Sweet (19 page)

Cubby has to stop shooting. He hands the camera to Tom. He's having a hard time drawing breath. He sits down, leaning against the rail.

“Go…,” he gasps. “Take it to the bridge. They can broadcast directly from the camera. Use the Firewire Eight Hundred port to go to satellite.”

He pushes the duffel bag forward with his foot and I pick it up.

“Cubby!” I take his hand. “We have to get you to the medical center. I know where it is.”

He's pale, too pale. He waves me off.

“I'll find it myself. Go.”

He's not going to find it himself. Cubby's not going anywhere.

His hand is pressed into his wound and blood is coursing through his fingers. It's pooling on the deck under him.

I kneel at his side and lay my hand against his forehead. His skin is damp and cold.

“Cubby,” I begin, but I don't know what to say.

“I'm putting the serenity prayer to use right now,” he says, giving me a pained smile. “And this gut wound is something I can't change. Go.”

He closes his eyes.

Tom puts a hand on my shoulder.

“I'm sorry, Cubby,” he says.

“Go” is the last word Cubby says.

 

TOM

DAY FIVE

CUBBY GAVE HIS LIFE
to get the footage on this camera. We're going to get it to the bridge. It's across the pool deck—you enter it from inside the ship, near the most-expensive staterooms. I remember from my tour.

We just gotta get across the pool deck.

The addicts keep staggering out onto the pool deck. Angry and wild, before, they're now angry, wild,
and
high.

Some of them are grabbing one another and making out. Others are pushing and shoving, looking for a fight.

Age has nothing to do with it. Inhibitions are gone. It seems like all social contracts are gone. This is an ugly, anything-goes crowd.

We have to push our way through. The passengers are highly reactive. Three different guys try to pick a fight with me, and one terrifying old woman. Not old, I realize suddenly—she's one of the blond Australians from Day 3.

“Baby Tom-Tom!” one scrawny Latino guy cackles. “Come dance with me!” He grabs his crotch.

A tall and ropy older guy shoves my shoulder. “Think you're better than us. You do. I can tell! I know exactly what you're thinking!”

This guy was probably a lawyer or an investment banker. Now he's a burned-out addict and I pity him.

Is that what he's reading in my eyes?

“Give me a break,” I say, trying to push past him.

“Looking down on us. But if you tried it, you'd be just like me.”

“I'm sure that's right,” I tell him.

“You're sure. You're sure,” the man taunts. “You know everything.”

Laurel tugs at my arm, leading me away from him.

*   *   *

The hallway outside the bridge is glutted with addicts, pushing and jockeying for position in line.

“Coming through,” I say. Laurel is close to me, right behind my back, and I have her hand in mine. No way I'm letting go of her.

I raise the camera above my head.

“We're waiting, too!” a woman screeches.

“You can't just CUT IN LINE!” another guy yells.

“We have urgent business with the captain!” I shout.

A guy my age puts both hands on my chest and shoves me hard.

“We have to keep going,” Laurel yells to me.

Then we see a miracle coming down the hall.

It's Rich!

“Make way, make way, people!” he shouts. A bodyguard is shoving people out of his way.

Then he sees us.

“Tom! Tom Fiorelli! I have never been so glad to see anyone in my life!”

The bodyguard elbows people aside and Rich staggers to me. He clutches my arms.

His eyes are red. He's clearly been crying.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

He nods.

“You two?” he asks.

“We're fine,” Laurel says. “But we need your help.”

“I've got a tape,” I say. “We've got to get it to the captain!”

“Come,” Rich says. “Talk to me.”

He draws Laurel and me away from the crowd. The bodyguard follows. We go down the hall to where the crystal chandelier hangs in the atrium with the elevators. From here we can hear the sounds of people below us partying, fighting, and screaming.

“This is hell on earth. Listen to them,” Rich says.

“Look,” I say. “We just came from the dining hall. I don't know if you know what happened, but kitchen workers were killed, and the chief security officer was ripped apart by the mob.”

