 
THE ROAMER

PART I

1.

A lone grey and white Herring seagull circled lazily in the early morning sky high above a lone man standing on a long narrow wooden pier. The gull tightened is circles and finally swooped in towards the man. The man ducked involuntarily as gull came in for an awkward landing at the top of a piling next to him. He looked at the gull annoyingly and noticed that the gull had only one leg. Fishing net, the man speculated and shrugged. The gull flapped its wings frantically as it hopped back and forth in an attempt to balance itself on top of the piling. The man frowned and wished the gull well on its endeavor but only wished that the gull would stay away from his beloved yacht. The gull finally stopped and managed to balance on top of the piling for about thirty seconds until a small gust of wind bumped it off. The gull squawked in frustration and flew off.

Robert P. Cole, or Bobby Cole as most people knew him, stood on the edge of Charleston's Regal Marina pier #3 admiring the yacht moored in its slip. The sleek, pearl white, seventy foot Azimut motor yacht gleamed in the low morning sunlight. The $2.2 million dollar yacht, with its 1150 horse power twin turbo diesel engine, four staterooms, fully equipped gourmet kitchen with marble counter tops and gold fixtures throughout, was a sight to behold. From behind his Oakley Bottlecap sunglasses, the man's sharp hazel eyes admired the ship. He wore brown leather dock sider shoes, khaki shorts, and an aquamarine Ralph Lauren polo shirt. He put his hands on his hips and smiled his 'I'm the king of my world' smile. He was tall, about six foot-two and stocky, but not fat. He weighed two hundred and thirty pounds and worked like hell to keep it at that number. His short black hair was turning gray at the temples and he liked it that way. More gray would make him look old and less would make him look like an old man who dyed his hair and unnatural shade to appear younger. At forty-five, Bobby didn't consider himself old, in fact he felt as if he was still twenty, but he knew that the young woman he looked at thought he was old.

He smiled contently. The detailing crew he had hired to clean the boat had done a marvelous job. The two-year-old craft looked as if she had just been dropped from the heavens by the boating gods themselves. It was immaculate. Bobby admired her pearl white fiberglass hull and her custom blue and green stripes which began at the bow of the ship and ran the length of her to finally meet at the stern in a flourish of curves and swirl around its name: The Roamer. Bobby's wife had named it after her husband, it matched his personality and his lifestyle. His life had been a series of journeys up and down the Atlantic Coast as he looked for fertile ground for his talent as a real estate developer. His wife would tell him to stop roaming around and to settle down but he would always argue that if the real estate market was soft here, there was always someplace else to "go and grow" as he was fond of saying. Bobby had built properties in Miami and Atlanta and now he was working on developing Charleston, South Carolina. His other projects had done well and he had made a lot of money but he always grew restless with his properties. Day to day operations of office plazas and strip malls bored him. So as soon as the properties were built and occupied, he would sell them and move on to a new project. To Bobby Cole the fun was in finding investors, wooing them and convincing them to part with their well-earned money. The actual building of the properties was almost a disappointment. The real fun was in entertaining and negotiating. Bobby loved to entertain. He was quickly becoming famous among the entrepreneurial community as the best raiser of investment capital in the South. He loved to take potential investors out on his yacht. It had become his trademark in Miami and Atlanta and now he was using it in Charleston.

Charleston's country club set, and other local entrepreneurs, talked about him and his yachting excursions constantly. He was becoming famous for his weekend jaunts to 'nowhere' on his yacht with potential investors. He would entertain board members and politicians in the hopes of getting favors from his newfound friends. To that goal, The Roamer was his trump card. The boat represented him better than any agent ever could. It spoke volumes about him without saying a word. The boat shouted success and its constantly neat appearance said a lot about Bobby. It told of a man in control of his life and of his world. He loved his boat.

2.

Captain David Rosnick peered through his government issued black binoculars at the horizon. Sure there were lookouts and radar and a multitude of electronic devices aboard his Navy cargo ship, The USS Nimbus, but he preferred to look for himself. He was 'Old Navy' as the new officers called it and he didn't mind that title one bit. He had earned his command and he was proud of it. He stood in front of his navy gray leather captain's chair, which stood on a platform in the middle of the Command Bridge of his ship. In front and slightly to the right stood his second in command, his Executive Officer, Ensign Reeves, who was hunched over the console, which ran the width of the Command Bridge. Next to Reeves behind his own glowing bank of radar screens was Seaman first class Nate Carver. On the opposite side of the captain's chair was the navigator's station manned by Chief Petty officer Dale Johnson, who too was young for the Captain's taste to be a CPO. Captain Rosnick looked at his young crew and smiled. He loved the sea and loved the Navy. He had joined as soon as he had graduated High School and had never looked back. His five foot ten inch, two hundred frame had suited him well as a running back in high school but college wasn't for him. He didn't have the football skills or the grades, so he had joined the Navy and had never regretted it. His tan and weathered face told of countless years at sea and his calm blue eyes reflected a man at peace with himself. Now, fifteen years after enlisting he had finally earned his Captain's bars and his own command. He was in command of his own ship and he loved her. Yeah, she was a cargo ship and he would have preferred to be in command of a destroyer, but those assignments went to the 'college boys', career officers who had graduated from the naval academy at Annapolis.

"Beautiful day, isn't it? Ensign," Capt. Rosnick said to the young Ensign standing next to him from beneath his binoculars.

"Yes, Sir!" he snapped back.

The Captain smiled, he thought he had heard the kid's snipe snap taught as he stiffened to answer him. He almost laughed as he said in a fatherly voice to the young Ensign, "Relax, Ensign Reeves, this isn't a war ship. We're just hauling junk for the big boys."

"Yes, Sir!" he snapped back anyway. The stone-faced young officer couldn't have been more than twenty years old and to Rosnick, he looked like a baby faced fifteen year old boy in a Navy uniform. At Six feet five inches tall and weighing only two hundred twelve pounds, he was tall and painfully thin. The boy had gone to Annapolis on a basketball scholarship and became an athletic star. He turned down major league scouts, who had promised him millions once he graduated and finished his first tour, but he decided to stay in the navy. Captain Rosnick admired the kid for that. What he didn't know was that the boy loved the sea more than he loved the basketball court. His tall and thin frame never filled his uniform properly and it always looked too big on him. The young man was his XO or executive officer in rank, making him second in command but captain Rosnick wondered if the boy had the nerve for it.

"Have it your way, Ensign. But try to relax a little," he paused for effect, "before you break something." Captain Rosnick was used to having young Ensigns near him. After all, cargo ships were the first assignment newly graduated cadets received after graduating the 'Academy'. He enjoyed their enthusiasm for whatever assignment he gave them, but their rigid manner drove him nuts. After fifteen years in the navy, he knew when it was needed and when it was not and today was not a day for rigid military protocol. It was too nice out. They had just taken on cargo at Norfolk's Naval Command in Norfolk, Virginia and The Nimbus' crew and cargo were now heading for the Navy's armament disposal base in Biloxi, Mississippi. His cargo was top secret and he had been given a green crew so that they would adhere to all military regulations. He knew it made sense, but he wished that these young kids weren't so nervous around him.

3.

Antonio Veneziano squinted over the controls of his ship into the glare of the morning sun. His ship, The Rosemary, a battered looking but definitely sea worthy cargo ship was heading back to Philadelphia, Pa after a cargo run to Puerto Rico. They had off loaded tons of domestic cargo, an assortment of American consumerism, to the island protectorate of the United States and were heading home with a shipment of fertilizer and other chemicals. Last night they had docked in Miami, Florida to pick up more cargo and the crew had had a night out on the town. Of course he had joined his crew and had a wild time. He had drunk more than usual as he had desperately tried to keep up with the younger members of his crew and this morning he felt his age. He was forty-two and felt like sixty. He had a hard time keeping his six foot three inch, two hundred and sixty-pound body in his grimy clothes. His ever expanding gut hung low below his red and blue checkered shirt, pressing down on his navy blue work pants. His blue pants defied the weight of his beer belly with the help of heavy-duty suspenders that Antonio couldn't live without. His mass and his towering bulk had earned him his job. Nobody ever messed with him. He was the boss and the captain of The Rosemary and if his crew didn't respect him for that, then at least, they feared him.

"Scott, how's our heading," Antonio grunted at his navigator as he rubbed the ridge of his nose.

"Right on track, Captain," he called back from his position at the captain's left.

"Good," Antonio said softly and he wished he didn't have those last three rounds of whiskey shots last night. After a moment he turned and looked at Scott. The young man was hunched over his charts. His navigator had been with him for five years now. Antonio remembered when the young man had applied to be on his ship and smiled. Scott Daniels, fresh from the New York's U.S. Maritime Academy, wanted a job on a merchant ship and Antonio snapped him up the minute he saw him. Good navigators are hard to find. The boy was short, pencil thin, fair-haired and always ready with a smile. The girls were immediately attracted to him wherever they went and Antonio liked that because that meant that he would get girls too. When they went out on the town the working girls always laughed when they walked by, Antonio had to admit it too, they did look funny together. He was big and fat and the kid was short and thin. They were the ocean going equivalent of Mutt and Jeff.

He looked at Scott and laughed, "Hey, do you believe that Davie actually paid for that lap dance last night?"

Scott looked up and began to laugh, "Yeah, I thought Harry was going to have a heart attack when that girl sat on him." Harry, the ship's cook was the oldest member of the crew at sixty and last night had been his 60th birthday party. The captain had let it slip to the crew that it was Harry's birthday and that a surprise might be a good idea since they were in port. He didn't think that Davie, one of the ship's machinist and the biggest cheapskate on board, would actually do something about it, let alone pay for it!

Antonio laughed too and stopped suddenly as his hangover reminded Antonio who was actually the boss this morning, it wasn't him, it was the committee made up of Johnny Walker red, his brother Johnny Walker black, cousin Jim Beam and Chaired by their Old Grand Dad. Antonio cursed softly and rubbed his forehead. It was going to be a rough day, he thought as he squinted at the horizon.

4.

The white Jaguar XK pulled up to the dock's edge and stopped suddenly, kicking up a small cloud of dirt and gravel. The 4.2-litre, V8 engine purred for a moment and was finally shut off. The driver's side door slowly opened and a pair of shapely and well-tanned legs stepped out. What followed those legs, which seemed to have been poured into white Jimmy Shoo high heel pumps, made most adolescent male stare, grown man whimper and woman of all ages squint in hate.

Her white Gucci mini dress clung to every curve as the five feet ten blonde goddess stepped out of the car. She stood next to her car as if posing for an automobile ad. You could almost hear the click of the cameras and the see the glare of the electronic flash. Her tan skin shimmered and glowed from constant care. Her monthly health spa bill and daily hairdresser visits were a source of constant gossip. Her firm flat stomach told off countless hours in her home gym with her personal trainer, Andy, and her gravity defying 36-C breasts spoke well of her family genes and better of her Miami based plastic surgeon. The dress did little to hide them as her breasts almost spilled over the top of the dress's plunging neckline. A soft easterly breeze kicked up as if on cue and the woman's golden blonde mane was gently whisked off her shoulders and flowed behind her. She tossed her head about, making her hair dance as if moving to a soft Latin beat and adjusted her Evan Piccone sunglasses to stare at the man by the yacht.

Bobby Cole smiled at her and waived at her feeling instantly foolish. She had that effect on him. Whenever she was around, he was a pimply fifteen year old all over again. She leaned into her car and pulled out a small white leather Spade handbag. She closed the Jaguar's door raised her keys over her right shoulder and pressed a button as she walked away. The Jaguar chirped as the alarm system was armed. She tucked her keys into her bag and made her way down the pier toward her husband.

Bobby sighed with satisfaction. Yes, she was a vision of beauty and yes, she was expensive to keep, but she was well worth it. Bobby had met his wife ten years ago, he was thirty-five and she had been eighteen. She had just won the Miss Miami Beach beauty pageant in Miami when he first laid eyes on her. He was at the pageant with prospective investors and his first wife, Andrea or 'The Bitch', as he liked to call her. Bobby had taken one look at Cherisse Tilton and had fallen head over heels in...lust. He had pursued her shamelessly for six months until his wife caught him in bed with Cherisse. He knew it was over and he knew it was going to cost him. The next day he flew to Mexico and bought himself a quickie divorce. He gave 'The Bitch' half of his fortune, at that time, and married Cherisse two weeks later. As it turned out, it was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He grew to love her and she grew to love...his new fortune. They became an unbeatable team. When it came time to get money out of potential investors, Cherisse was unstoppable. She knew all the right buttons to push and sometimes, the right button to touch. Behind the hair, make up and outrageous curves was a real barracuda. She was a natural born sales person and Bobby thanked his lucky star every day for having her at his side.

Once she realized that Bobby had spotted her, Cherisse walked across the small gravel parking lot and down the stainless steel stairs to their yacht's long wooden pier. She stopped at the edge of the gray wooden pier to get a feel for the long floating platform. She lifted her chin slightly and began to walk towards Bobby. Her white leather high heels clicked on the wooden surface of the pier and Bobby noticed that her walk had changed. She began to exaggerate her stride and began to sway her hips as she walked down the long narrow pier. She looked like a young model making her way down the narrow catwalk of a New York fashion show. Bobby smiled because he knew exactly what she was doing. She was putting on a show for him and whoever was lucky enough to see her.

She strode up to him and Bobby couldn't get over how beautiful she was. Her bronzed complexion was flawless and her slightly turned up nose gave her an aristocratic air about her but her body was all sin. She stopped a few inches from him, raised her hand to face, extended a well-manicured index fingered, touched the edge of her sunglasses and lowered them slightly to look over the rim. Her Azure blue eyes peered up at him and she smiled. She reached for him and used the same outstretched index finger and dragged her fingernail the length of his jawbone. She batted her thick eyelashes twice at him and in her best Heidi Klum German accent crooned, "Gut mornink, Dahlink." She winked at him and walked passed him. Bobby smiled at their little game and turned to watch her pass him. Of course she didn't have a German accent, Cherisse was born in Atlanta and had the sweet southern accent to prove it and used it proudly, when the occasion called for it that is y'all. The rear view of his wife was almost as good as the front view. Yes, sir, a lot of time had been spent on a Stairmaster for those buns. He took in a deep breath and let out a wolf's whistle that would have made any construction worker proud. She refused to give him the satisfaction of a misstep and continued walking towards the yacht. She did acknowledge him by raising her middle finger over her shoulder. She shouted back at him in her German accented voice, "Now Dahlink, behaaaave yourselffff." Bobby almost giggled but reminded himself of his age and after composing himself, thought about and decided to run after her like a giddy schoolboy anyway.

He caught up to her just as she was about go up the metal stairs to the aft deck of the yacht. She gave him a stern look and slowly waived her manicured finger at him. She knew what he was about to do and she was daring him not to do it. Bobby grinned, shrugged and held his hands up in a sign of total surrender. She turned her attention back to the stair and began to climb them. A devilish grin sprang onto Bobby's face and he smacked his wife's curvaceous behind as it rose deliciously up the stairs. She squealed in delight and ran up the last few steps. She whirled on him as he ran up after her. Once on deck she sprang on him and instead of killing him, she hugged him, laughing. "Oh, but you are incorrigible," she drawled.

"Yes, I know," and he hugged her back. They shared a long passionate kiss and he finally, reluctantly, he pushed her back. "Good morning babe. Man, you look great."

"As usual," she replied with a smirk, "and I'm no 'man'."

"Of course," he answered sheepishly.

"When are our 'guests' arriving," she said as she crooked her first two fingers when she said 'guests'.

Bobby knew what she meant. Yes, they were guests, but to Cherisse, they were also fresh meat for the kill, they were investors. "They'll be here soon and I think you'll enjoy this group. I invited Judge Armbruster and his wife Nancy, Mark Schwieker and his wife Gina, and Pat Deats and his wife Julie."

Cherisse smiled approvingly at Bobby and whistled softly, "Judge Armbruster! How did you convince that old bastard to come on one of our cruises?"

"Oh, you know. He owed me a favor," he winked at her, "remember that little incident with the hooker my source at the newspaper was so kind to tell me about?"

"Right," she laughed, "I remember now."

"Well it seems his wife never got wind of it, thanks to me and a little contribution to the newspaper editor's retirement fund, which, somehow, killed the story," he laughed.

"I hope I won't let it slip out," she laughed.

"You'd better not," he said more sternly than he had wished.

"O.K.," she agreed holding up her right hand as if taking an oath.

"Who are those other people," she asked him hoping to change his mood.

