“Animals!”
The man took one hand off and punched her in the stomach, holding her with the other hand so she couldn’t fall. With each move, Travis and Gerry’s bodies stuttered as if to leap, but their eyes never left that gun.
“The money,” the man with the knife said.
The knife man took Vera and disappeared into the bedroom, but Travis could still hear her sobbing breathing. He felt impotent, as when the waterslide flood had grabbed him. He could risk nothing while Darren was there. Perhaps they might all be back mopping up their wet homes in New York tomorrow, but Norman was irreversibly dead, like the Captain and officers on the bridge.
“Now give me your wallets,” the man with the gun said, staring at Travis.
Travis reached into his pocket and pulled his wallet out, but left the cash he knew was in his pants. He threw it on the table, as did Gerry.
The man opened Travis’s wallet. There was no money in it.
“Boy, you are down on your luck,” the gunman laughed. “Paramedic, eh? You’ll have your work cut out for you.”
He took the credit cards. “You never know.”
He opened Gerry’s wallet and took several twenties out.
The knife-man came out, pushing Vera ahead of him.
“Millionaire’s wife came through,” knifeman said. “Real cash. And diamonds and pearls. Good room.”
He threw Vera onto the floor in front of the bar.
“Let’s go.”
The gunman stared at Travis. He lifted the gun level with Travis’s face and fired.
The window behind Travis shattered.
“Better luck next vacation.”
The two left.
Corrina loosened her grip and Darren finally looked at the room again. He saw Norman dead at his father’s feet, and instantly burrowed his head back into his mother. Vera sobbed, face down on the floor.
“No phone, no lights, no motor cars,” the men sang as they left through the front hall, “Not a single luxury. Like Robinson Crusoe, as primitive as can be.”
12
A broken man lay on the Sky Deck in a burnt black suit. His face was black from the explosion, except for the red lines of blood. His hair had burnt away.
His body was twisted over some piece of furniture he’d landed on. He was broken and could not move. He saw things happening around him, and remained silent as the Festival refugees and guests ran past. When the others in the orange suits began to pass, he mustered the energy and accepted the pain for one last shout.
“Hey!”
It got someone’s attention. Two men came and stood above him. One had a gun.
“I’m Captain,” Captain London said with great difficulty. “Where’s yours?”
The two men looked at each other.
“Haggard’s gone below,” one said. “Let’s get the Commander.”
They left.
London had seen the puff of smoke from the Navy ship. He’d yelled “Dive!” as the BOOM reached them, and he threw himself behind an equipment bank. He wondered if any of the others on the bridge had survived. Probably not. He wondered that he had. He imagined that when it was all said and done, he wouldn’t. As he dived behind the equipment bank, he realized that the Navy ship had been hijacked during evacuations. Seeing the jumpsuits now, he knew the hijackers had been prisoners.
They had no guns aboard the Festival. They were completely vulnerable. Six officers probably dead on the bridge.
In time, the man he waited for, the Commander, appeared standing above him, the other two who had found him hovering behind.
“You’re the captain?” the Commander said. Like the others, he was in an orange prison jumpsuit. He had a big round head and a stolen Navy officer’s cap and spoke slowly.
Captain London nodded. There was the sound of gunfire from below decks, and London could now see both refugees and attackers running here and there, looking for cover or looking for each other.
“Go back to your ship,” London said. “Surrender.”
The Commander stomped his foot down on London’s leg.
“Uniforms are all the same,” the Commander said. “But we don’t take orders now.”
London rumbled with a rough laugh.
“Can’t hurt me,” he managed.
“Is that a challenge?” the Commander said. “Huh. You Navy?”
“Once,” London said.
“You look like one. Even with a broken spine you got a rod up your ass. I was Navy. I hate uniforms. Navy. Cops. Guards. You don’t get to give orders anymore, Captain. We killed a lot of uniforms today. You can watch us kill more. That’ll hurt, won’t it?”
“I’ll be dead,” London said.
The man sounded educated, London thought. He’d probably been an officer himself; he had that look, if not as much as London did. How could this help?
The Commander hated this beaten man who still acted like he was in charge.
“You’re right,” the Commander said.
He shot Captain London twice in the chest and watched him take his last breath.
13
Travis and Gerry pulled Norman’s body into the bedroom, into the walk-in closet, while Corrina sat with Vera at the table. In the closet, they tossed aside the precisely placed men’s and women’s shoes to lay the body. Crisp ironed pants and shirts hung above Norman.
“He knew,” Vera said. “He knew what they’d do. But he would not stand by while they touched me. He was a real man, a man of honor.”
She had a Russian accent, dimmed from many years in America, socializing little with other immigrants. When Travis and Gerry came back into the living room, she was already staring at them.
Occasionally they heard screams from outside, gunshots. They sat around the table and did not talk. Corrina tried to hold Darren close but he pushed away and sat upright in his chair. The windows and patio doors showed night had fallen. The room was dark, only the chandelier above the table created a circle of light that they sat in. They each had retreated into themselves.
There had been a day during his mission in Sudan when Travis had led a Red Cross unit to set up a new refugee camp by a small village. By the time they arrived, the village had been wiped out by raiders. There were only bodies, dozens of bodies lying scattered between the thatch huts as flies licked at them and dust blew over them.
The bodies had to be cleared out before the camp could be set up. The message had already been sent across the countryside that this village would be the location of the camp, so they cleared the bodies and cleaned the site. He looked across at Darren and wished that the son would never see with his eyes what his father dreamt of.
“It was my first time returning home,” Vera said, breaking the silence. “I was born in St. Petersburg. Leningrad. I have not been home since I was a child. Norman was my only family now. He was taking me to visit my home. But I have no home now. I hardly exist, I suppose.”
“We’ll take care of you,” Corrina said. “We’re going to get through this. I’m sure the ship has radioed for help.”
Vera looked at her with contempt, tears still wet on her face. She spoke slowly: “Do you really think anyone will come for us? With half the world in chaos? You think they’ll worry about us?”
“There are other ships out here,” Gerry said. “Dozens of ships from New York alone, and they’ll be nearby because they would probably all be following the same instructions as the Festival. Someone will help us. Even if those ships for some reason can’t help us, there’re thousands of people on this ship. Each one of them has friends and relatives looking for them. There will be help, Vera. Eventually.”
“You are a fool,” Vera said. “Where is Norman?”
“The closet,” Gerry said.
“What? What are you talking about? Where is he? Norman!”