Текст книги "The Flood"

Автор книги: David Sachs

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“So now you’re here with her husband.”

“Yes.”

Conrad wiped a tear from his eye. He held up his bottle and the two men clinked them together.

“Life is horrible,” Conrad said.

“It’s what we made,” Travis replied.

19

“First things first,” Colonel Warrant said to his Chief Engineer. “Power the freezers. Next, we need some light in the galley and Atrium. Next, stoves and ovens. Then running water. I’ll come for an update tonight. I’ll bring sushi.”

The engineer, Brenda White, stood next to him in the main engine room. The room was cavernous, three decks high. There were banks of machinery, metals of silver, brass and gold curved into pipes, cabinets, and coils. There were glass gauges, and red control dials on wall-length desks. It was all in disarray. Equipment and electronics shelving were knocked over. Bullet holes riddled the huge metal cylinders. Somewhere, something was running. Most of the equipment here was dead.

Brenda White had spent hours already looking things over here and in the emergency power room, talking with crew and refugees she’d enlisted who knew one thing or another. The bodies had been cleared before Brenda got there, but there was a lot of blood, everywhere she looked. Which explained why there were so few remaining of the engineering staff.

The Colonel left and she looked at the twenty entirely male ship’s crew and volunteers waiting for her plan.

She wasn’t Chief Engineer at the start of the cruise. She was a passenger. But the Chief Engineer who started the trip was dead or gone overboard, and Brenda White was an elite  electrical and mechanical engineer, used to designing systems for some of the biggest factories in the Americas. But she was more used to boardrooms than factories for some years now. Now Brenda White was Chief Engineer of the Festival.

It would have taken weeks of study for Brenda to understand the Festival, but they were fortunate that a few of the specialists were still alive and on board. Most importantly, the Chief Electrician.

There were also refugees on the ship who were good at fixing things: electricians, mechanics, engineers, technology technicians of all type, plumbers, welders and general repairmen. There was no one resource that could really help Brenda unravel the ship’s mysteries, but together they were able to do great things.

The biggest problem took little time to understand. The main generator room, which supplied power to the ship, was closed off in a flooded compartment. Without the generators to transfer power from the engines to the propellers, the boat would not move. The generator room lay forward of the engines and desalination area, in the section of the ship breached by the collision. The watertight doors had been sealed; there was no going in or out, not just the generator room, but all the cabins and halls directly above the generator room. The exterior walking deck at the Atrium level did not extend back past that closed section, so passing from the bow of the ship to stern required climbing to one of the top two enclosed levels, the Penthouse and Resort decks, or the open Sky Deck above that.

Below the waterline, even the areas they had access to, the engines, desalination plant and control room, were in disastrous condition from the collision and being shot up by the pirates. Most of the systems required the generators in any case.

But the pirates evidently had not gone to the emergency generators above.

The emergency generators were running. They powered the emergency lighting on some decks, where other damage had not knocked the systems out. Ventilation and other key systems should have been running off the emergency generators as well, but there seemed to be other breakdowns somewhere.

What member of the engineering department had switched the system to emergency power, or shut the watertight doors from the control room, no one ever knew. They were dead or gone. But the ship floated still, and the generators ran because someone had done what they were supposed to.

The emergency generators put out 1,200 kW. Enough for 20,000 light bulbs, Brenda imagined, but not enough to do much interesting on a ship this size. Certainly it wouldn’t move it. Still, it would last. Without the propulsion systems to power, there was an almost unlimited supply of fuel to power that generator.

There were these things to start with: power to the freezers and other galley circuits, power for some Atrium lighting, and running water to the main galley. The galley for the main restaurant was next to the ship’s main food storage area, which simplified things. Brenda was certain she could get the existing emergency power to the freezers with manpower and time.

