The upper body of Axe—or what was Axe just an hour ago—is protruding from the backseat, one arm groping at the airbag, the other one reaching backwards in an awkward angle, trapped in the backseat seat belt, hindering Axe from pushing forward farther. Instead, he bites at Eli like a rapid racoon, snapping his teeth with piercing claps, snarling and drooling.
“Oh, fuck, oh, fuck,” Eli breathes, reaching his arm over his shoulder, fumbling for the handle. He finds it, yanks and tumbles backwards out of the car.
The slight movement of the car is enough for Axe’s wrist to uncoil itself from the seat belt and he lunges halfway out the door, grabbing at Eli’s feet. Eli yelps and rolls to the side, jumping to his feet.
Axe is trying to do the same, raising himself up on his arms, and he would’ve probably made it, if Eli hadn’t grabbed the door and slammed it.
The sound of the inside of the door connecting with the top of Axe’s head is loud enough that Eli feels it in his gut—especially because of the crackling crunch as Axe’s skull apparently caves in.
He sinks to the ground as the door swings halfway open again, and Eli turns around and empties what’s left in his stomach—which isn’t much more than foamy bile—out onto sidewalk. He tries to keep standing, but his knees are buckling, and he grabs hold of the light post he narrowly missed.
While still heaving, he looks down at himself.
I’m okay. He didn’t scratch me. The airbag covered me. Holy fuck, that was close …
The thought of himself lying unconscious in the front seat for—what, minutes?—while Axe made his way through the car, the only thing stopping him from eating Eli’s face clean off being the seat belt.
“Sorry, Axe,” he croaks, looking back over at the burned corpse hanging out the open car door.
Then his gaze is caught by two people coming this way, running. It’s a fat guy wearing nothing but boxers, his hairy man-tits bouncing away and an almost-as-fat woman with messy, curly hair wearing a nightdress with penguins on it.
“Jesus Crist!” the guy exclaims, stopping by the car and clapping both hands on top of his balding head. “Jesus Christ, what happened here?”
“It’s … it’s okay,” Eli tries to tell them, but his throat is still throbbing from the throwing up, and his voice is weak.
“Oh, my God!” the woman squeals, seeing Axe’s blackened body. “Oh, that poor guy! He’s all burned! Jesus, Brian, you need to call the ambulance!”
The guy’s hand goes to where his pocket would’ve been, had he been wearing his pants, but finds nothing. Instead, Eli notices to his horror a flaccid condom hanging out from the boxers.
They were fucking just a minute ago, he thinks to himself, almost retching again at the thought of those two pale, sweaty bodies going at it.
“Where’s the fire?” the guy—Brian—asks, looking at the car. “I don’t see anything burning … how did he end up like this?” He looks at Eli, open mouthed.
Eli just shrugs. At that moment, his mind is blank. He couldn’t explain what has happened if his life depended on it.
“I’m getting my phone,” the woman says, frowning at Eli for one long moment, but not moving.
“Yeah, you do that, hon,” Brian says, not taking his eyes off of Eli. “And call the police while you’re at it.”
“The police?” Eli repeats, automatically beginning to back away.
“You stay here, buddy,” Brian says, jumping forward with surprising agility and grabbing him by the wrist. “I’m placing you under civilian arrest.”
“You’re … you’re what?” Eli exclaims, almost laughing. “Get your fucking hands off me, you fat pig!”
He yanks hard backwards to get free, but Brian’s sweaty grip is too firm, and with another remarkably swift movement, he twists Eli’s arm around to his back, pinning it in a painful lock.
“Ouch! Let go! You’re hurting me!”
The woman has stepped closer. “You need help, hon?”
“You’ve got no right to do this!” Eli shouts. “Let me go!” The thought of him ending up in police custody fills him with a blinding panic.
“I’ve got him, just go call the cops,” Brian sneers, pushing down Eli’s head in an awkward position. “Hurry up!”
The woman turns to leave, and Eli is about to shout something, when his gaze falls on Axe’s arm, lying on the pavement. The hand opens and closes in a jittery way, like a robot coming back to life.
