Beautiful Dreamer, Part Two

Note: The following, and the other two parts of this story, was originally written for a themed anthology, Sick Cruising, through Notch Publishing House in October 2020. It has been republished with the publisher's permission. The theme for the anthology involves taking a cruise to escape COVID-21, or Red Lungs, a new strand of COVID with mysterious paranormal side-effects. Inspiration for the anthology comes from the Edgar Allan Poe story, The Masque of the Red Death.

Trigger Warning: The following, and the other two parts of this story, involves swearing, illness, death, violence, and bigotry. This part also includes brief mentions of nudity and implied sexual situations. If you are sensitive to any of these areas, proceed with caution. Violence and bigotry are depicted solely for commentary on the current state of the world and how humanity reacts during a crisis. The author, the original publisher, and Vocal do not condone violence or bigotry in any way, shape, or form.

Day 4

Nelson-Casseus Suite

ALL POWERFUL, Atlantic Ocean

I swear that Jayden and I had turned in around midnight, but here I am, up at three in the morning, dancing like I haven’t stopped for hours. I don’t know anyone around me, but I’m so dazed and euphoric that I don’t care. All my fears about the virus having breached the ship have melted away.

Beneath SIrFlare’s latest hit and its bumping beats, I hear a soft voice singing slightly off-tune. It’s faint at first but quickly grows louder. I’d know that voice anywhere.

“Mom?”

I run off in the direction of the voice. I chase it from one corridor to the next, up and down stairs, around every inch of the ship so many times that I can no longer tell if I am on a ship or inside an M.C. Escher painting. The voice finally brings me to a stop in front of our suite. From inside, I hear Mom’s voice meld with the operatic-country style of the latest Sweet Dew Sweetums single. Weird. I know that Dad went to bed.

When I open the door, Dad is at a card table set up in the suite’s sitting room. Across from him sits a tall, lean, pale man in a black business suit with a scythe propped up beside him. The man’s eyes flicker toward me, raising goosebumps from every inch of my skin as a pair of shining black marbles pierce my soul. It feels like an eternity before his gaze returns to the cards he holds in his hands. Dad doesn’t even acknowledge me, his stare fixed on his own cards.

“Who are you?” I ask as I approach the table.

The man takes a card from the middle of his hand, but when he lays it on the table, he reveals it to be a Tarot card with a skeletal soldier riding a white horse. At the bottom reads the word, “DEATH.”

Sweet Dew Sweetums’s voice raises an octave. Dad has played this song more than a dozen times since it came out two weeks ago, so I should be used to it, but right now, my muscles tense as I want nothing more than to punch someone in the throat.

“What—”

“To do my job,” he says in a voice that’s like nails dragging down a chalkboard.

I try to swallow, but my throat is painfully dry. I look to Dad. He still hasn’t moved. Then he coughs. A small cough, but it makes me jump. He coughs again, this time with more force. And again. And again. Each time, more and more force is put into the cough until he doubles over from the effort, his cards abandoned face-up on the table. His blood and spittle spray across the cards—two Death Tarot cards surrounded by three Hanging Men.

“Dad!” I try to run to him, but I can’t move my legs. I bend at the waist, lean out as far as I can, and am barely able to touch his forehead with my palm. I cringe; he’s burning up. I turn my pleading eyes to the pale man with the scythe. “Stop! Please, stop this! It’s not his time.”

The man flicks his wrist, and I’m forced to stand up straight. Tears stream down my cheeks as I am made to watch Dad suffer just out of my reach.

“No,” the man says. “It’s not your time.”

Dad’s hacking gets worse and worse, with more blood spewing from his mouth until it pours down his suit and stains his half of the table. In the background, Sweet Dew Sweetums’s single still plays on but nears its end. I know the song’s not this long, and somehow, this disturbs me more than anything.

“Stop!”

* * *

I wake up in a tangled mess of sheets and sweat. A dream. It was just a dream. The most fucked up dream I’ve ever had, but still just a dream. I look at my phone. Eleven in the morning. I groan and collapse back on the plush pillows. I should feel a lot better rested for having slept almost eleven hours.

* * *

We spend that afternoon up by the pool on the upper deck, relaxing. Well, relaxing as well as we can with the music blaring and the people yelling—some having a good time, others faking it, others being pissy or starting fights like last night. I swear I’ve heard more people clearing their throats today than yesterday, and there was no mistaking the echoes of coughs as we walked through the corridors on our way up here. Dad claims he doesn’t hear it or that it’s allergies or my imagination, but…I think I saw a swimmer wiping a bloody hand off on a white towel and then hide it under her arm earlier. I might just be crazy, though.

