Dead Calm (35 page)

Connie screamed, “Tim, come back. What are you
doing?” But it was too late. He'd already disappeared into the Dead
Calm.

***

Jackson Willis looked out at the casino through the
steel grill protecting the cashier's cage. Glancing down at the
cash drawer with its money placed neatly in its slots, he knew it
was worthless, but every few seconds he would peel a one hundred
dollar bill off the top of the stack and stuff it in his pocket.
Finding his left pocket was starting to fill, he switched his .38
revolver to his left hand and started in on his right pocket.

Curious as to when the people he was supposed to kill
would show up, he considered the revolver and wished he had his own
piece with him. Due to the security on the ship though, he'd left
it at home.

Now that's a gun, he thought. A ghetto sweeper. My
little nine-millimeter exterminator with an extended magazine.
Twenty-two rounds coming out as fast as you could pull the
trigger.

Hearing a plinking noise, Jackson brought his pistol
up and leaned toward the security screen to get a better view.
Seeing nothing, he eased back and methodically started putting
bills in his pocket again.

That cracker Ricky thinks he's got me fooled, Jackson
thought. Telling me if I do this thing, I'll ensure my place at the
right hand of God. Bullshit. The only reason I even went along with
his shit in the first place was ‘cause of all the pussy. I grew up
on the streets of Overton, mother-fucking mister Ricky, I know
what's what. You can snow the rest of these dumbasses with your
fake-ass religion, but I got to have me mine. I'll do this thing,
but then your gonna pay and I know just what I want.

Sheila.

I seen her struttin' her fine ass around before she
left your dumb ass. You can promise these other boys everlasting
life but I want to get me some of that redhead. You tell me that if
I kill these people when they show up that I can have anything on
the ship. We’ll want to see your face when I tell you I want your
ex-old lady, a lifeboat full of gas, food, water and all the booze
I can carry.

Jackson chuckled softly at this.

I been dealing drugs since I was nine and I ain't
never been busted. That's 'cause I always knew when to haul ass,
and I see that time as soon. Too much hinky shit going down. Things
is startin' to get flaky. Time to cut and run to Mexico and find me
an island or somewhere there ain't no dead tryin' to eat my black
ass. Just me and Red.

The plinking noise came again and Jackson finally
figured out what it was. It was the sound of a coin hitting the
outside of the cashier's cage. Thinking that one of the other men
were screwing around, Jackson scowled and looked out to see who it
was.

Probably that mother-fucker Don Parsons checking to
see if I'm paying attention, Jackson thought. Or that ex-cop Seth.
When we saw each other that first time, we didn't need no
introduction or any of that bullshit. Making small talk like, “So
what do you do for a living?” We knew each other on sight. Ain't
much separating most cops from criminals. Some are straight, but
the rest... same as me.

Looking around and not seeing the other two men
looking in his direction, Jackson leaned back and continued to
wait.

***

Seth looked out from where he was lying under the
blackjack table and thought; I wish they'd hurry up and get here.
I’m tired of waiting for this shit. I just want to cap these people
and get on my way. I never thought all this shit would come down
when I took this cruise. Screw it. I’m coming out on top no matter
what.

Glancing to his right, he saw Don Parsons crouched
behind a row of video poker machines and considered the swing he
would need to make with his rifle to take him out. Two easy shots,
he thought to himself. Put one in the chest of whoever was on the
left, leave the one on the right for Jackson, let Parsons get off a
few shots and then, BANG, I’m now the number two man on the totem
pole according to Ricky.

Looking again at Parsons broad back, Seth thought,
what the hell, it's not like I’ve never shot someone from behind
before. The only difference is that I’m not a cop anymore and
Parsons has a gun in his hand. Not that it'll do him any good, Seth
gloated. He's pointing it the wrong way.