In her mind, other than the water stuff, this was a straightforward, brute force effort. They were starting almost from scratch. The existing wiring for the ship was far too complex to rebuild, given the damage from the collision, gunfire, fires and the closed-off section. Brenda gave up on the original grid quickly. The Festival’s Chief Electrician was a good partner for her: smart and open-minded, he knew every inch of wiring on the ship, but was unafraid to re-imagine and re-purpose each piece for Brenda’s creative ideas. He also knew the skills of the other surviving crew.

The electricians under their direction wired directly, hundreds of yards of new wire spooled out, fished between floors through existing junction boxes and transformers until finally, well after dark, the freezers jumped back to life to a great cheer among the galley crew.

Brenda White waited anxiously for word after turning the switch, and when it came back with a runner, she gave someone a high-five and went to work on the Atrium lights.

20

 

There was no running water because of the loss of power, but jugs were left on the tables by the galley crew. After the beer, Travis and Conrad splashed the water on their faces and arms, wiping away some of the blood.

They saw Hesse through the gallery window as they passed. Hesse leaned on the counter next to the cash register and talked with the Colonel in the small shop.

There was an explosive sound of glass smashing.

“Candy! Chocolates! Assorted Bon-Bons!” came a booming voice.

With that scream, the crowd located the source of the explosion. There stood two bearded giants. One held a rifle over his head, and gestured to an open shop door, its glass smashed out.

“Parents, cheer up your kids!” the voice cheerfully filled the hall. “Let’s have some smiles back! Mind the glass there!”

Travis knew that voice. Most of the crowd knew that voice.

There was one of pro wrestling’s biggest stars, holding an assault rifle, inviting the terrorized crowd for candy. And that enormous man stood in the shadow of his shaggy haired companion.

There was a fog of unreality in the ship, and this appearance of a man from TV as part of their story thickened that fog. The strands connecting life as it had been known to life on this ship were further concealed.

Passing Travis and Conrad, the Mighty Lee Golding and his companion parted the crowd.

“Hey, how ya doing?” Lee nodded as he passed through. “Who’s in charge here?”

Hesse and Colonel Warrant met the two in the middle. They shook hands and made introductions. Hesse pulled them along into his office.

“I can’t believe you didn’t open the candy store,” the wrestler said loudly, “with all our troubles!”

Travis walked on to his family. At some point, Conrad was no longer next to him.

When Hesse’s office door shut behind them, the Colonel spoke first.

“How did you get the gun?” he asked Lee.

“I took it,” Lee said. “From the bad guys.”

“What happened to the bad guys?” the Colonel asked.

“We killed them,” he looked at the gun playfully. “I guess I’m just like any tourist collecting souvenirs. But I’m happy to be the one with the gun.”

They discussed numbers and logistics. Adam Melville told Hesse and Colonel Warrant  that there were a few hundred in the Theater, far fewer than in the Atrium. They had far fewer injuries as well. Hesse had already sent a doctor over, which had led to Lee Golding and Adam Melville coming down here to see who this was taking charge.

“Have your people had any food?” Hesse asked.

“Yeah. There’s a restaurant in the stern, just a flight up from the Theater. Italian. But there’s no power for the stoves.”

“There’s a main galley down below the big restaurant,” Hesse said, pointing to the Atrium, forward and up. “We’ve arranged a team to do meals until we get picked up. Right now, cold, but soon we hope to have power.”

“And if we’re not picked up?” Adam Melville said.

“Haven’t thought about it,” Hesse answered. “Not yet.”

The grey-haired giant had a look of good humor on his face. It bothered Hesse.

“We’re having the food from the other restaurants brought to the main galley, where we’ve almost got power restored to one of the freezers,” Colonel Warrant said. “We’d better have your food brought over too so we can keep it from spoiling.”

“Why don’t you get us power instead?” Lee asked. “We don’t have as much natural light. It’s not a pleasant place, but if we had some light we could stay there. I like Italian.”