I try to distract myself by checking my email on my phone, but I keep getting the same message about the server not connecting.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I mutter.

“Language,” Dad says with a yawn as he stretches on his lounge chair. “What’s the matter?”

“Internet’s not working.”

Dad laughs. “That’s what all the cussing’s about?”

“I need to check that the monthly grocery delivery got to the staff and that the new masks made it to the warehouses—”

“Sweetie, you need to relax.” I narrow my eyes at the condescending tone in Dad’s voice. He means well, but he doesn’t always think about how he says it. “We left Salvatore and Steve in charge for a reason, and if you don’t take a break soon, you’re going to wear yourself down. That’s probably why your nose is runny and your throat hurts.”

My eyes widen, and I look around anxiously for any nurses or staff. Thankfully, no one of importance seems to have noticed what Dad said. No one insignificant seems to have noticed, either. They’re all so lost in their own worlds and recording all the fun that they’re having that they’re paying no attention to the three of us. I wonder if they’ve gotten the internet to work.

“I’m sure it’s just a fluke,” Jayden says, as though he can read my mind. He slips a throat lozenge into my hand. “In the meantime, your dad’s right. You’re going to make yourself sick worrying too much. Suck on this, it’ll help with your throat.”

I pop the lozenge into my mouth and start sucking. They’re probably right. It’s probably why I had that dream, too. Last night was the first night I had really let loose in a long time, so I was most likely stressed out and making myself feel guilty for not being by Dad’s side 24/7—

“I tell you, man, it was the damn weirdest dream I’ve ever had.”

I sit straight up on my lounge chair. A couple of young men, one red-headed and one with brown hair, float in the water in front of my chair, facing away from me. Somehow, I know that the comment came from one of them. I scoot closer to the edge of my seat, trying to hear their conversation without drawing too much attention to myself.

“You telling me you’re psychic now or something?” the redhead asks as he stifles a cough.

“How else do you explain what happened?” the brown-haired one retorts.

“I don’t know, freaky coincidence?”

“So, it’s a freaky coincidence that I had a dream involving Shelby falling in the shower and hitting her head and the next morning it just happens?”

“That girl’s wasted half the time. It’s a miracle she can stand on her feet on dry ground, let alone in a shower.”

“But I saw her hitting her forehead on the corner of the sink coming out of the shower. That’s pretty damn specific, isn’t it?”

The redhead hesitates. I’m pretty convinced myself at this point.

“What about this guy in the business suit with the gardening tool you saw?” the redhead finally counters. “How does he play into all of this?”

“I don’t know,” the brown-haired man admits. “I think he might’ve been warning me, maybe. I don’t know. Creepy as Hell, though.”

My mouth goes dry. A man in a business suit with a “gardening tool”—as in a scythe? I scoot back in my chair and lean back. I force my breathing to stay steady. In. Out. In. Out. Don’t. Panic. It couldn’t have been the same man in both dreams. And just because one man’s dream came true…

“Hey, Beautiful Dreamer.” Jayden nudges me, and I turn my head to him. “What’s wrong?”

“Have you had any weird dreams? Like, any that have…come true?”

Jayden looks at Dad where he lies on the other side of me. A pronounced snore over all the chatting, yelling, and music lets me know that Dad has fallen asleep despite everything. A small smile crosses my face. Jayden’s gaze returns to me.

“Not yet.”

“Have you heard anyone talking about having those kinds of dreams?”

He tilts his head towards the red-head and the brunette. “You mean other than Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum there? Yeah, actually. A few murmurs here and there. Why?” His voice drops to a whisper. “Are you worried about the prescient dreams symptom of Red Lungs?”

I nod.

“Have you had any?”

I look back at Dad. “I don’t know yet.”

Day 5

Dining Area

ALL POWERFUL, Atlantic Ocean

Before the Sweet Dew Sweetums concert, Dad decided to treat Jayden and me to dinner at one of the three dining areas instead of room service in our suite. I couldn’t relax the entire meal, each muffled cough amplified in my ears and my eyes zeroing in on every person rubbing their throat. I was having a hard time suppressing my own coughs and keeping up my end of the conversation with how badly my throat hurt, not to mention how I was sweating behind my mask, which Dad insisted I wear to the concert. Jayden seemed to be struggling as well, but if Dad was having a hard time, he wasn’t letting it show. It was only when he came back from the bathroom and I spotted him stuffing his blood-soaked handkerchief into his pocket that I knew he wasn’t doing well.

I can’t let him go to the concert like this.

“Dad, we need to talk.”

Dad laughs, but I can’t help noticing that it’s weaker than it had been before we left on this cruise. “That sounds serious.”

