Paradise: An Apocalyptic Novel (3 page)

“Sweet kid,” she said to herself, as she settled into the corner to survey the proceedings.

No one paid her much mind.

And that was how she liked it.

3

Sea Change

Amanda addressed the
group when they finished. She’d waited an hour, perhaps two, until the revelers had tired of food and drink.

But this wasn’t some normal introduction.

“You heard about the boat, right,” Amanda said.

The four staff members buzzed, despite their fatigue.

She told them about Captain Cooper and his findings.

“How do
you
know?” Sam asked.

“My friend tells me things,” she said, with an easy smile.

“So we’re stuck here,” Pierre said, pawing at his wispy beard.

“It looks that way.”

The group chattered, the noise rising to somewhat of a din. Amanda held up her hands.

“Now, I don’t want any of you to mention this.” That didn’t sit well with the group. They wanted hard answers—it was their asses on the line as much as anyone else’s. “But I just thought you should be prepared and in the know.” She paused. “Maverick doesn’t always get his information out through the chain of command.”

And, like that, she was gone—after being a fixture in the corner, near the sacks of potatoes, she vanished, back to her mysterious homestead.

A nervous silence spread amongst the group.
What else were they not being told?
The boat could be fixed, but if things went wrong, each person in the room had a feeling that
they
would be the first line of defense.

“Look, Maverick, I’ve
done this for a couple years, and I feel that you should tell them. It’s just good PR.” Cole was wringing his hands together, the wrinkles rippling in between thick veins.

“Nonsense.” Maverick waved him off, champagne trickling down the edge of his glass. “The damage is just a setback, an inconvenience for Coop. He’ll get it squared away and no one will know the difference.” He placed his hand on the old man’s shoulder. “It’ll be fine, and we spare ourselves the anguish.”

“There’s going to be plenty when they find out you’re lying to them,” Cole replied, brushing Maverick’s hand away, “you need to make an announcement. To
everyone
.”

“I respect the hell out of you, Cole, I do. And you’re my go to guy for these things…but relax, have a drink, do some drugs, just
live
for once.”

“I am living. Why do you think I’m
still
living?”

Maverick laughed at this. The man was old, sure, but he seemed in good enough health—his wiry frame was upright, a shock of gray hair stood atop his head, and he moved okay. Cole could even be seen staring at the women, if you caught him in the right light. He almost looked like an older Maverick, except his eyes—his eyes, they were little ink dots, hidden behind wide frames.

“Do you care about anything besides work?”

“This company is my life, young man,” Cole said, “and its employees are my responsibility.” Everyone under the age of 45 was considered a young man.

“You’re good,” Maverick said with a brisk laugh, pausing to refill the now empty champagne glass, “the money is your life. I’ve seen your house.”

Cole even cracked a smile at this; he couldn’t deny that barb. It was true—only Maverick’s house was bigger.

“Be that as it may, and whatever my motives are, the fact remains—I want this company to continue.”

“So do I. What did we make last quarter, again?”

“Funny.”

“Maybe we should turn it over to old Jackson. He’s the idea man.”

“Ah, Jackson,” Cole said, “he just doesn’t have that killer instinct.”

“Coming from the guy who wants everyone to be in the loop. You want to see some killer instinct? Let loose that little gem.”

“But if they find out…”

“They won’t.”

“They always do, my boy,” Cole said, “they always do.” He kept his eyes level with Maverick, then turned away and exited the suite.

Maverick sprawled out on the bed and turned on the satellite radio—the only one on the entire island.

“More news from Los Angeles about the pandemic sweeping the nation…ZXP Radio has just received confirmation that the virus has gone global, with cases reported in the United Kingdom, China, Indonesia, Sweden, and dozens of other nations…an emergency curfew has been implemented, and all non-essential personnel and residents are required to stay indoors until the threat has passed…More news from Los Angeles about the pandemic sweeping the nation…”

It’d been like that since their arrival, an endless loop. How long it’d been going was anyone’s guess. Maverick stood up from his bed, swaying. Couldn’t keep it from people, huh? Well, he’d kept
this
from Cole.

