The Turning

by Micky Neilson

  Nothing several years of therapy and a lot of alcohol won’t fix.

  Taormina called over one of the local law enforcement officers, a ruddy-faced woman in a puffy hooded jacket.

  “She’s one of the passengers,” he told the officer. “She helped me with a possible heart attack victim. See that she’s taken care of.” Taormina returned his attention to Ginny. “I gotta go back in there.”

  Ginny nodded and said, “Thanks for everything.”

  Taormina smiled, told her to stay safe and trudged through the snow back to the gangway, forcing his way through and disappearing into the packed crowd of passengers.

  ***

  “SON OF A BITCH!” Tony kicked the low table in the center of the bridge. Most of the officers avoided looking his way now. Captain Gentili was the one asking him to remain calm.

  It was all some kind of terrible nightmare. It had to be. Tony would wake up any minute now and his team would still be alive; this insane detour in reality would be no more than an uncomfortable memory, the product of a restless, troubled sleep.

  The combined Ketchikan and Rapture firefighters had manually triggered the fixed CO2 suppression systems in the engine room. For now, at least, the blaze was contained and with any luck would soon be extinguished. Cold comfort when they were all still trapped on this damned vessel.

  Last he had heard from Cutter Liberty, the additional personnel he requested were still “en route.”

  And where might all of the responsibility for the loss of his men’s lives fall? There was no passing that buck. While he stood here in the safety of the bridge, his men were getting slaughtered. Why? How? The not knowing was eating him from the inside out. What could he, should he, have done differently?

  Tony was sweating in spite of the cold. Once more his thoughts wandered to Jen. How could he face her, face anyone ever again, carrying the weight of those who had passed under his watch? While he stood here, worthless. Impotent.

  “Fuck this,” Tony whispered.

  His shotgun had remained slung on his back throughout the evening. He unlimbered it now. The team was only one deck beneath him, and at the bow of the ship. He could be with them in less than a minute, down a crew staircase to the gym.

  Tony nodded to Captain Gentili on his way out. “Captain, bridge is yours,” he said. “I’m joining what’s left of my team.”

  ***

  Alexander had returned to his room and packed everything he would need into the duffel, all the while, monitoring radio chatter. Things were most certainly looking up: aside from the fire department, no one else had gotten on, so far as he could tell. No one was getting off either, except for the old bat with the heart attack, but that was fine; once the beast was dead, it would prove a simple matter to devise a distraction and make good his escape.

  He heard distant gunfire. It was time. The beast would have them all dead very soon. He slipped the duffel bag onto his back.

  Alexander left his room and proceeded up the stairs, in the direction he believed the shots had originated. Two more cut through the night air, shotgun blasts this time. The hunter made his way onto deck nine, passing the pool with the shotgun and bits of radio, past the Bon Voyage Bar and into the forward spa area.

  “Sir, you can’t be here!”

  One of the Coasties was standing near a closed fire door on the starboard side, weapon ready, looking very anxious. Just ahead of Alexander stood another closed door, with a bloody hand print on the large button used to open it. So this useless git was meant to be covering the exit.

  “You need to exit this area immediately,” the guardsman continued.

  Alexander put on his best look of helplessness and affected a Sri Lankan accent. “My English not good. You help, show me where I go? Please?”

  He had been half stumbling toward the guardsman, feigning shock, keeping the right side of his body away as he reached for the knife tucked into the small of his back.

  The guardsman stepped forward as Alexander drew the knife, lunged in with one long, smooth motion and sent the blade at an upward angle under the other man’s jaw, driving the tip to the base of his skull.

  Too quick, much too quick, but there’s just no time for gadding about.

  The man dropped like a stone. Alexander removed the knife, wiped it on the guardsman’s uniform and replaced it behind his back. He stepped to the fire door the dead man had been guarding, pushed the button to open it, and pulled it several inches. With the opposite door closed, the beast would be faced with only a single means of escape, barring any crew routes Alexander was unaware of.

