by ML Banner
His pinkie brushed by the low edge of the window, and his heart sank as he thought he’d just missed it. But somehow, he hooked the bottom of the open window with two fingers. It was just enough.
With his downward progression abated, he swung under and was now able to grab with his other hand, giving him a firm grip.
“Made it,” he breathed.
When his motion stopped, he pulled himself up just enough so that he could venture a better peek inside the bridge. With all the squeaking, he’d thought for sure it would have brought all the crazies to his port side. But he didn’t see any there.
Hauling himself up farther, he looked to his left, toward the consoles on the starboard side of the bridge, where most of their work was done. That’s where two crazies were taking out their anger, pounding away on one of the consoles. It was Jessica’s; the one emitting an alarm. He knew it was the alarm she had set to warn her to change the ship’s navigation. It had been blaring the whole time. Both crazies were beating with their fists so hard against the console that glass, skin, and bones were breaking. Each fist lifted revealed a red pulpy mess, and yet they were completely focused on their mission: stopping the alarm. This was their opportunity.
While the crazies were occupied, it was their best chance to surprise them.
Jean Pierre heard a noise from above. It was Ted and David trying to make sure he was okay. “Yes,” he mouthed. In spite of your letting go of me, he thought. It was Ted, but he couldn’t blame him. He was surprised the man was functional at all after watching his wife die. But they all had to focus right now on the task at hand. With a little luck, there’d be time for mourning.
Jean Pierre reached inside and worked the hand crank slowly to open the window wider, one centimeter at a time. Just a few more turns and he could slip in all the way. Each crank, though, creaked a loud chirp, and so with each squeaking crank, his nervousness grew. While he turned the crank, he glared at the crazies, willing them to not turn his way.
When the crank stopped cranking, Jean Pierre examined the opening. It was plenty of room. Glancing once more at the crazies—they were still pounding away at the offending alarm—he slid in head-first.
~~~
Jessica watched wide-eyed from the starboard swing deck. Ágúst was at the opposite end, because he’d vowed to take out any more crazy birds that showed up. She gave him the thumbs-up and he returned it, without the smile she expected. He adjusted his sunglasses and then re-glued his face against the swing deck windows to watch Jean Pierre and the others take back the bridge.
She was surprised by her staff captain’s brash plan. And it might just work. The crazies—they were all calling the infected people this now—appeared to be dead-set on beating her console to death. And that is what concerned Jessica more than just their presence on the bridge: she still needed that console functional to change the computer’s navigational instructions, and she had maybe thirty minutes left. She sure hoped her staff captain would stop these crazies from their equipment pummeling. They’d tried to do this themselves and it almost got her killed.
First Ágúst and Jessica pounded on the starboard bridge windows, and for less than a minute, it seemed to work: the crazies stopped pounding, and momentarily glared at them with their creepy red eyes. But their pause was brief as the two crazies returned to assaulting her console and its non-stop alarm. Each subsequent attempt to divert their attention by pounding was ignored by the crazies. Then she tried something stupid.
Ágúst was against it, but she insisted. They cracked open the hatch and she screamed at them through the opening. The crazies ignored her. It’s like they knew they couldn’t get to her. She slipped through the door and screamed some more, and still they did nothing. But when she took two steps toward them and screamed, that drew their interest. They darted toward her, much quicker than she expected. She turned and jumped through the door. In mid-dive she could feel one of them swipe at her shoe, but it couldn’t get a hold on it. When she hit the swing deck floor, Ágúst slammed the hatch. They agreed that neither of them would try that again.
Probably ten minutes passed since then and now they just watched and discussed what they saw.
The root of the crazies’ fury appeared to be the console’s alarm. And Jessica and Ágúst pounding on the windows just wasn’t a loud enough substitute. It was only when she was yelling close enough to them that they turned away from the alarm. They confirmed this with Deep on the radio, who told them of other witnessed occasions when crazies attacked the loudspeakers inside and outside during the general alarm. Just like the birds did.
