by A. R. Daun
Richard's query took an estimated 100 milliseconds to perform. Nanotech that had drifted into the phone, powered by the heat from his hand, tunneled into the ship's broadband wi-fi network and broke into the secured servers 50 ms after parsing through his command. The rest of the time was spent correlating the reply received with various other databases in order to confirm the veracity of the RFID tag information.
He nodded.
“Let's see whether the old boy still has it,” he said, as he walked to the banks of elevators with a renewed purpose. He gestured idly and one of the elevator doors slid open as he stepped briskly inside. He had never felt so alive in days. Well, ever since he woke up in the abandoned city with no memories of who he was and where he was. As the door closed his bright blue eyes glittered.
Showtime.
PART 2: INVASION
CHAPTER 18
Year 1 A.R. (After the Rising)
Extract from the journals of Ammara Lewis
Oh God...oh God...oh God...we've left the ship...it's overrun...but now it's dark and there are shadowy things snatching people away from our group and into the surrounding darkness. We slowly make our way past the empty buildings and cars that sit like sepulchral sentinels in the mausoleum of what used to be New York, and all around we hear the the odd scraping of talons on cracked concrete.
I think...
CHAPTER 19
Day 4 (6:10 pm EST)
Cape Liberty Cruise Port, Bayonne , NJ
What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls the butterfly.
- Richard Bach
This is the time baby.
Stop what you're doing now.
Listen.
Do you hear that deep rumbling? Do you feel the first tremors of a sonorous growl that rolls through the ground like subterranean thunder?
It's the sound of running feet on asphalt.
Now listen closely, because we don't have much time.
You must turn around, and you must flee. And you must never, ever, ever turn your head to look back at what's chasing you.
It's okay to scream, and cry, and plead to God and Jesus and Buddha almighty for your salvation.
Now run, as they come in a living flood. Run, as a blood red river surges through the streets leading up to the docks - a hungry wave that engulfs the screaming security personnel, then pours up the gangway and into the open hatch.
From there the tide flows into the interconnecting chambers and passageways and stairways of the great ship, like pulses of blood pumped into the body of a desiccated corpse. There are a few futile attempts to fight back, but fists and blunt objects, and even the occasional fire arm wielded by over-matched security men, cannot hope to stand up against razor sharp talons, and rows of dense diamond hard teeth
A blubbery man in Bermuda shorts, his pale wrinkled skin blistered red with sunburn, bursts from a balcony cabin and jumps, screaming all the way down. One foot catches the railing a few decks down and his body starts twirling in mid-air until it splats on the promenade deck like an over-ripe watermelon.
An elderly matron, hearing the screeches of dying men as they scrabble to get into the locked stateroom before being torn to shreds, hurries into the cramped bathroom and crouches in one corner, fat salty tears running down her plump cheeks. She closes her eyes as the bathroom door is reduced to splinters.
A lone gambler, cigarillo dangling defiantly from chapped lips, obsessively pulls the handle of a quarter slot machine in the Odyssey's 20,000 sq. ft. casino, his eyes widening as four stick-like figures enter from the west entrance and arrow their way towards him. He opens his mouth to scream but the only sound that mars the whir of the spinning reels is a hollow crunch as sharp knives and hard armor smashes into him and breaks every major bone in his body. There is a triumphant click as the reel stops. Jackpot symbols line up on the payout line, and suddenly the sound of hundreds of clinking coins fill the empty room as the player's right hand, severed at the wrist and still tightly gripping the slot handle, blesses them with spots of bright red.
In the ship's main galley, two Stygian figures, their ropy muscular arms gleaming dully in the low light, crouch over the disemboweled and dismembered body of a crewman, noisily sucking the marrow from arm and leg bones newly-wrenched from their sockets. Next to the gruesome feast, a woman in clean white unis is sprawled in the untidy posture of sudden death, her limbs all akimbo and her neck twisted at an unnatural angle. The bottle of disinfecting solution that she uses to spritz incoming diners lies next to one outstretched hand, its contents slowly draining onto the blood-stained floor.
In room 1848, which is the Odyssey's largest and most expensive stateroom, Mr. Jiang and his entourage cower behind a large king sized bed. They can hear occasional screams from outside, and one time someone bangs on their door while shouting something that they cannot understand. None of them speaks any other language besides Mandarin, and their lazy translator has not shown up after going down to get some dinner for herself, so they are at a loss as to what is happening. These damn foreigners are always getting into some trouble, and Mr. Jiang vows he will scuttle the negotiations for a majority share in the Odyssey's company once he is safely back in Shanghai. They decide to remain in the room until everything settles down, and that's when the doorknob starts jiggling and something squeals and hisses and snickers from the other side.
In the lower decks, where crew members sleep in cramped quarters two and sometimes four to a room, it is a slaughterhouse. Runnels of blood flow from the cabins and into the passageways, where they mix to form coagulating puddles on the scuffed carpeting. It's a silent nightmarish scene, save for the sporadic crack of splintering bone and the mewls of the creatures as they fight over their spoils.
