The ultimate horror boxs.., p.103
The Ultimate Horror Boxset (10 Terrifying Novels), page 103
Jack stepped out onto the steel walkway and headed left under the directions of his captor. They were heading towards the blue crates and the other pallets belonging to the Black Remedy Corporation. The plastic boxes had been pulled free of their cargo and placed on the floor in parallel lines. They were open, displaying millions of dollars in US currency.
“Beautiful, ain’t it?” Donovan said.
“What is it for? Why have you put it all out on display?”
Donovan lowered his gun, although he kept it where they both could see it. “In the interest of openness, Jack. Think you and I both want some answers.”
“Okay. You think we can be open without the gun?”
Donovan seemed to think before holstering the gun inside a leather slip on his belt. “Fair enough, but you just behave yourself, you hear? You already know I’m not afraid to use it.”
Jack’s eyes went wide as something occurred to him—something that should have been obvious the moment Donovan stepped out of the elevator. “You mean you remember-”
“Blowing your ribcage to pieces? Yeah, I remember, all right. Yet, here you are now, all alive and such. Ain’t it odd?”
Jack was short of breath. “How… how long have you been reliving the day?”
Donovan headed between two pallets and reached into the shadows behind them. He came back with two folding deck chairs and set them out side by side. They each took a seat. “Let me see now… Guess it must be a good six, seven months now. How ‘bout you?”
Jack frowned. “I lost track, but probably about the same. How come I’ve never seen you before? I mean, up until the last couple of days?”
“I have a job to do, to stay here and keep an eye on all this money. Take my profession very seriously, pardner.”
Jack looked around at the bare and desolate space and could barely believe it. “You’ve just been sitting down here on your own for half a year?”
“That about sums it up. Figured whatever’s gone wrong will right itself soon enough. Least I used to think so, until I met you and your lady friend, that is.”
“Tally? What did you do to her?”
“Nothing,” Donovan looked ready to go for his gun at the merest hint of aggression, so Jack stayed quiet. “After I shot you dead, the girl backed off. We had ourselves a little chat and discovered that we’re in the same boat—figuratively and literally. Which is why I’m a little more willing now to… cooperate.”
Jack leant forwards. “You mean you’ll answer my questions?”
“If you’ll answer mine.”
“Deal.”
Donovan got up from the chair, making Jack flinch, but then stepped away and went over to the same pallets from where he’d gotten the deckchairs. This time, he came back with a bottle of bourbon whisky.
Jack grinned. “I think we may have just gotten off on the right foot.”
“You a whisky man, Jack?”
“Scotch usually, but what you have there is close enough.”
There were no glasses, so Donovan took a swig and handed over the bottle. Jack took a swig, too, and gasped as the liquid burned his gullet. He glanced at his new companion. “What time do you wake up every day?”
“6AM, same as I have my whole life. It’s a sin to waste the day.”
“I wake up much later than that. In fact, I wake up eight hours later than that.”
Donovan whistled. “I’d expect as much from a listless teenager, but a grown man…? Now that’s a crime.”
“Well, you could say I had a few problems, even before I came aboard this goddamn ship. That’s not important now though.”
“I guess not. What do you make of all this, Jackie? Your girl said we were under some kind of spell, that some fella, hiding on board, is pressing the cosmic reset button every night.”
“Every night at midnight,” Jack added.
Donovan took another swig of the bourbon then cleared his throat. “Well, I don’t rightly stay up as late as that. I like to get my head down by ten each night. Sleep makes the man.”
Jack chuckled. “Maybe that’s why I feel like such a shattered mess.”
“You got things on your mind, Jackie?”
Jack took a longer swig from the bourbon and lost his breath for a moment. He gave no answer to the man’s question. There was no way he would trust Donovan with the absolute truth just yet. Not until he got answers of his own. “What is all this money for, Donovan?”
“From what I understand, it’s a bribe. A harmless, run-of-the-mill payoff.”
