heard something. Movement, sounds made by slight exertion.

  He was aware, though he couldn’t see it, that the thing he had shot multiple times, the thing that must surely be dead, had just stood up behind him.

  “Padre nuestro,” Ocampo began, “que estas en el cielo…”

  His radio sounded: “Bravo Four, be advised passengers are in play. Be on the lookout, over.”

  There had only been a few occasions on which Ocampo had cried: the death of his Mother, the birth of his son. But as he turned to face the thing (I am the adversary) that he knew would be the end of him, tears poured from his eyes.

  It towered above him, gazing down. And the way its mouth pulled back over the rows of sharp, yellowed teeth made it look almost as if the wolf-thing were smiling. Ocampo didn’t even raise his shotgun.

  “Santificado sea tu nombre…”

  That mouth opened wide, shot down and closed on Ocampo’s face, ending the Lord’s Prayer.

  ***

  The glass elevators were too small. After spending hours packed in with a bunch of fucknuts, the last thing Alonso wanted to do was squeeze into one of those little canisters. He dragged Pam past them to the regular set of elevators and hit the button. He could just take the stairs. Hell, he could spring his way up to deck eight and not break a sweat, but his woman was tired and she had a thing about stairs. Pam had a thing about a lot of things but she also had great tits and no gag reflex, so shit balanced out.

  A ding! announced the arrival of one of the cars. Alonso pulled Pam in and they were joined by three fuckwits, two WASP parents and their twenty-something douchebag son. The shitbird kid pushed the button for deck seven.

  “Last fuckin’ cruise we ever take,” he said to his woman as the doors closed.

  ***

  The beast felt strong. Renewed. Free of pain.

  It left the rest of its meal behind. The other who had interrupted its feeding hurt it, but not the same kind of hurt as what had come before, from the other it could not smell. This new other had tried to kill it, but now the new other was dead.

  What next?

  The offerings have been many, but there is more work to be done.

  The beast moved through the bright tunnel and as it did, it heard a noise not far away, a noise like a bell being rung.

  Go.

  The beast went, into a larger space with barriers on either side. There was a light above one of the barriers, and it slid open.

  More others. Three of them stepped out into the open space.

  Yes.

  ***

  The dickwad son was the first to walk out of the elevator on seven. He was babbling to his parents, head turned as he exited. Alonso was only half paying attention, wishing they would just move their asses, but first the kid’s head was the
re, and then it wasn’t. The kid’s body had fell with the shoulders lying just inside the car. There was no screaming, not at first, just shocked silence.

  Then something big and made of fur and teeth filled the opening. Alonso thought it was a man in some kind of suit, some stupid punk playing a prank. Could the headless body be fake? Just some elaborate setup for one of those TV shows where they fucked with people and filmed the whole thing and then at the end said, “Ha ha, gotcha”?

  This particular question was answered instantly, as the thing stepped over the headless kid and lunged at the Dad with its head sideways, muzzle wrinkling, jaws locking onto the pasty old guy’s neck. The dog-thing bit down and twisted and the Pop’s head popped off. Pam was screaming now, a sound he had never heard come out of her, even when he was fucking her so hard it knocked her skull against the headboard. The thing shot out its left hand; claws spearing the wrinkled Mom through the neck.

  It jerked the hand back as the old broad’s body dropped, and turned to him and Pam. Alonso had the sense of being removed from everything that was happening; he was just a spectator, an audience member watching a very realistic horror movie flash across the screen.

  The elevator doors tried to close and failed when they ran into the dead kid’s shoulders. Pam just screamed and screamed and Alonso knew that even if she survived this, she would never see the world the same way again. But she wasn’t destined to survive. That thing slashed out and across with its right hand, dagger claws raking across her chest. There was a splash of blood across Alonso’s tank top as two objects flew past him and hit the section of the elevator door that was pushing against the kid. What those objects were registered when Alonso looked over and down at Pam’s chest, which was gone. Those great tits of hers were now sitting on the elevator floor, the flesh and muscle sloughed off of each implant like skin from a grape. Pam fell back against the wall and slid down, the terror-ridden scream dying in her throat.