  His preparations complete, he took up a position by the automatic doors next to a rubbish bin, shrugged off the duffel and removed the Nosler. From this location he could see anyone approaching from the deck outside, and he enjoyed an unobstructed line of fire to the animal’s point of egress.

  Now, all that was left was to wait. It would all be over in a jiff.

  ***

  The gymnasium was a slaughterhouse. Dominguez was still seeing through a red veil, blinking Lorenzen’s blood from his eyes when he stumbled out of the men’s room (where Becket lay still, furrowed gashes marring the left side of his face, not fatal in themselves, no; it was the force of the strike that had snapped his neck), past the steam room and sauna, and into the lower floor of the gym where only seconds ago he had heard gunfire and screams, terrible rending sounds and animal grunts and snarls. Now there was mostly silence, except for slurping, munching noises.

  All across the lower floor of the gym, facing the floor-to-ceiling windows, was one long row of exercise equipment: treadmills, stationary bikes, and ellipticals. Set back from these was a clear plastic barrier that enclosed the spa. To either side of it were staircases that led to the upper levels and the weight machines.

  The thing was huddled down in the center of the floor, gnawing at a leg bone that was casting arterial spray onto the transparent spa wall. At that moment Dominguez was unable to tell just whom the animal was feasting on because the head was missing. Spread all around the space were pieces of Marston and Bangan: limbs, viscera, long looping ropes of intestine. Marston’s head was sitting on the treadmill nearest Dominguez, resting on the stump of its neck as if it had been carefully placed there. And everywhere, covering all, was red. Red, red, red…

  Dominguez shuffled forward a few more steps, shotgun held shakily before him. The whole situation, he thought, was ludicrous. All of this. His fellow teammates, scattered around him in pieces. It was funny, really. Yes, that was it: it was funny. The trick was you had to see the humor in something like this.

  As he neared the thing he shook his head, a chuckle forming low in his belly and then building to a hoarse laugh. The thing looked up, considered him with its bright yellow eyes, and canted its head to one side.

  Then it stood.

  Dominguez walked straight up to it, still chuckling. He lowered his shotgun, lifted his head and said:

  “Hey, what the fuck are you, anyway, huh?”

  The laughter returned then, light and steady and uncontrollable. All the while, Dominguez just shook his head.

  The thing regarded him silently for a moment before lashing out, striking him in the ribs, breaking a handful of them and launching Dominguez into the spa barrier. He bounced off and hit the floor, his breath escaping in a long wheeze.

  The thing stepped up and towered over him, bloody slaver dripping down. Dominguez’s mouth broke into a wide grin as he laughed in the face of death.

  ***

  BOOM!

  Tony fired immediately upon seeing the unidentifiable beast standing over Dominguez, who was… laughing? The first blast sent the animal stuttering back. It looked at him as he racked the shotgun.

  BOOM!

  It moved faster than any human. The second shot only caught part of it as the creature bolted away to the end of the workout space, around the bend and into the passageway leading out. Tony stopped briefly to check on Dominguez, who was still ly
ing flat, giggling. His eyes did not acknowledge the lieutenant’s presence. For all intents and purposes, Dominguez acted like someone who was repeating a particularly hilarious joke over and over again in his mind.

  He would live. He might never be right in the head again, but he would live. Maybe Tony had done that much right.

  Just then, the lights flickered.

  Oh no.

  That was a bad sign. The fire…

  No no no no… not this. Not on top of everything.

  The carnage surrounding him seemed disconnected, somehow. Tony had no time to let his mind linger on the pieces of his men that filled this room. Not if he had any chance of settling this. He put the butchery from his mind and set out after the beast that had killed his men.

  ***

  Alexander heard it galloping down the hallway behind the fire door. His rifle was locked and loaded and now he used his splinted arm as a base to steady the barrel, which he pointed at the door… the door which now smashed open.