Keep this from everyone. Until the time was right.

His mind wandered to the boat, and its communication systems. He had to disable them. But that would require a partner. Was it worth the risk? Maverick figured that another glass of champagne, some blow, and a little partying would help him make a decision. He shut the master suite door behind him.

Down the hall, Jackson watched Maverick sneak away. After knowing him for years, Jackson knew when he was hiding something. The only question was what, and how much.

Maverick went the other way, didn’t see him. When Jackson tried the door, it was locked.

So Jackson started making a plan of his own.

Captain Cooper preferred
to sleep on the boat. Not because he was in love with the sea, or his craft, or any other seaman cliché; no, he just wanted to be as far away from the main house as possible.

He slept with his pistol underneath his pillow and one eye open, an old trick he’d taken up when he was in the Army. That seemed like a lifetime ago—and how a ground soldier got into piloting boats was a strange, twisting tale—but Captain Cooper was a simple man, with simple, clean habits.

And his instincts were telling him that this was a bad situation.

Still, he slept well—after all, there was little he could do about it without a good night’s rest.

He awoke from his light slumber to the sound of footsteps padding along the beach. The pistol came out, by reflex, not out of fear.

He’d seen animals crawling around earlier—exotic or not, he couldn’t tell—and suspected this was something similar. His hawkish eyes scanned the horizon, his focus absolute. The incoming target was standing upright. Human.

Pistol raised, Captain Cooper shouted into the starry night.

“Who’s there? That you, Maverick?”

The figure didn’t say anything, but continued to move closer. Cooper was done with words; he cocked the hammer back on the gun. This punctuated the still night, and the figure took notice. It was a woman.

“Don’t shoot me.”

“Who are you?”

“Amanda. You know, from the farm.”

“State your business.”

“Didn’t know this was so official.”

“Your business,” Cooper said again, gun not wavering.

“Christ, you’re difficult,” she said, stopping where her face was illuminated by moonlight, “it’s about the state of affairs on the island. And elsewhere.”

“What do you mean?”

“I spoke with Jack and he told me what’s up. The staff is restless. They’re nervous about the boat.”

“They should be.”

“I think there’s something else going on. Mav, he’s been…”

“What?” Cooper almost sounded eager. She laughed in response.

“He’s been amped up.”

“That’s always the case.”

“More than usual,” she said, nodding her head along with the statement, “much more than usual.”

“Any reason why?”

“Maybe it’s just about the boat, maybe it’s something else. Anything from the mainland?”

“I haven’t listened to the radio,” Cooper said.

“What have you been doing out here, stroking it?”

“I have not.” He was appalled by this accusation, even if it was just a crass joke.

“Whatever, man. I’m coming up, so lower your weapon and all that.”

Cooper placed the pistol back underneath the pillow. Amanda seemed in no hurry to ascend the stairs. When she made it up, the two of them stood there sizing each other up.

“You’re a difficult son of a bitch, Coop, you know that?”

“Could say the same about you.”

“They
do
say the same about me.”

“And they wouldn’t be wrong.” He walked over to the railing and leaned over. If he’d still smoked, he would have lit one up; it was one of those nights perfect for two fingers of whiskey and a cigarette.

“I’m going to flip on the radio.”

“Sure, have at it,” he said, “door’s right there.”

She disappeared, and Cooper was once again left alone with his thoughts. The hull, the engine. It was going to be a chore getting it all together again. Still, Maverick’s coffers were endless—they’d get the parts. Whether Cooper would be back in time for his kid’s seventh birthday, well, that was another story. But that was why Maverick paid so well: to miss birthdays and anniversaries, to be part of his team instead of the world.

It beat the Army. They did the same thing, and they paid like shit.

Amanda reemerged from the cabin.

“The radio’s broke.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s just static.”

“I was just listening to some Skynyrd a couple hours ago.”

“Well, you must have screwed something up.”

Cooper let loose a long sigh and headed to the bridge. Amanda followed, arms folded.