Jack frowned. “To whom?”
“Tunisian Government.”
Jack swallowed and tried to follow. “Why would Black Remedy be sending a load of US currency to North Africa?”
“Because the people there just overthrew their president. There’s a new guy in town that’s a little more with the times. He has plans to start a new Tunisian health service—much like your National Health Service. Black Remedy wants to ensure that they get the contract to supply said service. Tunisia’s currency isn’t worth a damn internationally, hence the US cash.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Sounds like this new president is as corrupt as the old one.”
Donovan smiled in amusement. “But at least this guy’s a corrupt democrat. That’s about as good as a country like Tunisia can hope for at the moment.”
“So what then,” Jack asked, wanting to get the full picture. “You’re supposed to deliver the cash to a person?”
“After the ship finishes its itinerary of the Mediterranean, it’s heading to Algiers and then on to Tunis, where the cash will be collected at the docks. There’re a few pallets of pharmaceuticals as well to act as samples for the new health service, and some other bits and bobs I won’t go into.”
“So that’s it?” Jack said. “All this money, the drugs, and you with a gun, is just down to a bunch of corporate corruption?”
Donovan set the bottle of bourbon on the floor between his legs and leant his elbows on his knees, looking Jack in the eyes. “That’s about the gist of it, pardner. Truth be told, I have no more of a clue about what’s going on than you do. I’ve been sitting down here, day after day, thinking this whole thing was about me—supposing I was in a coma or something. Figured I was stuck in some sorta weird dream.”
“I wonder why you haven’t been affected like everybody else.” Jack pondered. “Tally said I was chosen by whoever cast the spell, but what’s your role in all this?”
Donovan shrugged. “Now I’ve met you, Jackie, my best guess would be that whatever Hoodoo this practical joker has been casting doesn’t extend to the cargo hold. I mean, why would it? There’s not supposed to be anybody down here. My being here is a secret. I figure it takes a lot of effort to cast a spell that messes with time itself, so why stretch it further than you have to?”
“You really think that the cargo deck is unaffected?”
“In fact,” said Donovan. “I can pretty much prove it.”
“How?”
Donovan picked up the whisky bottle from the floor and sloshed the liquid inside. “Because, Jack, tomorrow morning, when I wake up, this bottle will still be empty, and I’ll have to go upstairs and buy another one. The ship’s been sailing nowhere for months now, but anything that happens down here stays just the way I leave it.”
Jack stared at the half-empty bottle in shock. The more he learned, the weirder it became. If what Donovan was saying was true, then the lower deck of the ship was a sanctuary from the spell. Time existed here as it was supposed to. It didn’t make complete sense, but it was another valuable piece of the puzzle. Knowledge was power, and Jack felt he needed to know everything he could to have any chance of getting out of this mess.
“What about the virus?” he asked Donovan. “Black Remedy has to be behind it.”
Donovan shrugged. “I know nothing about it, you have my word. Seems kind of counter-intuitive, if you ask me. If the ship is overrun with a lethal biohazard, there won’t be much chance of the cargo reaching Tunis, will there? Whoever caused the outbreak is unlikely to have anything to do with Black Remedy.”
Jack sighed. “Then I’m out of answers. I was hoping these crates would be full of diseased monkey parts, or phials of glowing green liquid. Would have made things simpler.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, Jackie.”
Jack waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I guess I need to go back to the drawing board.”
“Perhaps. But not tonight, pardner. Tonight we drink and make merry.”
“I don’t have time for that.”
“Like hell you don’t. I’ve been isolated down here for over six months. You’re gunna have a knees-up with me tonight, even if I have to shoot you to keep you here.”
Donovan was probably joking about shooting him, but Jack thought the invitation wasn’t the worst idea he’d heard lately. It would be nice to take a break for just one night. Upstairs, the passengers would already have torn each other apart. It was too late to help them, not that he’d even planned to.