“Oh my Lord,” Rich says. His face goes ashen.

“The passengers broke into the kitchen and took all the Solu,” Laurel adds. “That's why they're … like this.”

“Tamara is on the stuff. I tried to keep her from eating more, but I couldn't do it.” I tell him.

Rich looks at me, and I see his eyes dart to the bodyguard he's with. He swallows.

“Rich, are you okay?” I ask.

“I'm … I'm a little scared right now. A little terrified. That's all.”

“We are, too. But we have to warn the world, Rich. We have footage of the riot on this camera,” I say. “We need to get it to the bridge.”

“But it's not going to do anything,” Rich blurts out. “I mean…”

He takes a breath. I can see him telling himself to get it together.

“What I mean to say is that everyone on the mainland is already aware of the problem. The captain has sent out a distress signal. Help is on the way.”

He looks away from us, his eyes scanning the hallways below.

“Thank God!” Laurel exclaims. “They're on the way?”

“That's what I've been told. The coast guard. In full force.”

“Nevertheless, I have to talk to the captain. He needs to send this tape through the satellite—”

“This is hardly the time to be thinking about your exclusive,” Rich snaps.

“What?! Don't be insane! I don't care about that!”

“The public needs to know about Solu, Rich,” Laurel butts in. “They need to know how dangerous it is.”

“I'm sorry. I guess … I guess I don't really want the bad news to get out. But of course, it should. It has to. I'm sorry. I've been up for days. This is the greatest disaster of my or anyone else's career. Ever.”

He's crying now.

“Hey,” I say. “No one's going to remember a goddamn thing about who did the publicity for this. It's a nightmare. It's a tragedy. But it has nothing to do with you.”

“I know. I know,” he says.

“Can you get us up to see the captain?” I ask.

“No! No. You two should hole up and stay safe. I'll take the camera and the tape back to the bridge. They're expecting me back.”

“I'd really like to talk to him—”

“No!” Rich says. “Trust me. It's awful up there. So many people and everyone's shouting. They probably won't even let you in.”

He takes the camera and the kit from me.

“Cubby said there's a way to plug it directly into the communications system—”

“I'll get it done. Just promise me…”

“What?” I ask.

“Promise me you'll get hidden and stay safe.”

“We'll stay safe.”

We shake hands, then I pull him in and hug him. He's really a good guy.

“We'll come through this, Rich,” I tell him.

He nods, looking at the deck, and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.

Laurel puts her arms around him and hugs him, too.

“I was right about you two, you know that, right?” he says. “I'm the one who told you to kiss.”

Laurel blushes.

She pecks him on the cheek.

“You were totally right. You stay safe, too,” she tells him.

“I'm trying,” he answers.

Rich leaves to take the camera up to the captain. I see Laurel looking into the small boutique that is up here. It's been ransacked.

“Maybe they have some snacks?” she says.

Some of the clothes are now hanging off the hangers and the rest are scattered on the floor. A jewelry case has been smashed, but it doesn't look like anyone has taken anything.

They destroyed the store with rage. Not greed.

I stick my hand into the case and pick out a pair of gold hoops, each hung with a little diamond.

“These would be nice on you,” I say.

“Oh yeah?” she asks. “Because I thought
these
would be nice on you.”

She holds up a pair of men's argyle socks.

I laugh.

We're alone in a trashed boutique and this is the first moment since the day began that I feel I can relax.

“I don't see any snacks,” I say.

I pick through the stuff in the store. It's just sunglasses and jewelry and belts and handbags and makeup.

“Tom?”

“Yeah?”

“I'm really, really glad we met,” Laurel says. She's still holding the socks and says it so straight, I burst out laughing.

“I mean it. I mean, I think if we hadn't met, I might be dead by now.”

It's a funny thing to say, but she's not trying to be funny.

I step to her, over the broken glass and a scattered collection of trampled evening gowns. I collect her to me, pulling her in, and we kiss.