Colonel Warrant and Hesse considered their position, in respect to their own authority to challenge Lee Golding and Adam Melville, and in respect to the gun.

“Yeah,” Hesse said. “With the section closed between us, it’s not easy to get stuff back to you. We’d have to carry the food up the stairs to get over the sealed sections. That’s a lot of flights of stairs. We’ll try and get you power right away. We’ll ask our guys what they can do. We have an electrical engineer. She’s a bigwig with General Electric. I think she’s going to get a handle on this. But it might take time.”

“How much food do you have?” Lee asked.

“A lot,” Hesse said, then turning to Adam Mellville: “As long as we get picked up. I’ll have them bring some tables down to the Theater.”

”How much water do you have?”

“Quite a bit,” Hesse said. “We have probably over a hundred thousand bottles. There’s also a full 300,000 liter tank. We’re trying to restore running water.”

The two big men exchanged looks.

“Our engineer thinks she can do it,” Hesse said.

“I hope we ain’t gonna be here that long,” Lee said.

Hesse shrugged. “It seemed wise to look into it.”

“We’ve got a problem with the doors,” Lee said. “We had to barricade them during the attack. We need some kind of power hacksaw to get them open.”

“Well, how did you get out?” Colonel Warrant asked.

“Obviously there are some open doors. But we would prefer more open doors. So, if you please, send a saw.”

The representatives from the Theater returned to their refugee center with smiles. Adam enjoyed his time with Lee Golding. He liked being surprised, and Lee Golding was always surprising. Adam was rarely with someone who drew attention away from himself.

Travis quickened his pace in the Atrium crowd, and his son burst forward and jumped into his arms. Travis needed the boy; he hugged him for a long time before he spoke.

“Hey, champ. Long day, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“How’d it go?” Corrina asked.

“Exhausting. We won some, we lost some. That guy running the show… I hope he knows what he’s doing.”

Gerry stood a few paces off with Claude Bettman. Vera stood by herself, and Travis imagined that the old lady had been standing all day.

Soon Hesse called for attention, standing on the bar-top. Travis saw that the two big men had stopped on their way to the staircase to watch.

“I know a lot of you are wondering about the lifeboats right now,” Hesse said. “Here’s what I think, after talking with some of the ship staff. There are not nearly enough lifeboats for everyone. The lifeboats have bare food provisions and their range is small. We don’t even know how far land is or what the conditions are. We believe we’re over 200 miles from shore. From the old shore, that is. No lifeboat will make it. The ship has a lot of food, it’s a luxury cruise line. It’s equipped with over three weeks of food. I think we’re a lot more likely to be found in this ship, than any lifeboat would be. So. I don’t see any percentage in taking a lifeboat.”

Hesse went on, about water, powering the freezers and lights, and volunteer rotations.

“He’s got it all figured out,” Claude said to Travis. “But see, he’s counting on the idea that no one will steal food from the kitchens to bring a little something extra on the lifeboat. Look around. People are thinking, he doesn’t think the lifeboats are a bad idea for the ones who take them – but that they’ll screw everyone left behind. These folks are thinking, what does that have to do with me?”

Travis said nothing. He had a flash recollection of a refugee camp in Sudan, and the sea of anguished black faces. Emaciated bodies wearing rags. Red Cross workers carrying on, keeping their concentration on tasks, as if on a raft in that sea. He felt again that complete vulnerability, his tiny island of white safety amid that sea of black desperation.

John Hesse finished talking, and Travis watched the two big men walk away to the staircase out.

A boy ran up to Mighty Lee Golding, and the star wrestler signed something for him.

“I need a walk,” Travis said. “Why don’t we go get some fresh air on deck?”

Corrina agreed, and they offered to walk Vera back to her room. Gerry and Claude stayed in the Atrium.

“Pavel, you look tired,” Vera said to Darren. “Beautiful boy.”