Jessica would have loved to have gotten more feedback on the radio from Deep, but he said he wanted to keep the radio open for emergencies and to steer the captain’s group and staff captain’s group to their appointed targets. So they waited, and watched the crazies pummel her console. Until the staff captain slid into the bridge.
They held their breath as they watched their superior slide inside the bridge window, their eyes floating from him to the crazies and back. He must have been quiet enough because the crazies continued their unceasing pounding.
When he was all the way in, after also confirming the crazies were occupied, he slipped the top half of his frame up and through the half-opened window and signaled his team above. That’s when something happened.
From the outside, they couldn’t really hear the alarm or the crazies’ pounding, so they couldn’t tell what happened. But all at once, they stopped their pounding. They glared at the console, like it was telling them something. Both crazies held their fists halfway up in the air, in between putting them down, or raising them to continue their pounding. It was as if they didn’t know what to do next.
“Is the alarm still going?” Jessica asked.
“I’ll check,” Ágúst said, already running forward to the leading edge of the swing deck and the beginning of the bridge windows.
“No! I think the alarm is off. The screen looks dead. I think they killed it,” he reported, hands cupped around his face, sunglasses pressed to the glass.
“Oh no!” Jessica breathed.
Then she screamed, “No!” and started pounding on the bridge windows.
“What?” Ágúst begged. But then he saw.
61
Infected
Jean Pierre signaled David and Ted. It was their turn. David gave a slight wave and whispered, “You’re up” to Ted, who gave a weak nod.
Ted glanced down the course from below his feet to where the top half of Jean Pierre was beckoning out the broken bridge window, some twenty feet away. And beyond that, an abyss. If Jean Pierre didn’t grab him, or if Ted slid down wrong, he’d careen off the bridge’s bank of windows onto the forecastle, at least thirty feet down, to certain death. Yet he wasn’t at all nervous about this. And for just the briefest moment, he considered taking a dive down the twenty-foot window span, purposely missing Jean Pierre’s grasp, followed by the thirty foot drop. Then he might be where TJ was right now.
Why not?
Something squeezed his arm, vise-like. He turned and saw David, gazing at him with compassion. “Look Ted, none of us would fault you for sitting the rest of this out. But you need to decide right away.”
David was right, of course. He couldn’t just sit this out. They would probably need another body on the bridge to help take it back. Mourning for his dead wife would have to come later. And if there wasn’t a later, so be it. At least he’d try to make TJ’s death matter.
Ted glanced back at David, took a breath, and said without any bluster, “I’m good. I need to do this.” David gave a weak, unbelieving smile back.
With his back to the bow, Ted knelt down and thrust out his hands, and David gripped them firmly.
Ted extended his legs and arms, and David lowered him over the bridge windows face-down. Ted’s tennis-shoe’d toes squeaked against the glass. Once David’s arms were outstretched and he was on his own belly, he shot glances at Ted and then Jean Pierre. Ted waited for t
he moment of release, trying to guess when that might be from David’s face and body language. And although everything in him told him he should try to flip over on his back so he could see, he stuck to the plan, held his breath and braced for it when David nodded.
And then he let go.
Ted’s slide was very slow at first, as he pressed his hands and sneakers against the thick glass for traction. But just like Jean Pierre had sped up, so did he. He realized too quickly that traction was impossible because the windows were coated with a layer of salt that made them slippery.
Ted accelerated with no control.
He told himself that it was out of his hands: he’d either be stopped by Jean Pierre, or he’d sail over the edge. When it felt like he had traveled at least the estimated twenty, Ted was about to panic. Then he felt Jean Pierre clasp onto his legs and tug.
Weightless, as if he were floating, but only for a moment, when he hit hard Ted did all that he could to take up most of the impact with his knees, but he felt one of his ankles give way and he tumbled to the bridge’s solid floor.