The woman, who seems to be doing her best not to look at the body hanging from the car, passes by close enough that Eli can reach out his leg and trip her—and so he does, hardly thinking.
The woman, obviously not expecting this, screams out in surprise and falls flat on the sidewalk with a thud and a wheezing groan, as the air is audibly knocked from her lungs.
“Oh, shit!” Brian exclaims. “You okay, hon?”
The open door is blocking most of the view from where Eli and Brian are standing, but since Eli is bent over, he’s able to see under the door. And he witnesses Axe drag himself out of the car.
That’s right, Eli thinks to himself, feeling a crazy elation. Get her, Axe!
Axe claws his way atop the woman, who’s still gasping for breath. Then he makes her forget all about her troubles breathing, as he bites down hard on the fleshy part of her backside.
Suddenly, the woman has enough air in her lungs after all, and she screams in pain.
“Jesus!” Brian shouts and lets go of Eli, jumping to the rescue of his girlfriend. “Holy hell, he’s not dead!”
“Get him off!” the woman screams, slapping at Axe with open palms. “Get him off of me!”
Brian bends down and grabs Axe by the shoulders, tugging him backwards hard. But Axe has ground down on the woman’s back-fat with his teeth, and he’s holding on like a crocodile. As Brian yanks him away, the woman’s skin is first stretched, then ripped open with an awful elastic sound.
Her scream grows a couple of octaves higher and Brian roars out too at the sight of his girlfriend’s open back wound from where the blood immediately starts spilling.
Axe is the only one not reacting with horror; in fact, he seems even more motivated at the sight of the bleeding flesh, and he twists out of Brian’s hold and buries his face in the wound.
Brian throws himself at him, trying some awkward judo move to wrestle him off, but Axe is slippery and keeps at it, the blood now covering the sidewalk. The woman’s screams seem to lose power as she’s apparently drifting off to unconsciousness.
Eli suddenly becomes aware that his plan worked; he’s free. But he’s still just standing there, staring at the nightmarish scene. He turns his head and looks around.
A group of people have gathered by the car and more are coming from all directions. They all look mesmerized and horrified. None of them steps in right away. Then, a young man seems to find the courage and steps forward to try and help break up the scuffle.
By now, though, Axe has eaten his way well into the woman’s back, and Brian has received several scratches on his arms and face trying to get Axe away. Eli feels a strange mixture of horror and excitement at the sight.
What have I done? Right after that initial thought, another one comes to him, spoken in quite another tone: Serves you right for trying to call the police on me, you fat fucks.
The young man reaches in and tries to pull away Axe’s head. Axe turns his head and clams down hard, crunching the guy’s fingers, causing him to scream out in pain. Another couple of men enter the scene, and they actually manage to pull Axe off the woman—mostly, apparently, because Axe has lost interest in the dead-or-very-soon-dead woman. They hold him down in a clumsy headlock, one of them pinning his legs and the other holding his head. The one holding his head immediately gets bitten in the armpit, screams out and abandons the plan, freeing up Axe to twist around and bite the other guy, too.
Soon, it’s all just a pile of flailing arms and legs, screaming and shouting, still more people joining in, trying to break up
what looks like a brawl, none of them understanding the danger.
They’re all dead, Eli thinks to himself. And it’s because of me. I did this. Then, that other voice comes again: They did this to themselves. They shouldn’t have tried to arrest me.
Eli finally recognizes the voice. It’s been seven months since he’s heard it. It’s the one Claus called The Demon Voice.
“Every drug user has one,” he told Eli. “It’ll tell you whatever you need to hear. It’ll tell you to hurt people you love and people you don’t even know. It only serves you, and it’ll do whatever it can to convince you to do horrible things. The trick is to never listen to it.”
Eli turns on his heel and bolts.
TWENTY-ONE
As Iver enters back inside the ship, he can immediately feel the atmosphere has changed.
