Sea Sick: A Horror Novel(12)

“Really? What do you speak?”

“Russian, German, French, and of course, English and Romanian. I speak a little Mandarin also.”

“Wow,” Jack said, genuinely surprised. “That’s impressive. My name is Jack. It’s nice to meet you, Tally.”

“I’ll be right back with your drink.”

Jack watched the girl walk away and had the sense that, although she was faultlessly polite, she too was having a bit of a bad day. There was something about her curtness and short, clipped answers that told him so. She seemed stressed. Then again, working on a cruise ship was most likely a thankless job at the best of times.

Within two minutes she was back. The double scotch that he’d ordered was more like a double-double. “I just charged you for one double,” she said. “You look like you need it.”

“Is it that obvious I’m having such a weird day?”

The waitress shrugged. “I can sense these things. You give me a shout if you need another.”

Jack offered up his glass in thanks. “Will do, Tally. Thanks.”

The waitress walked away and Jack lay back again in his sun lounger. He could actually feel his body beginning to relax. It was a tingling sensation.

Sun, booze, pretty waitresses. Maybe this week won’t be so bad after all.

***

When Jack opened his eyes it was dark. Not completely, as the deck was lined with spotlights, but dim enough that the sea and sky had become a featureless black sheet beyond the boundaries of the ship. It was as though the Spirit of Kirkpatrick was sailing through Limbo, heading through an endless abyss. Jack would be glad to see land again.

The tingling heat in his chest told him that he’d consumed more than a few whiskies during the afternoon and early evening. He had intended to take it easy on the booze, but his problem was that trying to stop once he’d started was a battle he always lost. He was on holiday, though. He could forgive himself for one night of indulgence.

Nothing wrong with falling asleep, drunk in the sun. Most people I come across in my line of work fall asleep in the gutter.

Jack glanced at his watch and saw that it was a little after eight-o-clock; still plenty of time left to enjoy the evening. He’d not yet explored the ship, and thought perhaps he’d do that now.

He stood up from the sun lounger, his bones clicking, his muscles stiff. From the Sun Deck there was an entrance leading inside the ship. A plaque beside the door read: HIGH SPIRITS. Jack thought it was as good a place as any to start his exploring.

Inside, he found a cosy barroom with a small stage and dance floor. There was a chubby comedian currently telling jokes and doing his best to make the audience laugh.

“The wife and I were sat, having a cup of tea, with my mother-in-law the other day when, out of the blue, she says to me, ‘I’ve decided I want to be cremated.’ I said…”

…alright get your coat.

Jack had heard the joke before and probably didn’t think it was funny the first time. Still, he should give the comedian a chance – he could only get better. A drink was in order and Jack ordered one from the bar in the corner. He chose to remain there on one of the stools. A gentleman sat beside him, nursing a pint of foamy lager. The guy’s head was hanging low as if he lacked the strength to support it.

“You okay there, pal?” Jack asked.

The man turned his head limply. His face was a grim mask of perspiration and his eyes were bloodshot. “Huh?”

“You don’t look so good, buddy. You want me to get someone?”

The man ignored him and turned back to his beer. The congestion in his nasal cavities made his every breath sound like a thunderous snort. Jack glanced behind the bar and caught the eye of the Filipino waiter.

“There’s a nasty cold onboard,” the crewman explained.

“You’re telling me,” said Jack. “Is something being done about it?”

“The ship will dock at Cannes in the morning. A shuttle can take people to the local hospital if necessary. I think it is nothing to worry about, though.”

Jack examined the sickly man slouching beside him and raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

The man’s snorting breaths had lowered in pitch now and sounded more like growling. Jack put a hand on the man’s sweat-soaked back and leant over him. “Hey, buddy. I think we best get you to the ship’s doctor. You don’t look good at all.”

The man shrugged away from Jack’s touch, his movements erratic and aggressive.

“Hey, calm down. I’m just trying to help.”

The man swung his arm around in a wild arc, swiping his pint of beer across the bar and onto the floor. The man glared at Jack and his eyes suddenly began to leak dark fluid down his cheeks. He snarled like an animal.

Everything came back to Jack at once, like bullets lodged in his brain. He’d been here before. Not exactly like this, but he’d lived this day before. He remembered the attacks; the crazed passengers ripping each other apart like cavemen as they bled from their eye sockets. He remembered with pixel-clear clarity.

Everybody was dead.

“Oops, looks like someone’s drunk too much over there,” said the comedian from the stage. “Don’t worry, mate. Rehab is for quitters anyway. Give my regards to the floor.”

Jack put his palms out to the sick man and tried to calm him down. “Snap out of it!”