***

In the Sombrero Lounge, George Day was thinking along
the same lines. The Reverend Ricky himself had confided in him that
this was to be Cal's last rodeo. There would be a slot open if he
helped kill the man, and George could move up to the position of
Head Usher. Being one of the true believers, George had jumped at
the chance. Especially when the Reverend told him that Cal was a
spy of Satan sent to assassinate him. Even if it cost him his own
life, George couldn't let this happen. The plan was for him to help
kill the Satanists that had invaded the Calm of the Seas and then
to turn his gun on Brother Cal. But George had ideas of his own on
who posed the bigger threat and should die first.

***

Steve gave some last minute orders to Susan before
they split up and he moved to deck eight. “Remember that Tick-Tock
will point you in the direction you need to shoot. When he opens
fire on his target, you need to shoot for the center mass of yours.
When I get into position upstairs, we'll wait to make sure Heather
and Tick-Tock have spotted all the shooters before we move in. The
casino is directly above the Sombrero Lounge, so we need to time
our movements so we can reach both places at the same time. If for
some reason you hear shooting from upstairs before you reach the
Sombrero Lounge, listen on the radio for instructions. But if you
see a threat, take it out. Just make sure it's not Tick-Tock.”

Susan nodded grimly so Steve gave her an encouraging
smile. When he turned to go, she said, “Heather's lucky to have
you.”

Steve wasn't sure how to reply so he smiled again and
promised, “I’ll see you when this is over.” To Sheila, he said,
“Let's go.”

Poised at where the grand staircase emptied onto deck
eight, Steve waited for the call on his radio from Heather telling
him to move. He was impatient to get this over with, but since
Heather and Tick-Tock had to go in and check the situation out
before retreating a safe distance to relay what they'd seen, the
initiative was theirs.

Worried that something had gone wrong, he was
relieved when he heard Tick-Tock relaying whispered instructions to
Susan. Hearing what Tick-Tock said, he felt the urge to give Sheila
a high five.

Perfect, he thought, now for Heather. Come on baby.
Tell daddy some good news.

Moments later, Heather called and said she'd spotted
all three of Ricky's people waiting in ambush in the casino and
that there were no snipers visible on deck nine. With the three
armed men that Tick-Tock had spotted, this accounted for all six
weapons they knew Ricky had in his arsenal. Brain had his .45 Colt
with him, but it was easy to assume that Ricky had that weapon with
him.

Then Heather told Steve there was a slight problem.
She only had clear shots at two of the three Head Ushers. She
proposed a solution that Steve agreed would work in their favor.
After exchanging I love yous, they signed off and Steve turned his
full attention to what he had to do.

After giving Heather and Tick-Tock five minutes to
get into position, he raised the radio to his mouth, pressed the
transmit button and said, “Time to roll, Susan.”

Chapter Nineteen

The Dead Calm:

The Reverend Ricky Rose tapped his foot impatiently
on the deep pile carpet of the Crows Nest Lounge. Looking at the
hand held radio sitting on the bar next to him, he hoped that any
minute Brother Seth would call and let him know that both missions
had been accomplished. The people from that sailboat were dead and
Don Parsons had been eliminated along with Brother Cal.

Glancing down at some movement on the pool deck far
below, Ricky could see a few people begin to gather for his nightly
sermon and the rapture if it happened, which was not very fucking
likely, or the party if it didn't, which was a given.

Good luck dipshits, he thought maliciously. He
glanced at his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes and then
took a sip from the drink sitting in front of him. Grimacing
slightly, he reflected that one aspect of having his good buddy Don
taken out was that he'd have to teach one of his other people how
to make a descent Black Russian.

Turning to look out at the Gulf of Mexico, Ricky
could see small white caps forming. Good, we've got a decent wind,
he thought. Tim told me the sailboat is loaded, so all we have to
do is load our things, dump whatever personal crap Steve and his
people have on board and take off. Good-bye Calm of the Seas and
not a moment too soon.

Earlier that day, Ricky had gone to take a bath and
found the water only trickling from the faucet. It took thirty-five
minutes to fill the tub half way. When he finally lowered himself
into the tepid water, the lights had started flickering and gone
out. Cursing, he yelled for one of the Hungarian sisters to bring a
candle and his radio. He contacted Brother Cal and asked what the
problem was. After checking, the pseudo engineer called back and
told him that the generator, which powered deck ten where Ricky had
his cabin, had died and they couldn't get it restarted.

