Sea Sick: A Horror Novel(14)

One of the eyebleeders spotted her and ran towards her. He leapt straight for her, grabbing her in an embrace and tearing at her throat with his teeth. The two of them fell to the ground in a heap. Claire’s body was already limp and dying as a thick torrent of blood exploded from her jugular. More eyebleeders flowed in through the doorway. The elderly lovers were the next to go down.

The old man stood in front of his wife, meaning to protect her, but his defiance was made weak as the flesh of his cheek was torn free by the teeth of a crazed stranger. Both of the old man and his wife were dead within minutes, ripped apart like two leathery fillet steaks. The eyebleeders moved on to other victims.

Jack had backed away to the far side of the room. His instincts urged him to help these people, but he didn’t know enough about the situation to risk taking action. He’d already tried to protect everybody in the room, but they’d turned against him. They weren’t his responsibility.

Screw them.

Jack looked around the room and tried to find a way out. The main entrance was blocked by a throng of thrashing bodies, but the space behind the buffet train looked like it led to a staff area. There was no telling what was behind the door, but it was his only viable option. Jack sprinted across the restaurant, barging and flipping any bodies that dared get in his way. He managed to reach the staff area in one piece.

There was a kitchen inside, simple and confined. There were no exits or ways out of the area other than where he’d come in. If the eyebleeders found him inside, he would have nowhere to run and his only option would be to stand and fight them. He’d cornered himself.

Jack began to ransack the room, looking for a makeshift weapon. He yanked out drawers and pulled open cupboards, but found only crocks and useless cutlery. Just when frustration and despair started setting in, his eyes fell upon what he was looking for. In the centre of the room was an island, and hanging above it was a selection of industrial knives. Jack grabbed the largest he could find: a 12-inch French chef’s knife. It felt good in his hand. Heavy.

Jack crouched in the centre of the room, eying the doorway. He was aware of his own breathing and tried to slow it down to keep from panicking. Infected or not, the attackers outside were just people; and he’d spent most his life dealing with people. This was nothing he couldn’t handle.

Just an ordinary day.

Jack hardly noticed the screaming anymore – the sound was quickly becoming commonplace – but he did notice when it started to die down. The sound of silence took hold and suddenly there was a sense of foreboding in the air. Jack waited for something to happen.

The silence continued.

Eventually his curiosity got the better of him. He crept towards the door, knife held out in front of him in a standard, right-handed combat stance. It wouldn’t be the first time Jack was prepared to kill somebody.

He reached the door and stopped still, listening for anyone that may have been standing on the other side. The first person to attack him would get the knife in their groin. But there were no blood channels in the blade, it would probably get stuck. If that happened, he would have to defend himself against anyone else with his fists.

Here we go.

Jack placed his hand against the door and pushed it open gradually. When it was several inches ajar, he peered out through the gap. The narrow view he had of the room was empty. The tables and chairs of the dining area lay undisturbed. It seemed safe. Deserted.

Jack edged himself through the gap in the door, keeping the knife in front of him. The room was covered in blood and bits of flesh; there was even a severed hand lying on one of the buffet carts. But no bodies. Further into the dining area, several tables and chairs were tipped over and the pools of blood were thicker – thick enough that those who shed it must certainly have been dead. But still there were no bodies.

What the hell? Where is everybody?

Jack bent at the knees and tensed himself, ready to react to the first sign of danger. Yet there seemed to be none. All was quiet. Almost serene. Was it possible that the situation had been dealt with? Jack didn’t know what sort of security a cruise liner employed, but it had to be somewhat competent with so many passengers to protect. A brief flash of memory reminded Jack of what had happened the last time – the first time he’d been through this madness. He suddenly recalled the efforts of security to control things in the High Spirits lounge. They had failed miserably then, so why would they succeed now? Jack had little faith that the danger was over. It just wasn’t here in the room with him.

The double doors of the restaurant were closed, blood and dirty handprints smeared all over the frosted glass. Jack wondered whether he should go through them. The restaurant was now empty and possibly safe. But staying there and cowering went against everything he stood for. He was a protector, a man of action, not a coward. Jack opened the doors and entered the corridor outside.

There was more blood, over everything. The whole hallway seemed like the scene from a horror-movie massacre. Jack headed forward, away from High Spirits and the Lido Restaurant, and towards the Sport Deck at the front of the ship. He passed by the upper level of the Broadway Lounge, with its balconied seats looking down at an empty theatre stage. There was less blood in here, but it was still deserted like everywhere else. Jack’s stomach was churning, his senses telling him to just get the hell out of there. It was the first time in his life that his body was choosing to flee rather than fight.

But flee from what? What the hell is wrong with everyone and where have they all gone?