“Well, it is. About the concert—”

“Gregor?” a familiar voice calls from behind Dad. “Gregor Nelson?”

Dad strains to look over his shoulder, his arms shaking. Since when did that effort cause his arms to shake? “Zhou Luli?”

My eyes widen at the thin but muscular Asian woman who approaches and hugs my dad.

“Aunt Luli!”

Aunt Luli pulls away from Dad and grins broadly at me. Her eyes are rimmed red and raw patches under her nose show through her makeup.

"Little Ava,” she says. “It’s been way too long.”

Jayden arches a brow at me. “Aunt Luli?”

Dad laughs. “Jayden, meet Dr. Zhou Luli, world-renowned botanist and geneticist, majority share owner of The Hershey Company, and a close personal friend.”

I can’t help but chuckle as Jayden and Aunt Luli fist bump rather than shake hands.

“Dr. Zhou, as in the woman who developed genetically engineered cocoa beans that can be grown outside of fifteen degrees to the north or south of the Equator?” Jayden asks. Aunt Luli nods with a small, modest smile. “Weren’t you just in the news for starting some cocoa farms down in Uruguay and also some up in…Kansas before the Red Lungs outbreak?”

“Yes, yes, we had such high hopes for those until…” Her smile disappears with a cringe.

“Well,” I say with a grin, “on behalf of all menstruating women, I would just like to say thank you for possibly saving chocolate from extinction.”

Aunt Luli and I laugh out right while Jayden and Dad chuckle quietly and uncomfortably, Jayden rubbing the back of his neck and blushing.

“Oh, how cute! Your man is sensitive, Ava.” Aunt Luli winks at me, and it’s my turn to blush.

“He’s…uh…he’s not my ‘man’, Aunt Luli. He’s Dad’s nurse.”

“I see. I just thought, given how you two are together…”

“No, we’re not together,” I say, perhaps too quickly. I glance over at Jayden, who meets my eyes with some reluctance. His dark eyes almost look sad. What is going on in that head of his?

“Yes, despite my best efforts, these two just haven’t gotten the hint yet,” Dad says, unable to resist throwing in his two cents.

“Well, you know how stubborn young love can be. How long did it take all of us shoving you and Circe together before the two of you finally made it official?”

“We were just having fun, seeing how things went.” Dad mumbles the next part, and I almost can’t believe my ears. “Tasting all the samples life’s buffet had set out for us.”

Aunt Luli smacks Dad on the back of the head. “Gregor! In front of your daughter, really?”

Rubbing his head, he glares at her and says, “I’m just being honest.”

Aunt Luli rolls her eyes. I have to keep my hand over my mouth to keep myself from laughing at the whole scene, and a quick look over at Jayden tells me that he’s barely holding up any better despite his experience hiding his emotions.

Aunt Luli turns her attention to me and opens her arms. “So, are you just going to stand there, or are you going to greet me properly?”

I grin as I wrap the woman in a bear hug. She returns it with a bone-crushing embrace that warms me to my core. Before I can truly lose myself in the affection, a coughing fit forces me to release her.

“Ava, sweetie, are you sick?”

I shake my head even as the force of my hacking doubles me over.

“Let’s…umm…let’s go this way,” Jayden says as the fit resides. He puts his hand on my back as I stand back up, and Aunt Luli pushes Dad’s chair behind us as we rush into the nearest corridor.

“What was that, son?” Dad asks, his tone sharp enough for me to glare as him.

“I’m sorry, sir. I…” Jayden looks down both sides of the corridor. Partiers dance to a hodgepodge of music blaring through their smartphones or lounge around in drug-induced dazes, but no one is paying attention to us, and I don’t know what or whom he’s looking for. “I don’t really trust the nurses here. I mean, I’m sure they’re qualified and all, but—”

“Something’s off,” I mutter.

His eyes meet mine and widen, as though surprised that someone else has felt it, too. “Yeah.”

“Well, if Ava’s coughing so bad, I want her to go to the infirmary,” Dad says firmly.

I shake my head emphatically at Jayden.

“Look, Mr. Nelson, I’m a trained nurse. It’s why I’m here with you, right? So, let me take care of both you and Ava.” Aunt Luli glances between the two of us suggestively. We both blush. “What I mean…everyone was checked before they got on board, so I’m sure there’s no way it’s Red Lungs. Probably just a bad cold or something. I’ll give her some cough medicine,” he lifts my mask and puts the back of his hand on my forehead, “and some ibuprofen for her fever and I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

Jayden takes a bottled water and two different kinds of pills out of his bag and hands them to me. After popping the pills and chasing them down with some water, I give him a grateful smile.