Ricky wondered how this would affect his plans but
couldn't see how it would hamper the ambush. The action would be on
decks seven and eight, not ten. Thinking about the numerous
security cameras covering the ship, he wished they were working so
he could watch his plan unfold. Up until a month ago, he used the
surveillance system to keep tabs on his people and sate his
voyeuristic tendencies. A power surge had blown the computer that
controlled the imaging, and no matter what Brother Cal tried, he
couldn't bring it back on line. Ricky briefly wondered if Randy
could fix some of the malfunctioning systems aboard the ship, but
sitting in the half empty tub reminded him that the water was
running out.

Screw it; it's time to move on, he decided. Randy
could be put to better use building a new life for us in Cozumel
than trying to keep this shit bucket afloat.

Picking up his drink from the bar, Ricky glanced at
his watch again, took another sip of his Black Russian and said to
the empty lounge, “Come on, Seth.”

***

Steve stood well past the landing of the grand
staircase on deck eight as he looked at the upper decks of the
Centrum. As they crossed the huge shopping area, he wanted it to
appear like they were searching for someone, so they went through
the motions of testing the doors of the shops in the Centrum while
Steve called out for Brain. From below, he could hear Susan's voice
calling out the man's name too. Mary and Sheila stayed mute so they
didn't give away the fact that they weren't who they were supposed
to be.

When he reached a point halfway down the Centrum,
Steve called Susan and asked where she was on deck seven.

“I'm about three quarters done with the observation
area,” she replied.

“Slow down just a bit,” he told her. “You're getting
close to the lounge. I don't want these guys popping off
prematurely. If we can, I want to hit them at the exact same
time.”

“Roger that, over and out,” Susan said, the words
making her feel like she was in an old war movie. Clipping the
radio back onto her belt, she considered what she was about to do
and hoped she wouldn't fail.

Although she'd had some qualms about shooting a
living person when she boarded the Dead Calm, those had passed when
she saw how Ricky and his people ruled, yes, ruled, she thought
vehemently, not worked for his people. It was like watching some
despot dictator getting his kicks by abusing his power and she had
seen enough of this around the world to make her sick.

Her entire life she had watched how men ruled the
world. She abhorred the way most of them treated the people who
were supposed to be under their care. Even in America, people were
constantly being taken advantage of. To try and right the
situation, she had joined protests against leaders who abused human
rights. She had even gone on aid missions to Serbia and Darfur to
help people displaced by civil war. But it seemed that, despite her
efforts along with those of millions of others around the world,
nothing ever got better. Men continued to commit war crimes and get
away with it, their only punishment a strongly worded letter of
condemnation from the United Nations. Peaceful protests were broken
up by gunfire, dissidents were jailed or just disappeared, women
were raped and abused daily by the millions, and no one gave a
crap.

Hefting the M-4 rifle in her hand, she said to
herself, no more will I stand by and let that happen. As the
thought completed itself in her mind, in that one micro second she
realized that a single motivated person with a weapon could get
results faster than a thousand peaceful protests. In the new world
that had come about as a result of the HWNW virus, guns ruled.

Excited yet scared by this thought, Susan hoped it
would be people like Steve or Tick-Tock who came to power. Or even
herself, she thought fleetingly. This was followed by a feeling of
sadness for the world that had lost so much that it would never go
back to the way it was. Ricky and his bunch were a microcosm of
what's out there. People feeding off what's left of the old world
or setting up their own little fiefdoms where they can pick up
where they left off before the dead came to life.

How will it end? She asked herself.

At this, her thoughts turned to Cindy. She decided
that the little girl was their best chance to bring stability back
to the world. But even then, its fate would be back in the hands of
men. Shaking off this depressing thought, Susan forced her mind to
focus on what was before her. Susan gripped her automatic rifle
tightly and decided that while she didn't know how things would end
out there, she knew how they would end on the Dead Calm.