"Mark Schwieker made a small fortune in marketing sports blooper DVDs. You know, he gave me a few last week and they are a riot," he said laughing, "His wife is on the school board and I hope to get a few bucks from him and a voice within the school board with her. Finally Pat Deats has a chain of McDonalds in the area and his wife is a member of the board of directors at 'The Sentinel'."

"The newspaper?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'd love to have her on our side," he answered. "All in all, a good group of 'guests'."

They both laughed.

5.

"Helm, how's our heading?" Capt. Rosnick asked from his grey leather Captain's chair.

"Right on course, Capt'n. South southeast at fifteen knots, Sir," the young Chief Petty Officer answered calmly. Dale Johnson, CPO for the U.S.S. Nimbus had joined the real navy after graduating from the Maritime Academy. His cool demeanor was born on the streets of Newark, NJ were you were either cool or picked on. As you got older it became cool and jail or picked on and dead. He chose the Navy, or has he used to say when his friends would ask him why he would join the Navy, 'better sail than jail.' He also had another issue to deal with on the streets. He was tall and thin and no matter how much he worked out and drank protein shakes to beef up, it never worked. Know on the streets as D.J., Dale Johnson got by with his wit and big mouth.

His pale brown skin and light hazel eyes told of a mixed bloodline. His father had been a white naval officer and his mother was a black Jamaican beauty. His parents had been together one night when the Navy had docked in Montego Bay. His father had enjoyed a great night with a local girl and his mother had been stuck with the check. They never saw each other again but his mother had managed to move to America to give her son a chance at a 'better life'. Her plane landed at Newark International Airport, she took a bus into town and had settled into a life of misery.

Dale barely graduated High School, managed to get into the Maritime Academy on a hardship scholarship and finally joined the Navy. This was his first assignment as navigator and he ready to prove himself.

"Thanks Chief," The captain answered and resumed scanning the southern horizon.

"Radar, how the scope?" the captain asked next.

"All clear, Sir," Seaman first class Nate Carver answered matter of facedly. Captain Rosnick didn't take offense at the lack of respect in the young seaman's voice, the captain understood that radar men were so focused on their screens that nothing else mattered. Carver had joined the navy after high school and like most kids his age was an avid 'gamer' or video game fanatic. He wanted radar duty because it reminded him of his video games, except this was for real, and he loved it. Nate was born and raised in Orlando, Florida where most people who lived there had migrated to Florida from somewhere north. There weren't too many native Floridians in Orlando and Nate felt kind of weird anytime people asked him where he was from. Floridians seemed to constantly be looking for others from their original state, it was a common source of conversation. Once they found someone from the same geographical area, common ground was found and conversation grew familiar. When Nate would answer that he was from Orlando people usually blinked twice and conversation stopped. In high school he was drawn to sports, especially baseball. He was blonde and fair skinned, five foot ten and weight one hundred and ninety five pounds. The navy, where everyone including him, was from somewhere else, had treated him well and he finally felt like everyone else.

A young pimply faced sailor walked up to the Captain, "Coffee, Sir?" he asked as he offered a tray of steaming coffee mugs to the Captain.

"Thanks," he said as he absent-mindedly reached for a mug. His large hand brushed against the nearest mug on the tray and it tipped over spilling hot coffee on the young sailor. The sailor yelped in pain and dropped the tray onto the steel deck of the control room. The sailor grabbed his scalded wrist and looked stupidly at the Captain.

"Sorry sailor," the Captain offered coldly. Then realizing what he had done, "why don't you go down to sick bay and have the doctor look at that," he added with a smile.

"Yes sir," the sailor replied, "Thank you, sir," he added and scurried off.

Captain Rosnick put his binoculars to his eyes again and sighed, "Can someone else get me some coffee?"

Two sailors bumped into each other as they reached for the ship's intercom phone to call the galley.

Captain Rosnick put down hid binoculars, closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. "This is going to be a long deployment," he mumbled in disgust.

6.

Antonio turned to Scott, "Hey, how about some coffee," he asked while rubbing his temples trying to relieve the pressure of a massive hangover.

"Sure thing," Scott replied. He reached to his left and picked up the black intercom phone from its cradle, which was between him and the captain. He pushed line two on the phone's six possible lines and heard the electronic chirp of the phone as it rang in the ship's galley.

After three rings someone answered, "Galley. Romirez," answered Jose Romirez, the ship's cook.

"It took you a while to get to it, Romirez," snapped Scott.

"Hey, my hands are full of cake batter," answered the cook testily cradling the phone between his cheek and his shoulder as he wiped the batter from his hands with a dishcloth. The short dark skinned Mexican was the ship's only cook. He wore a white cook's uniform, even though he didn't have to. He was proud of his job and he was proud of his food.

"The Captain wants some coffee. How about one of your special blends?" Scott asked sarcastically.

Scott and the ship's cook didn't get along. It wasn't anything racial, it was just that Scott was the one, and only member of the ship's crew who thought that Jose Romirez was in the wrong profession. He hated Romirez's cooking, baking, seasoning, and just about anything else he did in the galley. Scott had come from an upper middle class family and had tasted good food. He knew the difference between Béarnaise and Hollandaise sauces. Jose Romirez didn't. Jose didn't cook good food, he cooked passable food...on his best day. The crew loved Romirez's food, Scott didn't know why and wasn't about to find out. The first and only time he ate the ship's food, Scott had been sick for two days and had ruined two pairs of boxer shorts. Since then he had stuck to canned food and cereal. On their first leave, Scott, with the captain's blessing, had gone grocery shopping. From then on Scott cooked his own food after the crew had eaten and Romirez has never forgiven him for the ultimate insult to a chef. The two had fought like two roommates for days after the first time Scott cooked his own meals. The crew got wind of the conflict and began to feed the fire. They would walk by the galley to inhale and enjoy Scott's cooking aromas. Jose had looked on as his blood pressure rose with every comment from the crew. The one that put him over the top was when Dan, the engineer's apprentice had said, "Hey Jose, what's he cooking? It smells great! Maybe you should get the recipe." Jose had lost it and had taken a run at Scott. Scott's quick reaction had avoided a collision with Jose but Jose didn't stop in time and ran full speed into the hot stove. The impact spilled Scott's chicken Provincial all over the stove, caught fire and set off the fire alarm. Dan and the rest of the crew had to restrain Jose until the captain could come to the galley and calm Jose down.

"Special blend?" Romirez asked.

"Yes, you know, your Mexican Royal blend,"

"Ah, yes. Coming right up. Care for a cup too?" Romirez asked knowing what the answer would be and hung up before Scott had a chance to answer.

"Coffee's is on its way Capt'n," Scott said and shook his head. The captain knew of Scott and Jose's mutual dislike and had told them to get past it but when it came to food, Scott thought it was a criminal what Jose did to it. "I hope you enjoy it. He's bringing you his special M.R. blend,"

"Good, I could use a good caffeine jolt right about now," Antonio said as he rubbed his temples. The crew knew Jose's special blend, Mexican Royal, as M.R. Scott thought M.R. should stand for Montezuma's Revenge. Sure the coffee gave you a caffeine jolt it also gave you 'the runs'. Scott had his own supply of tea, thank god.

Jose walked through the bulkhead door balancing a tray loaded with a small stainless steel container of sugar, a plastic pitcher of milk and two black ceramic mugs of coffee. He walked up to Antonio, "Coffee, Capt'n,"

"Yeah, thanks," Antonio answered and grabbed a hot mug off the tray. Jose stood still as Antonio put a teaspoon of sugar and a good pour of milk into his cup. Antonio took a sip and let out a loud sigh of satisfaction.

Jose turned to Scott, "Coffee?"

"Not that garbage," Scott shot back.

"Suit yourself," Jose said and stormed out in anger.

"Are you two still at it?" Antonio asked.

Scott didn't answer and looked down at his charts.

"You two are killing me," Antonio said as he shook his head.

7.

A black Mercedes Benz S class pulled up to pier 3 and stopped. The doors opened and Mark Schwieker and his wife Gina stepped out of their car. Mark was tall and solidly built. He wore a white T-shirt that read 'I'm with stupid' with a red arrow beneath the writing pointing to his left, which is where his wife usually stood. He had black cotton short on, no socks and blue plastic flip-flops. He had a wide waist and a thick chest. He looked like a human telephone pole but had the personality of a clown. He found almost everything he heard hilariously funny. You could have told him that your mother had cancer and after a moment's thought, Mark would tell you a joke about cancer. He was fair-skinned, blue eyed and had dirty blond hair which he kept short. His blue eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses as he looked for Bobby and The Roamer.

From the aft deck of The Roamer, Bobby yelled out to Mark and his wife, "Ahoy, land lovers."

Mark laughed and waved back. Gina, his wife wasn't as fun loving. She gave her husband a friendly smile but that was as warm as her smile ever got. She wore a yellow Elie Tahari dress and white Gucci shoes. She looked exquisite, small, petite, blonde and ready for a cruise.

Mark and Gina had met when they were both in college, The University of Texas, and Gina had instantly fallen in love with Mark...once she had let him near her.

He had seen her crossing the quad on campus and had instantly fallen in love with her. She was short petite, almost a waif, and blonde. After following her for two days, what would probably called stalking, he finally built up the courage to speak to her. He quietly walked up to her as she was stood under the math building's porch. He cleared his throat quietly said, "Lovely day isn't it?" It was pouring rain and he offered her an umbrella as he stood there getting soaked. She stared at him for a minute and finally laughed at him as he grinned at her. He asked her if she'd liked some coffee and after spending two hours talking, she realized that she had fallen for the big oaf. She loved is zest for life and his jovial attitude. He had loved her, period. They married shortly after graduating. Mark earned a degree in marketing and Gina, a degree in education. Gina found work in Charleston and they began building a life together. She quickly rose through the ranks of the school district to become the youngest member of the school board. Mark tried his hand at working for others but his jovial manner wore thin in the business world and so after a few years of drifting from job to job he came upon sports bloopers. This product was a perfect fit for him and quickly became the largest distributor of sport bloopers, and other DVDs, in the Southeast. They had no children. Gina who always dreamed of being a mother found out after years of trying to get pregnant, that she was sterile. The news had crushed her emotionally. She threw herself into her work and into food. Food became an obsession with her. She lived to eat. When she overate and felt full, she felt as if she was pregnant, but after a few minutes, guilt and despair forced her to purge. She was also unhappy with her looks. Although she was short and thin, she always felt that she could have lost a few pounds. Her figure was almost shapely. She wasn't curvy enough to be considered voluptuous and not thin enough to be model thin. The numerous diets and exercise programs she had tried had left her dissatisfied with the whole thing and she had basically given up on ever looking like the model she felt she could be. Depression consumed her but if she knew that she could only find the right diet, she would finally be happy. Right now food seemed like a good answer to her depression. With every bite came a flood of conflicting emotions. First came the instant gratification of eating and tasting foods she had always denied herself. Her favorites were Krispy-Kreme's hot original glazed doughnuts and peanut M & M s. That was followed by guilt, which in turn brought on self-loathing for her lack of self-control, then came the purging, which finally brought on depression. The answer to depression was, of course, more food, which started the viscous cycle all over again. She had put up a good front for Mark, hoping he wouldn't notice her despair, but it had become more and more difficult lately.

They have been together for eight years now and his jovial attitude wasn't so cute anymore. In fact, it was beginning to drive her nuts. He didn't even seem to be bothered by their inability to have kids. He was a big kid himself and was really beginning to bother her. She had begun to turn on him, sometimes without realizing it. She just wished that he could have a serious moment once in a while. Of course, for his business, his personality was perfect. He sold sport blooper DVDs. What else would someone who finds everything in life to be funny sell? She couldn't complain about the money he made selling them. There was plenty there but sometimes she wished for something else. She didn't know what, but she knew that something had to happen soon or she would lose it. Visions her on a rampage with an AK-47s assault rifle danced through her head like sugar plum fairies on crack.

"Nice boat, eh?" Mark said to her grinning like a fool, his eyebrows arching over his sunglasses like Jack Nicholson as he stepped out of their car.

"Yeah," she answered coldly, imagining a bullet going into his forehead as she was about to shut her car door. She looked at the yacht and began to wonder what they would be eating for lunch.

Suddenly a red Fiat Spider convertible pulled up next to Gina and she almost threw herself against her car to avoid being hit by the tiny Italian sports car. A huge cloud of dust followed the car and settled on Gina. Gina began to choke and began waving her hands in front of her face to clear the air.

"Whoa, sorry about that, little lady," said Pat Deats from behind the driver's wheel. "Is this Bobby Cole's pier?"

"Yes it is," Gina responded icily, brushing dust from her fine blonde hair.

"Thanks. I'm Pat and this is my wife Julie," Pat said to Gina as he pointed to the fat woman sitting next to him. Pat and Julie looked like a match set of old fashion kewpie dolls of little fat babies with diapers. These were full grown and hopefully didn't have diapers on but they both had red hair and were overweight.

"Hello," snarled Gina as she slammed her car door shut.

Pat and Julie stepped out of their small car with some effort Gina noticed. Pat was also tall, almost as tall as her own husband but where her husband was wide because of his frame, Pat Deats was wide because of his fat. His body was that of a man who did very little, if any exercise and enjoyed food even if that meant one too many cheeseburgers. He was also bald, but not completely. He had a small patch of red hair at the top of his forehead, which made him look like a giant kewpie doll. Gina couldn't help smiling at the thought. Pat wore a red and blue checkered shirt, beige Bermuda shorts and leather sandals. Gina figured he had probably left the metal detector at home.

Julie was also a perfect match for her husband. She too was fat and had flaming red hair. She wore a green terry cloth robe over what Gina imagined would probably be the loudest bathing suit this would woman could have found in Charleston. Julie had cheap sunglasses perched on her head, black sandals and carried a Spade handbag. Gina loved the bag and instantly liked Julie. At least she had her priorities right, Gina thought.

Pat owned a successful chain of McDonald's restaurant throughout Charleston. He had earned the old fashion way, by busting his back. He bought his first restaurant at the age of twenty and by thirty-five, he owned twelve. He liked the business and he like the burgers. He liked them a little too much.

Julie was the daughter of one of Charleston's richest family. Her father owned the area's largest newspaper, 'The Sentinel', and after graduating from Brown University with Master's degree in journalism, she took her place on the newspaper's board of directors to her father's right. She liked the newspaper business and her father trusted her opinion on everything, well almost everything. What he didn't trust was her choice in men...her father hated Pat.

Pat and Julie met when Julie had walked into one of Pat's McDonald's one day. Julie loved McDonald's and stopped there whenever she wasn't with her father. Pat had fallen instantly in love and had pursued her shamelessly. They married after a whirlwind romance, against her father's wishes, and have been together for four years.

"Hey, there," Pat shouted over Gina's head at Mark. Mark thought the man's tuff of red hair was hilarious and burst out laughing. Mark pointed his finger at Pat, winked and said, "Hey there to you too big fella."

Julie smiled at Mark and Gina and caught Gina glancing at her bag. The two women smiled knowingly at each other.

Pat, Julie, Mark and Gina walked to the back of their cars and pulled luggage out of their car's trunks. They shook hands all around and made their way down the pier to The Roamer's aft deck stairs. Bobby peered over the top of the stairs down the length of the pier as his guests made their way up the long pier. Quite a bunch he thought as he looked at them. They reached the stairs and Bobby helped them onto the deck with a hearty handshake for the men and a small hug for the women. Finally he looked at the small group and said with a flourish, "Welcome to The Roamer." Bobby beamed with pride as he was showered by lavish compliments by his guests. Some compliments were genuine but Bobby also knew that some were half-hearted. Finally Pat asked Bobby, "And where is that lovely wife of yours?"

Bobby smiled thinking, 'here we go' but said, "She's in our stateroom changing into something more seaworthy than high heels and a miniskirt."

"Ah, I'm sorry I missed her," said Pat visibly disappointed. Julie stiffened and gave him a dirty look.

"Yes, I'm sure you are," Bobby said knowing what the fat bastard really meant.

"We're still waiting for Judge Amrbruster and his wife so in the meantime how about I show you to your staterooms,"

"You mean cabins, don't you," said Mark giggling.

