The Turning

by Micky Neilson

  A scream echoed through the hall. Poonyeah reached the walkway in time to see the beast, now on all fours, loping aft toward an engineer in blue coveralls while other crewmembers stood frozen in shock. The wolf leaped, locking its jaws on the doomed engineer’s neck. The two of them fell, and the beast snapped its jaws together, separating the man’s head from his body. Poonyeah shouted for everyone to clear the walkway. Staff members and officers alike scattered. The creature stood, sniffing. Poonyeah radioed Findlay that the beast was on the I-95.

  The wolf continued on two legs toward the rear of the ship, stopped at a set of stairwells, head lifted, sniffing the air.

  Poonyeah’s mind raced: where could he lead this thing, so that it would not harm anyone else? Could he draw it to a room somewhere, lock it in, or—then it hit him. He spoke into the radio, “I’ll lure it to the crew deck.” He replaced the radio on his belt, stepped over and slammed his khukuri against the metal bulkhead to his right. “Come on! Here! Here!” He was backpedaling, striking the bulkhead as he went. “Hah! Hah, come on!”

  An announcement came over the comm: “Bravo, bravo, bravo.” This was the code used to clear all crew areas.

  The beast’s tail twitched. Its ears flattened and its muzzle curled back to reveal its fangs. It dropped to all fours and barreled forth.

  It had been many years since Poonyeah had run forty miles uphill to pass the test for becoming a soldier, but he had kept in shape; he ran the jogging track three times a week, six miles each day. He had trained mostly endurance. What he needed now was sprinting speed, and he prayed for Kali to grant it. He turned and burst toward the bow of the ship, arms pumping, legs stretching out in long strides. The creature bounded after him, and he could tell by the noise of its… hands and feet? paws?... that it was gaining quickly. A door opened just ahead of Poonyeah, and as he was passing it a steward pushed out a cart. Poonyeah yelled for the man to stay.

  There was the noise of a collision behind him, a scream, shredding of the fabric-lined cart and the scrabbling of claws against the steel floor. Poonyeah dared not look back; he would need every precious second if he had any hope of making it to the crew deck.

  He heard once again the pounding of the beast’s advance. The forward stairwell he needed was fast approaching. Poonyeah reached the passage and took the stairs three at a time. He could hear the thing behind him skidding along the floor. Poonyeah hit a landing, rounded the corner and had to dodge sideways to avoid the swipe of the beast as it leaped the entire flight in one bound and tried to rake through Poonyeah in mid-air. It collided with the bulkhead as he raced up the next set of stairs and the next. Slamming into the metal wall must have dazed the creature slightly, because it followed more slowly, but it was soon closing the distance once again, and was on the landing just below him as Poonyeah slammed down the handle of the crew deck access door and burst out into the frigid sea air.

  The beast barreled through the closing door only a second later… and stopped, cautiously observing the new environment.

  The crew deck was a sunning area reserved for the crew only. It thrust out from the bow of the ship like a spear tip. There was a tiny pool and two Jacuzzis, but beyond that, only open space. Rain was pounding down in sheets, and Poonyeah fought to keep his balance. The entire bow of the ship reared upward as the vessel struck a mammoth wave. A drenching spray poured over man and beast alike.

  The cold was numbing. Poonyeah knew that as his core body temperature plummeted, he would become slow and confused, his heart rate and blood pressure would weaken, and his body would simply shut down.

  Poonyeah also knew that these same things could potentially happen to the wolf, if he could draw it out. At the very least, he might trap it out here until the ship could make port.

  Not only had the beast not stepped out of the doorway, but it seemed to be considering going back into the ship. Poonyeah knew he must act. There was a saying among the Gurkhas that if a khukuri is drawn, it must taste blood. His blade had not yet drawn blood. As he considered this, he knew also how he might entice the creature to venture onto the deck.

  Poonyeah ripped open his shirt, and as the bow plunged into the trough of a wave, he drew the tip at an angle across and down his chest. Blood flowed freely. The beast’s eyes widened slightly. Its muzzle lifted as it sniffed the air. Poonyeah shouted into the raging storm:

  “Jaya Mahakali!” – “Glory to great Kali!”