Darren looked up at his mother but kept silent. The foursome walked up four flights of stairs and along the hallway to Vera’s cabin. Travis carried Darren after the first flight. Vera’s room was at the far end of the hall, among the penthouses.

At the end of the hallway in the dim light something caught all their eyes at once. Legs protruded from a corner. With one step further they saw the whole body. It was the gunman from Vera’s room.

He had a knife in his back, and dark staining spread across the orange.

Some history from the prison perhaps had followed him, or some disagreement in conducting the raping and pillaging.

Vera was on him at once, screaming, without enough breath for it. She landed on the corpse and pulled the knife from his back, plunging it into him again and again, trying to scream. She stabbed twice more before Travis grabbed her arm as she drew it back. He held it gently until she dropped the knife.

She pulled her arm from Travis and stood up, an old lady, wild and blood-spattered. Corrina held Darren to her waist. Vera looked in all their faces.

“What happened?” she said. “What happened?”

Travis held her as she went limp. He walked her to her bedroom where she lay down.

Vera regained her composure and looked up at Travis.

“You can stay here tonight,” Vera said. “You will be more comfortable here than downstairs with the mob.”

Travis left Corrina and Darren in the living room, and went back to the dead pirate. He turned the body. There was the gun, in a pocket. Travis took it. He hadn’t fired a gun in years; he’d never fired a pistol. But he wanted that gun now, and at the same time, didn’t want anyone else to have it. Didn’t want anyone to know about it.

Travis walked the gun to Vera’s galley, under his shirt past Corrina and Darren, looking for a place to hide it, thinking through what was likely in each drawer or closet: food, cutlery, towels, pots, baking dishes.

Finally he went into the bedroom. Vera was already asleep. He opened a closet, stood on his tiptoes and pushed it to the back of the top, empty shelf, out of sight.

They left Vera to sleep and found their way, away from the gunman’s body, to the small walking deck, shaded by the deck above. Chairs and tables were overturned and left on their sides, helter skelter. The sea was calm, and there was something fearful in its unbroken spread as far as they could see. The ship made no wake now, it sat as solid as an island, the small waves breaking against her hull. The oil spill had spread and now encircled the ship. The black curtain delineated their drama. Beyond that frame, within that frame.

They stood at the railing.

“I love you,” Travis said quietly. He knew he shouldn’t be saying this. He felt ashamed for himself saying it but he couldn’t stop. “Corrina, I love you and Darren. That’s all I could think about when I ran from my place, and in the crowd at the dock, and when I thought we were going to get shot. Maybe when we get off the ship-”

“Oh Travis,” Corrina said, shaking her head. “Please don’t”

Darren looked up at the two of them, mindless of their words, and smiled.

Hesse and Colonel Warrant were in different places for much of the day, but before the dinner crowd arrived, they caught up in the office.

“We need to do some serious risk analysis,” the Colonel said.

“The guy with the gun is a risk,” Hesse said.

“Yes, he is,” the Colonel said.

“But what can we do?”

“Don’t give away too much, the less he knows about Brenda and the power and everything, the better. And the less he’s around the better. That’s not a guy who gets told what to do. The more he’s around, the more he’s gonna argue with you, and sooner or later the guy with the gun wins the argument.”

“Let’s just keep him happy and fed and far from us,” Hesse said.

“That’s all we can do. Maybe the Mighty Lee Golding’s a sweetheart. I heard Killer Kowalski was a vegetarian.”

In the Theater, Lee sat in a front row seat with his wife and Rick’s wife while Rick sat facing them on the edge of the stage.

“I wish I would have been there,” Rick said, “Man, I wish I could have seen their faces.”

“I bring joy,” Lee said. “It’s what I do.”

“They must have pissed themselves when they saw two giants and a machine gun.”

“Well,” Lee said. “I wasn’t there to frighten them. Just to make sure we’re planned for, whatever they’re doing.”

