Tapping his foot as he waited for someone to pick up, he tested how far the phone cord would reach. He grunted. Not far. Trey held the receiver out, looking at it with mild curiosity. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d used an old phone like this. Hearing someone with a heavy accent answer, he rushed to give them the order. “What room are we in again?” Trey asked, snapping his fingers to get his spouse’s attention.

  “8070,” she answered without looking up from the book she’d dredged up from somewhere inside their luggage.

  Hanging up, he went to the small balcony attached to their suite. He opened the sliding glass door. Looking out, he felt the salty wind as it rushed around him. He stared at the vast, empty liquid blackness. The enormity of the sea aroused his awe. He stood there, gripping the cold metal rail for several minutes, lost in the scenery and the quiet.

  Trey jumped. He screamed. He reached up his hands to cover his face as he tried to back into the suite. He hit the glass door, which scared him. His pulse accelerated and his chest hurt.

  Somewhere out of the shadows emerged a monster wearing the flesh suit of a human. The person, a small, feminine-looking creature with blonde hair and wild eyes growled as it lunged forward. She managed to grab a hold of his pants leg. She dragged him forward. Slobber glistened as it slid in a treacly mass down the person’s chin.

  The only light was the jaundiced yellow cone cast by the lamp inside the suite. In the dimness, Trey couldn’t see much more than the person’s face and shoulders. He kicked out. He heard the creature grunt. He scooted back.

  Suddenly, a second humanoid creature emerged. This one appeared stronger. It was a man in a tattered, torn business suit. He jumped easily over the rail.

  The stench emanating from these zombie-like creatures, mere husks of their former selves, hit Trey in the gut. He scrambled to get up, but the tall figure on his balcony bent down and hit him. His head jolted backward. It bounced off the glass. His vision blurred.

  He could taste blood in his mouth. Trey watched as the man, menacing bloodlust in his vacant eyes, opened his mouth wide, readying himself for a bite of Trey’s outstretched arm. “Nooooo,” Trey screamed.

  Shutting his eyes so hard it hurt, he resigned himself to whatever horrors awaited him on the other side of that mandibular assault.

  When they didn’t immediately come, he opened one eye, only to see that the man-thing was laying half-over the rail, a knife jutting from its skull. It no longer moved.

  Trying not to hyperventilate, Trey sat up. He looked back toward his wife. She stood, rigid, the warm light from inside the suite casting a halo-like ring around her frame. She stared at the guy on the ledge.

  “Where’s the other one?” Trey managed to ask. He slowly got up, leaning heavily on one arm as he did so. He made sure to pull the knife out of the… zombie before returning inside.

  Gripping the weapon, he looked down at it. It felt heavy in his hand. A darkish crimson stain that almost resembled a viscous sludge served as a macabre reminder of what the knife had been used for.

  He jumped. Melody slammed the glass door shut behind him. Wincing, he watched as she strode over to the minibar and took a long slug of liquor. She just untwisted the top and gulped. His wits returning, he realized that they needed to do something to barricade this door. If those… druggies, or whatever the hell they were, could jump the rails, then they could break through the pane. Looking around, the only thing he saw that seemed to fit was the couch. He didn’t like it, but he moved over, flipping it onto its back anyway.

  They both shrieked when someone knocked at the door. “Not again,” Trey said. He’d dropped the knife when moving the couch. He crouched and picked it up, eyes fixed on the door. His heart did it’s frenetic little dance again.

  Locking eyes with his wife, he nodded. He stepped forward. Moving slowly, Trey wondered just how he would react if he opened the door and the zombie on the other side rushed him. What if it tackled him? He wondered if their bite were infectious. It seemed such an absurd thought. But, then again, murdering two people on a cruise ship full of intoxicated creatures was a bit surreal.

  Finally summoning the courage to open the door, he could only sigh and laugh. It was room service.

  The frail man with the thin mustache blanched when he saw Trey. He apparently hadn’t expected to confront a knife-wielding man spattered with fresh blood. Only with great luck did Trey manage to catch the tray of food before it fell to the ground. The server raced off down the hall, his gait hindered by a slight limp. He made a frantic sound as he retreated.