  Water poured down and spindrift misted the air as the wolf finally stepped out into the open space.

  ***

  When Ginny reached the walkway to Brandon’s hall, she noted that the massive door which was normally open and tucked into the wall was now closed. There was a large white button that said “push to open” on the wall to the door’s left. Ginny pushed it, popped the latch on the door, and swung it open.

  She stepped into the short hall, rounded the corner to the longer passageway, and stopped.

  Her hands flew to her open mouth. Her eyes were wide and glistening. A deep moan spilled through her fingers. There was blood, great amounts of blood, soaking the carpet, splattered on the walls… and there were bodies. She stood for a long moment, as the reality of the situation sunk in. The only dead body she had seen before was at her grandmother’s open casket funeral when she was eighteen. She had certainly never seen anything like this except in movies or TV. She stumbled forward. Could any of these people be alive?

  One lay in a heap at the base of a cabin door, face hidden, surrounded by blood. She knelt down and slipped her fingers around, feeling for a pulse. Nothing. She stood. Just beyond this body was…

  Oh God that’s a head, that’s someone’s head.

  A high-pitched squeal escaped her throat. She turned and vomited her dinner onto the bulkhead. Wiping her mouth, she forced herself to continue. The blood-soaked carpet made squishing sounds beneath her feet. Vaguely she thought to herself that by being here she was compromising the scene… isn’t that what they called it on the TV shows? But what if there was someone among them who could be saved?

  The third body (or part of a body, considering the head), lying opposite the blasted apart—blasted outward!—door of Brandon’s cabin… the third body’s head was separated but not fully detached from the body. It remained connected by skin and strands of muscle.

  Jesus God what did this? Did he, it, do this?

  The final body was face-down amid the shattered plastic and glass of the obliterated overhead light fixture. Ginny hunkered down and felt this body for a pulse as well.

  What’s that smell? God it smells like someone shit themselves.

  Nothing. They were dead. They were all dead.

  Just then a cabin door further down the hall opened. Ginny recognized it as the cabin door of the heavyset drunk lady.

  “Don’t come out!” she blurted. Ginny rushed over to the room just as the woman was about to stick her head out, and she pushed her way through the door. “Don’t go out there. Trust me.” The lady obeyed and shut the door as Ginny dialed Guest Services with blood-coated fingers.

  Her voice was breaking as she said, “There are dead people on deck one. They’ve been attacked and they are dead and you need to send someone right now.”

  The lady on the other end began trying to calm Ginny down as she hung up. The heavyset woman was still standing by the door, looking scared and bewildered.

  Ginny walked back to the door and looked through the peephole. From this vantage point she could see the top of the curled-up body at the base of the door opposite. Suddenly, a form entered her field of vision from the right.

  “What is it?” the lady whispered. Ginny raised her hand to shush her.

  It was the man. The man who had been with Brandon inside the cabin. He was back. He stopped in front of her door, looking down at the crumpled body. His left arm was in a splint, and he had a duffel bag slung over his opposite shoulder. The man squatted down, busied himself with the body for a moment, then stood, placed his right
hand in his jacket pocket… and looked directly at her.

  Ginny could not stifle a sharp intake of breath. Those eyes… there was no humanity in them. At that moment, Ginny seemed sure that the person on the other side of the door was capable of just as much carnage as whatever had killed those men. If not more.

  The stranger stood frozen for an instant. An announcement came over the comm system, some code. The man turned and walked out of her sight back the way he had come.

  Ginny sighed in relief and laid her forehead against the door.

  ***

  When Alexander opened the fire door and stepped into the hallway that led to cabin one one four seven, it was as he suspected: hecatomb.

  The wolf had torn through the security personnel like tissue paper. There was a body lying among a destroyed light fixture, another with its head nearly severed… a head by itself lying near a crew only door, and a corpse that reminded Alexander of a discarded puppet at the base of a cabin door. There were knives scattered as well: khukuris used by the Nepalese Ghurkas, just as Alexander suspected. Little good their legendary blades had done them.