"No. Staterooms. Well, you'll see for yourself," Bobby replied. From the aft deck, whose floor was made of teak wood slats and was outfitted with a wet bar, Jen-Air gas grill, lounge chairs and a padded bench area, they walked to the main cabin's sliding glass doors. Bobby parted the glass doors and they stepped inside. The main cabin looked like a modern, well-furnished salon. The furniture was modern and upholstered in white leather. A glass and brass table was centered in the middle of the curved furniture. Bobby strode proudly into the open area and quietly said "Open." The furthest wall, which was paneled in white birch, silently slid open to reveal a state on the art sixty five inch flat screen and theater surround sound system. Julie Deats let out a soft gasp and Mark Schwieker whistled loudly. Bobby led the group around the Home Theatre area to the next living area, the dining room. It too was white and modern. Adjacent to the dining area was the galley or kitchen. It was modern in all aspects including a professional grade convection oven and other appliances including a microwave, full size dishwasher and a trash compactor. Across the small hall was a door. Bobby pointed it out, "The door opposite the galley is the bathroom or head." Past the galley was a small series of 4 steps, which led up to the yacht's control room or wheelhouse. Here the captain, Bobby, could either steer the ship as any other sailor would or with the help of modern technology, plot his course ahead of time, program his navigational computer and put the ship on auto pilot once they cleared the harbor. To the right of the galley and adjacent to the dining area was a spiral staircase with a solid brass handrail which led down to the living quarters and engine room. Bobby and his guests descended the blue carpeted staircase; Bobby smiled as he noticed that Pat and Julie were almost too wide to navigate the curving stairs.

The small group finally made it to the bottom of the stairs and Bobby resumed his tour. "Up the hall are the staterooms, which have their own heads, or bathroom." Whereas the top living area of the yacht was white and brass and modern, the lower living quarters were dark and formal. The hall had dark oak paneling with an oriental rug as a hall runner and small crystal lighting fixtures recessed into the ceiling. The look was both rich and gaudy. Bobby continued his tour.

"The first one will be the Judge's, the second here will be yours, Pat and Julie, and the one opposite theirs will be yours Mark and Gina," Bobby said as he walked down the hall.

Pat and Julie exchanged apprehensive looks since they had been on cruise ships before and knew how cramped cabins were. Pat turned the knob and opened the door. Julie gasped again. The room was gorgeous. It was painted in a light alabaster cream color to brighten the room, the carpeting was forest green. It looked as if the bed was on a freshly mowed field of grass. Coming in from the dark stately hall, the bright colors almost knocked you off your feet. The room had a wonderful brass bed with a flowered bedspread with a light print of bright yellow daisies on it. In one corner of the room was a yellow and white tulip lamp and a small high back chair covered with a light green fabric. There was also a small white wicker dresser and matching make up table. Bobby leaned over to Julie and said, "You like it? We call it our Spring room,"

"Oh, yes," said Julie breathlessly, "It's beautiful."

Mark and Gina opened the door to their stateroom and Mark laughed. The room was done in bright Caribbean colors. The walls were painted light blue and the carpeting was dark turquoise. The bed in the middle of the room was made of white wood and the bedspread was yellow. There also was a pedestal lamp in the corner but its shade was red. "What do you think Mark," Bobby asked.

"It's great. It's so......" he hesitated as he searched for the right word, "festive."

Yeah, a perfect room for a Bozo, though his wife although she had to admit that she did like the room.

"The next room up will belong to the judge and his wife. It's our fall room and that room is done in earth tones and orange hues," continued Bobby as he walked past the last stateroom and came to a door at the end of the paneled hall. He turned to his guests and pointed over his shoulder, "This is our stateroom and it is our winter room. All white and light blues. Cherisse loves it. She in there changing right now," he said almost apologetically, "Maybe I'll show it to you later. Now why don't you all settle into your rooms, change and then meet me on deck for refreshments," he said as he winked at Mark. He raised his hands and he quietly ushered his guests back towards their rooms.

They filed silently into their respective cabins and Bobby went past them, up the spiral staircase and onto the aft deck. He sat down in a lounge chair and closed his eyes to relax. He could hear the sea gulls squawking overhead and he could feel the morning sun trying to warm his face. All his guests were here, he though calmly. Almost. Where was the judge? He suddenly realized. Just then Bobby sat up as he heard a car pull up to the pier. Bobby got up and looked around the edge of the cabin. Up on the pier a silver Cadillac CTS-V coupe had just pulled up. The driver's door opened and a short elderly man got out of the car. He straightened to his full five feet six inches and pulled the wrinkles out of his white Brookes Brothers shirt and tan slacks. 'Here Comes Da Judge' thought Bobby and he smiled remembering the old Flip Wilson comedy bit. The judge bent his head into the car and seemed to say something to the person sitting in the passenger seat. Must be his wife, thought Bobby. The car door opened and a small boy got out. Great, thought Bobby, the judge brought a kid. He smiled at the judge's attempt to outwit him. He must not want me to mention his indiscretion, Bobby thought.

In a moment of weakest, the judge had telephoned a former defendant who had been arrested for running an escort service. The man had been acquitted but the judge had never forgotten the man's arrogance in the courtroom. The man, George Davis, had been arrested for running a high-class escort service out of Charleston's historic district. The girls were beautiful, expensive and above all, discreet. Mr. Davis had taken offense to being called a pimp by the district attorney. Mr. Davis insisted that he was only providing female companionship to businessmen who were too busy to meet women. The judge had found the cases both entertaining and disgusting. The man got off on a technicality that his attorney had found and that Judge Armbruster had no choice but to uphold. The judge had seen Mr. Davis' client list and it included some of Charleston's most influential man. The judge figured that it might be beneficial for him if he ruled in favor of the defense. After all, it was an election year. Some of these men had thanked him privately for his discretion and had made generous donations to the judge's reelection fund.

Months passed and Mrs. Armbruster became ill. His illness became progressively worse until it was finally diagnosed as cancer. They were both devastated by the news but the judged had pledged his love and honor to his dying wife of thirty years.

He carried on as best as he could but he still had needs and was ashamed for feeling that way. He finally had to do something about it and remembered George Davis and his escort service. He called him and instantly regretted it.

Somehow someone at the newspaper had been tipped off. Bobby had a friend at the newspaper, the night editor. When the report came in, the young editor called Bobby Cole. Bobby told him to kill the story. He thanked the editor by giving a white envelop full of crisp twenty dollar bills.

Two days later, Booby called Judge Armbruster told him that he wanted the judge to see for himself what a great guy he was. The judge almost hung up on Bobby until Bobby mentioned Mr. Davis and the escort service.

"What do you want Mr. Cole," the judge said gruffly.

"Why nothing more than the chance to show you and your wife a great time on my yacht, judge."

"If I show up, this little incident will be forgotten?"

"That all depends on you and how you show your support for my new mall," Bobby said calmly.

"This sounds a little like blackmail, Cole."

"Judge," Bobby said as if offended, "that is such an ugly word." Bobby was silent for a minute and then finally added, "The invitation is in the mail. I'll see you this weekend," he said firmly and abruptly hung up.

"Honey," came the weak voice of Mrs. Armbruster from her bedroom, "who was that?"

"Business, dear," he called back to her quietly, "just business." This was a test and the judge hoped that he would pass or the news of his little tryst with the call girl would probably kill his wife.

The boy walked around the car and reached into the trunk. The judge, dressed in a white suit and a large rimmed panama hat and the boy, who seemed overdressed for the occasion, retrieved their bags from the trunk of the car and walked down the pier. "Good Morning, judge," Bobby yelled as they neared the stairs to the yacht. The judge looked up at Bobby and grunted in reply. The judge and the boy came up the stairs and onto the aft deck. "Judge Armbruster, glad you could make it," smiled Bobby as he extended his hand to welcome the judge. The judge looked at Bobby's hand and gave him his suitcase. Bobby's smile froze on his face and he took the judge's suitcase without missing a beat.

"My pleasure, Cole," said the judge icily.

"And who have we here," Bobby said grinning as he bent slightly to address the boy.

"This is my grandson Timmy," the judge answered with noticeable pride, "my wife couldn't make it. She gets seasick and I thought the sea air would be good for the boy, I hope you don't mind Cole" the judge said waiting for Bobby's reaction.

Bobby didn't take the bait instead his smile only widened, "Welcome aboard Timmy," Bobby said. Christ, Bobby thought, this kid even looks like a 'Timmy". He wore a white oxford shirt, red and black plaid shorts, white socks and high gloss black dress shoes. Bobby wondered if the judge had just picked the kid up as he was heading to private school. Timmy was four feet tall must have weighed sixty pounds soaking wet if he was lucky... and lots of wet clothes on. He had short curly blond hair and dark blue eyes. He even had rosy cheeks, Bobby noticed with disgust. Bobby hated kids. They always spelled trouble except during a sales pitch. During a sales pitch, if the salesman flattered the child or generally fell all over himself trying to please the child, the parent or grandparent instantly fell in love with the salesman and always fell hard for the sales pitch. "My, what a handsome young man," Bobby gushed, "you'll have to watch him with the girls, judge," he said winking at the judge. The judge smiled for the first time and almost laughed.

Pleased with himself, Bobby took back control of the situation and showed the judge and his grandson to their cabin.

8.

Nursing his second cup of coffee that morning, Captain Rosnick began to relax. "Radar still clear, Craver?"

"Clear as a bell, Captain," Carver answered quickly, staring intently at his console.

"Good," the Captain said as he looked thoughtfully into his coffee cup. His simple white plastic coffee mug was like all others on the ship except his had a gold captain's emblem on opposite sides. He warmed his hands against its surface. "Ensign Reeves," began the Captain.

"Yes Captain," the Ensign replied as he moved towards the Captain.

"It's a calm, clear day, right?" the Captain said.

"Yes, Sir," Ensign Reeves answered not knowing where the old man was heading.

"The radar is clear and the ocean is calm, right?" he continued.

"Yes, Sir," agreed the Ensign who was nervously beginning to wonder what the old man was really up to.

"Good, I'm glad you see it my way, Ensign," the Captain said and with that, he suddenly got up and walked away from his command chair, headed for the hatch leading out of the command deck and turned, "Ensign Reeves, the ship is yours. I'm going to my quarters to catch up on some paperwork."

"Aye, Aye Captain," the Ensign snapped back. Captain Rosnick couldn't help smiling as he heard the near panic in the young Ensign's voice.

As he walked to his quarters, Captain Rosnick remembered the first time he had been left in command of a Navy ship. What a feeling that had been. First came the panic at the sudden change in command. Then came the fear at the realization of the enormous responsibility that comes with commanding a naval vessel. Then came the rush of power as you realize that you are actually in command of a ship in the United States Navy. The captain sighed fondly and hoped that Ensign Reeves would get to feel all of the emotions of command before he had to go back to the bridge and relieve him.

Captain Rosnick opened the hatch to his quarters and stepped in. The gray cabin was spacious by Navy standards. Since this was a Navy cargo ship, the crews' quarters could be larger since the ship didn't have weapons and armory to crowd the deck area. Captain Rosnick crossed his quarter and sat behind his small, gray, government issued steel desk. He reached into his pocket for a small brass key and unlocked his desk. He opened the desk's bottom right hand drawer and pulled out a business sized manila envelope. The envelope, with the U.S. Navy seal in the center and the word 'manifest' stamped below the seal, held the ship's cargo manifest. He opened the envelope and read the long tedious list of surplus items contained within the ship's hull. He scanned the list and his eyes stopped on line 335. There was one word on line 335 and it broke the Captain's calm mood. The word was 'Classified'. He had seen this before on other manifest and it turned out to be parts from an old classified project that hadn't quite worked out. It always gave him a start when he saw that word but it was usually nothing. He opened the envelope and fished inside for the classified item's packing list. He found it and opened it. He felt his stomach tightened has he read the packing list. 13 sealed gas 118 gallon canisters of Tetrahydrochlorine Disulfide II. The captain's eyebrows knitted together in concern. He read the MSDS or Material Safety Data Sheets attached to the manifest. He was no chemist but he knew bad stuff when he saw it and this stuff didn't wasn't looking good. These containers contained a classified toxic substance and he was responsible for its safe handling until he reached port. He read on and realized that this gas must have been used in an old chemical warfare experiment. What had happened with the experiment? If it had been a failure, surely it still didn't have to be considered classified. But if it did work and turned out to be too potent and dangerous to be used, then maybe it would still need to be considered 'classified'.

Still concerned, he continued to read the manifest and came across another classified chemical. He swallowed hard as he read. This was a biohazard, which means it was dangerous to both animal and plant life. Christ, he thought, what was I hauling? He looked for more details but the MSDS on this stuff was missing. That really made him nervous. There were only two possibilities. Either it was clerical error by a young seaman in the quartermaster's office or it was willful omission? He hoped for the inept seamen. He looked to see how much of this material was held below the ship's deck. He gulped when he read the number. 6500 gallons in 500 gallon tanks. Goddamn! He thought and looked at the rest of the manifest.

The rest of the manifest didn't seem out of the ordinary except for the fact that he couldn't read it too well because his hands were trembling.

9.

Bobby heard the soft shuffling of feet across the teak deck behind him and turned. Standing before him was a semi naked Pat Deats. The man's huge stomach hung over the bright yellow and orange Hawaiian floral print of his bathing suit, which included the silhouette of voluptuous hula dancers. Uncomfortable looking white rubber slippers wrapped his puffy feet. The man's pale pasty skin would have made a ghost look tanned. He was so pale, he was almost too bright to look at and his single lock of red hair on top of his head made him look like a sun-bleached lighthouse with a roaring fire as a beacon. Bobby stared at him and fought valiantly to contain his first instinct, which was to burst out laughing at the man. After a minute he managed to smile politely at him. "Ah, Pat. I see you're first above deck. I guess that makes you my first deck hand". Pat looking mighty uncomfortable at the news, looked at his host and smiled weakly. Feeling a twinge of guilt, Bobby continued, "Come on Pat, you'll do just fine," he said calmly, "Give me a hand. We might as well get this show on the road". Pat looked at him puzzled. Bobby sighed, and smiled, "Let's start the engines and back her out of the slip, OK?" Pat nodded and visibly relaxed at the thought of finally knowing what was expected of him. "Now, I'll go into the wheel house and you listen for my instructions". Bobby moved past his pale guest and disappeared into the ship.

Pat Deats felt utterly foolish and he knew he looked it too. His wife must have known that this bathing suit would make him look like an idiot and he was mad at himself for not checking it out before they left for this trip. She told him it would be a surprise but he never imagined that it would look like this. All he needed was a metal detector, he thought. Once on the ship, he had taken it out of his suitcase and for a minute he could have sworn she looked happy, no, make that triumphant at his reaction. She told him to relax and enjoy it. He did like the colors, though. They did make him feel good but he had caught the look in Bobby Cole's eyes when he had first seen him and he knew that Cole thought he looked like a clown.

"Pat!" he heard Cole call out from within the ship.

"Yeah?" he called back, half-heartedly.

"Please go onto the pier and stand by the bow line," Cole ordered.

"The bow?" he called back.

"The front of the boat," Cole shouted back.

"Got it," Pat shouted back. Pat knew the man was probably starting to lose patience with him. But what the hell, he had never been on a boat before. He couldn't even swim, so how is he supposed to know one end of the boat from the other. He climbed over the railing of the aft deck, stepped down the ladder and made his way up the pier to the front of the boat. A sole seagull stood at the top of the pilling next to the boat's bow. Pat looked up at it and he noticed that the seagull was swaying with the breeze. How odd. Then he realized that the gull had only one leg and it swayed with the wind to keep its balance. Pat grinned, looked up at the gull, took a deep breath and blew at it. Of course it wasn't enough to knock the gull off its foot, and the gull knew it, but Pat laughed at the thought anyway. The gull looked down at him as if annoyed and then looked away. Pat huffed in disappointment and waited. The gull seemed to be waiting for him too as if it also knew that this was Pat's first time near a boat. "What are you looking at?" he said to the gull. Then feeling foolish for feeling self-conscious in front of a sea gull, he shouted towards the boat," Ready!"

"OK, now untie the line from the cleat and toss it aboard."

Pat looked at his feet and noticed an anvil shaped piece of wood to which the boat's rope was tied. He grunted as he bent down, felt a cool breeze across the top of his butt, prayed to god that no one was looking at the crack of his ass and untied the rope. He tossed it onto the boat and pulled up his bathing suit. The gull squawked at him. "Yeah, I got it," he said defiantly to the gull which appeared to be laughing at him.

"Now the one in the middle," Cole ordered and as if it had understood, the gull flew to the next pilling. Pat looked up in disgust at his feathered audience.

"OK," he shouted back and made his way to the middle line. The gull looked down at him. Pat did as told but this time, he tried it using one hand so that his other hand was free to keep his bathing suit from sliding down. After a tricky moment when it seemed the rope would never come loose, he managed to untie the rope and toss it aboard. "Got it!" he shouted back. Just then, he heard an electrical whine from deep within the boat followed by an animal like rumble from the ship's engine. Pat stepped back from the boat, momentarily surprised by the noise. The gull which was familiar with noises from the harbor just stood there.

