Sea Sick: A Horror Novel

“Please,” said Jack. “He is a friend of mine. I really need to speak with him.”


The man frowned, but then relented. “Okay, but you no cause trouble. His cabin is C14.”

Jack thanked the man and headed for C Deck.

The elevator seemed to take forever to descend and Jack almost leapt out into the corridor when the doors finally opened. He was now in the middle of C Deck. The lower-numbered cabins were towards the fore of the ship and Jack headed for number 14 cautiously, aware that the guards would probably be searching for him by now. When he reached the door he knocked quietly.

There was no answer.

Jack knocked again. “Joma? Joma, are you there?” He leant against the door, placing his ear against the wood to listen. As he did so, the door swung open slightly. The lock had been busted.

Jack pushed aside the door and tiptoed into the room, mindful of dark corners and other places someone could be hiding. “Joma? Are you okay? Call out, if you can.”

The room had been witness to a struggle. The television was knocked into a strange angle and the room’s telephone was hanging by its cord. At the back of the room was a small table; a thick white candle stood as its centre piece. The candle had melted down to a length of about only one inch and the flame had recently gone out. He could tell by the thin trail of smoke still filtering from its blackened tip. Jack’s guts turned over with concern as he noticed the blood on the bed.

Jack took several creeping steps across the room, following the blood trail that led to the far side of the bed. He knew he would find something horrible on the floor there. The feeling was undeniable, and once he had crossed the room, Jack realised that he was right.

Joma lay dead in a thick pool of his own blood. It seemed to still leak from a deep crater which had been bludgeoned into the side of his skull. The murder had been recent.

Jack dropped to his knees beside Joma and shook the man’s body. “Damnit, Joma! You can’t be dead. I don’t know what to do yet. I…I need more time.”

Joma opened his eyes. They were blood shot, not focusing properly, but they were alive. “Jack…”

Jack couldn’t believe it. “Yes, it’s me. What the hell has happened?”


Joma’s eyes closed again briefly but fluttered back open gradually. “T…t…”

“Tally? Are you trying to tell me that Tally did this?”

“T…Tomorrow. You only have…tomorrow.”

And then Joma really was dead. He let out one final breath and then faded away like the melted candle on his table.



Day 249 -1400hrs

Jack woke up with one thing on his mind. Today was the last day before tomorrow. Today was his last chance to save the world.

Jesus Christ, I think I’ve gone insane. This can’t be happening..

Jack fought against the urge to stay under the covers and accept whatever fate chose to bring him. It was tempting beyond belief, but he could not allow himself to sit idle while the fate of billions rested in his hands.

Damn you, Joma, for putting me in this situation.

If Jack was going to try to stop the virus one last time, then he had to get going. The security guards would arrive soon and they would waste time he couldn’t afford to lose. Jack headed over to his suitcase and hoisted it up onto the bed. He yanked out half its contents and laid them on the bed. Of the things that lay in front of him, Jack’s eyes came to rest specifically on the unopened Glen Grant bottle. The liquid inside sang to him, but he covered the bottle with an evening shirt.