“See, this isn’t on here,” he said, pointing to one dial, “and then you got to do this, and this…” He played with some of the knobs, banged a broad, weathered palm against the controls, and then stepped back. “Huh.”

“Yeah, what’d I say?”

“I’m thinking.” He played with everything a bit more and flicked the power switch back and forth. Static. “You weren’t kidding.”

“Not as dumb as I look, I guess.”

“Guess not.”

“So, Master and Commander,” she said, “what’s the problem?”

“Tampering.”

“You sure the antenna didn’t just fall off? You ran this tub ashore pretty hard.”

“It wasn’t that hard.”

“I saw it. It was porn rough. Like—”

“Not hard enough,” Cooper said regaining his composure. “Not hard enough to jar the communications equipment.”

Before Amanda could retort, a noise—not loud, but odd—came trickling through the windows. A splash, like someone in the shallow end of the swimming pool. The pair raced out to survey the water.

Little ripples spread across the surface, but there was no sign of any other disturbance.

“Maybe it’s a fish or something,” Amanda said.

“No. It was human.”

“You still sure you didn’t ruin the radio?” Cooper didn’t react this time. His stone-faced response wiped the teasing smirk from her face. “All right, then. Why would someone do this?”

“There’s something out there,” he said, “something big.”

The words loomed over the yacht, over them both, as they stood staring at the cool, endless water.

Matt wasn’t getting
paid enough for this shit.

He shook his head back and forth on the shore, like a dog after an unwelcome bath.

“Look,” Maverick had told him, “I’ll give you half a million to cut the wires on the boat. Just do it, don’t ask questions.”

Matt had a lot of questions, but half a million was enough to keep them to himself—until he’d done it. Then he got to thinking: where the hell was there another radio on the island?

If Amanda had given him that raise he’d wanted, maybe he wouldn’t have done it. But she was blue-balling him, in more ways than one. Still, it didn’t feel good to do this. What was so crucial that the satellite radio wires had to be clipped? It wasn’t like the latest Justin Timberlake cut was going to cause an uprising.

It all seemed very
1984
to him.

He stretched out on the beach and looked at the stars; he could see them all, free from light pollution and human interference. He’d swum maybe a mile, total, underwater, to do this weird mission. He was beat.

Someone emerged from the jungle. Matt didn’t see the figure coming; he didn’t have time to breathe or ask a question before the silenced pistol fired once.

That stopped all the questions.

The assassin knelt down and checked for a pulse. Satisfied, they slid the gun back into their pants before disappearing into the foliage, like a tiger in the night.

Maverick took a
drag from the joint as he sat alone, locked once again inside the master suite. The radio had gone on and on with the same announcement, which was disturbing; it meant that all hands were on deck, and none were available to give out updates.

Or, maybe there was no other news.

He played with the tuner, but the other stations were either offline, playing the message or looping their generic playlist-of-the-week. He turned back to the news station and pressed the power button.

The pot was strong, but his anxiety and thoughts fought through, rising to the top like rancid cream on coffee.

“Goddamnit,” he mused as he blew smoke rings at the tall ceiling, which was just a giant skylight, “just what I needed.” Despite his success, Maverick didn’t have the killer instinct; he was more of an accidental CEO, a smooth-talking figurehead. Cole imparted the ruthless corporate culture; his bookish appearance hid the churning gears and machinations.

Maverick, joint in hand, went to find Cole. It took him a little stumbling about—even a seasoned partier gets too blasted sometimes—but he found Cole’s room. With a heavy fist, he banged against the thick oak door.

“Cole,” he said, voice weighted, dragging, “you awake, you old bastard?” He banged again, not waiting for a response. “Open up.”

The old man came to the door, propped up against a cane.

“Do you know what time it is?” Maverick didn’t answer; he just pushed past the old man, almost knocking him to the floor, before collapsing on the bed in a heap.

“I should have gotten the skylight ceilings all around, don’t you think,” Maverick said, gazing up, “would have been good for morale.”

“Is that what you came in at four in the morning to tell me? You’re a mess, John.”

“What a boring name that is.” He blew a thick plume of smoke towards Cole; the old man waved it away with his free hand.