“Thanks. Hopefully, that’ll do the trick.” I suppress another cough, hoping no one will notice. I feel Jayden nudge me and see him holding out a Kleenex to me. When I look up at him, he taps the side of his mouth. I grab the Kleenex and dab the side of mine, paling when I find blood there.

“Ava, are you sure that you don’t want to go to the infirmary?” Dad asks. Of course, he didn’t miss the blood.

I shake my head and crumple the Kleenex in my fist. “No, Dad, I’ll be fine. It’s just…maybe we should all go back to our suite. You can join us if you want, Aunt Luli.”

“And miss out on the Sweet Dew Sweetums concert?” Dad exclaims. “No way! Sweetheart, I’m feeling fine, but if you’re sick, you should really—”

“No, Dad.” I cringe. “I think…I think we should all stay in our room, OK? Something doesn’t feel right.”

“If Ava doesn’t feel good, maybe Jayden can take her back to your suite and I can go with you to the concert,” Aunt Luli suggests, rubbing Dad’s shoulder. They exchange small smiles, and a mix of warmth and an urge to vomit rushes through me. “I’m sure he’ll take great care of her.”

Jayden blushes again. “Well, of course, but I am Mr. Nelson’s nurse, and I need to stay by his side in case of an emergency.”

“Come on, son, other than the walking and needing my meds, I’ve been perfectly fine,” Dad argues. I groan. “Don’t be like that, Ava. I’m fine. Jayden, give Luli my meds and then take my daughter back to our suite. Ava, if you’re not better by tomorrow, I really think we need to take you to the infirmary.”

Jayden opens his mouth, I’m guessing to object, but Dad has the same look on his face that has won him every argument in the boardroom for the past couple decades. Jayden’s mouth snaps shut, and he hands Dad’s medicine bag to Aunt Luli.

“Don’t worry,” she says as she slings the bag over her shoulder, “I’ll take good care of him.” Her eyes meet mine. “I won’t let him get into anything wild, either.”

Dad huffs.

The knot in my stomach doesn’t ease, but I nod. “Thank you.”

“Now, go get some rest,” Dad orders. “I want you in partying condition by tomorrow. Jayden, take good care of her.”

“Yes, sir.”

I beat my fist into my palm as I watch Aunt Luli push Dad farther and farther into the bowels of the ship. Just before they round a corner, Dad starts hacking as powerfully as I had been, but I can see him waving off Aunt Luli’s fretting before they disappear from my sight.

Jayden wraps his arm around my shoulders. His skin sticks to mine from our collective sweat—I can’t imagine what our temperatures would register on those thermometers from the health check stations now—but beyond the gross factor, I don’t really mind. I try to lean into him, and our masks clash in a flurry of beaks and feathers.

“Geez, I don’t get what you rich people find so fun about these things,” Jayden says with a laugh as he rips his off.

“You’ve obviously never been to Mardi Gras or Carnival. Of course, we usually don’t wear plague masks.” I roll my eyes as I take mine off as well. “Still don’t know what my dad was thinking with that choice. Yet another of his questionable ones lately.”

A few stifled coughs among the partiers cause my body to stiffen. I feel a tickle at the back of my throat in sympathy, and Jayden clears his throat beside me.

“Let’s get back to the room, maybe break into that bar Winters set up for your dad.” I cock a brow at Jayden, and he quickly adds, “Everyone else is in denial, so why shouldn’t we join in the bliss?”

* * *

A firm but gentle feminine hand grabs my shoulder and shakes me. I jump out of my skin. I know that hand—long, slender fingers, oddly calloused from years of work before she met Dad. Mom’s hand. But Mom…I flip over, and all I see is Mom’s hand and forearm sticking out of the headboard right above my shoulder. My heart flutters, but I can’t move or speak. The hand points to the end of the bed.

I will myself to turn over again. Waiting silently at my feet, rigid posture and all, is the pale man with the black business suit and scythe. This time, though, he wears Jayden’s plague mask. His midnight-black eyes still pierce me through it. Our eyes meet, and he slowly gestures toward the door with his scythe. I don’t move at first. It’s as though all the blood has been drained from my extremities and pounds in a rapid loop within my chest. Then Mom’s hand pushes my shoulder, and I snap into action.

I leap to my feet, caring less about my nakedness. Instantly, I realize that I somehow feel lighter, as though I’d been carrying the weight of the world all my life and hadn’t known it until it disappeared. A sinking feeling in my stomach tells me not to, but I look back at the bed and find my body still snuggling Jayden. I choke on a sob.

My head whips back to the man with the scythe, and I manage to say, “Am I…?”