  The wolf advanced a few steps and leaned down, placing its left hand on the floor. The small break was all Alexander needed. He steadied the barrel just as the beast reacted to his presence. He held his breath, and just as he put pressure on the trigger…

  The lights went out.

  Chapter Twenty

  Tony ran, shotgun swinging with the pumping of his arms. He rounded the women’s sauna and steam rooms just as the animal broke past the fire door at the end of the hall.

  As he neared that same door the electricity cut out, plunging him into absolute darkness.

  Throughout the ship screams rose like a white squall. There was a shot, what sounded like a high caliber rifle, accompanied by a pained, strange kind of yelp. Tony approached the fire door and waited, hoping his eyes would adjust. He heard the animal bolt outside, racing away, and he decided that he would not let this beast escape, not after all of the deaths it was responsible for.

  A second later Tony was pressing through the lobby, shotgun held before him. He could hear the animal on the staircase between the two automatic doors, and there was just enough moonlight permeating the glass for him to make his way. He passed a fallen form on the floor, unable to identify the body.

  Then he was on the staircase, and up to deck ten. He rushed onto the floor, swept left, then right, and spotted the silhouette of the monster (as he had now come to think of it) against the glass of the closed automatic door on the port side. Without hesitation he fired, instantaneously shattering the glass and propelling the monster through it.

  Only then did he hear oncoming footfalls behind him; Dominguez, maybe? He turned to see a charging shadow, saw the arms raise, and before he was able to raise his own weapon in defense, a smashing blow to the point of his chin spun him into oblivion.

  ***

  The lights went out, people screamed, and Alexander squeezed the trigger. The beast emitted a pathetic yowl. He had hit it, but the mutt had been in motion when he fired, so he could not be sure where his bullet struck.

  He worked the bolt, loading another round, but his eyes were still adjusting to the dark. There was a light sound of movement. Immediately after, the beast shot past him and up the staircase to his left.

  There was another sound as well, and movement, from the fire door. Alexander huddled down behind the rubbish bin. The figure moved across the lobby, following the wolf up the stairs. The hunter rose and crept silently behind.

  Alexander paused at deck ten, recoiled upon hearing a shotgun blast and the shattering of glass. It was one of the Coasties. He was distracted with the beast, and he was slowing the animal down, but it was time to remove him from the equation. The hunter rushed onto the floor and cracked the guardsman square in the jaw. The taller man crumpled.

  Without pausing, the hunter darted through the detritus of the safety glass and onto the outer deck. There was a light sheet of snow—speckled with drops of the beast’s blood—on the deck and a thick fall all around him. There was also a chaotic commotion below on the dock, a stampede of passengers, judging by the sound; just the distraction Alexander needed. All that was left was to—

  The beast leapt up and balanced effortlessly on the thin strip of railing. It cast a glance in his direction, and as the hunter raised his rifle to loose the final murderous bullet, the wolf launched itself over the side.

  ***

  The police officer who had been asked to supervise Ginny abandoned her when irate passengers began pressing onto the gangway. There was a frisson in the air, a building tension that Ginny knew deep in her core was set to break. She was tired, in both body and soul, and what she needed more than anything was some space.

  She walked along the dock, parallel to the ship, and came to a stop several feet under the forward-most lifeboat. She stood, hands thrust in her jacket pockets, stomping her feet to ward off the chill numbing her toes. There was a fire engine parked just behind her, unattended. Looking up into the falling snow, she saw the moon, bloated but not yet completely full. It felt inexplicably oppressive, as if it exerted some strange kind of pressure on her.

  Suddenly the relative safety of the crowd didn’t seem so bad. Ginny was preparing to walk back when the lights all along and throughout the massive ship before her went dark. A cacophony of screams arose, loudest at the midships hatch. A throng of passengers there boiled onto the gangway, forcing back the law enforcement personnel who had been standing guard. The collective anxiety, frustration and fear of those on board the Rapture erupted at last into a full-blown, panicked stampede.