  How long until additional security arrived? Most passengers were at the show. Alexander had taken the time to look up when the show let out on the Fiesta Fun Letter. He glanced down at his watch, careful not to lift his injured arm too high—the pain was still coursing through him—and saw that the show would let out in forty-five minutes.

  Nevertheless, there was no time to waste. The door to one one four seven had been obliterated. Alexander stepped over the threshold and immediately spotted his silver commando knife, just where it had fallen and remained beyond his reach during the scuffle. He placed the duffel bag on the bed, and nearly fell backward as the ship reared upward. The storm was worsening. Alexander retrieved the blade and tucked it into his belt at the small of his back. He then picked up the bag again.

  The hunter stepped once more into the hall and walked to the crumpled man, the puppet. A static-garbled voice from the man’s walkie said something about an “I-95.” At this juncture, real-time intelligence would be critical. He unclipped the dead man’s radio and clipped it to his own belt. Next he dug in the man’s pocket and found a key card. As he stood and deposited the card in his jacket pocket, Alexander sensed that he was being watched.

  He looked over to the door across from the discarded corpse. The peephole there was dark, as if someone were standing there, peering out at him. He vaguely remembered the podgy woman from earlier in the evening who had stuck her head out.

  Alexander considered kicking in the door and opening her jugular. Just then a voice came over the comm system: “Bravo, bravo, bravo.” Alexander didn’t know what “bravo” was code for, but the longer he lingered here, the more likely he would be discovered. With the security personnel dead, the Coast Guard would very soon be involved. He must steer clear of crew whenever possible, he must avoid the Coast Guard at any cost, and he must find a way to put the animal down… without being caught himself.

  But first he must track the animal. His foot brushed against the severed head. Where was the body it had once belonged to? Alexander’s gaze landed on the door marked Crew Only. It was pushed closed, but not locked. The hunter opened it and was greeted with a headless corpse, draped over metal stairs. Its feet lay closest to the door; its neck and a wide spray of crimson both aimed downward.

  The hunter looked down at the radio on his belt. A white-noise voice issued from it, saying, “I’ll lure it to the crew deck.”

  Alexander stepped around the remains and hurriedly descended the steps.

  ***

  The navigating bridge was a flurry of activity. Upon receiving word of multiple casualties as a result of animal attack, several agencies were notified: Federal Bureau of Investigation, Department of Homeland Security, and within the DHS reporting structure, the Coast Guard. It was up to the F.B.I. to assume jurisdiction or not. It took all of five minutes for the bureau to cede jurisdiction to the Department of Homeland Security and Coast Guard, who were the only ones capable of any kind of immediate, meaningful action.

  Gavin Findlay didn’t necessarily believe in luck, but as luck would have it, a Coast Guard cutter had been conducting fishery law enforcement boardings in the gulf near the Dixon Entrance. Their estimated ETA was a half hour.

  Coast Guard Station Ketchikan responded, dispatching a 47 foot motor lifeboat with full crew. They would reach the Rapture in just under two hours.

  Poonyeah radioed, proclaiming that the animal was on the I-95. Chief Alisante got on the comm and announced the bravo code. He then ordered that the I-95 be locked down.

  As the various logistics were sorted, Gavin received a second call from Poonyeah, communicating his intention to lead the animal onto the crew deck.

  Gavin’s cabin was located on the deck just below the bridge. The security officer notified the chief that he was moving to assist, and was in his room within two minutes. Less than a minute after that, he had opened a lockbox he kept under his bed, and retrieved a Glock 17 with fully loaded magazine. He threw on a light snow coat, then a life vest. He heard Captain Alisante’s voice over the PA, instructing all passengers to please remain in their cabins during the storm and to stay clear of all common areas. Only a handful of people knew that the storm was not the true concern behind the captain’s instructions.

  One minute and two flights of stairs later he was rushing toward the connecting door of the crew deck. The air inside the short hall was salty and ice-cold, and the crew-deck door was in the process of closing when it flew open once again, blasted open by a deluge of ocean water.

  Glock in hand, Gavin fought through the tide to the door and out onto the wet, freezing deck. The thick mist reduced visibility significantly, but Gavin could see two figures locked in a deadly melee. One of the combatants was Poonyeah, and the other was dark, hunched, and unlike anything he had ever seen; it had the features of a beast, but the way it fought and moved, was more like a man.