“Okay,” Jack said, picking the bottle of bourbon up off the floor. “What’s the first thing you’ll do when you get off this horrible bloody ship?”
Donovan grinned at Jack and said, “I’ll go get a flu shot.”
“So how long have you worked for Black Remedy?”
“Not long.” Donovan’s voice was approaching a full-on slur now. “I was a prom-promis… promising young boxer once, if you can believe it. Got hurt pretty bad before I ever got the chance to… belch... to really make it though. I could have been a contender, maybe made a comeback, but my girl was against it. In the end, I did what made her happy.” He shook his head and sighed. “Then my girl up and leaves me a year later, and both my parents pass on within the same decade. If it wasn’t for shit luck I’d have no luck at all.” He took another swig of the bourbon and spoke in a croaky voice. “Anyway, started doing private security when I hit twenty-five-or-so. Been doing it ever since. Black Remedy is just the latest in a long line of gigs. The pay is good, but not as good as if I’d been a professional fighter. Don’t that just suck?”
“Yeah, that sucks,” Jack admitted. “Still, least you were good at something. My whole life has been the epitome of average—average kid, average teenager, average police officer, and not much else.”
Donovan looked at Jack with bleary eyes. “You… you’re a cop? That’s not average. That’s honourable. You p-p-protect people.”
Jack shook his head, which made his drunken vision tilt to and fro. “That’s American cops you’re talking about. British cops spend most of their time dealing with drunks, wife-beaters, and bad drivers. We do nothing to make a real difference. Goddamn justice system protects the criminals more than it does the public. It’s become cool to be a thug in the UK.”
“Then why… why don’t you… why don’t you do something about it?”
Jack laughed. “You think it’s that easy? I’m just a sergeant. No one listens to me. Anyway, I did do something.”
Donovan leant forward. “Oh really? What did you do, Jackie?”
“I killed a bunch of drug-dealing scumbags. Took them out while they were all lying around stoned. One of them even giggled when I slit his throat. Never seen anything like it in my life—not even in the army. Drugs make people so screwed up they laugh at their own murder.”
Donovan was looking at Jack with wide, worried eyes. “That’s stone cold. You rolled up and killed them all, no kidding? The hell got into you?”
“My partner was shot to death. She was trying to help a family being terrorised by a bunch of yobbos. The leader of the gang was a degenerate named Frankie Walker. He shot my partner in the hospital while she was checking on one of his victims. When I got there, she was lying against the wall in a pool of blood, already dead. Her face was grey, like it was carved in ash. She was a beautiful person, Donovan, and this Frankie snuffed her out like a cigarette butt. He was dead at the scene too—shot by his own brother. His gang remained on the streets though, still intimidating people and acting like they owned the place. I dealt with it. I dealt with them all.”
Donovan said nothing. He just looked at Jack. It was the first time Jack had spoken of his actions. To speak freely about such things would have landed him in prison. His superiors had found out what had happened from a not-yet-completely-dead witness at the scene, but they covered it up lest the public condemn the entire service. Most of Jack’s colleagues were partly glad that a prolific street gang had been put out of action, and there was little sympathy for the victims, but the men and women Jack once considered friends were now suddenly afraid of him. He became isolated and angry, a loose cannon with nobody to remind him of the rules but himself. The decision to protect Jack by covering up his crime proved to be a mistake. He had gone off the rails even further and was now untouchable by virtue of the secret binding him and his superiors together.
“You must have loved her a lot,” Donovan said. “A man doesn’t feel that much rage unless he’s failed to protect the woman he loves.”
“We’d been together a little while but had been hiding it from our colleagues. We were saving enough money to get a house, and then Laura was going to quit the force and have a child with me. I lost everything.”
“And someone had to pay?”
“I don’t regret it.”
“Well, I don’t blame you, pardner. Seems that the world gets worse and worse each day. ‘Bout time good folks fought back. Still, how the hell did you get away with such a thing?”