Somewhere from below come faint sounds of screaming and yelling, bumps and crashes. It’s almost drowned out by the sound of the ship’s engine, but Iver is used to that and automatically filters it out.
Even though he’s entered the lounge—a large, oval room with plenty of space, dining tables, a bar and even a dance floor—which is usually the most upbeat place to be on the ship, he can sense a brooding panic lurking just below the surface. People are coming and going, some obviously just woken up, others must have been up already, all of them exchanging worried looks and keeping together in small groups, none of them sure what to do about what they’re hearing.
He heads for the farthest exit, crossing the empty dance floor, and he picks up several hushed voices.
“Should we go down there?”
“What is happening?”
“Why have we stopped moving?”
“Does anybody know anything?”
Just as Iver is about to exit the lounge, a big, muscular guy steps out in front of him, cutting him off.
“Hey, you. What the hell’s going on?”
“Uhm,” Iver says. “I’m sorry, but … I don’t know …”
The guy doesn’t let him pass. “Then what are you doing running around with a toddler?”
People have gathered around them, and Iver sees no other way. “Okay, listen to me,” he says, clearing his throat. “There’s been an outbreak of the Rhabdo-virus …”
“I knew it!” someone exclaims, and about a dozen people seem to feel they’ve heard enough, because they immediately scatter.
“What do we do?” a woman asks in a shrill voice. “Why haven’t we been informed?”
“I’m sure they’ll say something over the speakers any minute,” Iver says, even though he suspects that might be a lie. “Until then, I think the best thing you can do is return to your cabins, and keep—”
“Fuck that!” the big guy cuts him off. “I’m getting the hell off of this boat.”
He turns around and heads out onto the deck—Iver doesn’t know if the guy intends to simply jump overboard, but he hopes not. He doesn’t have the time to wait and find out, however, so he excuses himself and pushes through the remaining people, some of them still demanding answers from him.
He manages to exit the lounge and runs down the hallway, headed for the nearest elevator. But he finds two dozen people already waiting outside it, anxiously looking at each other.
Instead, Iver heads for the staircase. Luckily, he knows the ferry inside and out, and he reaches the upper lever within five minutes.
As he steps out onto the platform where the lifeboats are, a gush of fresh wind meets him, causing him to catch his breath.
The lifeboat is already suspended in midair, dangling over the edge of the ship, being lowered by the wires. There’s no one in sight, which means they are operating the lifeboat from inside.
“Wait!” he shouts, running to the railing, waving his free hand, not sure if they can hear him from the inside. “Charlotte! Hold on! It’s me, Iver!”
The lifeboat stops. The side door opens and Charlotte sticks her head out, squinting up at him. “You changed your mind?”
“I did. Let me come with you.”
“Whose baby is that?”
“Some woman. She’s dead.”
“Who is it?” a voice asks from inside the lifeboat.
“Where’s the girl?” Charlotte asks, ignoring the other question.
Iver swallows. “She’s dead. So are probably a hundred other people. It’s breaking out all over deck B as we speak. It’s just a matter of minutes now.”
Charlotte turns pale. “You … you’ve been into contact with any of them them?”
“No,” he says. “I’m fine, don’t worry. So is this guy. Please, Charlotte, let us aboard.”
Charlotte considers for a second, darting a glance down the platform. “Did anybody see you come up here?”
“No.”
“All right. Come on, then. Climb aboard.”
Iver looks down at the nauseating drop below. The water is so far away, falling from up here would be like jumping from a skyscraper. “I … I can’t. Not with this guy in my arms.”
“Get it back up, Tommy,” Charlotte tells someone inside the lifeboat.
“What?”
“Just do it!”
The lifeboat starts rising back up. When it’s close enough, Iver hands over the boy to Charlotte. “Here, take him for me a minute.”
Charlotte looks like he’s offering her a cactus with no pot, but she takes the boy awkwardly in her arms, bringing him inside.
Iver breathes deeply, then steps over the gap and into the swaying lifeboat. Inside, there’s a synthetic smell, the sunlight only making it through a row of narrow plastic windows.