  ***

  Poonyeah was mentally prepared. He had made his peace, was ready to leave both joy and sorrow behind…

  But not before offering the blood of his enemy to Kali.

  He stood at the bow, holding onto the gunwale with one hand, the khukuri held ready in his right.

  The beast eased out on all fours, circling around the small, covered crew pool. It growled, a sound lost in the cacophony of wind and storming sea. Poonyeah caught a flash in the creature’s eyes. It looked at him exactly the way a wolf would look at a plump sheep; then it charged.

  The creature barreled on, rearing upward at the last instant for a devastating strike, right arm lashing out. Poonyeah timed his response perfectly, slipping to the side as he slashed across, opening the wolf’s stomach. The beast crouched under the bow gunwales, screwing its head to peer at Poonyeah, who took a few steps backward, fighting to keep his balance. His extremities were numb, and it was all he could do to hold the knife in his shivering hand.

  The ship drove down into the base of a towering wave as the wolf emerged from beneath the gunwale and slid, its blood mingling with the saltwater washing the deck. Poonyeah lowered his center of gravity to maintain better balance as the beast leaped. Poonyeah sliced vertically as he tucked and rolled, ending at the bulwark the creature had attacked from. The Rapture surged upward as a saltwater flood pummeled the deck. Fighting for a hold, Poonyeah was washed forward into the wolf, which swung out for a decapitating blow. Poonyeah ducked and slashed the attacking wrist. The beast howled and continued its rotation, swiping across and down with its left hand, thumb inverted, and smashing Poonyeah to his back on the slippery deck as the bow plummeted once again.

  Somewhere in the midst of his fall Poonyeah had dropped his knife. His muscles were responding sluggishly now, and he fought to maintain consciousness. He spotted the jutting handle of Sanjay’s khukuri in the wolf’s left flank. With numb fingers he reached out, withdrew the blade, and summoned the final reserves of his failing
strength with the intent to drive the knife up under the beast’s jaw and into its brain.

  As Poonyeah lunged upward, the wolf swept its left hand from his neck to his wrist, pinning it to the deck as a fresh cascade of water rained down. The wolf then thrust its bloody right hand into the left side of the security officer’s chest, shearing through the pectoral muscles. Dimly, Poonyeah heard the report of a firearm. So far as he could tell, whoever was firing had missed. The animal drove its claws deeper in, reached under Poonyeah’s sternum and effortlessly ripped it free, casting it into the spray.

  Poonyeah did not see as the wolf drove its muzzle in, its jaws seizing upon his heart; he saw only the beauty of his wife’s face. He did not hear the thunder booming overhead or the sound of his heart being torn from his chest; he heard only the laughter of his children. He smiled briefly, then let go as the darkness closed in.

  ***

  Gavin saw the animal slam Poonyeah to the deck. An all-encompassing fog of spindrift temporarily hid the two figures from sight. Then the curtain parted just long enough for Gavin to see the thing thrust its claws into his chief security officer’s chest. He raised the Glock and squeezed off a single round, but he must have missed, because the animal didn’t even react; it pulled something from Poonyeah’s chest, then thrust its muzzle down and began… devouring.

  Sickness threatened to overtake him. Saltwater stung his eyes. The bow soared upward and the ocean pounded down. Deep in the back of his mind, he heard his brother’s voice:

  Just go back in and close the door before ye get washed overboard, ye dimwitted bastard.

  No. He could avenge Poonyeah. And he could end the matter definitively. Coast Guard be damned, he could handle this himself.

  Ye always were a stubborn arse.

  Gavin stumbled forward and through squinting eyes witnessed the beast stand, lift Poonyeah’s body up over its head and throw the security officer out over the bow and into the raging maelstrom. The deck plunged once more, as the highest wall of water yet loomed, temporarily blocking out half the sky. Gavin dropped to his right knee, thrust his hands and arms out and locked them. He kept a firm grip on the Glock and held his breath, then with steady pressure squeezed off four rounds, center mass.