Sea Sick: A Horror Novel

He stood up from the sun lounger, his bones clicking, his muscles stiff. From the Sun Deck there was an entrance leading inside the ship. A plaque beside the door read: HIGH SPIRITS. Jack thought it was as good a place as any to start his exploring.

Inside, he found a cosy barroom with a small stage and dance floor. There was a chubby comedian currently telling jokes and doing his best to make the audience laugh.

“The wife and I were sat, having a cup of tea, with my mother-in-law the other day when, out of the blue, she says to me, ‘I’ve decided I want to be cremated.’ I said…”

…alright get your coat.

Jack had heard the joke before and probably didn’t think it was funny the first time. Still, he should give the comedian a chance – he could only get better. A drink was in order and Jack ordered one from the bar in the corner. He chose to remain there on one of the stools. A gentleman sat beside him, nursing a pint of foamy lager. The guy’s head was hanging low as if he lacked the strength to support it.

“You okay there, pal?” Jack asked.

The man turned his head limply. His face was a grim mask of perspiration and his eyes were bloodshot. “Huh?”

“You don’t look so good, buddy. You want me to get someone?”

The man ignored him and turned back to his beer. The congestion in his nasal cavities made his every breath sound like a thunderous snort. Jack glanced behind the bar and caught the eye of the Filipino waiter.

“There’s a nasty cold onboard,” the crewman explained.

“You’re telling me,” said Jack. “Is something being done about it?”

“The ship will dock at Cannes in the morning. A shuttle can take people to the local hospital if necessary. I think it is nothing to worry about, though.”

Jack examined the sickly man slouching beside him and raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

The man’s snorting breaths had lowered in pitch now and sounded more like growling. Jack put a hand on the man’s sweat-soaked back and leant over him. “Hey, buddy. I think we best get you to the ship’s doctor. You don’t look good at all.”

The man shrugged away from Jack’s touch, his movements erratic and aggressive.

“Hey, calm down. I’m just trying to help.”

The man swung his arm around in a wild arc, swiping his pint of beer across the bar and onto the floor. The man glared at Jack and his eyes suddenly began to leak dark fluid down his cheeks. He snarled like an animal.

Everything came back to Jack at once, like bullets lodged in his brain. He’d been here before. Not exactly like this, but he’d lived this day before. He remembered the attacks; the crazed passengers ripping each other apart like cavemen as they bled from their eye sockets. He remembered with pixel-clear clarity.

Everybody was dead.

“Oops, looks like someone’s drunk too much over there,” said the comedian from the stage. “Don’t worry, mate. Rehab is for quitters anyway. Give my regards to the floor.”

Jack put his palms out to the sick man and tried to calm him down. “Snap out of it!”

The man rushed forward. Jack sidestepped and kicked out his leg. The man hit the floor in a heap.

For a second, the sound of laughter flittered across the gathered audience as the comedian made another joke at the sick man’s expense, but then Jack’s ears picked up a scream. He examined the room, trying to seek out its source. He wasn’t surprised by what he saw.

Conner stood amongst the crowd, lashing out at a nearby woman. Thick pools of blood seeped from his eye sockets.

The sick man that Jack had tripped had started to climb up off the floor. Jack kicked the arms out from under him and sent him sprawling back down onto his face. Conner was still attacking the woman in the crowd, oblivious to the bystanders fighting to pull him off. Jack knew he needed to get out of there, right now. Things were about to get worse – he remembered.