"Alright, Pat. Now get the on the stern...I mean the back," Cole corrected himself. Again the gull followed Pat's progress by hoping to the next piling.

"OK," Pat called back. He was beginning to enjoy this and had almost forgotten about the annoying gull. Somehow the deep rumbling of the powerful engines gave Pat a sense of security. He felt that as long as the boat was running, it could be controlled and he would be safe. He smiled and walked to the back of the boat. He bent down again but this time the rope had too much tension on it and he couldn't untie it with one hand. He let go of his bathing suit to use both hands and felt the familiar breeze across his lower back and knew his ass crack was there for the entire world to see. He tugged and grunted but the rope would not come loose. With a sense of complete defeat and utter humiliation he called out, "Cole, I can't untie it! It's too tight."

"OK. Stand by," was the reply.

Pat did as told, he pulled up his bathing suit and waited. He heard the engine's rumble grow and the boat slowly moved a few inches. "Try it now," Cole ordered.

Pat bent down again, the hell with the bathing suit, he thought and with the tension off the rope, managed to untie the rope. Just then he heard the flapping of wings, the gull's squawk and something warm hit the top of his exposed butt. "You have got to be kidding," Pat said in disgust as he felt around his back. His hand found the sloppy mess the bird had dropped on him. He looked around for the damn bird but it had flown off and was circling high above the boat. He wiped his hand on his new bathing suit, cursed softly to himself and tossed the line onto the aft deck.

"Good job, Pat. Now get on or I'm leaving without my best deck hand," Cole called out laughing.

Pat didn't know whether he was the butt of a joke or whether the man was just being friendly. He shrugged to himself, figured it was the latter of the two, grabbed the ladder and climbed back on board while keeping an eye out for the gull. The gull sensing that the show was over, flew off.

The shipped hovered in its slip for a minute and then the great yacht began to back up! Pat never realized that boat could go backwards. He found himself staring at the piers' pilings as the passed by his view, backwards. His reverie was broken when he heard someone come up behind him. He turned and saw his wife approach him. She was wearing a lime green one piece bathing suit which actually looked good on her. "Hi," he said coldly.

"Hi," she replied warmly. "Having fun playing Popeye the sailor man?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," he said. Looking down at himself he said to her, "Was this bathing suit your idea of a joke," he said sternly as he planted his hands on his hips.

Julie looked at him and began to laugh. "I'm sorry, pumpkin, I thought you'd like it," she said wiping away tears from her eyes as she laughed.

Pat began to giggle and looked down at himself. "Well they do match my hair and I think Cole really liked them...not." They both laughed.

Pat and Julie had been high school sweethearts. Their matching red hair had made them one of the most visible couples in their small school, which had not always been good. Classmates made fun of them but that only made their love stronger. They grew to rely on each other in every way and had never really grown up. Pat's father had called them immature but Pat didn't care, he was happy. They married shortly after high school and Pat, who had been working at the local McDonald's, decided to get serious and make it a career. He worked hard and with the eventual turn-over of employees, he slowly worked his way up the corporate ladder. After three years of full time work, Pat became restaurant manager. He saved his money and after another five years and with the help of a business loan, he opened his very own McDonald's.

Julie took two courses in accounting at the community college and began doing the bookkeeping. Soon they had made enough money to open a second McDonald's and the rest is history. They grew rich and fat, together. Now twelve years later, Pat and Julie own eight McDonald's in the Charleston metropolitan area.

"Hello again," came a voice from behind them as Mark and Gina Schwieker came up to them. Pat and Julie regained their composure and smiled at the other couple. "Did we interrupt something," Mark asked after seeing the Deats' laughing and hugging.

"No," said Pat, "private joke."

Mark cleared his throat nervously and smiled, "Lovely day," he ventured.

"Beautiful," Julie smiled back. Julie looked at The Schwiekers and sighed. They looked so good together. He was tall and muscular. He was dressed in tan Dockers Bermuda shorts, a turquoise Ralph Lauren polo shirt and white linen shoes, without socks of course. She was short and thin. She was dressed in a light green cotton sarong and matching sandals accessorized by a white pearl necklace and matching pearl bracelet.

An uncomfortable moment of silence followed until Mark asked brightly, "Where's our host?"

"Inside," Pat answered, "he's backing us out. I guess he'll be doing the driving."

Mark smiled knowingly, "Piloting, Pat."

"Oh, yeah, right. Piloting," he said self-consciously. "I guess he's the captain, too."

"Right," said Mark, exasperated.

"Do they have any food around here?" asked Gina trying to look around the large couple in front of her.

"Haven't seen any yet," remarked Pat and for the first time, saw the troubled hunger in her eyes.

The yacht stopped backing out of the slip and drifted backwards into the open channel. Bobby threw the ship's transmission into forward and the yacht lurched forward. Pat, Julie, Mark and Gina swayed and reached out to each other for support. "Whoa, I guess we don't have our sea legs yet," Mark said laughing. Gina just stared at him; he was thinking of balancing, she was thinking of soft shell crabs.

Once the yacht settled and began to cruise forward, the guest decided to sit down on the bench seat on the aft deck and wait for their host. Gina looked up and noticed the green awning, which provided them with much needed shade. "Beautiful," she whispered and closed her eyes in hopes of calming her stomach.

Gina didn't get to relax for long. An old gravelly voice interrupted, "Good morning y'all," said Judge Armbruster warmly as he walked up to the others. "This is my grandson, Timmy," he said as he waived his right hand in the general direction of a young boy. The judge was still all business in his white suit and hat but the boy now seemed to have caught up to the rest of the guests and had changed into a red bathing suit with a white stripe down the side , plain white tee shirt and black sandals.

The two women instantly came to life, "Well hello there Timmy," said Julie as she got up to pat the boy on the head.

"Hi, sweetheart," said Gina smiling broadly. The two men rose and shook the Judge's hand.

"Good to see you again, Judge," said Pat. The Judge looked at him blankly. "You probably don't remember. That's OK. We met at a one of your re-election fund raising dinners last year,"

"No, of course I remember," said the Judge his mind raced to remember the fat man's name, "Good to see you again, huh..."

"Pat...Pat Deats," Pat offered, slightly embarrassed.

"Of course, Pat, forgive me. And how is your lovely wife...." The judge continued looking at both Gina and Julie.

"Julie," Pat said pointing to his wife, foolishly.

"Ah, yes, Julie," the judge said as he turned towards her. "How are you my dear," the judge asked while tipping the edge of his hat with his left hand.

"Fine, thank you, your honor," Julie replied clearly embarrassed by the attention.

Pat tried to smooth the judge's forgetfulness by helping him with the rest of the introductions, "Judge, I'd like you to meet Mark and Gina Schwieker."

Mark reached out and gave the judge a firm handshake and Gina held out her hand for the judge. The judge clearly smitten with Gina's small frame and beauty, took her hand, brought it up to his lips and kissed it gently. Gina blushed at the judge's old world charm and Mark stiffened, "Hey, watch it judge. She's spoken for,"

"Of course, Mark. Please forgive me for any unintended faux pas," he drawled. Again Pat came to the judge's rescue, "So, judge, what brings you onboard this lovely ship,"

"Mr. Cole generously invited me and I thought it would be a perfect opportunity for the boy, here, to get some fresh air,"

Julie wondered if anyone else had noticed that the judge had referred to Bobby Cole as Mr. Cole. Not exactly friendly, she thought. The yacht seemed to accelerate as it cleared the harbor and headed out to sea. A moment later, Bobby came to the aft deck. Pat immediately stood up, clearly agitated. "Who's driving?" he blurted out.

Bobby smiled at Pat and the rest of his guests, "Not to worry folks. I plotted our course into the navigational computer and put her on auto pilot," he said calmly.

"Like a plane?" asked Pat.

"Yes, like a plane, Pat. Now we can relax and enjoy ourselves,"

"What about other boats," asked Pat still standing and still unnerved.

"Radar," was all Bobby said.

"Radar?"

"The ship's radar will sound an alarm if anything comes close to the ship. Now relax Pat, everything is fine," he said as he put his hand on Pat's shoulder and gently made him sit back down. He looked at his guests and asked, "Would anyone care for a drink?" An almost audible sigh of relief came from Pat and Mark as they eagerly nodded.

"Do you have anything to eat," asked Gina quickly.

Taken aback, Bobby stumbled with his words, "Well...yes...I'm sure I can come up with something," Bobby walked back into the cabin and disappeared into its galley. Minutes later he came back out carrying a silver tray. He placed the tray on a shelf built into the side of the yacht and with a wave of his hands he invited his guests to mimosas, a mixed drink made of champagne and orange juice, warm croissants and fresh fruit. "Enjoy," was all Bobby said. Gina practically ran him over trying to get to the tray first.

10.

The buzzing of the ship's intercom startled Capt. Rosnick out of his reverie. He sat up straight and slapped his hand on the black plastic bar at the bottom of the intercom speaker on his desk, "Rosnick," he said calmly.

Clearly shaken, a nervous voice began, "Sorry to disturb you Captain but there's something up here I think you should see, Sir."

He recognized the voice of Ensign Reeves, but he had never heard it quite that way. His second in command's voice didn't sound right. It no longer held the cool authoritative tone they taught in the Naval Academy. The man's voice sounded unnerved, almost scared. He reached for the intercom again, "What it is, Ensign,"

"Sir, I can't explain it. You'd better come up, Sir,"

He didn't like the sound of that and wondered what could have unnerved the Ensign so badly that he had requested his presence topside. He knew that the mere fact that the Ensign had called him topside when he had been given responsibility for the ship would make it look like he couldn't handle the ship without the captain there. He locked up his manifest, slid his chair back from the desk and got up still puzzled by the Ensign's call. It obviously wasn't an emergency or he would have said so. It certainly wasn't a life-threatening situation or he would have said so too. How odd. He closed the hatch to his quarters and began to make his way topside.

11.

Scott ducked his head as he went through The Rosemary's hatchway into the galley. Jose turned to see who was coming into his galley. When he realized it was Scott, he couldn't help himself, "Did you come down to create one of your own 'special' meals," he had clawed at the air with his two forefingers making imaginary quotation marks as he had said 'special' and laughed.

"No," Scott shot back, "I came here to make myself some tea," as he brushed pass Jose and went to one of the galley's storage cabinets on the other side of the galley. Scott unhooked a key ring from his tan belt, flipped to a small key and inserted it into a lock. He turned the key and the lock opened. He removed the lock from the latch, grinned at Jose who was watching, and opened his private cabinet. He took out his monogrammed white ceramic coffee mug and filled it with water from the nearby sink. He turned to his left and put his mug in the ship's only microwave oven. He set it for two minutes and turned it on. He went back to the cabinet and selected a flavor of tea from his private stock, which he kept in an oak tea box.

"What will it be today?" Jose began, putting one finger to his chin and looking in the air, "China Black? Mint tea? Earl Grey? No, I know," he said as he began to laugh, "Strawberry tea, right?" Jose's vision began to blur as tears of laughter began to form in his eyes. He knew he had scored a direct hit and loved every second of it.

"Where's the sugar today?" Scott asked barely controlling his mounting anger at the little bastard. How could he let him get under his skin? He had to get him back, one way or another.

Jose still laughing pointed across the small galley to another cabinet next to Scott.

Scott took a deep breath and shot back, "By the way, how's your wife?" Scott asked coldly.

Jose stopped laughing instantly. It was as if someone had just pulled the plug on a laughing machine. He turned slowly and stared daggers at Scott. Scott knew that Jose was reliving the experience in his head.

The morning fog had just lifted when 'The Mascot', a mid-sized Italian freighter with yellow and green markings, pulled into New York harbor. A young and very excited Jose Martinez, ship's kitchen help, was coming home. After an agonizing hour and a half delay by US Customs, the shore leave whistle blew and the men of 'The Mascotti' practically stampeded off the ship.

Jose grabbed the first taxi he came across and headed south. He was wearing his best pair of jeans, tan leather shoes and a light blue shirt he had bought in Milan. The shirt had cost him almost a month's pay but it was worth it. He was going to knock his wife's sock off when she laid eyes on him. He smiled to himself and hoped he would knock more than her sock off. On his way he stopped and picked up fresh flowers, red carnations, her favorite, and a bottle of Andre's finest pink champagne, his favorite.

The yellow cab finally pulled up to his apartment building in Spanish Harlem, Jose hastily threw bills at the cab driver and bolted out of the cab. The old brick building had stood there for over a hundred and ten years and it showed. The gray trim needed to be replaced ...again, bricks were missing from around some of the windows and the front stoop had a five-foot crack running the length of it. He opened the dark blue, warped front door and ran up the three flights of stairs, he didn't want to wait for the elevator. On his way up the worn wooden stairs he heard babies crying, mothers yelling, father bellowing and plates breaking. He smiled at the familiar food odors that seemed to change with each floor he climbed. He smelled familiar scents like cilantro, rice and beans, and fried pork. He finally reached the third floor and he ran to his front door, the red door must have had eighty coats of paint on it, the number read 6B. He stared at it for a minute, he couldn't believe he was finally home. It had been eight months since he had last seen his beautiful wife, Connie. She had written him telling him how lonely she was and that she missed him so much. He had written back telling her to be patient, to stay close with his family, and that he would be back soon with enough money for them to move out of their lousy apartment and into a nice little house away from the city. He stared at the door and smiled. He put his key in the old lock and turned the key. It still worked and he chuckled slightly. This was a good sign. . He walked in and his mood quickly changed. The apartment looked the same, same old furniture, same old rugs, same old pictures on the walls, but somehow, the placed looked more feminine. He smelled fragrant candles burning, lilac he thought but wasn't sure... He heard music playing in the bedroom, he listened closely and recognized a Melissa Hetheridge tune he knew and began to worry. He heard soft voices and giggling as he approached the bedroom door. He listened quietly. He could make out his wife's voice but he couldn't make out the other voice although it sounded familiar. He took a deep breath and opened the bedroom door. The room smelled of sweat, perfume and cheap wine. He heard the screams of surprise but his mind wasn't listening. He was trying very hard to focus on what was before him. There in front of him, in his own bed, was his naked wife scrambling for the covers and next to her looking defiantly back at him was his naked sister, Louisa. His sister had been with his wife. Louisa had fucked his wife!

Jose thought that he would go insane and kill them both but he just didn't have the strength. All life had been drained from him as if someone had pulled a plug attached to the bottom of his feet. Jose dropped the flowers and the champagne onto the hardwood floor. The champagne bottle exploded on impact and the flowers fell into a pool of cold champagne splashing it onto his leather shoe and his best jeans. The loud pop of the exploding champagne startled the two women who screamed involuntarily. After the initial shock, Louisa began to laugh but it wasn't a joyful laugh. It started as a laugh of relief of the shock from the noise and then it changed into a laugh of self-realization and finally grew into a hysterical cackle. Louisa had been discovered as both a lesbian and the betrayer of her family. She knew at that moment that her life would never be the same. She had lost her brother's love and family at the same time. Jose's wife, Connie just cried. At first it was a soft whimper but quickly grew as she too realized that things would never be the same and that she had lost Jose forever. Jose couldn't stand looking at them, he closed his eyes, turned around and walked out of his apartment, his wife, his family and his life on dry land. He vowed never to return to New York or to see his wife again.

Jose cursed the day he had confided in Scott. Now that they were culinary enemies, Scott used that information to hurt his former friend whenever he could. Scott smirked at Jose and went to get his sugar. Jose's eyes bore holes into Scott's back. His stare was broken when he heard the microwaves bell sound indicating that time was up and Scott's water was ready. Just then an idea sprang to Jose's mind. He reached into his pocket for a small bottle of Visine. His eyes had been bothering him and he frequently put drops in his eyes to relieve the dry ache. He walked to the microwave, opened the door and keeping his back to Scott so that he would see, Jose put two drops of Visine into Scott's hot water.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Scott shouted.

"Nothing, man. Don't be so suspicious," Jose said innocently and handed Scott his mug. Scott reached for it too fast and he knocked some hot water onto the back of his hand.

"Ouch," he shouted, waiving his injured hand around.

"Is it hot enough for your tea?" Jose asked coldly.

"Yeah," Scott said and took the mug more gently this time. "Gracias," he said sarcastically.

"De nada, bendejo," Jose sneered at him and turned back to his stove.