Muting a painful grunt—ice picks in his ankle—he glanced up and watched their plan go completely to hell.
Two crazies screeched and dashed toward them—he assumed his loud landing must have drawn their attention.
He’d written about and even read about situations like these in books and stories, and it was true. Everything around him slowed down to a snail’s pace. And it was during this elongated moment that he had three thoughts all at once: he’d never see his wife again, this plan was a bad one, and he knew what he had to do next.
A quick head-snap back confirmed to Ted that Jean Pierre was more concerned with Ted’s hard landing than the crazies running toward them. Only when one of the two crazies brayed did Jean Pierre’s features change. But his reaction would be too slow.
Ted returned his gaze to the first oncoming crazy, and at the same time he leapt upward. His left ankle screamed for him to stop, but he sucked in the pain and hobbled two more stutter-steps forward. That’s when his ankle gave up completely, sending Ted sailing forward, toward the first oncoming crazy. Keeping his arms up like goal posts, he tucked down his head, and braced for impact.
The first crazy didn’t anticipate this, and because somehow Ted was able to snag the crazy’s legs, it flipped over him and hit the decking with a deep thunk, just before it could reach Jean Pierre. Ted held on. The crazy convulsed violently, all in an attempt to flip itself around again—some part of the infecteds’ brains must have been turned off, or confused. They weren’t able to control or figure out some of their normal motor functions.
Ted let go and spun out from under the crazy who, now free, fairly quickly turned itself around. And faster than he would have thought, it now scuttled its way toward Ted.
Ted wasn’t sure what he was expecting: maybe the crazy would stay down when it hit the ground. And it was why Ted remained on his belly when the crazy barreled toward him.
Again he didn’t think; he just reacted.
He spun himself around and onto his back, taking a cat-like defensive posture. If he had thought about it, he probably would have tried—albeit unsuccessfully—to run. When the crazy fell on top of him, Ted was able to deflect it using his legs and arms. His left ankle roared in pain. But he ignored its pleading. He had bought another few seconds.
Jean Pierre was now in motion, but in the other direction, while Ted watched, still on his back.
For a long moment, Ted thought he was running away. Even more surreal, he grabbed a large model of the Intrepid—the plaque read 1:50 scale—from the floor. Clutching the model—its smokestack looked damaged just like the original—with both hands, Jean Pierre took two long strides to the crazy, who was once again trying to right itself. But before it could, Jean Pierre swung and connected solidly, sending the crazy into the wall just below the window they’d just entered. The timing was perfect, because David slid in hard, landing right on top of the crazy, taking him out, perhaps permanently.
That left one.
Ted spun around again, not sure why the other crazy hadn’t struck yet, but then he saw why.
Jessica was wrestling with the other.
The crazy was moments from biting her when Jean Pierre and David arrived. They pummeled the crazy—David with a foot and Jean Pierre with the ship model—until the crazy no longer moved.
Jessica squirmed out from under the unconscious crazy and dashed to one of the consoles. It appeared to be the same one Ted and TJ had seen her working on earlier today.
Jean Pierre bounded over to Jessica, while David stepped over to Ted. No one thought to look after Ágúst, who had disappeared from sight.
David hoisted Ted up off the floor. Ted swung his arm around him and the two men slowly moved to the back of the bridge without making a peep. The last thing they wanted to do was interrupt the officers’ attempts to do what they needed to do. From what they saw, it didn’t appear to be going well.
“David,” Ted whispered, a quiet call to his human crutch that he was about to let go.
Ted released himself and sat heavily in one of the bridge’s only two chairs, behind a long console of computer and radio equipment. The other chair was the captain’s, at the very front of the bridge.
David must have realized that the bridge’s hatch was still open, because he dashed the ten or so feet and locked up the bridge. He then grabbed a tape dispenser from inside a glass bookcase and darted over to each crazy and wrapped their legs up tight. Perhaps he thought they would wake up, even though Ted suspected they were both dead.