He shakes his head and points back at my body. I look again. To my relief, my body appears to be breathing. The man with the scythe puts his hand on my arm and once more gestures toward the door. His lips have stretched into a firm line; I don’t dare delay him any further.

The man leads me through the door and down the corridors. Faces of partiers flash by me, eyes now blank and dull—not quite lifeless but doing the best they can to get there, having taken every drug and drunk every cocktail under the sun that their bodies can stand without overdosing, just to avoid acknowledging what we all know deep down: everyone on this ship is sick. Everything is eerily silent. Red smudges blur at the edge of my sight. I grow dizzy, nauseated. I try to look ahead of me, but I can’t focus or even see the man with the scythe anymore.

Suddenly, I come to a stop in front of the concert hall where Sweet Dew Sweetums is playing. Where once there was no sound, my ears erupt with screams and wails. Bloody handprints streak the walls and double doors and obstruct the distraught faces of concertgoers as they pound desperately on the glass. The man with the scythe stands behind someone on my side of the door. Their back faces me and I can’t make out who exactly they are, but I know they’re a crew member. The man with the scythe puts his hand over theirs and guides it to lock the double doors. He then releases the crew member as they calmly retrieve a wheelchair parked next to the doors. I almost pass out as I recognize the medicine bag and purse in the seat.

“No!” I screech. The crew member does not acknowledge me. “No! NO!”

They continue to ignore me—or simply not hear me—and roll Dad’s wheelchair down the endless corridor. I start to take off after them, but the man with the scythe stops me with an outstretched arm.

“Out of my way!” I cry. “I need to stop them. I need to get them to unlock the door! My dad’s in there! He needs me, I need to get him out—”

“There’s no hope for him,” the man croaks. He shifts his head to the left of me. Jayden appears at my side, as naked as he was in bed. The man sets his scythe aside and reaches a hand out to touch us each on the chest, just below the hollow of our throats. His eyes glow blue behind his mask, as do our chests; his touch leaves a warm, tingling sensation, but my heart threatens to rip itself out, it’s beating so quickly. “There is for you two. LEAVE!”

He slams his hand into my chest. Instantly, darkness swallows me.

* * *

I wake up panting at one in the morning. The panting soon turns to coughing, spotting my pillowcase with blood, and I mentally curse myself. I’m burning up, and my throat feels dryer than Death Valley, but there’s no time to worry about that. That dream—it was so bizarre and yet so real. If there’s even a shred of truth to it, Dad and Aunt Luli…I can’t even let myself think about it. I need to find them, get them away from that concert before it’s too late.

Jayden grabs my wrist before I can get out of bed.

“Where are you going?” he asks. His voice sounds so painfully hoarse that I cringe.

“I need to go check on my dad.” I rip my wrist from his grasp and rush to throw on some underwear, sweats, and a tank top. “I have this…feeling that he needs to leave that concert. Now.”

I know he’s going to call me crazy and tell me that I need to rest, that I’m obviously delusional from fever.

“Fine.” His feet thud on the floor as he hurriedly dresses as well. “I’m coming with you.”

“You’re just trusting me on this?”

“I didn’t want him goin’ to that damn concert, either. Besides, after the freakin’ dream I had…”

My head snaps to him. “You had a weird dream, too? About the concert?”

He hesitates then nods.

“A bad one?”

“You have no idea.”

My heart sinks to my stomach. “We need to go.”

* * *

The screams hit our ears as soon as we leave our suite. They’re distant at first, and I hope to God that they’re just people fucking around, pretending to be attacked, and that soon they will end in high-pitched squeals and laughter. I would give anything to hear some obnoxious party girl laughter right now, but something deep in me knows that it will never come. The screams get louder the closer we get to the concert venues. Soon, they are mixed with wails of despair and cries for help and mercy. It’s almost beautiful in its own tragic way, a death knell that would put the bells of Notre Dame to shame. Tears stream down my cheeks. My chest hurts more than any coughing fits have made it.

Please be OK, Dad, I beg. Please be OK, Aunt Luli.

We reach the corridor with the Sweet Dew Sweetums concert hall only to find it blocked by a security guard twice Jayden’s size. The guard coughs and rubs his throat—heck, he hardly seems able to stand on his own two feet—but I have no doubts that he could take us both down if he put his mind to it. That doesn’t change the fact that my dad is in that concert hall.

“Move,” I say when he steps in my path. He puts his hand on my shoulder and gently pushes me back. “My dad is at the Sweet Dew Sweetums concert. I need to get him.”

“No one’s getting through,” the guard says gruffly.

“Sir,” Jayden steps up so that he’s right at the man’s shoulder, “her father is Gregor Nelson of Nelson Corporations. He is recovering from leukemia, and I am his nurse. He needs to return to his suite and rest or else he could fall very ill. If you don’t let us through to get him, his death will be on your hands.”