Scott didn't speak Spanish so he wasn't sure if he had been insulted but felt pretty confident that he had pissed Jose off. He dropped his tea bag into his mug and walked out of the galley blowing on his hot tea and his burnt hand. If he had turned around he would have seen Jose smile back at him. Jose had only one wish for Scott, enjoy your tea asshole.

When Jose was sure that Scott had left, he began to laugh. Wait until the Visine starts brewing, Jose thought and laughed.

12.

"Ah, here she is," Bobby announced grinning broadly and waiving his arm towards the glass doors as if introducing the queen of the ship. The sliding glass door swooshed sideways and Cherisse stepped through the sliding glass door of the yacht's main cabin and into the aft deck. Mark practically launched himself out of his chair as he stepped up to meet Cherisse. Mark couldn't believe his eyes. Cherisse had to be the most beautiful women he had even seen...in the flesh. Sure he had seen plenty of beautiful women in magazines, including those in which he had to turn the magazine sideways to see, but up close and personal...never. Her tanned skin was flawless and there was plenty of skin to behold. She wore a see through deep turquoise chiffon robe over the skimpiest light turquoise bathing suit her had ever. Except for the ones in those magazine, of course. He couldn't help but wonder if the handkerchief he usually wore in the breast pocket of his business suit had more fabric in it than her bathing suit. She wore matching open toed pale turquoise high heels and poking through her perfect, platinum blonde hair, a set of turquoise hoops dangled from her ears. She was a vision to behold and it wasn't wasted on Mark. He held out his trembling hand to her. Bobby noticed the offered hand, the trembling hand and smiled. He turned to Cherisse grinning, "Dear, this is Mark Schwieker,"

Cherisse looked up at Mark, her green eyes blazing sensually, and floated her hand up to his, "Charmed, indeed," she drawled in her best Southern belle accent.

Bobby barely managed to stop himself from laughing. Mark grabbed her hand as if it was the most fragile thing he had ever held and could only manage a grunt in response. Bobby hoped that Mark wouldn't pee himself in front of everyone.

Gina, seeing her husband melting down in front of her, put her snack on a side table, sighed, brushed the crumbs off her lap and got up. She took a step towards them. She came up to her husband, jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow and stared daggers at Cherisse. Bobby sensing trouble pulled Cherisse's hand out of Mark's grip and turned her towards Gina.

"And this is Mark's lovely wife, Gina."

Cherisse smiled her best beauty pageant smile at Gina and Gina smiled back but didn't say anything. She grabbed her husband still extended hand and turned him around. "Sit down," she barked at him as they went back to their seats.

Bobby couldn't help but laugh. He went up to Cherisse and put his hand beneath her elbow. He led her to another introduction. "Honey, this is Pat and Julie Deats."

Before he had a chance to rise, Julie put her hand gently on her husband's knee. Bobby didn't miss the subtle restraint and he knew that the woman's hand might as well have been a two foot iron stake driven through the poor fellow's leg. He wouldn't get up to greet the bathing beauty, if he wanted to live, that is. Julie's other hand shot out to shake Cherisse's hand. "Nice to finally meet you," Julie said, as smoothly as possible, "I've heard so much about you." Julie's smile didn't convince Bobby or anyone else that it was nice to meet her.

Cherisse didn't miss a beat, "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you two." Cherisse wondered what Julie had meant by having heard so much about her, but she could have guessed. I'm sure she had been the main subject of many wives' conversations since they had moved into town.

"And over here," Bobby continued, "is His Honor, Judge David Armbruster III," Bobby said with flourish as if he was introducing royalty. Cherisse blushed visibly and Bobby continued to be amazed and awed at how she could do that on demand. "Oh, Your Honor, what a pleasure," she drawled at the judge as she bent over to shake his hand. The judge, who hadn't had a chance to get up, was face to face with Cherisse's famous cleavage as she bent slightly to shake his hand. He was instantly aroused.

He cleared his voice nervously and said, "forgive me if I don't get up, my knees aren't what they used to be, dear."

"Oh," she purred, "don't get up on my account," and winked at him. The judge's mouth fell open. Bobby thought the poor man was going to have a heart attack and quickly pulled Cherisse back and aimed her at the judge's grandchild.

"Darling, this is Timmy. He's the judge's grandson."

"Hi Timmy," she smiled at him as she ruffled his hair. The boy sat slacked jawed as he openly stared at Cherisse. Bobby wondered if the boy had discovered 'those' websites yet. By the boy's expression, Bobby was pretty sure the boy had.

"Would you like something to eat, love," Bobby offered Cherisse.

"No, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to the bow and sunbathe," she said. Bobby smiled inside. Boy, she was good. He could almost hear his guests' minds racing. He was sure the women were thinking of way to push her off the bow into the shark infested waters and he was sure the men were thinking of ways to ditch their wives so they could sunbathe with Cherisse. Bobby looked at the judge and thought that maybe the judge could use a little sun, the man didn't look good.

Turning his attention back to her, "Of course dear, enjoy the sun." With that, Cherisse turned on her heels which caused her robe to open and flutter like a matador's cape within inches of her guests' noses, strode away from the group back into the main cabin and disappeared behind the sliding glass door.

After a moment of silence, Mark whispered, "You're a lucky man, Bobby." This was immediately followed by a grunt as his wife's elbow connected with Mark's ribs.

Bobby smiled graciously, "Yes, she is quite a beauty. Miss Miami Beach a few years back as a matter of fact," he said proudly. Bobby looked at the judge who seemed to have regained some of his natural color. Good, thought Bobby, wouldn't want the old bastard to die on his yacht. He'd have to be careful with how he used Cherisse on the judge. If she came on too strong, it would be obvious to the judge and that would kill any chance for Bobby to ask the judge for a favor. Bobby knew he had the judge's attention now and he might be able to ask the judge for almost anything, like zoning wavers and special permits, and wouldn't get much of an argument from the man. Cherisse was magical he thought and smiled. But there was always a chance that the judge might say no. Bobby figured close was good enough in a game of horse shoes but the proposed new mall complex he had in mind wasn't horse shoes. He'd have to make sure the judge couldn't say no. He was going to have to make sure Cherisse did her best with the judge.

13.

The door opened to the bridge and Antonio put down his binoculars to see who was coming in. Scott stepped through the hatch carrying a mug. "Got your own coffee now?"

"No, not coffee" Scott said correcting Antonio, "tea."

Antonio smiled, "What flavor today?" he asked absentmindedly.

"Strawberry, if you must know," Scott said sharply.

"Whoa, easy there stud, I was just making conversation," Antonio shot back as he put up his hands in mock defense.

"Sorry, Capt'n," Scott sighed as he came up to his navigator's table and put down his mug, "I've just had another run in with Jose. Man, can he piss me off."

"Damn. Are you two still at it?" Antonio asked, clearly annoyed as he brought his hands up to his suspenders and stared down at his friend.

"Well," Scott trailed off as Antonio laughed. "At least I got my tea," Scott said triumphantly raising his mug and then took a slow sip from his mug. After a moment he let out a long contented sigh. "It was worth it. This is the best tea I've ever had."

"Well, good for you," Antonio said as he raised his binoculars to his eyes and renewed scanning the horizon.

After looking over some instrument, Scott ventured, "Things are still looking good, Capt'n,"

"Copy," Antonio grunted back at him as he tried to pull his pants over his gut. The pants fell back as soon as he let go of the belt.

At that moment, Scott's world, and his stomach, turned upside down and he bent over grabbing his gut. His stomach started to gurgle and churn. "Oh, I don't feel so good," he blurted as he turned away from his table and bolted for the door. The Visine had done its trick and Scott was in for it. Correction. His intestinal track was in for it and everything in it, would soon be out of it. It's meant for your eyes but Jose had learned a tasty bit of knowledge from a bartender years ago. Visine causes severe diarrhea if swallowed. This certain bartender used to spike customers' drinks if they became too nasty. It worked every time.

"Scott?" Antonio asked but only saw the steel door swing shut behind the sprinting man.

PART II

14.

"What is it Ensign," commanded Captain Rosnick as he entered the ship's bridge.

"I...I...I'm not sure," Ensign Reeves stuttered nervously.

"What do you mean, you're not sure" the Captain snapped back at the Ensign.

"Well, Sir," he said, then taking a deep breath to calm himself, he continued, "the radar picked up a strange fog bank ahead of us, Sir."

"Why is it strange, Mr. Reeves? We get advection fog banks all the time in these waters," the Captain argued.

"Yes, Sir, but this one doesn't show up on anyone else's radar but ours."

Captain Rosnick was momentarily confused and he could see the crew's apprehension in their eyes. The bridges crew was losing confidence in Ensign Reeves, he couldn't let that happen. Fog is usually localized and doesn't always show up on radar but once it is dense enough to bounce back enough radar waves to show up on a radarscope, other ships and weather stations should see it too. "What is our position, Chief?"

Referring to his screen, CPO Dale Johnson, ship's navigator snapped, "One hundred and fifteen miles north-northeast of Myrtle Beach, Sir."

He thought about that for a minute then asked, "What about Grand Strand?" he asked, referring to the Grand Strand Airport just north of Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, hoping that the nearest airport could confirm this peculiar fog bank.

"Nothing, sir," replied the Ensign sounding relieved that the Captain had taken over.

"How about Charleston International," he asked referring to Charleston's airport but most importantly, the United States Air Force Base that shares Charleston's International Airport.

"Nothing, sir," he said, "We gave them our position and the fog's but they replied that we were the only positive bogey on the screen. No sign of this fog, sir."

"Did you try to confirm with Beaufort?" he asked referring to the Marine Corp's Air Base outside Beaufort, South Carolina.

"Yes, Sir, but we're too far north for them to confirm," the ensign replied half heartily

"Fine, Ensign. What is our current course," he asked the young man hoping to reassure him with asking him something that would reestablish his self-confidence.

"South-southwest as you ordered sir," he snapped.

"Okay," he said nodding, "good," he mumbled as if assessing the situation. "Pass me the binoculars," he ordered stretching out his hand towards his second in command.

"Yes, sir," snapped the young man as he handed him the binoculars.

Captain Rosnick brought the binocular up to his face and instantly sensed that the familiar gesture calmed the young sailors on his bridge. Don't worry boys, the old man has the situation under control, he thought to himself and smiled. Out of habit he began by scanning the horizon seaward to his left, the sky was clear and the sea was calm. The pivoted towards the bow and stopped. The fog bank was directly ahead. His smile faded as he realized that the fog bank seemed to be stationary. Fog usually moves with the winds, this one didn't, it literally stood in their way. "What kind of numbers do you have on this thing, Ensign?"

"The radar can't seem to be able to give us a firm configuration on the fog bank, sir," he replied almost apologetically. The Captain glanced at the radar station and noticed that Seaman Nate Carver, radar operator, seemed to be squirming under the Captain's intense stare. "Carver, do you agree?"

"Yes, sir," Carver blurted out as if his quick response would take the heat off him.

Rosnick grunted his acknowledgment and grew pensive as he stared at the fog bank. It was huge. He estimated it to be a thousand feet high, and as far as he could tell, about four miles wide. Its depth was unknown. He searched its bottom edge and it appeared to be above the sea. It looked as if it hovered above the ocean. Not unusual for fog, it doesn't always touch the sea. He looked at the ocean beneath the fog and it looked calmer than the surrounding ocean. Waves are created by wind. No waves would imply that there was no wind under the fog. Could the fog be blocking the wind? If it did, why wasn't the fog affected by the wind, why was the fog bank stationary? Wait a minute, he thought as he stared at the calm waters beneath the fog. The water reflected a bright cloudless sky. Usually, a fog bank creates a shadow beneath it. The fog bank didn't seem to be blocking the sun. It didn't cast a shadow across the ocean! Rosnick couldn't believe it. He couldn't take his eyes off the fog bank. It shimmered and flowed as if alive and its puffy cloud-like density was almost inviting. He laughed at that thought. Inviting. What a strange thought to have. He never had experienced that feeling before. Sure he thought of beds as inviting, a warm fire as inviting, and the open arms of a woman as inviting but not a fog bank. Fog bank meant nothing but trouble to a sailor. They always masked hidden dangers but this one was different. He felt drawn to it and it scared him. He took a deep breath to steady himself and barked, "Mr. Reeves, plot a course around that thing."

"Yes, Sir. Johnson, 45 degrees east," snapped Ensign Reeves at the navigator.

Rosnick nodded, turner to Ensign Reeves and handed him the binoculars. He stepped around the young Ensign and to the Ensign's horror, Captain Rosnick calmly strode out the door and left the Ensign in command.

15.

Antonio put down his binoculars and frowned. Scott had been gone an awfully long time but more importantly, his navigator had been gone too long. Antonio walked to Scott's navigator station and began to look over his notes. He didn't like what he saw. Antonio had hired Scott because the kid was smart and because he had been to college. Antonio wanted someone good and he thought he had hired the best, the best for what he was offering that is, and the kid had proven himself. He had come through in many situations, especially during bad weather when instrument readings are your only means of navigation. Antonio was from the old school; he sailed by the stars and not much else. His bulk and quick wit had made him the captain but he relied heavily on his navigators to get him where he needed to go. The kid was good but his notes might as well have been in Chinese. Antonio shook his head in disbelief. He knew they were heading north, the morning sun was on the starboard side of the bow but he didn't know the ship's exact position. For that he would have to be able to read the boy's notes and he couldn't.

Just then the door to the bridge opened. Antonio looked up and was instantly pissed, "Where have you been?" he practically screamed. He looked closely at his navigator as he approached the table and gasped, his mood instantly changed and he asked concerned, "What the hell is wrong with you, you look as if you just swallowed a chum bucket."

Scott staggered up to the navigator's table and held onto it as if his life depended on it. He took a deep labored breath and looked up at Antonio, "I wish I knew. I don't know what hit me but right now, I think a bucket full of fish heads and blood soaked guts would probably do me some good. My stomach is killing me."

"Yeah, well, you look a little green around the gills, too," Antonio offered.

"Thanks," Scott mumbled, tried to smile but burped loudly instead. "Sorry, Capt'n," he said quietly.

Antonio straightened up and looked his sick navigator in the eyes, "I'm sorry you don't feel good kid, but we have some cargo to deliver," he said firmly.

Scott was quite for a second, steadied himself a little better and finally said "Yes, Sir."

"I took a look at your charts while you were gone and I can't make heads or tails out of them," he said gruffly as he grabbed his suspenders, "I hope you have an explanation for that."

"Yes, Sir," Scott began but suddenly stopped and looked at Antonio. Antonio looked back at him and didn't like what he was looking at. A look of panic, or was it pain had just crossed Scott's face. Scott grabbed his stomach, then his mouth, then his stomach again and then opened his mouth as if to say something. Antonio hoped that words would come out of the kid's mouth and not the kid's breakfast but he would never find out. Scott turned and ran out the door.

"Damn," Antonio cursed as he slapped his beefy hands on to the table. What was he going to do if the kid was really sick? He looked over the charts and had a general idea of their position but not their true position. That would be critical if anything was to go wrong and he had to call for help. He quickly looked up and scanned the horizon. The skies were clear and a sea was calm, Antonio sighed. Things looked good for now, maybe he could ride out the kid's stomach bug and everything would be all right. He looked up from the charts again and his mouth dropped open. A huge fog bank was on the horizon. Looking a little bit like 'Yosemite Sam' rubbing his eyes in disbelief to make sure that he was actually looking at the gaping mouth of a canon about to explode in his face, Antonio rubbed his eyes and stepped closer to the glass of the bridge. He couldn't believe his eyes. This had to be a mirage. He had just looked at the horizon a second ago and everything was clear. How could he have missed a fog bank on a clear day? He knew he couldn't have, he wasn't blind. How could this fog bank have manifested itself so quickly? He swallowed hard and looked at the ship's radar screen. The green circular screen was clear. Nothing showed up on the radar. He looked up at the fog bank again to make sure his eyes hadn't played a trick on him. No, his eyes were okay; there was the damn thing. He looked down at the screen again and this time the radar blipped indicating an object within its range. The fog bank was now on the radar screen. Antonio didn't like this at all. First, it's not there, then it's there? He picked up his binoculars and began to scan the fog bank. It was huge. It looked to be about one thousand feet high and a few miles wide. Antonio had seen this kind of fog before in northern waters where the water temperature is colder, but never off the coast of Florida where the water was warm. He looked at the fog bank's base. Funny, he thought, the fog doesn't seem to be touching the water. Antonio got the strange sensation that it looked as if the fog bank was hovering above the water's surface. The water below the fog bank seemed calm and well lighted as if the sun could pierce the fog, but Antonio knew better, fog diffused the light. It should be dark in there. What was it? It looked like fog but it sure as hell didn't behave like fog. He strained to see through it, but it was no use. The fog bank seemed too thick to penetrate safely but he...felt strangely drawn to it anyway. It was as if it calling out to him. It was so...he couldn't quite come up with the right word...inviting, yeah that's the word he was looking for...inviting. He laughed, inviting, he never thought of fog as inviting. If someone were to ask him what came to his mind if they said 'inviting', he would say: a huge dinner buffet table, neon signs outside of bars, the open legs of a young woman but he would never say, fog. He stared at the fog bank and relaxed, maybe the fog bank was shallow and they could get through it without any problems, after all, the last time he had looked, everything was fine.