Inside, they were safe, but outside...
Ted pointed to the bow, past the captain’s empty chair.
David, now standing behind him, followed Ted’s finger forward. He shuddered, instantly understanding it wasn’t the bow Ted was pointing to. He was looking beyond the bow.
When they were up top, although their view was even better, they were more focused on their mission: to get into the bridge and regain control. Now that they had to wait impatiently for the two officers to do their work to regain the helm on one of the broken consoles, they couldn’t help but plainly see the perfectly framed Sao Miguel Island. It was so close now that it occupied a good portion of the bridge’s windows.
They needed to fix the navigation problem quickly.
Jessica tossed a glance and some hurried words in their direction. “Can one of you go check on Ágúst? He has a nervous stomach and ran into the bathroom.”
Ted only half-heard her, because at the same time the pretty Icelandic officer was speaking, he was wracked with overwhelming grief. All he could think of at this moment was that he would never see his wife again. Even if they somehow got themselves out of this mess, she was still gone. Forever.
He dropped his face into his hands and wept.
~~~
David glanced down at Ted and immediately felt sorrow for this man. Ted was cocooned, head cradled in his hands on the table-top. He watched the man quietly sob; small convulsive quivers buffeted Ted’s body every few seconds. The shock phase had passed, and this was the first moment the man had been allowed to mourn. David understood quite well what it was like to lose a loved one to a horrific fate. He’d lost more loved ones than he could count to the evils of this world.
“I’ll get him,” David said. He glanced back at Jessica and Jean Pierre. They were frantically working away at the console. Neither was going to respond.
David had never been on the bridge of a cruise ship, and he suspected the makeup of the bathrooms—didn’t they call them heads on these things?—was probably different than what land-dwellers like him were used to. At first, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to find it, but since there was only one other doorway besides the entrance and the ruined doorway to some room on the other side of the bridge, he assumed this was the bathroom. A small sliver of light stabbing out from the bottom of the door was the exclamation point to his assumption.
David approa
ched the door and tapped on it lightly at first. He waited a few seconds and then put a little more authority into his tapping.
There was no answer.
“Hello, sir. Are you all right?”
Still no answer.
David grabbed the handle and was about to open the door, but then wondered if this was the smartest idea. What if this Ágúst was one of those things now?
While clutching the door, David turned back and glanced first at the staff captain and then first officer, now working on a different console without lights. Then he glared at Ted. “Hey Ted! Ted, please!” David’s words came out in short puffs of air. He wanted only Ted’s attention, and not the others.
Ted slowly released his head out from under his own clutches. He lifted his face up, his teary eyes meeting David’s.
David put aside his compassion for the man. “Sorry to interrupt, but I may need you to back me up...” These words came out even quieter. “In case... You know.”
Ted nodded and pushed himself up, using the table while holding up his injured ankle. He put some weight on it and immediately pulled it away, his face screwing up. But then he tried it again, as if he were testing it.
Ted nodded again, this time more resolutely.
David nodded back and pivoted back to the bathroom door. He gave one more light tap and then twisted the handle.
He pushed the door open.
A bright splash of light shot out, causing David to squint and hold a hand up to hold back some of its brightness.
Quickly his eyes adjusted, and he saw the officer.
Safety Officer Ágúst Helguson was lying on the floor in the fetal position.
For just the briefest of moments, David wondered if the man was dead. Then he saw the man’s rapid breaths. And slight convulsions.
Was he crying?
This wasn’t the action of a crazy, and immediately David’s demeanor changed from alert to feeling sorrow. He was feeling lots of that lately. He offered his hand and said, “Hey, Mr. Ágúst. The crazies are all incapacitated.” He thought of saying “dead” but wasn’t sure if this man would be able to take the added stress: he obviously wasn’t dealing with the attacking crazies very well. Who would be except Holocaust survivors like him and his wife?
