HAYWIRE: A Pandemic Thriller (The F.A.S.T. Series Book 2) (9 page)

‘Can you reach the bridge?’ Ben asked quickly.

‘But you’re locked down!’

‘I’ll open it.’

Ben meant to break the rules and let her in.

But Erin didn’t want to retreat. She wanted to help people. It was her job. Her responsibility.

‘Ben, just look on your cameras,’ implored Erin. ‘Look in the hallways. We have dead people lying in the hallways.’

‘I know, Erin. I have you on screen right now.’

Erin turned to face the nearest ceiling camera.

‘We need to evacuate the ship,’ she demanded. ‘Every minute we wait, more people are waking up crazy. They’re smashing through their doors. They’re killing people, Ben. You need to trigger the evacuation. At least give the passengers a chance to reach the lifeboats.’

‘If I trigger the evacuation all the doors will open,’ countered Ben. ‘Those hallways will be filled with crazies. It will be a massacre.’

‘What about the engineers?’ asked Erin desperately. ‘Can’t they stop that?’

‘They’re trying. They need more time.’

‘Don’t wait,’ Erin insisted. ‘You need to evacuate this ship right now. Every deck is turning into a mental asylum. If we don’t evacuate now, no one will have any chance of reaching the lifeboats. You’ll have even worse carnage.’

Erin waited for Ben’s answer, praying he’d do the right thing.

‘Listen, Erin, I need you to reach the helipad.’

‘The helipad?’ Erin looked toward the rear of the ship. ‘Why there?’

‘A team of U.S. Marines is landing any minute. I need them to secure the lifeboats and protect the evacuating crew and passengers. When I sound the evacuation, it’s critical they know what to do. You’ll have to direct them.’

‘I understand,’ confirmed Erin. ‘I know what to do.’

‘I know you do, Erin. Be careful.’

Erin nodded at the camera and lowered her radio.

It sounded like she was getting a new security team after all.

All I have to do is survive long enough to reach them.

Squatting, she filled her pockets with first aid supplies. She grabbed her fire extinguisher. She paused, looking at the knife lying on the carpet.

I’m alone now.

She took the knife.

And if I have to, I’ll use it.

As she stood, she felt a shudder running through the ship.

She felt it through the floor.

Up and down the deck she heard insane passengers hurling themselves at their cabin doors.

The combined violence trembled the deck under her shoes.

She ran for the helipad.

It’s too late
, she thought, gripping the knife handle tightly.
God help us. They’re all waking up.

First Officer Ben Bryant stood in utter disbelief.

The wall of monitors in the bridge fed live video from all over the ship.

Every monitor competed for his attention.

It looked like half the ship had declared war on the other half, and their only tactic was mindless violence.

Hundreds of passengers had fled their cabins as friends and family woke up homicidal. Not all of these healthy passengers could reach the rally points on decks 10 and 11.

Too many sick passengers are marauding around the ship, searching for people to attack and kill.

Ben noted pockets of refugees fighting for survival all
over the ship.

In the Coral Cove Restaurant a massive conflict was escalating. A dozen healthy passengers had barricaded themselves inside the restaurant with tables and chairs. As fast as the passengers could throw furniture into the doorway, the sick passengers were smashing it apart, trying to get in.

The passengers in the restaurant were outnumbered. They were fighting for their lives.

They weren’t giving up.

Officer Ryan pointed to another screen. ‘Sir, look!’

In the ship’s main kitchen, a group of almost twenty healthy passengers threw heavy pots and pans at a charging horde of crazies.

The sick passengers jumped and scrambled over benches to reach their prey.

A few passengers fled for the dining hall, but the rest all pulled out long kitchen knives.

They had a plan.

Men and women, they drew shoulder-to-shoulder and stood their ground with knives ready.

The two groups made sickening contact.

For the first few moments, the free-for-all looked like a pitched medieval battle.

Everyone ended up on the floor, wrestling and stabbing and biting and kicking.