He punched all steady on his order board and the engineer in the engine room did as ordered and let the ship continue on its merry way.

16.

The intercom on Captain Rosnick's buzzed loudly and he almost dropped the ship's log he was in the middle of completing. He snapped the book shut and slapped it onto his desk. He reached for the intercom and punched the button, "Yes, Ensign," he snapped.

"Er...Captain, Sir...I think you should come up here, Sir,"

"What is it now, Reeves," he said, clearly annoyed. He would have to seriously evaluate this kid's performance at the end of their tour and so far, Reeves was failing miserably.

"I ordered a course change as per your order, Sir, but it's not working...Sir," he replied nervously.

Now, Captain Rosnick found himself struggling to maintain his cool, "What do you mean, it didn't work? Are we having mechanical problems? Navigational problems? I hope we're not having discipline problems, Ensign,"

"Oh no, Sir," Reeves said as if insulted by the thought that he could not lead his crew, "that's the strange part. Your orders were carried out and the ship is responding properly, but it's not working. The fog bank is still in our path, Sir."

After a moment of silence in which he tried to calm himself, Captain Rosnick finally said, "I'll be right up."

17.

He entered the bridge as calmly as he could but he could sense the tension in the air. "Captain on deck!" shouted one of the radar assistant and everyone snapped to attention. "At ease," he replied. He casually walked up to the radar man and looked over his shoulder at the screen. "What do we have, Carver," he said to his radar man.

"Sir, we have a fog bank, Sir,"

Captain Rosnick felt like he was about to explode but thought better. Right now his crew needed his experience and most importantly, his calm. He sighed softly. He couldn't help but smile at the boy, and the Captain wondered how this kid had made it through boot camp, "Yes, I know we have a fog bank. What is it doing?"

"Doing, Sir?" the young seaman said clearly confused.

"Yes, doing. Ensign Reeves has informed me that we have changed course to go around this fog bank but it is still in our way. Therefore the fog bank must be moving too, right?" the Captain's calm was quickly evaporating.

"Seaman, is this thing maneuvering with us?"

"Yes, sir, it would appear that way, sir" replied the radar man.

"Chief Johnson, Seaman Caver has confirmed that the fog is moving with us. Do you agree with the radar man's assessment?"

"Yes, Sir," answered the navigator who was beginning to notice a change in his commanding officer's mood.

"So, what is it doing?" he repeated.

Johnson looked over at Carver, "Radar would indicate that the fog bank is moving laterally to block our path, Sir," he said and gulped loudly.

"Moving to block our path, son? Has your training lead you to this assessment or are you now giving a stationary fog bank the ability to maneuver at will?"

Carver didn't answer. He just stood there, trying to think of a better answer but none would come to mind. Finally he blurted, "Yes, Sir," the Carver said clearly nervous.

"Yes, Sir, which?" the Captain snapped back.

"That is my assessment, Sir" Carver finally snapped back.

"Very good, son. Do you agree with that assessment Mr. Reeves?"

"Yes, Sir," snapped the young ensign trying to remain confident in his abilities to command.

The Captain eyed him coolly, took a deep breath and calmly addressed the rest of the sailors on the bridge, "It's obvious that a fog bank cannot move on its own, so we better reassess our conclusions". "Okay, people, here's what we have. We have a large fog bank facing us. We are going to go around it as a matter of training. We could just as easily go through it, but we clearly could use the exercise," he said becoming more sarcastic as he spoke. He turned his attention back to his second in command, "Ensign Reeves," he shouted.

"Yes, Sir," the young Ensign shouted back and snapped to attention. Captain Rosnick wondered again if this kid would one day, accidentally snap his spine in two when coming to attention.

"Course: 90 degrees starboard at ten knots. Let's get around this thing!" the captain shouted.

"Yes, Sir! Navigator: course change: 90 degrees starboard at ten knots," he snapped.

"Aye, Aye, Mr. Reeves," Johnson snapped back.

The large ship's turn was almost unperceivable at first, then the Captain's view of the fog bank began to change. Everything began to tilt as the ship leaned ever so slightly. The Captain's head rotated to his left to keep the fog bank in sight and after a minute he turned and looked forward. He could see the edge of the cloud, they could navigate around it after all but it would take a while, it looked wider than he had first imagined.

The crew seemed to relax as the fog bank's edge neared. "Mr. Reeves," Captain Rosnick snapped. The Ensign turned to him and snapped to attention. "Do you see the edge of the fog bank?"

"Yes, Sir," he snapped.

"Good, I'm glad you can confirm what these old eyes are seeing. It looks as if we can get around this thing, right?"

"Yes, Sir" he snapped back.

"Good". After a second the Captain began, "Ensign,"

"Yes, Sir?" the young man snapped to attention.

Captain Rosnick took a long deep calming breath before he spoke again. "At ease sailor before you break something," the Captain said smiling. Ensign Reeves seemed genuinely embarrassed and stood down but was clearly uncomfortable. "Thank you, Ensign," the Captain said, "Now let's get around this thing."

"Yes, Sir," he snapped.

Captain Rosnick shook his head slowly and smiled. This kid would never relax even if he were shot full of tranquilizers. The Captain stood back and watched his young crew follow the First Officer's commands with practiced efficiency. There was an almost audible sigh of relief as the ship passed the edge of the fog bank. The Captain began to relax too.

Suddenly, Captain Rosnick experienced a queasy feeling in his stomach as his subconscious noticed movement to his left. He turned slowly and his jaw dropped. The fog bank was moving towards them and soon it would engulf them. "Ensign, contact the radio room and tell them to broadcast our last know position. We are about to lose radio contact," he quickly ordered.

"Sir?" the ensign said.

"Just do it!" he screamed back as the fogbank engulfed U.S.S. Nimbus.

18.

"Mind if I rub some lotion on your back?" said an elderly voice. Cherisse rolled onto her side and had to put one of her hands up to shield her eyes from the afternoon sun. She couldn't see who had spoken to her. She could only see a man's outline against the bright sun. Noticing Cherisse's discomfort, the man carefully walked around her so that she could see him better. When he had finished his maneuver, the man apologized to her, "I'm so sorry, my dear, I didn't realize the sun was in your eyes."

Cherisse looked up at the smiling face of Judge Armbruster. "Why, your honor," she began in her finest southern belle drawl, "how did you manage to get up here?"

"With your husband's permission, of course, and a little bit of luck," he smiled hesitantly. The judge was filled with mixed emotions. He felt ridiculously old and pathetic with this beautiful woman but the young man inside him was still alive and kicking, and desperately wanted her. He felt ashamed for wanting this vision of beauty when his wife was home sick, but he couldn't help himself. It was as if his body had taken over his mind and damn the consequences. In a split second he decided to let go and enjoy what was laying at his feet.

She smiled up at him, "Some say that a man has to make his own luck to get what he really wants," she said coyly.

The judge grinned back at her, "Yes, ma'am," He couldn't believe what was happening to him. Could she seriously be interested in him or was she just playing with an old fool?

"Now, what did you want?" she purred.

"A little lotion, my dear?" he said as he raised a bottle of Bain de Soleil sun tanning oil and grinned.

"Why yes, I was just about to put some on myself," she said as she smiled at him.

The judge though he had died and gone to heaven. He was about to rub lotion on one of Charleston's most beautiful woman and her husband had suggested it! His hands shook nervously as he twisted the cap off the bottle.

"Oh, before you do that let me untie my top so you can get my whole back," she said as she lay down by the man's feet and untied her small white bikini top. She rested her chin on her folded hands and told him to begin. Now the judge was sure he had died and gone to heaven but there was only one way he could be sure. He would have to touch her to be certain that this wasn't a dream. He knelt next to her and lightly touched her back. He took in a sharp breath as he felt her smooth tanned skin and she purred seductively as her began to rub her back. "That feels heavenly. You have the gentlest hands, judge," she said and the judge began to feel faint. Maybe she really liked him, he thought.

He snapped back to life when the ship lurched unexpectedly. "What was that?" he asked nervously.

"Oh don't worry, judge, just a small wave," Cherisse said softly. The judge resumed applying lotion but with that wave had been reminded that he was on a ship in the ocean and things didn't seem so wonderful anymore. Cherisse turned to look at him, "Are you ok judge?"

"Yes. I'm just a little nervous about the water, that's all".

"Well, don't you worry about a thing, you're with me," she said as she rose slightly to caress his face with her hand. As she tilted her body up to reach him, her bikini top fell to the deck exposing her perfect breasts. "Oh my," she said, "pardon me," she said as she quickly gathered her top from the deck and turned her back to the judge.

Clearly embarrassed, the judge mumbled something that Cherisse couldn't make out. He began to make his way back to the back of the ship.

"Where are you going, judge," Cherisse asked quickly.

Feeling like an old fool after all, he blurted, "I think it would be best if I went back with the others." He grabbed a handrail and shuffled passed the wheelhouse of the yacht.

Inside the wheelhouse of the yacht, hidden by curtains, Bobby Cole was busy putting his Nikon camera away. He had been busy snapping pictures of his topless wife stroking the judge's cheek. He smiled broadly to himself. He had given the wheel a sharp tug and the ship had responded as expected. Best of all, Cherisse had performed beautifully. Now he was sure that the judge would do whatever he asked. The pictures were the icing on the cake. No cherry needed.

19.

The hatch to the bridge slammed open and Scott burst in, "Captain, what happened? Where did this fog come from?"

"If you had been at your post instead of the head, you would have seen it coming," Antonio snapped backed.

"Yes, sir," Scott mumbled, clearly embarrassed. He didn't know what was wrong with his stomach. He had never felt this bad before. Sure he'd had diarrhea before, especially after eating some of Jose's slop, but never like...wait a minute, he thought, Jose! Could he have done something to his tea? Something snapped him out of his current train of thought. Something was wrong. The Captain was talking to him but Antonio didn't seem like himself.

"...turned into it," Scott finally heard him say, "Isn't it beautiful?" Antonio asked clearly in awe of the fog.

Since entering the fog, Antonio had felt wonderful, almost blissful. He had never known such calm and inner peace. The fog hand made him feel welcome. He felt one with it. He could almost feel its presence around him. He could almost touch it...no her. That was it! Antonio realized that the fog made him feel loved and wanted. He felt as if he had just finished a bottle of bourbon and was resting in the arms of a $100 dollar hooker. Antonio never wanted this feeling to end.

Scott walked up to him and looked at him. The huge man looked almost child-like. He stood holding his hands clasped in front of him swaying back and forth as he stared out at the yellowish fog. "Are you okay," Scott asked as he reached out and put his hand on his friend's arm.

"Yeah," he sighed, "Just fine," he calmly answered without moving his loving gaze from the fog.

That answer didn't work for Scott. He had been with Antonio for years. He had seen him drunk, mad, happy, sad, and terrified. He thought he knew his every mood but this one, was not one of them. The man seemed mesmerized, almost hypnotized by the fog. He tightened his grasp on Antonio's arm and began to shake the big man. Antonio just shrugged off Scott's grip in an incredible show of strength that scared Scott. Scott backed away slowly as he came to the realization that Antonio was no longer in control.

"Captain," he began softly, "Do you know where we are?"

"No," he answered softly and as an afterthought said, "That's your job."

"Right," Scott replied and cleared his throat. "Antonio, the ship is in a fog bank. A fog bank that came out of nowhere. Are you aware of that?"

"Isn't it pretty," he replied sounding almost reverent.

"Yes, Antonio. It's very pretty but we need to get out of it, Okay?"

Antonio's reverie was snapped off at the handle. The ship couldn't leave, that would mean that he would leave also, and that could never happen. He would never leave this fog. He belonged here. "No!" he snapped and turned to glare at Scott. Scott took an involuntary step backwards. Antonio's eyes had turned the same shade of yellow as the fog.

20.

Captain Rosnick stared around him in disbelief. Their ship was totally surrounded by the fog. A sick feeling exploded in the pit of his stomach as his gut told him what his mind was beginning to comprehend. The fog, which shouldn't be able to do what it had done, had swallowed them. He thought it was a nutty idea, swallowed, but it sure felt that way. The fog bank had blocked their way at first then let them attempt to pass and as a wild lion would do to the unsuspecting gazelle, the fog bank had leaped out and swallowed the ship. He took several long calming breaths and looked at each member of his crew. He swallowed hard. They were all staring at him as if he would know the answer to their current situation. He blinked back at them. He knew the answer...but what was the question? What did they want from him? He felt lost too and hoped that it didn't show.

"Captain, are you okay?" asked Ensign Reeves.

Captain Rosnick looked at the young man and saw genuine concern in his eyes. Was it concern for him, the Captain, was it concern for the ship and crew, or was the kid only worried about himself? He pinched the bridge of his nose as if to relieve a headache and then looked at Reeves, "Yes, Ensign, I'm fine. Thank you," he said with a faint smile. The Ensign nodded and seemed relieved that the Captain would be all right. Captain Rosnick wondered if the kid was relieved that this mess wasn't going to fall on his shoulders after all. The Ensign turned, nodded to himself as if satisfied and looked out the ship window.

Captain Rosnick squared his shoulders and cleared his throat, "Chief Johnson, what's our position?" he asked the navigator. He waited patiently as the young navigator was busy reading screens and making calculations. The time dragged as the Captain grew impatient. "Johnson, do you have an answer for me or not?" he almost shouted.

"Yes, sir. One moment please," the navigator shot back nervously.

"Listen son, we don't have all day here," the Captain shot back.

"Yes, sir. As best as I can figure, sir, we are at 45"11' north latitude and 120"10' west longitude," he said trying his best to hide the fear in his voice.

"That doesn't seem right, son," the Captain said puzzled, "That would put us far north of here and inland, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, sir, in the middle of New York City. Times Square to be precise, sir."

"Are you trying to be funny, Chief?" the Captain snapped back.

"Oh, no sir," the young man shot back as he stiffened.

"Then what the hell are you trying to say?" the Captain screamed as he put his balled up fists on his hips.

"Sir, the instruments are not responding normally. Even the GPS system is not responding, sir."

"Our global positioning system is down?"

"No sir. I've triple checked it with diagnostics tests. It works fine, it just can't zero in on our signal."

"So you're saying that we have no way of knowing where we are or where we are heading? In other words, we are lost?"

The young navigator cleared his throat, swallowed hard and answered, "Yes, sir."

21.

Scott backed up and wanted to run out of the bridge but noticed Antonio's reflection in the hatch's porthole. Antonio had turned his attention away from Scott and back to the view ahead of him, the fog. Scott decided to step quietly to his navigator's station and see where they were. As he stepped up to the desk his stomach began to churn. He could almost feel the acid exploding in gaseous bubbles like those on the surface of the sun. That tea! He thought to himself. If I hadn't drunk that tea, I wouldn't have spent half the day in the toilet and could have prevented this. His intestines began to twist around themselves like a wounded snake that had just been run over by a semi. He clenched his teeth as he gripped the edge of the console. He looked down at the console and could only stare in disbelief. Half the screens had gone blank and the other half showed impossible figures. At a quick glance he calculated that the ship was somewhere in the middle of the Nevada dessert. He almost laughed but his gut wouldn't let him. He clenched his teeth, his hands and his rectum. He had to figure something out.... but first he had to go to the bathroom. He turned and ran out.

22.

Lost. No one said a word but he knew what was going through every sailor's mind on the bridge of his ship. Bermuda Triangle. They were near its edge, could it be some freak happening because of their proximity to the Bermuda Triangle? Bull! His mind screamed, but Captain Rosnick wasn't as sure. He had heard the stories of mysterious fog banks appearing out of nowhere, engulfing ships and later the same ship being found drifting minus its crew and of mega ton cargo ships disappearing into thin air but he had always assumed that they were stories told by drunk sailors having fun at the expense of others. But now, he wasn't so sure. Get a hold of yourself; you old fool, he told himself as he walked towards his Captain's chair, which was situated in the middle of the bridge on a raised platform to afford a view over the console. He sat down and he rubbed his chin considering his options. He turned to his Ensign Reeves, "Mr. Reeves what do you make of this?"

