Текст книги "Noah's Ark: Survivors"

Автор книги: Harry Dayle

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Forty-Five

THE BLONDE MAN led Jake down the corridor to the stairs, the other man brought up the rear. They climbed three flights, emerging on deck six. The men made no attempt to hide their weapons, the ship appeared deserted. Jake assumed that most people had gone to Melvin’s election meeting, and anyone who hadn’t was staying put in their cabins, awaiting the outcome.

“This way,” the blonde man grunted. He set off in the direction of the theatre.

The theatre was huge, spanning three decks. There were several sets of doors on each deck, giving access to the different tiers and blocks of seating. They didn’t use any of them. Instead they stopped at an innocuous white door. It was not labelled. The German waited to one side, watching Jake, while the Chinese man pulled out a key, inserted into the lock, and turned it with a click. He pulled down on the handle and the door opened with a squeak.

“In,” the blonde man pushed Jake towards the room.

He stumbled forwards and found himself in a small dark space. The back wall, to Jake’s left, was filled with racks of technical looking equipment. The far wall had more of the same. The front wall, to the right as Jake entered, had a window inset into it. The window was directly opposite the very centre of the theatre stage, and gave an excellent view of the whole theatre. Underneath was a very wide black desk covered in knobs and sliders. Jake had never been in this room, but he could see that it was used to control the stage lighting and sound.

His captors exchanged a few quiet words, then the Chinese turned and left, closing the door behind him.

“Sit down, relax a little. We have some time to kill.” The blond man pulled up a chair and positioned it so that he was looking out over the stage. Jake remained defiantly on his feet.

“As you like,” the man said shrugging. The gun was sitting across his knees, its presence a constant threat.

Jake looked out of the window. He could see Melvin standing on the stage, and another man too. He recognised that man, he had been with Melvin when he came to the bridge earlier. He had been armed. Another of those guns from the cabinet. A third man joined them on the stage. He was much smaller than the other two, scruffy looking, bearded. There was some more talking and then Melvin stepped forward to speak.

The blonde man in the small room set the gun down and got to his feet, extracted something from his pocket. It was a thin black plastic tie, the kind used to attach cables together.

“Sit,” he said, pointing at the chair.

Jake briefly considered refusing, but it was pointless. Screaming for help would be a waste of time as the room was clearly soundproofed. Fighting back was also not an option given the size of the other guy, and the fact he had that gun of course. He took a deep breath, thought of Lucya, and sat down.

The blonde man pulled Jake’s arms around behind his back and wrapped the cable tie around his wrists, as well as the central column that held the back of the chair to the base, securing them tightly together. He produced another tie from his pocket and used it to bind Jake’s ankles. There was no way he was going anywhere now. The man walked back to the window and looked out. Jake could see that Melvin was still speaking.

The gun was propped up against one of the equipment racks. The German sauntered over and scooped it up. He unclipped the ammunition cartridge and popped out a number of bullets, which disappeared into his pocket. After slotting the cartridge back into place, he returned to the window, and raised then gun sight to his eye.

“What the hell are you doing? You’re going to kill Melvin?” Jake said incredulously. He struggled against the fastenings, trying to get free, but there was give, he was stuck fast.

“Shut the fuck up, if you don’t want to see your intestines ripped out and spread across this desk,” the blonde said without looking around.

Jake did as he was told.

Forty-Six

THE SCRUFFY MAN opened his mouth to speak. If any words escaped his lips, they were never heard. The crack of the gunshot rang out from the back of the auditorium. The noise bounced off the walls, the stage, and the specially placed acoustic surfaces suspended from the ceiling, deafening everyone present for a split second. A red dot appeared in the forehead of the election candidate. The back of his head, along with his brain, was spread over the black curtain that lined the rear of the stage. He crumpled to the floor as if someone had let the air out of him.

Somebody screamed. Then, everybody screamed.

“Everybody get down!” Flynn shouted from the stage. His words went largely unheard. Anyone who could get to an aisle was already running for a door. Those sat further from the exits either cowered in their seats or curled up on the ground.

A second shot rang out. It hit Melvin’s right arm. He cried out in pain, grabbing the wound.

“No!” Flynn shouted. He threw himself in front of Melvin, pushing him out of harms way just as a third shot was fired. It caught him in the shoulder, and he fell to the ground with a squeal of pain.

The fourth shot found its mark and Melvin’s head exploded, his brain tissue and bone mixing with that of the scruffy man on the black curtain. His body fell backwards, crashing to the floor.

Flynn struggled to his knees. It was pandemonium. More people were scrambling to get out. But they couldn’t, because all of the doors had been locked. Those people nearest the exists were being crushed by the weight of the mass of bodies pushing forwards.