The guy operating the handles controlling the wires is someone Iver’s seen a couple of times before down in the ship’s engine room; his name is Chris or Claus. He’s got black hair and stubble, and he’s a couple of years older than Iver. Iver knows him to be a moody guy who almost never says anything positive. And, as far as he knows, he’s one of Charlotte’s close friends.
“Welcome aboard,” he says, smiling sourly. “Glad you could make it.”
Charlotte hands Iver the toddler again, and the little guy seems thankful to be back in Iver’s arms.
“If he starts crying, you better make him stop,” she says. “I can’t take babies crying.”
Iver just nods. “Thanks for taking us with you.”
“Sit down,” Charlotte says, gesturing towards the seats. It’s not an invitation.
Iver sits down and looks out the window as Chris or Claus begins lowering the lifeboat. He sees the outside of the ferry drift by; now and then he gets a glimpse through the windows. There’re people running on every deck now.
“Listen, Chris,” Charlotte says, turning up the radio she’s been listening to.
“This is your captain speaking,” Sorenson’s voice comes through. “Please remain calm. Wherever you are at the moment, I urge you to return to your cabin, lock the door and stay there. We have a situation which is being dealt with as we speak …”
“Yeah, right,” Charlotte scuffs. “Fucking liar.”
“Please don’t panic,” Sorenson repeats. “And please avoid contact with other passengers. There’s absolutely no reason to try and get off the ferry …”
Charlotte looks over at Chris, then at Iver. “Are people trying to get off?”
Iver stands up and goes to the rearview window. From here, he can see the other lifeboat on this side. There’re people all around it, pushing and shoving to get on it.
“Holy hell,” Charlotte says. “Look at that!”
Iver follows her pointing finger out the front window and he sees someone throwing something out from a window. At least that’s how it looks at first. But as the thing begins flailing its arms on the way down, he realizes it’s a man.
“Oh, no,” he breathes as the man hits the water and disappears.
The jump was maybe twenty feet—probably not enough to render him unconscious. But the stream around the ferry will likely pull him down and drag him all th
e way to the rear end. By that time, even if he’s still alive, he’ll encounter the ship’s rotor.
The first thing you learn about emergency protocols when working on a ferry, is that you never jump from the ferry and into the water; it’s pretty much guaranteed suicide.
But most people don’t know that.
And, staring out the lifeboat’s window, Iver sees two more jumpers. Then a fourth and a fifth. Soon, the air is full of them.
“Holy hell,” Charlotte repeats.
“Goddamn morons,” Chris says. Even though he’s trying to sound tough, Iver can tell his voice is shaking.
“… I repeat,” Sorenson’s voice goes on over the radio. “Jumping ship is extremely dangerous and should not be attempted by anyone. Return instead to your cabins and avoid any contact with other passengers. Help will reach us soon. There’s no reason to pan—”
Charlotte turns the radio off, muttering: “I can’t listen to that shit.”
Then, there’s a beep from the instruments, and Chris exclaims: “We’re there! I’m putting her down now.”
Iver feels the slight bump as the lifeboat touches down on the water. Chris and Charlotte work together to get the wires free and turn the boat around. Iver realizes now that he would probably never have made it in time, had he been forced to do all of this on his own while looking out for the toddler.
He looks out the window as the lifeboat speeds up, more and more of the ferry coming into view.
The sight is far from uplifting.
People are still jumping from every height. It reminds Iver with a sinking feeling of the footage he saw from nine-eleven. These people don’t jump out to avoid fire and smoke, but dead people trying to eat them. And they don’t hit concrete, but water. But the effect is pretty much the same; only a few of them ever reaches back up to the surface—Iver counts maybe ten or fifteen lucky ones on this side of the ferry—but they will likely drown too before they reach land.
Two other lifeboats are being lowered. That is, people are trying to lower them. But one of them seems to have difficulty even getting going, because too many people are flooding it, causing it to rock dangerously back and forth.
Dead Meat | Day 5 Page 13