"It's beautiful, sir," the young man replied in a calm dreamy voice.

Ensign Reeves felt it the minute the ship entered the mysterious fog. The feeling had been overwhelming. Peace...a calm, soothing, mommy-rubbing-Vick's-vapor-rub-on-my-chest-when-I-was-sick warmth and love. He felt as if the fog had wrapped its feathery arms around him and taken him in.

"Beautiful?" Captain Rosnick was taken aback by that answer. It certainly wasn't what the answer he expected to hear from anyone on his bridge. He turned in his chair to look at the Ensign. He was simply staring out the front window of the bridge, his hands firmly planted on the front console as if supporting himself. Captain Rosnick thought for a minute and then finally noticed that the kid had been staring out the window the entire time he had been talking to the navigator. "Ensign?" he asked cautiously. No response, the Ensign simply stared. "Ensign Reeves?" No answered. "Ensign Reeves can you hear me?" he asked more loudly this time.

"Yes sir. I can hear," he answered calmly.

"What is going on with you, son?"

"Isn't it beautiful, sir?" was all he said as if in a trance. He loved it here. He would never leave. He belonged here. He belonged here with her...the fog.

"Uh-uh," Captain Rosnick said. Beautiful? What kind of an answer is that? The pressure must have been too much for him, the Captain thought. He certainly couldn't afford to have an unstable officer on his bridge. He turned to his radar man, "Carver, escort Ensign Reeves to sick bay?"

"Sick bay?" the radar man asked clearly puzzled.

"I don't believe I stuttered, Carver. Take the ensign to sick bay, now" he snapped.

The young man almost fell out of his seat trying to get up.

"Mr. Johnson, do your best to get us a course out of here." the Captain snapped.

"Out if here?" ensign Reeves asked from the front of the bridge. Surely the Captain couldn't be serious. Didn't he feel it too? Didn't any of them feel it? It was wonderful but it seemed that he was the only one who felt it. The realization that he was the only one who felt it was almost too much for him. His heart swelled with pride. The fog had chosen him. He was special and the fog knew it too. He would never leave now but the Captain had mentioned leaving. "Out of here?"

"Yes, Ensign we are going to get out of here," the Captain said.

"No," Ensign Reeves said matter-of-factly. Surely the Captain wasn't serious.

Captain Rosnick was almost speechless. Never had a sailor ever been insubordinate to him. "Did you say no, Ensign?"

"Yes, sir. No." Reeves said. He knew he had to convince the Captain to stay.

"Carver, get him out of here," the Captain screamed and the radar man stepped up to the Ensign.

"Sir, please come with me," the radar man said as he gently put his hand on the Ensign's arm.

"No," was all ensign Reeves said as he turned to face him. Carver quickly pulled his hand away as if he had just touched the top of a hot stove and backed away from Ensign Reeves. Carver's had just looked into the Ensign's cold yellow eyes.

23.

"Jose...Jose," Scott blurted as he ran into the galley, "You've got to help me with Antonio," he panted as he ran up to a bewildered Jose.

"Me help you? You have got to be kidding," he snorted at Scott as he put down the pot of instant mashed potatoes he had been stirring.

"Jose, Antonio is sick and the ship is in trouble. I need your help." Scott shouted at Jose.

"The ship is in trouble?" Jose was now visibly concerned as he wiped his hands on his grease stained apron. "How?"

"We're in this weird fog..." Scott began.

"We've been in fog before," Jose interrupted.

"Yeah, but this one has knocked out all of our instruments. We're lost. I don't know where we are. We could run aground any minute now... for all I know," blurted Scott.

"Really?" he asked now scared. "But what can I do?"

"You can help me with Antonio," Scott said. Scott was finally beginning to calm down now that he had finally gotten Jose's attention.

"Why? What's wrong with the Captain?"

"I don't know," he began, "I think he's in a trance of some sort and I can't get him off the bridge to get the ship under control."

"What do you expect me to do about that? I'm just a skinny Mexican, I can't fight the Captain. The man is huge. He'd squish me like a limp burrito."

"Yeah, I know. But maybe you can put something in his coffee. You know like you did to my tea," he said accusingly and stared at Jose waiting for anything that would give him away.

"What do you mean ...your tea?" Jose asked innocently.

"You know what I mean, Jose. Will that work on the captain?"

"Nah, he's too big. If it's as bad as you say, we need something stronger." After a minute of thought, an evil smile crept across Jose's face. Jose looked at Scott; "I've got something better."

24.

"What do you think you're doing Carver! Take him to sick bay, now!" the Captain screamed.

"Yes, Sir," Carver looked at the Ensign's tall thin build and realized it would be a snap to bring him down, he had dealt with bigger guys on the Lacrosse fields, this string bean would be a snap. Carver gritted his teeth and charged Ensign Reeves. Carver rammed into the ensign's midsection as if he was a tackling dummy and Ensign Reeves was thrown across the front console of the bridge like a rag doll.

Reeves couldn't believe what was happening to him. They were trying to take him away and they were trying to get the ship out of the fog! A man stronger than him had just knocked him against the control board. He couldn't let them take him away from his fog. He summoned all the strength he had and found that the warm comforting calm he had received from the fog was now replaced by rage and strength he didn't know he had. He could feel his muscles bulge and expand like an Olympic body builder. He felt invincible now. The fog would make sure he would stay and that the ship would stay.

Carver tried to grab hold of the Ensign's shirt but couldn't get a grip on the once loose, ill-fitting uniform. The uniform grew tighter against his grip as if Ensign Reeves' chest was inflating beneath his uniform. Carver looked up at the Ensign's face and gasped. The man's face was contorted and twisted as the muscles beneath the skin were rearranging themselves to create a new face. Carver's eyes locked onto Reeves' cold smile. Although his transformation looked painful, that unflinching smile told Carver that Reeves was enjoying himself. Ensign Reeves shook his head to regain his senses and growled in anger as he shoved Carver off of him. To Captain Rosnick's and Johnson's amazement, Carver was hurled the length of the control room. He landed with a thud on the steel deck, skidded eight feet and crashed into the navigator's chair. A startled Chief Johnson looked down at Carver and then up at Ensign Reeves who was walking towards them. "Are you okay," Johnson asked Carver quickly.

"Yeah," he said winded as he crawled to his knees.

"Well, I think we'd better get him before he gets us," Johnson said to Carver nodding towards to approaching Reeves. They stared in disbelief at the Ensign's arms and chest which seemed to have grown as if possessed by a hulking maniac... and the hulking maniac didn't look happy.

"Yeah, let's go" Carver said as he got up shakily. Johnson and Carver looked at each other, nodded to each other and then charged Ensign Reeves. Reeves walked steadily towards the charging men. The three men came to a crashing heap at the foot of Captain Rosnick's chair. Reeves, like a playful uncle tossing aside small children, effortlessly flung Johnson and Carver aside. He turned to Johnson who was the nearest to his huge hands and picked the man off the floor by his hair. Johnson began to scream and kick wildly as Reeves picked him up and kept lifting him up until the screaming and kicking Johnson was being held off the ground by his hair. Captain Rosnick, who sat frozen in his chair, had seen a lot of bar fights and even had been in a few fire fights during the war but what he saw next was almost too much for his battle weary mind to comprehend. Like a man snapping a wet towel, Ensign Reeves flicked his wrist and Johnson's neck and back snapped instantly with a loud, audible crack.

Ensign Reeves dropped the lifeless man and turned towards Carver who had witness his shipmate's fate. Scared out of his mind by the incredible display of strength, Carver on his hands and feet scrambled backwards, away from the approaching Reeves. Carver scrambled passed the back of the captain's chair, his hands and feet slapping the cold metal deck, until he finally ran out of room on the opposite wall of the bridge. He frantically looked around the control room for a way out but Reeves was on him before he could move. Reeves picked up Carver by the head placing one hand over each of the man's ears and began to squeeze. Carver instantly began screaming as his head was being crushed. Captain Rosnick gagged on his own bile as he heard the sickening crunch of Carver's skull as Reeves hands finally met in the middle of Carvers shoulders amidst a pile of shattered bones, mangled flesh and squirting blood. Reeves' face and shoulders were splattered with blood, bone fragments and brains. Carver's body went limp and Reeves dropped the headless torso to the steel floor. He turned and stared at Captain Rosnick. Reeves' yellow eyes peered out of his blood-spattered face.

25.

"Are you ready?" Scott asked Jose when they reached the hatch to the bridge of The Rosemary.

"Yeah," whispered Jose nervously. Scott reached for the hatch's handle but Jose's hand fell on his wrist. Scott looked up and for the first time realized that the little Mexican was actually scared.

"Hey man, be cool," Scott said sternly as if to shame Jose into being brave.

"What, me, I'm cool...I'm cool," he said reassuringly.

"Well then, if you're so cool, why are you stopping me from opening the hatch," Scott accused as he looked down at Jose's hand on his wrist.

As if he had been burned, Jose immediately withdrew his hand. He grinned sheepishly and muttered, "Sorry."

"Okay. Are you ready now?"

"Yeah, man. Let's do it," Jose said convincingly. Scott nodded to Jose and looked through the porthole in the hatch. Antonio was still staring out the front of the bridge as if in a trance. Scott looked down at the handle, took a deep breath and turned it. It clanged loudly as the hatch opened. Scott and Jose stepped through the hatch and onto the bridge. Scott walked casually up to Antonio but when he stopped, Jose bumped into Scott's back. Scott turned and glared at Jose who held up his right hand apologetically. Scott cooled off and nodded for Jose to walk around him. Jose took a deep breath and walked from behind Scott. He stepped up to Antonio and stretched out his left hand towards him. In it was a steaming cup of coffee.

"Hey Captain, how about a nice cup of coffee?" Antonio just stood and stared out the window. Jose turned his head and looked at Scott for help. Scott just glared at him and snapped his hand open and shut to prompt him to talk more. "Hey Captain, it's my special blend, my Mexican Royale," Jose said enthusiastically. At that the big man stirred to life.

"Isn't it beautiful, Jose?"

"What," Jose answered momentarily confused.

"The fog," Antonio answered calmly as if talking to a child.

"Oh yeah, sure. Beautiful," Jose shot back. He turned to Scott and shrugged hopelessly. Scott urged him on by snapping his hands at him again. Jose glared back and snapped his hand at Scott prompting him to speak instead. Scott shrugged.

"Yeah captain, how about that coffee. It sure smells good. I'm having one too," Scott's eyes popped open when he realized what he had just said. Antonio would never believe that Scott was drinking Jose's Mexican Royale, he would know something was up. As if to confirm his suspicions, Jose looked at Scott and started muttering softly. Scott knew that Jose was probably cursing him out in Spanish. Scott grinned foolishly and snapped his hands at Jose. Jose's eyes narrowed and fear was replaced by hate as he glared back at Scott. Jose finally sighed in defeat and turned his attention back to Antonio. Jose yelped involuntarily when he realized that Antonio was no longer looking out the window but directly at him. Antonio's yellow eyes bore holes into Jose's eyes. Jose gulped loudly and tried to speak.

"Co...co...cof...coffee, Captain?"

"Your special blend, Jose," Antonio asked as his emotionless face broke into a cold grin.

"Freshly brewed, just for you," Jose offered after finding his courage and his voice.

"Why, yes," the cold grin answered. With that Jose extended his arm to within Antonio's grasp. Antonio reached out towards the cup without taking his eyes off Jose's grinning face. Antonio's massive hand practically swallowed the mug and Jose let go of the mug. At that precise moment, Antonio let go of the mug too and to Jose's horror, the mug fell and it shattered on the hard steel deck. Jose knew that Antonio knew something was up, otherwise he wouldn't have let go of the mug. Jose looked down and watched the liquid inside it splashed onto Antonio's and Jose's pants legs and instantly begin to bubble and hiss. The liquid that had pooled on the deck began to hiss and a sick sulfur odor began to fill the area.

"Special blend, eh?" Antonio grinned at Jose. Jose whose feet were frozen to the deck by fear could only look up at Antonio as the big man loomed over him. Antonio reached down, grabbed Jose by the shirt and flung him across the room until Jose crashed against the back wall of the bridge. Jose was knocked unconscious and crumpled to the deck. The instant that happened, Scott sprang to action and...ran for the exit. Antonio noticed Scott's mad dash and decided to use Jose's unconscious body to stop Scott. Antonio crossed the room, leaned over, picked up Jose by the collar and the seat of his pants and in a movement that would make a nightclub bouncer proud, heaved Jose towards Scott. By then Scott had reached the hatch and had it slightly ajar. Jose's body hit Scott square in the back. The impact of Jose dead weight against him knocked the wind out of him and the force with which Jose had been hurled was enough to propel Scott and Jose through the hatch opening, pass the walkway and over the railing. Being thrown overboard, Scott and Jose would eventually have drowned but the fact that the bridge of The Rosemary was one hundred and fifty feet above the water line meant that Scott and Jose were killed instantly when their bodies impacted the concrete-like surface of the ocean's waves.

Antonio roared with laughter as he slowly walked to the hatch. He looked at it and, after a moment's thought, grabbed the edges of the hatch and ripped it off its hinges. He casually tossed the two hundred pound steel door overboard. He turned and walked the width of the bridge and opened the hatch on the other side of the ship. He then proceeded to rip that hatch off its hinges and threw it overboard too. He walked back to the center of the bridge and he began taking deep breaths as the fog began to seep into the bridge through the gaping holes that had once held the hatches. With each breath, Antonio felt a soothing calm. It was like no other feeling he had ever experience before. He felt totally at peace and for the first time in his life, he felt that he had finally found where he belonged. He belonged with the fog. He wanted to become part of the fog. He began to laugh with joy.

26.

Captain Rosnick could not believe what he had just happened. His first officer had been insubordinate then struck out and had killed two members of his crew. But not just killed, Reeves, or whatever Reeves had become, had ripped the two men apart without breaking a sweat. What was he to do now? What could he do that two younger and stronger men couldn't do? He shouldn't have wasted his time wondering because Reeves decided for him.

Reeves walked up to the Captain and grabbed him by the collar. Captain Rosnick did the only thing he could think of. He kicked Reeves in the groin. Reeves let go of the Captain's shirt and backed away in pain. Rosnick bolted out of his chair and headed for the port side hatchway in an attempt to escape. Reeves groaned in pain but realizing that the Captain might get away, dove for the man's feet. Reeves great height and strength propelled him across the control room to within inches of the fleeing Captain pants' leg. Reeves reached out and grabbed the back of the Captain's uniform. The Captain spun and with his free leg, kicked Reeves in the face. Reeves winced in pain and flung the Captains leg away causing the Captain to lose his balance and fall to the floor. Reeves got up and stood over the Captain. Reeves reached down, grabbed the Captain by the arms and lifted him straight up. He lifted him with such force that one of the Captain's shoes fell off his dangling feet. Reeves pounded the Captain's head against the ceiling of the control room until the Captain was unconscious. Reeves then lay the Captain on the deck to get a better grip on the unconscious man. He finally picked up the Captain by the wrapping one hand around the Captain's neck and by wrapping the other hand around the man's ankles. Reeves the picked him up and with all his strength threw the Captain against the three-inch thick glass of the control room's front window. The Captain's body smacked against the rigid glass with a sickening crunch as most of his bones shattered from the impact. The Captain's lifeless body left a snail's trail of blood as it slid down the glass, across the control panel and then thudded to the steel deck. Reeves laughed as he walked to control room's front window. He touched the blood on the glass and laughed harder. After a minute, he stopped laughing and examined the windows. The glass had cracked from the impact and had been jarred loose from its steel frame. Reeves smiled and pushed the glass out of its frame. The glass fell out and dropped sixty feet to the ship's cargo deck below. Reeves looked down at his feet at the twisted pile of flesh that had once been Captain Rosnick. He picked up the limp body and tossed it out the open window to the deck below.

Reeves felt free. He felt great. He had never felt so relaxed and happy. He smiled broadly as the fog began to fill the control room. He finally felt at peace. He took in deep breaths. He inhaled the sweet odor of the fog. He finally found out where he wanted to be. He wanted to be part of the sea, no; he wanted to be part of the fog.

PART III

27.