“Quiet! Everyone stop pushing!” Flynn shouted as loud as he could. He got some attention, but it hardly made any difference.

The four shots had all been fired within a few seconds. When a minute had passed with no further gunfire, Flynn managed with some effort to get back on his feet. That got the attention of some more people, and the panic abated a little. He looked around and spotted a couple of big guys who had been sitting in the front row. They were crouched on the floor, but were not hysterical, they appeared to be holding it together.

“You two, with me!” Flynn called out to them, pointing. Clutching his wounded shoulder he jumped from the stage and started to run up the central aisle of the theatre.

“He’s in the lighting room, look!” he yelled breathlessly.

The two men looked in the direction of Flynn’s outstretched hand and finger, and sprinted after him. Other people also stopped what they were doing and watched the election moderator charge towards the back of the theatre.

“Watch out! He’s got a gun!” someone shouted near the back.

As all eyes followed Flynn, he galloped towards the lighting control room window. Framed within was a man holding a semi automatic rifle.

Forty-Seven

FROM HIS POSITION tied to the chair, Jake had a perfect view of events as they unfolded. He watched his blonde captor shoot the scruffy man on the stage. He saw him shoot at Melvin. He watched the moderator dive to protect Melvin, and the two subsequent bullets which injured the moderator and killed Melvin. He waited for one last bullet which would surely kill the moderator, but it never came.

As soon as Melvin was down, the man stepped back from the window and turned to Jake. His hand went into his jacket pocket and came out grasping a something thin and black. He squeezed it. A steel blade shot out, perfectly polished. He took another step forwards.

Jake, who only hours before thought he was no longer afraid of dying, found himself very afraid indeed. He closed his eyes, and waited to feel the blade on his neck, or through his heart. But he felt neither. Instead he heard a light snipping sound, and the tension around his ankles was gone. He opened his eyes but the blonde man was nowhere to be seen. Then, another snip, and his hands fell free. He jumped to his feet and whirled around.

“Congratulations,” the blonde said, “you just committed double murder. Catch!”

He threw the gun at Jake. Instinct kicked and he caught the weapon in both hands. The man opened the door, released a catch on the lock, exited the room, and pulled the door closed behind him. Jake stood for a second, stunned into silence. He had no idea what had just happened.

It was then that he became aware of the noise coming from the window behind him. There had been screaming since the first gun shot, but the commotion had changed, it was less screaming and more shouting. He turned to look.

“Watch out! He’s got a gun!” he heard someone near the window scream out.

He looked down. He was still holding the weapon. He looked up. The election moderator was headed his way at a charge, followed by two burly men.

• • • • •

Flynn reached the window. The glass had been shattered by the bullets, leaving a carpet of tiny sparkling granules covering the floor.

“Son, don’t do anything stupid. Give me the gun,” Flynn reached out a hand tentatively.

Jake looked at the gun in his hands as if he couldn’t believe it was real. He dropped it like a hot potato, jumped backwards, away from the window.

“Get in there and pin him down!” Flynn shouted at the two men who had followed him. They scrambled up through the opening and across the lighting control desk. Jake didn’t move, didn’t fight back as the men grabbed an arm each.

Back in the theatre the panic was subsiding. The gunman had been stopped, there was no longer a danger. Now the people were migrating towards the back. Everyone wanted a glimpse of the madman who had just killed the two candidates in cold blood.

“Jake? Is that you?”

The voice came from behind Flynn.

“You know this man?” Flynn turned and asked him.

The man stepped forwards, to better see through the window. Jake recognised him at once.

“Know him? That’s Jake Noah. He is, was, the captain,” the man said.

“Martin! No! This isn’t what it looks like!” Jake cried out. Seeing his chief engineer had snapped him out of his state of shock.

“This is Noah?” Flynn asked. “This is the man who walked away from the captain’s chair? The man who left us without a leader in our time of greatest need?”

“No, that’s not true and you know it,” Jake protested. “Melvin came to depose me. You were there, one of his heavy mob, I saw you!”

“I’ve never set eyes on you in my life,” Flynn all but spat the words out. “And now what? You’ve decided that you want your old job back? Decided to wipe out anyone who could stand against you? You think that with Melvin and…the other candidate who’s name we never even found out, you think that now they’re dead you can just reclaim your position on the bridge?”

“What? No! No of course not. I didn’t do this! There was another man, a German!”

Flynn raised an eyebrow. “Is there anyone else in there?” he asked the two men who were still restraining Jake.

They looked around the tiny room, as if someone could somehow have hidden away, and shook their heads.

“Mr Noah, you are a murderer. Your fate is not for me to decide though. Men, hold onto him.”