  “Be careful,” Trey called out. He quickly shut the door.

  Chapter 5

  He’d lost his appetite.

  Stumbling over to the bed, he placed the tray laden with viands down. He stared at it. He could smell the savory aromas, fried potatoes, and cooked meat, but they only managed to arouse his nausea. Trey rushed into the bathroom and vomited. He only half-missed the toilet. Kneeling down, he leaned over the bowl. He wiped his face. The taste of bile lingered in his mouth.

  He’d never felt so low in his life.

  His ears began ringing. Trey began crying. He leaned one arm against the porcelain lid and sobbed in the small, dim, damp bathroom. He felt alone.

  A sound startled him. Looking up, he almost experienced a wave of resignation. If it were another druggie, he’d just surrender.

  When he saw it was his wife, Trey at first looked away. Then he turned back to face her. He slowly smiled. It was a sad gesture of defeat. His incompetence in the face of adversity embarrassed him. Melody served as a living symbol of that ineptitude. “Thanks,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  She nodded. She left for a moment, turning the corner. She then turned around and tossed him a water bottle. He caught it. Slowly, he twisted the white lid, discarding it on the tile floor. He drank. It was refreshing to wash the vile taste of vomit out of his mouth. He raised the small bottle to her in a silent toast.

  “I think we’re going to need to call security again,” she said.

  Trey laughed. He almost spit the water out of his mouth. He massaged his jaw and the tinnitus stopped. “That sounds like a good idea,” he managed to say. He sat there in stunned silence after she left. He knew he needed to get it together. To be stronger.

  Thinking of this, Trey thought back to some of his earliest memories. His dad had always wanted him to be an athlete. To be big and strong. To someday show an interest in learning to be a soldier. But he’d never lived up to that standard, and the hurt had haunted him all of his life. Trey had always felt like a disappointment to the only person he’d ever really looked up to: his father. In middle school, his dad had signed him up for wrestling. Trey had tried. He really did make an earnest attempt. But when he came home, drenched in sweat, bruised inside and out, telling him that the coach had kicked him off the team, his dad had stoically taken in the news.

  Harry never encouraged his son to be academically elite. In fact, he stopped encouraging him at all. It was only after his son’s first marriage dissolved and a grandkid entered the fray that Trey’s dad seemed to soften. Then Harry suffered his own tragic loss, and the pain drew them together in a way that had never been before.

  He stood up. Turning on the shower, his movements slow and lethargic, Trey almost felt detached from reality. He wanted to clean himself up. So, he did. Standing under the spray, he started to regain some of his composure. If Trey allowed himself to continually remember that this fight was more mental than physical, he could do this. He could prevail.

  If he needed inspiration, he could think of Sofia.

  Stepping out onto the tile floor, he grabbed a damp white towel and patted himself dry. He went into the bedroom. Standing with his naked back to Melody, he went through the remaining contents of the minibar. He selected a tiny bottle of bourbon. He opened it and downed its contents. The warmth rushing down his throat helped him focus. Seeing another similar container of high-yield liquid courage, Trey drank that one, too.

  Turning, he shared a long look with his wife. He smiled. “We’ll get through this,” he said.

  She didn’t laugh. He’d almost expected her to laugh. At him. At the thought of him being able to protect her. But she didn’t. And that helped boost Trey’s confidence immensely. He felt his blood pumping. His adrenaline fueled him.

  As if locked in a trance, Trey strode forward. He got onto the bed, casting the platter of now lukewarm food off to the floor. It landed with a sharp report that reverberated around the room. His lips found hers. They tore at each other’s clothes, gyrating in a frantic dance in their effort to cast off the articles as quickly as possible.

  Their bodies merged, forming one mindless entity consumed by a rapacious desire. Driven by a wanton need to forget, they indulged the only thing they had: each other.

  Biting her, he smiled at her frustrated, feral cries. She swung a leg over him and pushed him down onto the bed, straddling him. Trey slipped into her easily. She bucked, breasts merrily bouncing with the ferocity of her movements. Their guttural groans comingled to make a cacophonous and staccato ode to carnal pleasure.

