Sea Sick: A Horror Novel(53)

The captain examined Jack, focusing on his face. He let out a sigh and clasped his hands together. “You realise that if I do as you ask, they will add terrorism to your list of offences. If you make empty threats about a virus onboard, you’ll be in a great deal more trouble than you are already in.”

Jack didn’t care what threats were made against him; he just wanted to put a stop to the festering evil once and for all. “I’m telling the truth,” he said. “Just, please, accept the chance that I may be right. Warn the mainland.”

The captain cleared his throat and stood up from his chair. “Fine, but on your head be it.” He left the room without a further word and Jack was taken to the cell that he was beginning to think of as his.

***

The infected attacked the passengers at a little after eight, just as Jack had suspected. He knew there was nothing he could do to prevent all the death onboard, but that wasn’t the point. This was a big-picture problem and all that mattered was preventing that death from spreading into the world. Jack hoped with all his being that, as midnight came and the ship grew quiet, with the last lives onboard being extinguished, morning would come and lead on to dawn. If that happened then the future would be corrected and Joma, having seen it was so, would retire his spell. The ship would reach the coast of France with all the passengers most probably dead – except for Jack locked safely away in his cell – and the authorities would take adequate precautions to contain the virus. This could all be over in a matter of hours.



Day 248

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Jack saw the alarm clock flashing 1400 on the bedside and smashed his fist against it. The unit shattered and Jack’s hand came away bloody. The pain was nothing compared to the frustration he felt. The best chance he’d had to end this thing had been a failure. Whether the captain had simply ignored his pleas to contact the mainland, or if he had and they still hadn’t been sufficiently prepared to contain the virus, the spell was still in place. Only Joma could tell him why. Only Joma could tell him whether or not his actions had meant a damn.

Jack got dressed and left in a hurry. He was in no mood to tussle with the security guards today. Every hour he wasted would kill Joma a little more. Jack sighed. He was getting tired of all the dying.

He still didn’t know where to find Joma during the day, but he didn’t have time to wait around until the evening. He headed for the Voyager’s Lounge and, when he got there, approached the man that was currently on duty behind the bar.

“Hey, there. I was looking for Joma.”

The man was polishing a glass with a stringy rag. His English was nowhere near as good as Joma’s. “He not here till half-seven, my friend.”

“Do you know where I could find him now?”

The man shrugged. “I don’t know. He a quiet man. He keep to himself.”

“Do you know which is his cabin?”

The man gave Jack a suspicious glance and placed the glass down on the bar. “I can no tell you that. You will have to speak to him later, here.”

“Please,” said Jack. “He is a friend of mine. I really need to speak with him.”

The man frowned, but then relented. “Okay, but you no cause trouble. His cabin is C14.”

Jack thanked the man and headed for C Deck.

The elevator seemed to take forever to descend and Jack almost leapt out into the corridor when the doors finally opened. He was now in the middle of C Deck. The lower-numbered cabins were towards the fore of the ship and Jack headed for number 14 cautiously, aware that the guards would probably be searching for him by now. When he reached the door he knocked quietly.

There was no answer.

Jack knocked again. “Joma? Joma, are you there?” He leant against the door, placing his ear against the wood to listen. As he did so, the door swung open slightly. The lock had been busted.

Jack pushed aside the door and tiptoed into the room, mindful of dark corners and other places someone could be hiding. “Joma? Are you okay? Call out, if you can.”

The room had been witness to a struggle. The television was knocked into a strange angle and the room’s telephone was hanging by its cord. At the back of the room was a small table; a thick white candle stood as its centre piece. The candle had melted down to a length of about only one inch and the flame had recently gone out. He could tell by the thin trail of smoke still filtering from its blackened tip. Jack’s guts turned over with concern as he noticed the blood on the bed.

Jack took several creeping steps across the room, following the blood trail that led to the far side of the bed. He knew he would find something horrible on the floor there. The feeling was undeniable, and once he had crossed the room, Jack realised that he was right.

Joma lay dead in a thick pool of his own blood. It seemed to still leak from a deep crater which had been bludgeoned into the side of his skull. The murder had been recent.

Jack dropped to his knees beside Joma and shook the man’s body. “Damnit, Joma! You can’t be dead. I don’t know what to do yet. I…I need more time.”

Joma opened his eyes. They were blood shot, not focusing properly, but they were alive. “Jack…”

Jack couldn’t believe it. “Yes, it’s me. What the hell has happened?”


Joma’s eyes closed again briefly but fluttered back open gradually. “T…t…”