Flynn walked back down the aisle, still with one hand pressed against his shoulder. It was soaked with blood, but he didn’t seem to be letting the wound stop him. He reached the front of the auditorium and took the small flight of steps at the side of the stage. All eyes were on him as he stopped in front of the two bodies.

“Ladies and gentlemen, as if we were not already in dark times, we have experienced a true atrocity here. But we must not let these actions stand in the way of democracy. We need a leader now more than ever before.” A thousand people were hanging on Flynn’s every word. “Clearly the position is not without risk, there will always be elements who are opposed to the democratic process. So I urge you again, would anyone who thinks they could lead us, please come up to the stage. Time is short, we have to act decisively and act now.”

Silence.

Of the thousand or so passengers and former crew packed into the theatre, not one moved.

“Anyone? Please?” Flynn pleaded from the stage.

“Why don’t you do it?” someone called out.

“Yeah! You’re already up there!” another voice shrilled.

There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd.

“I wouldn’t consider myself the man for the job,” Flynn said modestly.

Several people shouted in response to that.

“You’re a bloody hero mate!”

“You’re clearly a born leader!”

“You’ve been in charge all evening, why not keep going?”

“Captain Flynn!” somebody screamed from one of the balconies. “He’s our saviour!”

That prompted cries of encouragement. The mood in the room was changing. The sense of panic and fear had been replaced by a feeling of anticipation, almost excitement. There were more cries of “Captain Flynn”. The cries united and became a chant.

“Captain Flynn! Captain Flynn! Captain Flynn!”

They reached fever pitch, Flynn’s name reverberated around the huge auditorium. People were stamping their feet, clapping their hands in unison.

Flynn looked on from his position on the stage. He let the chants continue for a few minutes. Finally he bowed his head, raised his free hand slowly and waved it from side to side. The chanting subsided, the stamping died out, the clapping stopped. Gradually the theatre fell silent, the sense of anticipation now greater than ever. Flynn lowered his hand and looked up. He scanned the room slowly, from left to right.

“Well, I don’t know what to say right now.”

“Say yes!” someone called out from near the front. There was nervous laughter, but the silence quickly reestablished itself.

“I’m just a regular guy, who believes in doing the right thing. I came here this evening to help facilitate a democratic process. It seems that fate, in some very strange and twisted way, has seen to it that the people have been able to have their say. Not in the way any of us expected, and not in the way any of us would have wanted. But if the last three days have taught us anything, it is to expect the unexpected. If nobody else is willing to stand, and if this truly is the will of the people gathered here, then I must accept that the hand of destiny has touched me tonight. So it is my humble duty to accept your wishes. I will take the captain’s chair, and I will do my best, with the advice of those who are willing to give it, and with the Lord’s help, to lead us all to safety.”

His last word hung in the air for a second. And then, explosive, rapturous applause. Anyone who was seated, stood. The chant started up once more.

“Captain Flynn! Captain Flynn! Captain Flynn!”

On the stage, Flynn smiled, waved his good arm, signalled for silence. It took a while, but the crowd slowly calmed down.

“Now, let’s get these doors open. Someone get through that back window and unlock the doors from the outside. If there’s a a doctor or nurse present, I could really use some help with my shoulder here,” he pulled his hand away, blood dripped from it onto the stage. “And you two heroes who stopped ex-Captain Noah, bring him to the bridge so we can decide his fate. I believe it is located on deck ten. The crew member who recognised can show you the way.”

Forty-Eight

THE TWO MEN hustled Jake out of the room and towards a staircase. He felt immensely grateful that the other doors to the theatre were still locked, meaning there was no risk of being mobbed by an angry crowd. Martin had climbed through the window, and he exited the control room and took the lead without looking once at Jake.

“Martin, listen to me. I didn’t do this, you have to believe me. Why would I? I willingly gave up the captain’s seat. You were there! You saw me go, freely. It makes no sense for me to kill Melvin!”

“Shut it,” one of the heavies grunted.

“I’ve been set up Martin! They’ve taken Lucya!”

At the mention of her name, Martin paused, looked round.

“Where is she? Where’s Lucya?”

“I don’t know, that’s what I’m telling you. They took her. She left my cabin, someone took her, and then they came for me.”

“I said shut it, or I will shut it for you.”

Martin considered Jake’s plea. “She was in your cabin? What was she doing there? Were you plotting this together?”

“No! We were…I mean, she came to see me and…They took her Martin, to set me up!”

The man restraining his left arm turned towards Jake.

“I said it twice, you must be a bit thick.” He swung a huge fist into the side of Jake’s face. The blow knocked him off balance and he tumbled to the floor.

The heavy bent down, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him back to his feet.

“You,” he pointed at Martin. “You’re done with the questions, now piss off back to wherever you come from.”

“What about the bridge?” Martin looked affronted.

“We’ll manage.”

