HAYWIRE: A Pandemic Thriller (The F.A.S.T. Series Book 2) (25 page)

‘We’re right here.’

Christov checked his watch. Ben noticed that Christov had a digital countdown running on his large black wristwatch. Less than three hours remained on the countdown.

A countdown to what?
wondered Ben.

 Christov took the pencil and began making calculations on the chart.

With Christov occupied, Ben glanced over to check on Karen. She stood in a group with the other officers, watching metal crates being lowered from the helicopter.

Large crates.

Three so far.

What the hell is in those?
wondered Ben.

Bright orange symbols covered the crates. Ben didn’t recognize the threatening-looking symbols. Christov’s men struggled to lift the crates onto trolleys. They handled the crates extremely cautiously, confirming Ben’s suspicion they contained something dangerous.

‘Here,’ announced Christov, drawing Ben’s attention back to the chart. ‘Alter the ship’s course. Take us here.’

‘There’s nothing there,’ said Ben, studying the chart. ‘It’s open water.’

‘Make the course correction, Officer Bryant.’

‘I can’t leave the lifeboats,’ explained Ben. ‘We need to remain close to coordinate the rescue. It’s maritime law.’

‘The lifeboats are on their own,’ said Christov.

Ben pointed to the chart. ‘We can’t abandon them in the open ocean!’

Christov moved like a flash.

He stabbed the sharp pencil right through the back of Ben’s hand, pinning his hand through the chart to the cork underneath.

Air expelled from Ben’s lungs, but no sound emerged as he stared at his hand in shock.

That really just happened.

There was a pencil speared through his hand.

Ben glanced back at Karen. She hadn’t seen yet.

He felt dizzy. Not from the pain, but from the sudden validation that beside him stood a callous, evil, man. His life, his wife’s life, and the lives of his bridge crew were all in this man’s hands.

Christov spoke as though nothing unusual had transpired. As though he hadn’t just crucified Ben’s hand to the chart table.

‘I need your assistance, First Officer Bryant. I have a schedule, so I want our relationship to be a civil one.’

Ben nodded.

Blood ran down the pencil onto the chart.

Christov continued calmly, ‘If you don’t cooperate, this bridge will rapidly become very uncivilized. Do you understand?’

Ben nodded.

‘Speak up, First Officer Bryant.’

‘I understand.’

Christov stared at Ben. ‘I don’t think you do. I don’t think you understand at all. But you will soon.’

Christov yanked free the pencil.

Ben squeezed his hand to stop the bleeding.

Christov dropped the pencil onto the chart. ‘Now alter this ship’s course.’

‘I want to cooperate,’ began Ben, ‘but I can’t—’

He never finished his sentence.

Christov grabbed Ben’s throat and shoved him toward the pilot’s chair.

Ben nearly fell, but grabbed the chair’s armrest.

Christov waved at the bridge officers, including Karen.

 ‘Against the glass! All of them!’

Christov’s men shoved the officers up against the glass on the starboard side of the bridge.

Ben wanted to tackle the man who’d touched his wife, but he couldn’t risk exposing his relationship with Karen. He needed to pretend she was just another bridge officer.

Four gunmen stood back and raised their weapons.

Ben realized what he was seeing.

A firing squad.

An execution.

With his wife in the firing line!

‘Wait,’ Ben cried out in terror. ‘I’ll do it. I’ll do it!’

Christov raised his hand, halting the gunmen.

He looked at Ben. ‘Of course you will. You’ll do everything I tell you.’

‘Absolutely,’ agreed Ben urgently. ‘Just don’t kill them.’

Christov signaled his men to lower their weapons. ‘I’m not unreasonable, Officer Bryant.’

Thank God
, thought Bryant, realizing the mistake he’d made in resisting this man.

Christov said casually over his shoulder. ‘I’ll just kill one of them. Which one, Officer Bryant?’

Ben must have misheard. ‘What?’

‘I’m going to kill one of your officers right now,’ said Christov clearly. ‘But you get to choose who dies. So, which one of these four is expendable?’

Christov signaled a single gunman to raise his weapon.

‘You have three seconds to choose,’ Christov instructed.

Ben couldn’t believe it.

He looked from Karen to the gunman and then back to Christov.

‘I need all of them. None are expen—’

‘Too late,’ stated Christov.

 ‘Wait!’ yelled Ben.

The gunman opened fire.

Ben met Karen’s eyes as the gunman fired into the line of officers. The automatic weapon roared. The glass behind Karen shattered outward. Following the glass spouted plumes of human blood.

Following the blood tumbled a body.

It wasn’t Karen.

It was Andrew Hayman, the ship’s radar officer.

Andrew’s body tumbled off the bridge.

Karen and the other officers ran from the still falling glass and the gaping hole over the ocean.

Gunmen shoved them to the carpet.

‘On your knees,’ they shouted. ‘Get on your knees. Hands behind your head!’

‘Stop,’ begged Ben. ‘I’ll do it. I’ll do anything you want. For God’s sake don’t hurt anyone else!’

Christov pointed to the large missing panel of glass. ‘That man looked young. Did he have children, Officer Bryant?’

Ben nodded. ‘Two. Two young children. And a wife.’

‘How old was he?’

‘Twenty-six,’ answered Ben.

Christov pointed at Ben. ‘You just caused his death, Officer Bryant. If you obeyed my instructions, Andrew Haymen would be alive. His children would still have a father. Instead, the blood from his corpse is attracting sharks as we speak.’

‘Just do what he says, Ben,’ pleaded Karen from the floor.

Ben nodded and sat in the pilot chair. He programmed Christov’s coordinates.

‘Full speed,’ ordered Christov.

The ship altered course.

‘Now,’ Christov began. ‘You have something I need, Officer Bryant. I truly hope you intend to cooperate.’

Justin crouched behind the counter in the Irish Tavern with his mother.

They were trapped.

The crazies on the promenade kept getting closer.

When Justin last peeked over the counter, two crazies had reached the door.

His mother wheeled her chair back a few inches, looking deeper into the restaurant. ‘Maybe there’s a storeroom we can lock ourselves in.’

Justin shook his head. He’d already checked on the fire map behind the bar.

If one or two crazies enter the tavern, they might not find us,
Justin calculated.
Any more and they’ll find us for sure.

Ding-dong!

Justin jumped at the sudden chiming sound behind him.

His mother pointed.

Justin spun.

A door chime!
Whenever a customer entered the tavern, the little chime under the counter sounded. Sound attracted the crazies. The chime would draw them to Justin and his mom like a homing beacon.

Ding-dong!

The chime sounded again.

Justin searched frantically for the ‘OFF’ button. There was none. Just a switch marked ‘Vibrate/Alarm’. He switched the device over to ‘Vibrate’ mode.

‘Use this towel,’ his mother whispered.

Justin grabbed the towel and smothered the chime.

He listened.

The two crazies began flipping tables and overturning chairs, searching for the noise.

Justin winced as he felt the door chime vibrate again.

And again.

They just kept coming. More and more. Every vibration in Justin’s hands diminished their chances of surviving.

Justin kept count, not letting his mother see his face. Thankfully, she couldn’t hear the vibrations.

Eight
, counted Justin.
There are eight of them in here with us.

One of them might look over the counter any moment.

Then the crazies would leap over the counter and bury Justin and his mother in a landslide of human bodies.

Justin tried to think.

His mother moved fast in her wheelchair, but not through scattered furniture. If they fled for the door, she’d never make it.

Justin released the chime and picked up his long, heavy wrench.

He couldn’t fight eight crazies.

Footsteps came closer.

Justin glanced around desperately.