Bryant watched just long enough to see the healthy passengers prevail. The survivors, more than a dozen, rose from the grisly mess, helping others up and then heading toward the ship’s main dining hall. From there they could reach the stairs to the rally point.

Scanning the monitors, Bryant spotted other groups of healthy passengers fighting for their lives.

On the promenade, passengers were trapped in the Duty Free Store. They had shoved the main counter up against the door. Outside, the hostiles took turns launching themselves against the door. They couldn’t get in, but neither could the passengers escape.

Every monitor showed scenes of madness.

In the billiards room, three men with pool cues were bashing two sick passengers mercilessly to the floor.

On the basketball court, five women and a man wrestled so fiercely that Bryant couldn’t tell who was sick.

In the Japanese Bathhouse, Bryant counted fifteen people crouching in a bamboo thicket, hiding from the mayhem.

On the ice-skating rink, six people slipped and slid as they outmaneuvered their pursuers over the ice.

Bryant glanced toward Karen, his communications officer and wife of four months.

They had met two years ago as bridge officers on their previous berth. As newlyweds, the Captain offered them positions on the
First Lady of the Sea
.

Having worked together before they started a relationship, they knew exactly how to conduct themselves on the bridge.

Right now Karen was updating mainland operations about the ship’s status.

Ben heard her repeating the same statements over and over. Obviously the mainland couldn’t believe what they were hearing.

She removed her headset and spun in her chair.

‘How’s Erin?’ she asked.

Karen had the uncanny ability to hold one conversation while listening to another - a useful trait for a communications officer.

‘She’s doing her job,’ replied Ben. ‘She’ll be fine.’

‘But is she injured?’

Karen moved her chair, trying to see the surveillance monitors. Ben didn’t want her to see the ghastly images. He pointed to the flashing lights of incoming calls needing her attention.

‘I’ve sent her to meet the Marines. Try contacting their helicopter for an ETA.’

Karen nodded and swiveled back to her station, broadcasting a call to the incoming chopper.

I’m lucky she’s on the bridge.

Ben wouldn’t be thinking straight otherwise. He looked on the surveillance monitors at the people fighting for their lives or hiding in fear.

What if that was Karen out there?

He made a decision.

At the weapons locker he entered his security code. Inside rested two Beretta 9mm semi-automatic pistols and six spare magazines of ammunition. All bridge staff trained in their use for the unlikely event the bridge became compromised.

He turned to address his bridge crew.

‘I wouldn’t request this normally, but these are extraordinary circumstances. I need two volunteers to take these pistols and help the trapped passengers. I can’t order anyone to—’

Two officers stood up immediately. Officers Reynolds and Buchanan.

‘Okay,’ said Ben, nodding at the men. ‘Take these.’

They accepted the pistols and ammunition as Ben pointed to the monitors.

‘I need one of you at the Coral Cove Restaurant. The other at the Duty Free Store. I need you to use these weapons to help those trapped passengers reach the lifeboats. If you can’t return, head to the nearest lifeboat to help with the evacuation.’

The officers nodded soberly and loaded their weapons.

‘Ready?’

The men checked their weapons and radios. ‘We’re ready.’

From the outside, little short of a tank could breach the bridge’s customized blast door.

From the inside, however, it required only a code.

Ben entered his code and shoved the door open.

‘Okay. Good luck.’

He shut and locked the heavy door behind them.

When he turned, the other officers were watching him, judging his actions silently.

Karen gave him a small nod of encouragement.

He held her eyes a moment before pointing at her station.

‘Anything from the engineers?’

‘They still can’t disconnect the doors,’ she replied. ‘All the cabin doors will open when we trigger the evacuation.’

The engineers had told Ben this from the start, but he’d hoped they might work a mechanical miracle.

‘How long before the Marines arrive?’

‘Twelve minutes,’ Karen replied instantly.

Twelve minutes was too long for people fighting for their lives.

Erin was right.

Every second Ben waited made the situation worse.