A few decks up, the wail of a baby attracts the attention of a rugged-looking man in a polo shirt and khaki short pants. He has managed to avoid detection during the initial invasion by hiding in one of the large walk-in freezers used to store meat, fish and other perishables, and he is slowly making his way towards the upper decks. Against his better judgment, he follows the sound and finds that it leads to one of the restrooms, where he finally comes to his senses and starts to slink away, but it is too late. The pitiful wail turns into a mad cackle. He starts to run as all the hairs on the nape of his neck stand on end, and he realizes with some surprise that he is screaming, and that he cannot stop.
His scream barely registers in the Odyssey's main library, where an older gentleman with sparse gray hair and a somewhat pudgy face is oblivious to the racket outside and hunched over the latest Stephen King tome. The small room contains several elegant mahogany shelves filled with paperbacks and hard-cover books, while on a desk to one side is piled a thick fan of heavily-thumbed magazines. On the walls are displayed framed pen and ink drawings of other famous and not so famous cruise ships. He hears the library door being opened and looks up, annoyed at the interruption, and sees two people, a woman and a young man. They are making frantic come-on gestures at him.
He carefully, almost pedantically, marks his page with a folded piece of paper. It is one of those printed flyers about the ship's daily activities that gets shoved into each stateroom everyday. The jolly-looking gentleman, who used to be an MTA New York City bus driver, slowly gets up to ask them what he can do to help, glancing at an analog clock situated high above one of the room's glass doors.
It is 6:25 pm, less than thirty minutes since the Coral Odyssey docked, and more than two thirds of her crew and passengers are already dead.
CHAPTER 20
Day 4 (6:25 pm EST)
Cape Liberty Cruise Port, Bayonne , NJ
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
- T.S. Eliot
Diwata watched anxiously as the old gentleman plodded creakily towards them. She wished he would hurry up, and glanced around, almost cert
ain that one of those demonyos had seen them by now. By her side, Pablo uttered a soft moaning sound, and she instinctively took his hand in hers and gave it a brief reassuring squeeze.
They had been doing their daily cleaning chores on the upper deck staterooms when the Captain's announcement had been broadcast. The occupants of the room had returned in haste, and she and Pablo had been in one of the service elevators on the way down when the troubles began.
It was luck more than anything else that saved them. Just as they had maneuvered their trolley into the elevator door, Diwata caught a glimpse of something large and very very fast moving past the far passageway and towards the inner staterooms. This was followed a few seconds later by several inarticulate screams, and then more blurred figures crossing her field of vision. Without thinking twice she had quickly hit one of the floor buttons, just as one of the creatures turned in the passage and arrowed straight towards them.
She had a momentary vision of something that must have come from hell. It was all teeth and sharp recurved talons, and in its faceless visage she saw nothing but hatred and a mindless consuming hunger. Then the doors closed and blotted out the sight. Time restarted, and Pablo's high pitched screams reverberated loudly in the closed elevator. Diwata timed it perfectly, and pressed the red emergency stop button exactly between decks eleven and ten. The elevator ground to a halt.
“Shuuushhhh,” she had whispered, as she took the much taller young man into her arms. “It's ok Pablo. We're ok. Quiet now.”
He had whimpered but quieted down. Something scratched at the closed outer doors of the elevator on the floor just above them, and Diwata could hear a distinct mewling sound coming from above as well. The sound, which was to her mind grotesquely suggestive of an animal that was somehow curious, had continued for a few minutes. This had been followed by a final loud screeching as sharp talons scoured the metal doors, then a final silence descended within the enclosed car.
“Mami..” Pablo began hesitantly, looking up at the ceiling.
“Shhhhh,” she said to Pablo, placing finger to lips. “Quiet anak.”
They waited in silence for the next ten minutes. When Diwata decided that the lurking demonyo must have lost interest in them, she had pulled the emergency button and let the elevator continue its descent to deck 10.
The inner and outer elevator doors opened to an eerily deserted passageway. Diwata immediately started pushing the button for the lower floors, but the elevator refused to respond and the doors remained adamantly open. She shrugged, and gestured Pablo to follow her out. They would have to make do with the stairways.
They had seen the old man reading in the library as they crossed one long passageway. After they got over their initial surprise, Diwata had the urge to simply leave him be and continue on their way to the lower decks. He seemed quite old and frail, and he would probably be a burden on them. But she knew that she could never live with herself if the demonyos reached this deck and they left without at least trying to warn him about the imminent threat.
“What is it, young lady?” the man grumbled, looking from her to Pablo, then back again. He must have sensed the tension and urgency in their expressions, because his annoyance was immediately replaced by concern. “Is something wrong?”
“Please, Sir,” Diwata said. “There is some very bad trouble in the upper decks. Maybe people killed. Some bad...things...are loose up there and we have to get out of here and contact my superiors.”
She did not tell him that she had tried her ship phone earlier and could not reach anyone. There was already enough bad news to go around. The main goal right now was to get herself and anyone with her to safety, and contact whoever was left in charge about the creatures she had seen. She was a mere cabin stewardess, and her training did not include safe handling of what seemed to be supernatural demons from the underworld.