It's a hungry kiss, a life-affirming kiss.

I've never experienced one like it before. We're telling each other, somehow, that we are in a scary, horrible situation and that we're so damn glad for each other. It's a whole conversation in kissing and it's desperate and joyful at the same time.

Then her stomach growls.

I laugh, just a little. She rolls her eyes.

“Physical needs!” she scoffs. “So irritating.”

“We need food,” I say. “We should go find food and then go back to my room.”

Laurel raises an eyebrow at me.

“Believe me, I'm not just trying to pick you up.”

“We can't forget Viv,” Laurel says.

“Right.” To tell the truth, I had forgotten.

“I think we go get her and we put her in your room so she can sleep it off safely,” I say. Laurel nods.

“Maybe if she's away from the others, she'll be able to rest,” she says.

I look at her for a second. I really like her freckles.

“What?” she asks.

“Nothing,” I answer. “You're pretty.”

She elbows me, but I see her smile.

 

LAUREL

DAY FIVE

DOWN BELOW DECK
, the halls are almost empty. We come across a bone-skinny man trying and failing to get into his room and I realize I know him. It's Hal! Hal from my snorkeling excursion.

“Hal!” I say. “It's me, Laurel, from Cozumel? We met on the catamaran.”

“Oh yeah?”

There's no warmth on his face, only suspicion.

“Where's Peggy?” I ask.

“Who knows!” he roars. “She went off with someone and maybe they're inside! The door is locked! My key won't work! They locked me out! LET ME IN!” He pounds on the door.

“Okay,” Tom says. “We'll help. But calm down.”

Hal shoves his key card at us.

“It won't work. I'm trying it and trying it and I can't get in.”

“What's your room number?” I ask.

“Room 6207, of course. 6207. 6207!”

Tom looks at me. Without saying anything, he steps to the next suite. (Hal was trying 6205.)

Tom double-taps the key card to the lock.

It opens.

“Ugkk,” Hal spits. “Of course.”

He storms into the room and suddenly turns.

His eyes narrow, becoming wary.

Hal tries to slam the door, but all the doors are designed to shut slowly and gracefully, so he ends up leaning on it, trying to make it close faster.

He eyes us all the way, like we're going to push past him and steal the Solu he obviously has inside. It's surreal.

“A friend of yours?” Tom asks.

“Two days ago he was the nicest man I ever met,” I say.

“One guess as to what he's got hidden in that room,” Tom says.

“How could they have gone so wrong in the formulation?” I ask. “I mean, what about the testing? Don't they have to do a bunch of testing?”

“In the packet I read to prepare for the gig, it said they did extensive research. So, who knows?”

We go down a flight of stairs and approach the curving stairway that leads down to the Aurora Restaurant.

“We have to move the bodies out of the way,” a man raves. “So we can get at it. You people over there, you're not listening!”

We edge up to the doorway.

There are unconscious, maybe dead bodies lying on the floor and around fifty addicts scavenging. Some are walking, some are on their hands and knees. They're sniffing, licking, sucking.

The one who's yelling at everyone is trying to get people to help him move some of the fallen bodies out of the way so he can look for Solu under them.

I make a sound of disgust and Tom squeezes my hand.

We step into the room and cross to the area where I saw Viv last.

Tom starts hauling unconscious bodies out of the way. They're all intertwined. There's blood on everyone, but I can't tell who it's from. It's horrible. It's a battlefield.

Some of the fallen have their eyes open and are clearly high. Others are sleeping it off. Some might be dead and I don't even know how to tell!

“Thank GOD,” the raving man says. “Finally some HELP! I kept telling everyone we need to organize. We need to move these dead or comatose people out of the way so we can do a PROPER search. No one listens!”

Tom and I share a look and keep working.

“Good! Good!” the man praises us. “Pile the bodies over there!”

I see my best friend's hand. I recognize her aqua manicure.