“Sounds like it’ll be on your hands for not staying by his side. Some nurse.” Even as he says this, the guard refuses to meet our eyes.

I grab his hand in both of mine. “Please, sir, I need to get my dad. He’s the only family I have left. If anything happens to him—”

The screams get louder and louder, and then, without warning, they stop. We wait for several moments, but they do not return. My eyes water.

The guard mutters, “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

Day 6

Nelson-Casseus Suite

ALL POWERFUL, Atlantic Ocean

I cling to the toilet, letting the porcelain cool my aching head. Jayden and I had spent the rest of the night searching the ship for Dad and Aunt Luli, hoping that they had left the concert before the doors were locked, but to no avail. The screams and wails from the concert hall chased me down every corridor. Those tortured, red-tinted faces flashed before my eyes. Around four in the morning, when the alcohol and grief finally caught up to me, Jayden coaxed me back to the suite and tried to get me to rest. He told me we’d have better luck if we started again with fresh eyes.

I tried to rest, but the moment I closed my eyes, I couldn’t get the image of Dad and Aunt Luli trapped in that hall, sick and surrounded by illness and madness, breathing their last, out of my mind’s eye. That pale figure kept slipping in and out of the nightmare, mostly observing, sometimes picking up an unfortunate soul and disappearing with them, until he finally picked both Dad and Aunt Luli off the floor where they had collapsed and led them straight through the locked doors, down the corridor, to the bow of the ship, and off into the night, for me to never see again. That was when I woke up and ran to my toilet to throw up on and off for two hours until my head throbbed and my throat was so raw I couldn’t speak when Jayden came in to check on me. Blood trickled down his chin after he coughed, and I found blood in my vomit. I don’t know if either of us really care anymore.

Reluctantly, I drag myself away from the toilet and stagger into my room. My skin feels like it’s on fire, my chest hurts with each heaving breath, and I can’t collect enough saliva to ease the desperately dry pain in my throat. Jayden is passed out, stripped down to his boxers, on my bed. A thin layer of sweat covers his dark skin; it would be hot if I didn’t know that it was coming from a fever that’s probably killing us both.

With the little strength I have, I roll him over and join him on the bed. It’s uncomfortably warm, but I long to be close to another human being.

Jayden’s eyes pry open and stare drowsily into mine. “Morning,” he croaks. The cracking of his voice hurts my own throat.

“Morning,” I try to say, but hardly any sound comes out.

A moment of silence passes before he whispers, “I’m so sorry.”

My head collapses onto his chest, and I weep again, but I have cried all the tears I have, and my sobs soon turn dry. Jayden wraps me in his arms and strokes my hair. When I finish and finally pull away, he reaches for the nightstand and offers me the bottled water he had left there. I sip at it gently, the water both cooling and agony.

“What are we going to do?” My voice cracks, but at least I can speak now.

“We need to get out of here. If we can get off this ship, I have a colleague that I think would be willing to pull a few strings and get us in as test subjects for a cure.”

“We just have to get out of this nightmare.”

“That’s the spirit.”

I take a shuddering breath. “I know, I know. It’s just…everything is so fucked up. This was our chance to get away from all of this and now…and now we’re trapped with it. I wish that Dad had never accepted Winters’s invitation to come on this goddamn cruise. I wish he had never even known the motherfucker in the first place.” God, I wish I were hydrated enough to cry again. “Let’s just find a way off this floating graveyard. I think there’s a map of the ship in one of these drawers. We can find a way to the helipad or the lifeboats or maybe even to Winters’s floor.”

“Winters’s floor? What good will he do?”

I shrug. Honestly, I don’t know. I had given up on the man even mingling with his own cruise guests when he didn’t come out on the third day; why would he care about all this? He was probably the one who ordered them to lock the concert halls like that. My breath catches in my throat, and my whole body begins to shake.

“God, Jayden, do you think he’s the one who…and that he…” I shut my eyes tight and punch Jayden’s chest with both fists. He flinches but lets me do whatever I need to. “He killed all those people. He killed Aunt Luli. He killed Dad. Dad. Damnit, they were friends! How could he do that to them? All of them?” I punch his chest after each word. “How…could…he…do…this…to…ME?”

Jayden grabs my wrists. “Hey, hey, Beautiful Dreamer, look at me.” Reluctantly, I comply. He smiles, but it’s sad and pitiful. I hate it and want to punch him again. “I don’t know what’s goin’ through that ass’s mind, and at this point, I don’t care. I’m pissed to all Hell that he’s done this to you and your dad and everyone else on board. Your dad’s the best person I’ve ever worked for and one of the best people I’ve ever known period…for a rich guy.” I know he wants me to smile, but I can’t. “The only thing keepin’ me from meltin’ down right now is you. Otherwise, I don’t know if I’d even be thinkin’ of a way to get out of here because I’d think it was impossible.”