“I didn’t. I got suspended from the force, under the guise of bereavement—having my partner killed and all—and they stuck me in therapy for six months. Started drinking, stopped looking after myself. After a couple years watching me self-destruct, my bosses sent me on this cruise, to break me out of the emotional tailspin I’d been in since Laura died. Their final gesture of kindness before they discharge me. Tell you the truth, if things ever go back to normal, that’s just what I want. I can’t do the job anymore. I’ve seen how little justice there is in the world and can’t be a part of a broken system anymore.”
“Hey, I hear ya. Ain’t no place left that hasn’t witnessed the evil of Man. Bad guys all over.”
Jack gave Donovan a surprised look. “Yeah, and you’re one of those bad guys.”
“What’s that now?”
“You’re delivering bribe money to a corrupt politician.”
Donovan seemed to think about it. “Well, yeah, I guess, now you mention it, I am one of the bad guys. Maybe I’ll rethink things too if this nonsense ever ends.”
Jack snorted. “This nonsense? That’s one way to put it.”
Donovan swigged the last drop of the whisky and leant back in his chair with a satisfied grin on his face. “Hell, that’s the only way to describe it, far as I’m concerned. I’ve never known anything make less sense in my life.”
“You’re right,” Jack said. “This is all a big load of nonsense. I still need to get to the bottom of it though.”
Donovan stood up, disappeared for a moment, and then returned with another bottle of bourbon. “You sure do, but there’s no need to rush, pardner. You came on this cruse to relax. So relax.”
Jack took another swig and did just that.
DAY 215
Two whole weeks went by in a daze of whisky-fuelled madness. Jack and Donovan had started their friendship playing cards in the cargo hold, but progressed to full-on hellraising in the ship’s various clubs and casinos. Donovan often ended his nights with drunken dalliances involving any women as wasted as he was. Jack would often retire with a bottle of Scotch as his companion.
One night, Donovan confided to Jack that he’d been close to losing his sanity by the time he and Tally had stumbled upon him. Learning he was not alone had changed everything—had made him see the fun that could be had with the situation. Jack was growing concerned with the American’s reckless pursuit of distraction, but he could hardly blame him after being cooped up alone for six months. Jack kept reminding himself that anything Donovan did was inconsequential. The day always reset, regardless of what they got up to at night.
Tally had been missing ever since the night Jack took a bullet to the chest. He’d checked her cabin several times and several areas of the ship, but she was nowhere to be found. Whatever she was doing, she clearly did not want company. Jack just hoped that she was okay and would seek him out when she was ready.
It was 5PM, and Jack was in the Voyager’s Lounge. It was the quietest drinking venue on the ship; therefore, the least likely place to run into Donovan. Jack had nothing against the over-zealous American—in fact he liked the guy—but he needed a break from the partying for one night. It was time to get his thoughts back in order and focus on the things that mattered. Things like the virus on board that still slaughtered everybody each night.
There was a single person who frequented the Voyager’s Lounge that displayed symptoms of the virus, an older gentleman in an evening jacket and spectacles. He was always alone and always reading a magazine. His wet sneezes proceeded constant wipings of his nose. In just a few hours, the man would bleed from his eyes and tear into the flesh of anyone unlucky enough to be within sight of him. But for now, he was just an ordinary man trying to relax on vacation.
It was hard to humanize the eye bleeders once they turned, so irrational and violent were they, but it was important to remember that, prior to their conditions, they were ordinary people—people with families, like Ivor and his girls. Jack was trapped on this boat, forced to relive the day over and over, but so was Ivor. The poor man had to watch his family die every night.
Jack was realising his situation was better than most, which was why he’d decided he would find a way to put a stop to whatever was happening. It was selfish to spend his time drinking with Donovan. Jack still had the benefit of freewill, and it was up to him to end everybody’s suffering. Whether the passengers knew it or not, they were relying on Jack to save them.