“They seem like they know what they’re doing,” Rick said. “They got a freezer going there, I’m sure they’ll get ours hooked up. I mean, I trust them and all but I’m glad they saw you and Adam and the gun.”

“Why do you trust them?” Jessica said. “Are you that good a judge of character? You can judge a guy on the other side of the ship that you haven’t even seen?”

“Well,” Rick said, “they sent the doctor.”

Back home, Jessica’s mother lived in the mansion with her and Lee.

Jessica had been a shy child, afraid of the world, but in her mother’s poor house she had been a princess. She dated and married famous Lee Golding, and her character had grown louder and more confident. With Lee’s support, she’d gone back to school, and then quickly ascended the corporate ladder, becoming with each step more extroverted and sure. She worked at a major insurance company as a vice president. In The Mighty Lee Golding’s palace in suburban Atlanta, her mother still called her Princess.

“God,” Jessica said. “If we don’t get off this ship soon I’ll use that gun to shoot myself.”

21

 

They walked forward along the dark-stained wood planking around the bow end of the Penthouse Deck. The sun was descending so that it caught them straight on from the side. Corrina and Darren were holding hands. They saw others on the deck, some at the brass railing alone, some in canvas deck chairs with spouses or children. No one said hello, no one nodded as they passed. They were all together, but each group was alone on the deck.

“I don’t see anybody out there,” Darren said.

There was nothing but the green and lace waves stretching out into the haze.

They continued onto the larger foredeck. Rows of deckchairs were tumbled over each other. No one seemed to care to clean any of the mess now. Two small semicircular bars rung around a large hot tub, sitting half empty and dead. They walked to the railing and looked out.

The ship was moving, Travis thought. The sun was at a different angle tonight.

I hope this sunset doesn’t bring more surprises, he thought.

“There’s a lounge there,” Corrina said. “Let’s check it out.”

They walked through the glass doors into a gleaming white piano bar. The room seemed more orderly than the exterior deck. The heavy furniture had been less upset. The salon had most of its ceiling as glass, open to the sky. The blue of the bar and tables, the black of the grand piano, gleamed immaculately in the light filling the room through the glass ceiling and walls.

“Play something,” Darren said.

Travis sat at the piano. He knew only how to play rockabilly style, simplified Jerry Lee Lewis. He couldn’t play something so happy, so his fingers just sat on the keys for a moment.

“I don’t feel like playing, Darren,” he said. “I’m too tired.”

He saw the disappointment further sap the energy and hope from the boy.

“Travis!” the father barked in a mock rendition of Corrina’s rough voice, “Don’t bang the piano! Take a lesson before you play that thing!”

Darren brightened. Travis’s impersonation was unmistakable; the voice, accent and cadence sounding just like his ex-wife’s, but more so.

“Travis! Why do you hate my ears? Stop that banging!” Travis said, leaning his forehead in to Darren’s. “That’s what Mommy said.”

Long, long ago, he’d used jokes and impersonations to make friends, to make people laugh. To make his father laugh. It got him through high school and college. He’d become so serious at some point in his adult life, and so sad when his marriage had ended, but he always kept that part of himself for Darren. He shared laughs with his boy, almost as a secret, like his father, a living room clown, had shared with him.

“Maybe we should stay here tonight,” Corrina said, “The seats are like couches.”

“We could look at the stars,” Darren said.

Gerry and Claude sat on the wall of an indoor garden in the Atrium.

“Do you wonder what kind of world we’ll be going back to?” Gerry asked Claude.

“I try not to,” Claude said in his smooth growl. “I’d like to delay returning as much as possible, myself. Until I get to thinking what a real delay would start to look like on the Festival. I do believe we may be nostalgic for this quiet moment soon. I do believe all our possible futures will be… unpleasant.”

“I think I’ll take my unpleasantness on dry land, if I have the choice,” Gerry said.

“Dry land is a lot further away than it used to be,” Claude said, looking out at the darkened mass of refugees in the Atrium.