I roll my eyes. “You have a mother and a sister to return to, you’d find a way.”

“We’re in the middle of the ocean on a floatin’ petri dish of disease. We’re both sick and somehow just hidin’ it incredibly well.” He laughs, and behind the slight wheeze and gasping, I can hear the strain of defeat. “I just know that I have to get you out of here.”

I mentally sigh. Whether he means what he’s saying or he’s trying to distract me from my own grief, angry, and fear, it’s working. “You’re sweet.” I take a deep, shaking breath. “All right, enough sappiness. I’ll look for the map while you message your colleague—”

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’ve been trying to for a few days, ever since I started suspecting that people here were showing symptoms, and the internet’s been out this whole time. It wasn’t just a fluke that one day.”

My muscles tighten. I want to curse, but I restrain myself. I’ve been doing a lot of cursing lately, and I know what my dad would say about it, even if he’d only be joking. Clenching my fists, I take a deep breath. “Fine. We’ll head his way blind, I guess. At least until we can get somewhere with internet.”

Without hesitation, I roll out of bed. I swerve, uneasy on my feet, but press on. Jayden plods on the floor behind me, his steps heavier and more unsure. I remember seeing the ship’s map in a drawer in the entertainment center and rummage through it, finding the map and a pen on my third or fourth pass. I circle the helipad, lifeboats, and entrance to Winters’s floor before shoving the map into Jayden’s hands.

“The helipad and lifeboats are our best chances of getting out of here. We might be able to use the helicopter’s radio to reach out for some help. If that doesn’t work, we can hop on a lifeboat and get the Hell out of Dodge. If needed, I’ve marked down Winters’s floor, too.” I grumble the next part, “Whatever good that’ll do us.”

Jayden nods. “What about the Captain?”

“Well, we’ll need to see how the rest of the ship is doing to know if the Captain will even be any help.”

Jayden chews his bottom lip. “So, what are you suggesting?”

“Time for some reconnaissance, for as long as we can handle it.” I take the map back and spread it out on the top of the entertainment center. “Starting tomorrow. Today, we plan.”

Day 7

Helipad Launch Pad

ALL POWERFUL, Atlantic Ocean

When we step outside our room early the next morning, the corridor is eerily empty. Bloody handprints streak the walls at regular intervals, sending my mind back to the drone images of Time Square. As we get closer to the elevator, we stumble across a few partiers, dazed or zoning or just ignoring us, too traumatized by whatever they had seen the past couple days to acknowledge anyone else’s existence. Their eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot, blood trickles from the corners of some of their mouths, and all sniffle and hack uncontrollably. Bottles and cans surround many of them, joints surround others, and at least one person has a belt wrapped around his upper arm and a needle sticking into a vein. For a moment, I wonder if it might be better to sit back and make myself forget everything like that, let the inevitable come while I’m in a numbed state…then I look to Jayden, and I wonder if he would be as upset as Mom was back when Dad used.

Over the intercom, I hear a cheery voice call, “Good day, fellow passengers! Welcome to another lovely day aboard the All Powerful. You may have heard that some passengers have fallen ill. Rest assured, they have been taken care of. Please, party on.”

* * *

Chaos. Nothing but chaos on the upper deck as we step off the elevator. What had just been tension and squabbles a few days ago have multiplied tenfold and unleashed their fury in a blur of fists, feet, broken bottles, and cutlery stolen from the dining areas. Some lie dead, the lucky ones with their throats slit and the rest beaten with severe internal injuries or their heads bashed beyond recognition. Others separated from the fray look like those down in the corridors: needles in them and joints, bottles, and cans surrounding them, either calmly waiting for death or already there—I can’t really tell, and I am not going risk my life going out amongst the crazies to check.

Jayden grabs my hand. Is he shaking? I squeeze his hand to reassure him, to let him know that I will stay strong for him if he stays strong for me. He smiles slightly.

“One big rush to the helipad,” I whisper. “We just need to get the radio working.”

He nods and grips my hand tightly. I close my eyes for a moment, take a deep breath, and pray that all those morning jogs with Lucca pay off. Then, without another word, I run. Jayden stumbles behind me.