  Reaching up, he gripped her shoulders and thrust his hips up, plunging deeper into her. Trey licked her neck, tasting the viscous, salty beads of sweat already streaming down her head. The heat radiating off of their bodies only served to impel him forward to new feats of prowess.

  Twisting, he pushed her off of him, switching positions. He mounted her, admiring her pale face and brown hair spreading itself across the fine fabric of the pillowcase. Pumping, thrusting into her, he felt alive. His muscles taut and his body fueled by passion, Trey allowed his angst to be released through the act of sex.

  Melody thrashed. She moved her hips and wrapped her legs around his waist. She opened her mouth wide to scream, only to hastily turn and shove a fistful of sheet into her mouth. Her face contorted into the visage of someone wracked by raw fury.

  Suddenly, she began quivering.

  They climaxed together. Trey collapsed in a heaving, hyperventilating mass onto the bed beside her, too hot to embrace his wife. He closed his eyes. When he opened them, he saw black at the peripheries.

  Then, of course, the inevitable occurred: someone knocked at the door.

  Chapter 6

  “I see you have a corpse on your balcony,” O. Lopez said. He smiled. He didn’t ask to come in. He opened the door with one hand and walked right past Trey.

  “Nice introduction,” Trey said, shaking his head. He stood by the door, naked, watching as the security officer took a seat in the chair by the balcony door. Lopez crossed one leg over the other. Watching him, he wondered what he was waiting for. He seemed…different. Much too cavalier. As if he’d shed the carapace of protocol in favor of… something more sinister. It was hard to think, with all the moving parts and drama in his life at the moment. Even so, something about the subtle differences in the officer’s body language and demeanor hinted at what was about to ambush him.

  “Well, should I just say hello?” Lopez asked, smiling.

  “Trey went out and the man attacked him. I was,”

  Lopez held up a hand, interrupting Melody. “I don’t care,” he said.

  “That’s not very professional,” Trey said. He took a step forward. He was done letting life trample on him. There was no way he was going to passively sit by and allow someone to talk that way to his wife. Not anymore.

  “No, it’s not. You’re right,” Lopez admitted.

  “What’s the O stand for?” Trey asked, pointing at the man’s name tag, his finger jabbing the air in an almost open accusation.

  Lopez looked down. He frowned. Shrugging, he deliberately reached up with one large hand and took the pin off, tossing it on the ground. “Oscar,” he said. He smiled, shaking his head. “My dad was a huge basketball fan. Loved Oscar Robertson,” his eyes shined for a minute. “I grew up thinking I was named after Oscar the Grouch,” he said.

  Trey opened his mouth to speak. But no words escaped. He moved his jaw. Staring, he tried to figure out what words to put to this surreal display of… apathy? A general lack of concern seemed to be a good way to describe the security officer’s mood.

  “Shouldn’t we do something about the body?” Melody finally asked, breaking the tense silence.

  “Yeah. Good idea. Go get dressed, you two,” Lopez said.

  “Umm… let’s have a chat,” Trey said.

  “What would you like to chat about, Mr. McIntyre?” Lopez drew up his sleeve and looked at his watch. “We probably don’t have much time,” Lopez said.

  “Time for what?” Trey asked.

  “To get to the armory,” Lopez responded.

  “Why… do we need to get to the armory?” Trey asked.

  “Is this chatting? Or is this an interrogation?” Lopez asked, chuckling. He shook his head. “We need to get to the armory to get guns, Mr. McIntyre,” he smiled. “Why do we need guns, you’ll probably ask me. Well, we need guns to prevent ourselves from getting killed by whatever those creatures are.” Oscar Lopez nodded in the general direction of the balcony.

  “You mean there are more of them?” Trey asked, his heart racing.

  “Lots, unfortunately,” Lopez said. “I’m not really a superstitious or religious man. I tend to only care about what I can see, hear, smell. All that. But, I think these might be zombies. Or something like zombies,” Lopez said.

  “What?” Melody asked.