“You're not making any sense,” the old man protested. “What kinds of things?”
“Please, Sir,” Diwata repeated, and pointed towards the far end of the corridor. “Pablo and I are going down through the stairways. If you stay here they might come, the demonyos. We need to get out of here now!”
“Demonyos? Demons?” the old man said doubtfully. He must have thought they were playing some trick on him. “Are you saying there are demons on the ship? Now this isn't funny at all, young lady.”
Diwata glanced around nervously. She knew they had to leave now, whether or not the passenger came with them. She had done what she could to warn him. She took Pablo's hand and was about to set off when they heard the slamming of a doorway in the distance, then curious clacking sounds that seemed to be getting ominously closer.
Pablo moaned, and Diwata pulled him deeper into the room. They crouched behind a large desk, and Diwata frantically motioned the old man to hide as well. But the entire library was visible to the outside corridor due to its glass walls, and there were no other large furniture in the room, so the man had to squeeze in behind them. Diwata noted with not a little bit of satisfaction that his condescending annoyance had morphed into real fear by now.
They waited in silence, their breaths coming in sharp little gasps. Something pressed against the glass walls, creating a tapping that reverberated in the otherwise soundless room. Diwata could not help herself and peeked from one side of the desk.
Three elongated nightmarish figures were looking in through the library's glass walls, their long taloned fingers splayed across its surface. They had no visible eyes, but each had a long beak-like proboscis whose rugose and obscenely veined surface ended in a large disc-like protrusion. Diwata was reminded of a nature documentary she had once seen of various flies, and particularly of one nasty type called robber flies, who likewise sported similar appendages. But this comparison was shattered when one of the figures outside pressed the flat tip against the glass wall, attaching to the surface as if by suction. A round gaping hole irised open in the center to reveal endless rows of even white triangular teeth that scratched against the glass. The resulting high-pitched scraping noise made Diwata want to scream, and she clapped her hands against both ears.
Then the glass broke, showering the room with tiny pieces of razor-sharp shards. Pablo screamed again, and this time Diwata joined in the chorus as one of the creatures stepped into the room.
“Oh my God, what is that?” the old man said in weak voice, and that's when the two others in the corridor disintegrated in a fine spray of particles, as if some hurricane force wind had blown apart sculptures made of sand. What was left of their bodies fell in several gruesome heaps on the ground, a tangle of dismembered torsos and shattered limbs. A tall rangy man with dirty blond hair and a disheveled outfit stepped into the room, his bright blue eyes fixing on the lone remaining demonyo.
The demonyo turned around and leaped towards him in a fraction of a millisecond, a movement almost too fast for Diwata's eyes to see. But the man made a curt, almost dismissive, gesture and the creature broke into two halves before it could reach him. Its legs below the waist continued the leap for a half second more before crumpling to the ground, but the top half of its body tumbled end over end in the air before coming to rest next to the shattered glass wall. Black bilious liquid spurted from the sliced ends of both parts in a sudden stream which quickly petered to an oozing flow.
They stared at the stranger. He wore loose saggy jeans below a collared blue short-sleeved shirt that had lost some of the top buttons, and he was quite fit and muscled, so much so that the tight fitting top he wore seemed to be losing the battle to contain him. His deltoids and trapezius formed small hillocks on his shoulders, and the broad pecs in front threatened to burst out of the thin shirt. His arms, with their bulging biceps and sculpted triceps, looked like they could have uprooted small saplings.
He smiled at them, revealing small even white teeth, then surprised everyone by performing an elaborate bow.
“I'm pleased to finally meet you Lady Vega,” he said in a low gravelly voice, his unlined youth
ful face beaming with joy in the bright library lights. “My name is Richard, and I'm here to help you.”
He stepped forward, and ignoring Pablo and the old man entirely, placed his strong hands on her shoulders. She instinctively tensed, and was about to slap him on the face for his effrontery when he leaned down and engulfed her in a heartfelt embraced, leaning his head at the junction between her neck and shoulders. She could feel him trembling, and when she felt some wetness on her skin she realized with a shock that he was in tears.
Diwata instinctively wrapped her own arms around the man who had called himself Richard, and patted his back reassuringly. She had the weirdest sensation of deja vu that she somehow knew this man, although she had never seen him before.
“There there,” she said softly. “Thank you for saving us from those things, Richard. Salamat anak, salamat.”
“I missed you,” he mumbled into her, his breath faintly ticklish against her skin. “I remember so much now.”
He looked up at her, and she gazed back into his blue blue eyes. Eyes that were like the color of skies on a cloudless afternoon, or the blue of clear waters where you could see all the way down to the bottom. She felt herself sinking into its depths, floating on underwater currents, until something said activated.
And suddenly she could see everything, and she opened her eyes and released him.
“Is it too late for the ship?” she asked, and he nodded sadly.
“We will save as many as we can,” she decided. “Will you help?”
“I'll have to go my own way, my Lady,” he said regretfully. “There's still one more person I have to see.”