The two men set off up the stairs, leaving Martin somewhat confused at the bottom. Jake remained silent the whole way, he didn’t want to feel the force of either man’s firsts again.

They reached the bridge without getting lost or making any mistakes in direction, which Jake found odd. The route to was not obvious, a deliberate design to discourage passengers from trotting up there and making a nuisance of themselves. One of the men knocked on the door. It swung open and the three of them went inside.

The captain’s chair was empty, as were the other posts. There were people present though. Four men. Jake recognised them. Two had been on the bridge with Flynn when Melvin had come to call for the election. Of the other two, one looked Chinese and the other was tall, blonde, and, Jake thought, probably German. Jake was marched to a chair near the map table. One of the men holding Jake pulled out a couple of cable ties from his pocket and secured him to the chair in exactly the same way he had been back in the theatre. He was sitting in front of the weapons cabinet, which he could see was empty. The door was open, and covered in blood. In the middle was a dent, about the size and shape one would expect to see if a head had been slammed into it with great force. The key in the lock wasn’t Jake’s, it looked, from the keyring it was attached to, like it was Max’s.

• • • • •

It was nearly half an hour later when Flynn arrived on the bridge. In the intervening time the six other men present conversed infrequently, and always in voices too low for Jake to be able to make out what they were saying. When Flynn entered, letting himself in with his own key, the men fell silent instantly.

“Mr Noah, congratulations.” Flynn spoke—and strode—with authority and none of the humility he had shown in the theatre. He had the air of a man very much in charge and in control. “You played your role better than I could have hoped. I was afraid you would have dropped the gun as soon as Gunter put it in your hands. But no! You stood there in the window, for hundreds of people to witness. And then you put up no fight when I sent Jonas and Aki here to restrain you, perfect!”

Jake’s head was reeling, trying to process what Flynn had just said, the implications of his words.

“Gunter? He tried to shoot you…I don’t understand. Why…how…” He couldn’t articulate everything he was thinking.

“Gunter didn’t try and shoot me, he actually shot me. Perfectly, I might add.” He nodded an acknowledgement at the blonde man, who smiled in response. “Not easy to hit a moving target in exactly the right spot, but Gunter is a bit of a sharp shooter. He avoided any major blood vessels, and the bone. Just took a nick out of my shoulder. Like I said, it all went better than I had hoped.”

“You set this whole thing up?” Jake asked, still not sure he understood.

“Hey boys? I think he’s getting it! Yes Jakey, I set it up.”

“But why? Melvin would have won that election hands down. He was a pain in the arse, but he meant well and he gave a reasonable speech. The other guy looked like a loser?”

“Of course Melvin would have won. That’s why he had to die. And the other guy, well obviously he had to go. And now you’re out of the picture too.”

“This was all about getting the captain’s chair?”

“You’re not very bright, are you son? Yes, this was about getting the chair.”

“Why didn’t you just stand against Melvin?”

“Do I really have to lay it out for you?”

“Not really,” Jake said, wondering if he would regret his next words. “I mean, you’re going to kill me, aren’t you? So you don’t have to explain anything.”

“Wow, son of a bitch, you really don’t get it, do you? I can’t kill you! You made me a hero. Take yourself out of your own tiny little head for just a second, and put yourself in the seat of one of those sorry ass passengers back in that theatre. I know this might be difficult for you, you being a bit dumb and all, but just try, okay? So, sorry ass passenger sees some innocent old guy get shot. Then the shooter tries to get Melvin but misses. I dive in to try and save him, and take the bullet. Tragically, Melvin still dies. Loose end, see? Can’t have loose ends. So now I’m a hero for taking the bullet. And then, to cap it off, I catch the gunman. That’s you, dumbo. And to show I’m a caring human being, I don’t execute you on the spot, even though you deserve it. Instead I will arrange a suitable punishment.”

“Great, so you’re a hero, you get elected captain, and two people are dead. I still don’t understand why you didn’t just stand for election. You could have won without killing anyone.”

“Elected captain? I wasn’t just elected captain. I’ve been given the biggest mandate to run this ship in any way I see fit. I was given a standing ovation. They chanted my name. I’m the people’s hero! And the only two people who could have challenged me are out of the picture. One is dead, and the other is guilty of a double homicide. Now there is nobody to question the orders I give. Apart from these guys and a few more of my disciples. But they understand that I am on a God given mission. They are faithful to the cause.”

“Where’s Lucya?” Jake didn’t want to listen to any more of this.

“Your girlfriend is safe. I won’t be harming a hair on her pretty little head, don’t you worry. I need her for the next phase.”

“What phase? What are you going to do to her?” Jake began to struggle in his seat, tried to wriggle free. He couldn’t move an inch.

“The next phase is the breeding,” Flynn said, and walked away.