Sarah hit a button and a report from KING news out of Seattle filled the screen. The city was burning and people were tearing each other apart.
“This footage was shot minutes ago at Seattle Center,” the reporter’s voice said as the camera followed a figure shambling down a walkway. The shaky cellphone footage zoomed in revealing a person covered in lesions and scabs. Engorged blood vessels pressed against tightened skin, creating a spider-work of black lines across the infected person’s face. The whites of the viral’s eyes had gone blood red, the person’s facial features chiseled away, and other than its basic body structure, it no longer looked human.
The reporter’s voice continued as the video showed the viral tearing apart its victim. “This footage is difficult to watch, but it shows how the diseased have a period of blood lust coupled with a total loss of mental acuity. They are extremely dangerous at this stage and you should protect yourself from them with any means at your disposal.”
Sarah turned off the screen, and the room fell silent.
Doc Hampton said, “Now you understand why we need to stay away. The virus or the infected would have us as soon as we made port. They don’t understand how the disease is spreading, but they know it can live in ambient air for several minutes. Quarantining ourselves and waiting this out is the smartest move.”
“Are you sure the virus isn’t already here?” Tye asked.
“We’ve been at sea ten days. We’d have seen a case by now,” said the Eco’s Chief Medical Officer.
“How do you know someone isn’t dead in their cabin?” Tye said.
Sarah lifted an eyebrow. She hadn’t thought of that. “We’ll check into that. Inventory the passengers and make some visits,” she said.
The ship hummed in response. Air moved through the room’s two vents. Someone sniffled.
“So what’s the plan? We only have so much food and water,” Tye said.
“Rocco, how far can we get?” Sarah said.
The Chief Engineer looked put out, his normally combed jet-black hair a mess and his face dripping with perspiration. A long exasperated sigh like a tire going flat escaped his lips. “We filled the tanks when we left Seattle, and that was supposed to last us four tours. We’ve got seventy-eight percent of our fuel left, so…” He looked at the ceiling, counting. “Maybe six thousand miles at twenty-four knots. Probably a little more due to cancelations. I agree with Tye, seems food and water are the bigger problems.”
“Can you shut off showers and sinks in all the cabins?” Sarah asked.
“Not without killing the sanitary also,” Rocco Serregio said.
“Aye,” she said. “How can we conserve drinking water?”
“I was on a base once where the water only flowed certain times a day, in assigned areas, for a short time. Plus, waste will be minimized with decreased food consumption,” Serregio said. He worked pit for a Formula One race driver during the season and spent the off season keeping the Oceanic Eco’s four electric engines tuned and its Promas Lite integrated propeller-rudder system humming.
“So we can reach Polynesia. There are many islands there that have what we need, and have small populations, and in some cases, they’re basically uninhabited. We’ll drop anchor and wait. We can hold out for a long time if we ration, and reconnoiter an island or two,” Sarah said.
Nobody said anything.
“There is more potential bad news. Terrible business,” Captain Shaw said. Everyone turned his way, staring. The captain spoke as if from a dream. “News reports I saw before things got bad were about a group of religious zealots calling themselves God’s Brigade. They were trying to get their hands on nuclear weapons and go out with a bang, wiping out the American heathens who had brought on the apocalypse.”
The captain fell back into his trance, and his wife said, “He supports whatever you think is best, Sarah.”
“I’ll set course for Polynesia at twenty-four knots,” Sarah said.
Despite the world falling apart on land, the ocean paid no mind. Eight days passed, and the Oceanic Eco made great time, but still Sarah was on edge. All television feeds had gone dark, and the military radio channels were sporadic and often in code. Captain Shaw’s warning had been justified. God’s Brigade took control of an ICBM site in Russia and promised to launch the missile carrying a twenty-five megaton R-36 nuclear warhead at the United States in God’s final cleansing. The people left alive in the States waited to see who won the game of Russian roulette.
The Oceanic Eco anchored on the western side of the island away from the resort, and they’d been there three days when they heard the message about Los Angeles.
Sarah sat at her desk in her office off the bridge, playing the naval message they’d intercepted seven hours earlier. She knew it by heart because she’d listened to it hundreds of times.
“Foxtrot 19, I have confirmation. The missile has struck Los Angeles. I repeat to everyone on this frequency, and anyone still alive anywhere, avoid the western United States due to radiation and extreme temperatures. LA is gone.”
There was a knock on her office door.
“Enter,” she said without looking up. The naval message played again and Rocco Serregio waited. “What is it, chief?”
“Ma’am, people are talking about you the way they do the captain.” When Sarah looked up Rocco didn’t meet her gaze. “I’m not saying you’re that… that you have any issues, but perception is reality and everybody is getting antsy. Perhaps we should let people go ashore. It