  The police officers rushed the gangway and formed a human barrier at the choke point. Several passengers opted then to jump off of the gangway and into the water. They splashed up onto the dock, and once those first few made the leap, several others followed. The police were now scrambling to contain not just the gangway crowd but those in the water.

  Ginny backed away from the chaos as several wet, frantic passengers clawed their way onto the dock and fanned out, screaming, shoving as the police officers worked to restore order. More law enforcement formed a ring to corral the runners.

  Just then Ginny heard a heavy thump in the snow somewhere beyond the fire engine. She walked past it to get a better view. Squinting into a light, frigid breeze, she glimpsed a dark form, covered in fur, hunched over. It stood slowly, on shaking legs, and hobbled away toward the main street that ran along the docks.

  That was him. That was Brandon.

  She knew it was him. Beyond the common sense involved in her certainty, there was a feeling, a connection she felt just by laying eyes on him. Getting a better look at it… him, now in the moonlight, he reminded her of the animal from her nightmare a few days ago, when she walked the deserted Rapture and beheld a wolf-man silhouetted against the titanic moon.

  Her reaction then had been terror. Now, she felt only a desire to know more, to see for herself if there was anything of him left. What she should do was go and pull one of the police officers away from the terrified mob, let them know that there was a wolf creature loose in their quiet little town. That was what she should do, but something deep inside warned her against it. It felt wrong way down in her gut where logic held no dominion.

  Ginny stood motionless, torn between the entreaties of her gut and her mind. The passengers were still screaming, tussling with the police. There would be no way to get one of them away from the chaos anyway.

  There was a blur of motion then, from above and to her left. Something small landed in the snow beyond the fire truck, followed by something much larger, which struck the top rear of the fire engine with a heavy, flat thump. Ginny frowned. Apparently reason had vacated the situation altogether.

  The thing that had fallen onto the back of the fire truck looked an awful lot like a mattress.

  ***

  Pain.

  Not the short-time pain that came with the sound of thunder; the other, the long-time pain, the white agony.

  It had reeled from the thunder and ran from the space t
hat smelled like sweat and ammonia to the place that reeked of a thousand sweet scents, and there it had suddenly been engulfed in darkness.

  In darkness there is safety. In darkness there is food and drink.

  But this darkness only brought the white agony. There was an other, the same from before, the one who caused the real, long-lasting agony. Its left flank had suddenly burned with a fire more powerful than any it had ever felt, a searing coal lodged firmly in its side.

  Run! Hide!

  It had moved as quickly as it could, not back to the thunder, not down deeper into the dark belly of this place, but up, up toward the sky, up toward her.

  An other followed and there was thunder again, and a shattering sound, and wind and cold. Freedom, freedom within reach.

  It had hopped up onto the narrow perch, turned to see the other who brought the white agony, and then it flew, out into the night, landing hard even in the softness of the snow. There were others, many, many others. Too many. It felt the fire spreading, liquid heat threatening to cook it from the inside out. It must find a place to hide, to rest. Then, maybe then the fire would burn itself out.

  It smelled cedar and spruce, sheltered forests where no others could harm it, not far away. It stood on wobbly legs and fled.

  ***

  During his surveillance of the ship in the first days of the cruise, Alexander had mapped all of the passenger areas, beginning with his own deck, four. It was the lowest deck that offered room balconies, if he remembered correctly. He guessed that the forward-most cabin on four would have a balcony, just as his own room full to the stern did. This was conjecture, but well-reasoned, and with any luck, accurate.

  After the wolf had leapt from the railing, Alexander fled down the staircase, sliding his still-agonizing left arm along the railing in the dark. He made good time from deck ten to four and, by the flicker of his lighter, to the port side hallway, where he stopped before the first cabin door and blew out the lock with his Nosler. Pity to waste a silver bullet, but time was of the essence, and he still had more than enough ammunition to finish the job.