We dodge carnage and brawlers alike, but the strain of running soon takes its toll on our disease-ridden bodies. I double over and cough with all my might; blood drips with my saliva. Jayden pats and rubs my back, even as he does the same. We can’t rest for long, though. A limp body drops beside us and causes us to jump backwards. A man drenched in his own sweat soon stops in front of us, his wide, wild eyes trained on us, searching. He wears a gaudy gold tuxedo that shines painfully in the sunlight—the parts that aren’t stained crimson. His outfit has been ripped in several places, his short blonde hair is ruffled, and his shoes and socks are missing, but there’s no mistaking that he was once among the most honored of Winters’s guests. For a fleeting moment, I wonder what mask he would have worn with that ensemble.

“You’re sick,” he spits. His chest heaves as he speaks. “You must be taken care of before you contaminate the rest of us.” It’s only then that I realize he’s wielding a steak knife.

The man lunges at me. I barely release Jayden’s hand and duck out of the way. I fall to the ground and, in the process, kick my leg out so that the man trips. After I hear the man fall with a thud, I swiftly flip over to watch Jayden tackle him. He wrestles the man for the knife. While neither of us are in fighting condition, it seems that this man has about given his last as well. Just as Jayden tears the knife from the man’s hand, the man turns Jayden over and pins him. He presses his knee into Jayden’s throat and bends back to punch him in the face at the same time. Adrenaline courses through my veins as I scramble to my feet and rush to yank the man away. It takes some effort, but I get the man off Jayden’s windpipe and restrain him.

Then I notice it, a spark in Jayden’s dark eyes. It mixes anger with malice and…something else…the same wild, crazed look I saw in this man’s eyes. Before I can utter a word, Jayden grips the knife and plunges it into the man’s heart.

“Jayden!” I croak, not from the pain in my throat. I drop him just as he scoots away.

“He would’ve come after us.” Jayden grabs my arm and drags me over the man. A mixed gurgle-groan comes from the body as I trip on him. “Come on. He’s not dead yet. We need to leave.”

My heart won’t stop racing, and it takes everything in me to resist the urge to puke while we run. I look back at the man. He has turned over onto his back, his shaking hands near the wound but too afraid to remove the knife. Copious amounts of blood now drench his golden suit around his heart, and blood trickles from his mouth. Whether it’s from the internal injury or from Red Lungs, it’s impossible to tell—impossible to care. The crazed look is gone. Now, his eyes gleam with only half their light, so broken, so human.

* * *

The helipad…it’s…smashed. The helicopter is nowhere to be seen. How the Hell…I can’t even imagine how you can smash a helipad without flat out crashing the helicopter into the helipad, and that involves a lot more flames, screaming, and burning flesh.

“Shit,” Jayden mutters. “Shit, shit, double shit.”

That’s the most I’ve ever heard him curse in one breath.

I try to swallow, but my sore, dry throat doesn’t allow me. “So…Plan B?”

He nods, but his eyes dart about, looking all around us but always returning to the destroyed helipad.

“What’s wrong?” My voice drops low as I sense danger in his stance.

Jayden’s voice drops as well. “The people who did this…they might still be around.”

He grabs my wrist, and we half-crouch, half-walk toward the side of the ship so that we can remain in the shadows, hidden from whoever was so desperate to keep everyone aboard—or so violent—that they would wreck our best chance of getting airlifted off this hellhole. Jayden keeps me close, all but hugging my wrist to his chest as we walk. I feel his heart thumping against my arm, and mine falls into rhythm with it. The elevator feels like an eternity away, but if we can just make it there—

Jayden quickly yanks me behind a couple of discarded lounge chairs as we reach the pool. Ahead of us, three slightly overweight men in tattered suits beat on an underweight young man with tools stolen from maintenance. The young man shakily holds up a silver platter like a shield but is otherwise too busy hacking to defend himself. Blood seems to have already gathered at his feet from his coughing, but now, it streams from other wounds as well. The men’s blows grow fiercer and fiercer, while the young man’s defense becomes weaker and weaker.

I leap to my feet, intent on running to the young man’s aid, but Jayden pulls me back down. He shakes his head. I narrow my eyes at him before looking back at the scene. The young man now lies in the fetal position on the ground, the fight all but gone from him. Slowly, his arms relax away from his face. My heart aches. I secretly beg him to get back up…and then his attackers do me the favor of blocking my view of him entirely. Tears threaten to well up at the edges of my eyes. God, I’m sick of crying.

Jayden tugs on my wrist and leads me away from the scene. We stumble our way over bodies and hide from fighting and overdosing madmen as much as possible until we make it to the other side of the ship. We constantly slip on blood and other equally disturbing liquids as we continue to the elevators, but I force myself to think of something else, anything else, like what our next steps will be. With the metallic smell of blood constantly filling my nose and making me want to vomit, though, it proves to be impossible.

Continued in Part Three...