  “The drugs. The drugs obviously impacted things. But that wouldn’t explain what’s going on. Not fully, I don’t think. The brig is full. We’ve had dozens of murders. But the people that are dying aren’t always staying dead. And I think they’re infectious, somehow,” Lopez said.

  He stood up suddenly. He clapped his hands. The sound reverberated through the suite. “Let’s go. Trey, throw some clothes on and help me toss this critter off the deck,” Lopez said.

  “You’re not joking,” Trey said.

  “Of course, I’m not fucking joking, Mr. McIntyre. I gave your wife a knife. Your wife used that knife to kill someone. Or something. I’m telling you to help me throw that someone into the ocean. You think maybe I’d lose my job and pension under normal circumstances, Mr. McIntyre? For doing something like that?” he asked. He smiled patiently.

  “Well,”

  “The answer is yes,” Lopez said. He looked Trey in the eyes. “These are not normal circumstances,” he said.

  Trey got dressed, wondering as he did so why the officer had chosen them to be his partners in fighting these drug-induced zombies. He watched warily out of the corner of his eye as his wife also went through the motions of putting on clothing. It felt weird, being dressed while so sweaty and dirty. Clad in cargo shorts and a hastily buttoned up floral-print shirt made of thin fabric, he straightened up and waited for the security guy to tell them what to do next.

  “Okay. So, good job with the couch. I’m going to take you guys down to the security station, but we’ll need to continue to think about defensible positions. Or, I guess, how to make positions defensible,” Lopez shook his head. He smiled. He moved the couch easily with one hand, flipping it over. He moved to the window, peeking out, trying to decipher the secrets of the night. A wan, silver moon hovered in the obsidian vastness above, watching them with detached interest.

  Opening the door, the cool air rushed in. Trey shivered. The temperature had dropped at least a few degrees in the last, what was it, ten minutes? He realized as he waited, his legs trembling, that he’d lost track of time.

  “Okay, come on,” Lopez said. His voice was low but urgent. He reached inside with one hand to motion them forward.

  Making sure to go ahead of his wife to keep her as far away from danger as possible, Trey walked out onto the balcony. He wasn’t wearing shoes, and he felt the cool, damp ground under his feet. He grimaced but said nothing. Trey tried to avoid looking at the corpse dangling over the thin rail.

  “Alright, I’m going to hop over,” Lopez said. He reached down, pulling something from the utility belt on his waist. It was a cannister of some sort. Unlabeled, black, it bore the striking resemblance of something dangerous and sinister. “It might not do much, but if something approaches, give a LOUD verbal warning then spray. Don’t hesitate to shoot. Just aim,” Lopez leaned forward and took hold of the container, turning it to show Trey where the liquid contents would be dispensed from. “with this. Point and shoot. The button is right there. Pretty self-explanatory,” Lopez said.

  Trey held the cannister in limp fingers.

  “You okay? You got this?” Lopez asked, a flash of concern entering into his otherwise calm, cool eyes.

  Shaking his head to scatter the cobwebs in his mind, he smiled. Trey looked into Lopez’s face. “Yeah,” he said, nodding. Yeah,” he reaffirmed.

  “Alright. Let’s do this,” Lopez said. He hopped over the rail deftly. Looking both ways with careful eyes that seemed to take in everything all at once, Lopez made sure the coast was clear. He grabbed the body by the shoulders. Grunting, he began dragging it backward. “Hey, Mrs. McIntyre, could you lend a hand here?” he called, his voice strained.

  She scrambled forward. Picking up the limp legs with both quaking hands, she held them up, waiting for instruction. Lopez moved the body backward slowly. He didn’t have far to go. The deck in the area offered only a narrow walkway between the balcony and the raised safety rails. The wind howled as it swirled around them, almost taking mischievous pleasure in the conspiracy unfolding under its nocturnal nautical watch.

  The body fell with a thud on the deck. Trey jumped, despite himself. His nerves were on edge. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, staring off into the impenetrable darkness, trying not to focus on what they were doing. He sensed danger in every nuance of the shifting shadows.

  Lopez growled deep in the back of his throat as he pulled the body back. “Mr. McIntyre, hand the can off to your wife and come help,” he called after a few seconds.

 

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