The U.S.S. NIMBUS and THE ROSMARY had been sailing in the fog for twenty hour when the ships came across a patch of open sea. Similar to the eye of a hurricane, the immense fog bank had a hole in the middle. Reeves and The NIMBUS were the first into the eye of the fog bank. Reeves instinctively threw his hands up to shield his eyes from the bright sunlight in the clear sky above the hole. After his eyes had adjusted, Reeves carefully looked around him and his ship. The fog was still there surrounding him but it wasn't connected to him anymore. It was far off in the distance and he became increasingly uneasy as the ship drew away from the fog's comforting edge. He needed to be part of the fog and didn't understand why he was here, outside of his beloved fog. He didn't like it and he became agitated. He began to pace back and forth across the control room. Sometimes he would stop to kick the lifeless forms that had once been Carter and Johnson. Why was he here? The fog had made him feel whole. Like he had finally achieved what everyone wants, complete inner peace. But now, the ship had sailed out of the fog. Surely the fog wasn't letting him go. That could never be. He belonged there and had felt that the fog had wanted him there too. Why else would have done what he did? He did it for the fog. But now he was here, as if drawn here. Why? What was the fog up to? What was he waiting for? He began to roar in anger. He didn't like it here anymore, he had to get back into the fog. He must keep the ship moving, surely the fog didn't intend for him to stay here forever.

At first he wasn't sure if he had really heard it then it happened again. A horn. He stopped pacing and listened. There, coming from inside the fog...a ship's horn. Reeves began to whirl back and forth; frantically trying to make out from which direction the sound was coming from. There! He heard it again. He turned to his right. There! It was coming from over there!

28.

Antonio felt great and he wanted the whole world to know about it. He began to sound the foghorn. God it was loud and it sounded great. He laughed and blew the horn again. It was great to be in the fog. Suddenly, the fog seem to thin and then to Antonio's horror, the ship was out of the fog! His hands shot up to protect his eyes from the bright sunlight. After a minute, he lowered his hands and his eyes fluttered open. He stared out and couldn't believe what he was before him. Straight ahead of him was a ship. It was a large cargo ship. A military cargo ship. What was it doing here? He began to feel agitated. He realized that the fog's soothing effect on him was weakening with each second that he was out of the fog. He began to panic. He must get back inside the fog.

Antonio began to spin the wheel and The ROSEMARY began to alter course, but not fast enough. The two ships were getting closer and closer. They were on a collision course.

29.

Reeves saw the other ship and began to scream at it. How dare it be here. This is my fog, he thought and the other ship had been in it too. "Go away! This is my fog," he screamed at the ship in the distance. He picked up his binoculars and looked at the ship. It was a cargo ship all right. He studied the bow as the ship began to turn away from him. THE ROSEMARY he mouthed as he studied her. He scanned the length of her and looked up at the bridge. There seemed to be only one person on the bridge and he too seemed upset.

30.

Antonio felt that something was horribly wrong. He had been loved and coddled by the fog and had let the ship sail on without him maintaining control. His beloved fog had led the ship to this exact spot. But why here and why was there another ship here too? He didn't like it here one bit. He was losing his sense of well-being. He could taste the iron in his blood as he became nervous. What was happening to him? He looked around him, confused. What had the fog done to him?

31.

Reeves was becoming more and more alarmed at the sight of the other ship. The other ship was heading right for him but the big man at the helm seemed to be trying to change the ship's course. Reeves stared at the man as he frantically turned the wheel. The ship was too slow to respond, they would collide, and there was no doubt about it. Reeves' mind began to whirl. Collision at sea. A sailor's worst nightmare. What would happen when the two ships would collide? Besides the loss of life and the sinking of the ship, what else would be lost? The cargo, Reeves finally realized. What was the ship hauling? Garbage for all he knew but the captain did seem agitated when he had called him. Fear grew in the pit of his stomach. He began to tear apart the bridge looking for the ship's manifest. He finally realized that it would probably be in the captain's quarters and he ran out of the bridge.

32.

Antonio felt it in his bones and his sea legs; the ship wasn't turning fast enough. The two ships would collide and it wouldn't be a clean collision. His ship's pointed prow would gouge out the entire length of the other ship's belly as it continued to turn slowly.

Antonio fell into a rage. He began to slam his massive fists against the ship's useless controls. How could this have happened? How could he have been so stupid? The cursed fog had tricked him and now he was going to die.

33.

Reeves burst into Captain Rosnick's quarters and practically dove across the Captain's desk. He grabbed the first drawer he saw and ripped it out of the desk. The contents spilled out and scattered across the floor. He took a quick glance but didn't see the manifest. He tore out the next drawer down and there it was. The large manila envelope sat there innocently. He picked it up and ripped the top off the envelope. His hand reached in and he pulled out the manifest. His eyes bore into the document and then he sat on the heels of his feet, his back against the wall. My god what were they hauling! Ensign Reeve's thoughts were interrupted, when he was slammed against opposite wall. His whole world had just shifted five feet to the left.

34.

Antonio tried to brace himself but he knew it would be useless. The huge ship's momentum was unstoppable. The ship's bow crumpled awkwardly, turning the huge metal bow into a jagged can opener. It tore and sliced through the side of the U.S.S. Nimbus as if it wasn't even there. The Nimbus began to tilt and roll into The Rosemary's jagged bow as the bow tore, grabbed and snagged its way through the Nimbus' bulkheads. The cargo holds were being torn open and their contents began breaking away from the straps which held them.

Reeves picked himself up as best as he could from the steel floor of Captain Rosnick's quarters. The ships had collided and he knew that his ship was getting the worst of it. The noise was almost unbearable to a seaman. The tearing metal groaned and shrieked as the ship was being gutted by the other ship. He could almost see the sides being torn open. He scrambled to his feet and stumbled out of the room. The constant tearing and jarring rocked the ship wildly. He tried to make his way back to the bridge. He had to be there. It was his responsibility. He was still a Naval Officer. He was slammed from wall to wall as he struggled to make his way through the passage out of Captain Rosnick's quarters. That's when he heard the first explosion. Cargo was beginning to fall and rupture. It wouldn't be long now, he thought. He finally reached the railing at the bottom of the staircase that lead to the bridge. The two ships were almost side by side now as The Rosemary slowly turned. Reeves made to the top of the staircase and stumbled onto the bridge. He grabbed hold of the captain's chair and dropped himself into it, gasping for breath.

35.

Antonio could also feel the slow destruction of his ship. The bow was collapsing onto itself and the bulkheads, and cargo bays behind it were now being crushed. Huge containers of fertilizers were toppling over or being punctured by the jagged edges of the torn metal. The nitrates in the fertilizer became airborne in huge clouds of fine white dust over each punctured drum. Metal against metal created sparks and the nitrate dust ignited. One by one the drums began to ignite. The burning fertilizer began a chain reaction of explosions as the burning fertilizer began to mix with the other cargo.

36.

Reeves stared at the fog through the bridge's shattered window. It was so far now. It looked as if it was thinning out too. Reeves wondered what had happened to him. He felt like he had been tricked and led like a defenseless sheep to slaughter. He wondered if the man on the other ship felt the same way and began to laugh at the thought. Two fools led by the nose, no, not led, seduced by the fog to this spot. For what? For a collision at sea? Could the fog be that smart? Could it possibly have known what would happen if these two ships collided? Was there intelligent life behind that fog or had his overactive imagination simply gotten the best of him.

Reeves turned to watch the other ship as it scraped by. He stared helplessly as the other ship tore into his beloved ship. After what seemed forever, the other ship's bridge came into view and Reeves finally saw the man on the other ship. He was holding onto his ship's control panel and screaming.

37.

Antonio had lost it. He knew his ship was doomed. He knew his life was doomed and he now knew that he had been fooled. The fog was dissipating and retreating from view. He knew it had fooled him into killing his shipmates and had brought him here. Here to kill again. He never hated anyone or anything more in his life than the cursed fog. He began to scream in anger and despair as his ship continued its death march across the other ships' side.

38.

The nitrates powder drifted into the other cargo hold and began to mix with the oils and other spilled chemicals. More sparks flew as the Nimbus' side was being ripped apart and the nitrates and other chemicals exploded into a huge fireball that tore The Rosemary from the inside out.

Antonio world ended in a flash as the exploding ship vaporized him.

Reeves was knocked out of his chair by the first large explosion that tore through The Rosemary. The following chain reaction, which vaporized Antonio also, killed Reeves, as he was blow through the bridge's ceiling. The next series of explosions sent burning debris and red-hot pieces of steel through the Nimbus' damaged cargo bays. One flying chard of steel found its mark as it punctured one of the 500-gallon containers of Tetrahydrochloride Disulfide II. The experimental nerve gas, which was jelled in its natural state, began to ooze out of its tank and spill out of the cargo bay. It oozed out of the ship's side and into the debris filled ocean. The burning debris was being fueled by the ship's diesel and the inferno was turning the jellied nerve agent into a lethal gas once more.

With The Rosemary's forward momentum energy spent, the burning hulk stopped moving and began to drag The Nimbus down towards its watery grave. The tanks of nerve agent began to shift and slide towards the opening in the side of the ship. As the tanks slid over the edge, they ruptured on the ship's jagged edge and their content spilled out into the burning water. More containers and cargo continued to fuel the fire resulting in a mixture of nerve gas, burning nitrates and diesel fuel that created a greasy lethal black cloud.

Two hours after the ships collided, the burning shells of The Rosemary and the U.S.S. Nimbus sank beneath the water's surface leaving behind small pieces of burning debris and an ever expanding toxic cloud that momentarily blotted the sun of the now clear Atlantic sky.

A hot summer breeze kicked up and began to slowly move the toxic cloud northward.

PART IV.

39.

"Don't you think you should start cooking before our guests start passing out from all the booze you've been giving them," Cherisse said as she winked at her husband.

"Yeah, I think they're ready," Bobby agreed and kissed her on the cheek. He rolled out of bed where they had just finished making love. They had discreetly excused themselves, separately of course, and met in their master suite. Cherisse was a tigress in bed and Bobby thanked his lucky star every night before he went to sleep. He smiled to himself; yeah he was the luckiest man.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go on," she prodded him as he stood there looking at her. When he had gotten up, he had 'accidentally' pulled the covers off of her. She knew what he was staring at and she didn't even move to cover herself. She lay there completely nude and he was just staring at her hard bronze body. "Go on," she repeated and laughed. He grumbled something about being ordered around and turned to go to the bathroom. She reached for the covers and laid back down. She laughed quietly, accidentally pulled the cover off me, yeah right, she thought. Bobby never did anything by accident.

After a minute, Bobby came out of the bathroom and got dressed. Cherisse stared at him. For an old man, she thought, he looked good. Bobby turned and caught her staring at him. He was instantly aroused again and smiled at her, and dropped his pants. She looked at him and shook her head, "Cook now, Tarzan," she said as she pointed to the door of their suite. Like a hurt child, his smile fell off his face and he pouted at her. "Go," was all she said and he pulled up his pants, turned and left the suite. He could hear her laughing with joy all the way down the hall as he made his way pass the other suite on his way to the spiral staircase at other end of the passage.

He climbed the staircase and found himself mid-ship of the yacht. Directly in front of him was the well-appointed galley. To his right was the wheel house and to his left was the main cabin, which served as living room and dining room and beyond the sliding glass doors, was the aft deck and his guests. They had spent and easygoing afternoon. After the judge had left Cherisse on the bow, he had retired to his room to brood and to read, leaving his grandson in the care of the jovial Mark Schwieker. Mark and Timmy had hit it off and had joined Pat fishing off the rear of the yacht. Gina, Pat's wife and Julie, Mark's wife were busy talking. They had found common ground to discuss: the love of food and the hate for Cherisse. Bobby smiled to himself, quite a bunch on this trip: a clown with his diet challenged wife, a living kewpie doll and his fat obnoxious wife, a sexually frustrated judge and a kid. What a bunch, he laughed quietly to himself as he walked into the galley. He turned and opened the custom-built stainless steel refrigerator and pulled out the tray of meat the caterers had prepared for him. Bobby Cole liked to cook and entertain but he wasn't that domesticated. Caterers were well worth the money. They had the ship's refrigerators packed with goodies. All he had to do was to throw them in the oven or in this case, cook it on the Jen-Air grill. He pulled out the tray of filet mignons which had been wrapped in bacon and the shrimp and scallop shish kabobs. He shut the refrigerator door with the heel of his foot and walked to the glass door that separated the main cabin from the aft deck. He rapped his knuckle lightly against the shatterproof glass and smiled his brightest smile. Gina was the first to notice Bobby and practically fell out of her chair trying to get to the door. She dashed forward and grabbed the sliding glass doors brass handle. "Whoa, easy there Gina, wouldn't want you to get hurt," Bobby smiled at her. She backed away from him as if he was carrying a delicate porcelain tray.

"What have you got there, Bobby," she asked greedily. Bobby could almost hear her saliva glands starting up.

"Filet mignon and sea-kabobs from La Maison," Bobby said nonchalantly.

"La Maison!" Gina practically screamed in delight. La Maison was by far Charleston's finest French restaurants. Like Pavlov's dog at the sound of the bell, Gina's stomach began to rumble for the delicacies.

"Look good?" Bobby asked Gina. He was clearly toying with her now. He couldn't believe the look in her eyes. She was transfixed on the platter; she had the look of a teenage boy who had his first look at a naked centerfold. Bobby thought about moving the platter from side to side to see if her gaze would follow but thought better. He didn't think he could keep himself from laughing at the poor woman. He turned his back to her; he though he heard her gasp, and place the platter on the shelf next to the Jen-Air grill built into the side of the aft-deck. He lifted the lid on the glistening white ceramic grill and turned on the gas. Normally the first thing you would hear would be the soft hiss of the gas being fed to the burner followed by a machine-gun like staccato of the electric starter that would ignite the gas, but that didn't happen. The gas hissed but the starter didn't ignite. Bobby muttered a curse and shut off the gas. He waved his hand over the grill to dissipate the gas and bent down to look under the grill. He removed the padded front of the grill and looked inside the grill. The small electric starter was there as it should be, but it didn't work. It had been broken for a while now and Bobby had included a request for its repair when the yacht had been detailed. They must have over looked it. Bobby would have a word with Brian, the maintenance supervisor at the marina, and it wouldn't be a kind word. Bobby stood up and looked at his guests. "Anyone have a match?" Silence fell upon the deck. His guest stared back at him. Bobby began to look down at his clothes to see if he had dropped something on his crotch. He smiled nervously and turned. He hated feeling stupid and Brian and the marina's owners would hear about this.

40.

The toxic cloud rolled and broiled in upon itself like a frothing mixture in a witch's cauldron. It had separated itself from the burning sinking wreckage of The Rosemary and U.S.S. Nimbus and was heading northwest carried by the prevailing trade winds.

A small flock of eight white seagulls flew into the cloud. As if it were alive, the cloud sensed the presence of the birds and began to contract in upon itself as if to make itself denser and more toxic. The chemical composition of the cloud began to change. The seagull's started to feel the effects of the cloud and the beat of their wings began to falter. Their eyes began to bleed and their blood-spattered feathers started falling off one by one. Their breathing became labored and their hearts rates accelerated until, finally, their small hearts exploded within their chests. The cloud absorbed the birds' chemical makeup as it drained them of their life. The decimated bird's lifeless carcasses fell from the sky into an uncaring sea

The cloud had changed. The small spark of life it had encountered ignited the cloud into consciousness. Whereas before it was simply a mindless cloud, the seagull now had awakened it. Their rudimentary intelligence was now the clouds. New chemicals had just been added and a new hunger had just been introduced. The cloud moved on searching for life and for food.

41.

"Dinner is served," Bobby said in his best pompous Maître d' voice. Of course Gina was first in line, as he knew she would be. "Hi, Gina," he said to her while doing his best not to laugh at her avarice, "what would you like?"

"Yes," was all she said while staring at the food.

"Uh?" Bobby said momentarily confused. Then he realized that she probably wanted a little bit of everything. He smiled at her and began to fill her plate like a charming host would. Once her plate was filled, Gina turned and sat at the nearest chair she could find. It had been a beautiful, warm day and Bobby had decided to set up a table with chairs for his guests on the aft deck so they could enjoy their dinner outside. He had opened six bottles of his finest wines, Merlot for the filet and Chablis for the seafood, and had poured each guest a glass of their choosing. As Bobby served the rest of his guest, he would steal glances towards Gina to see how she was doing. He couldn't believe what he seeing. This demure woman was eating like a truck driver. She was wolfing down expensive cuts of filet mignon as if she was popping M&Ms. For a minute he wondered if she would lick the plate clean when she finished grazing.

Once everyone was served, Bobby joined his guests. His wife had decided to take a nap instead of dining with the guests. She didn't eat dinner anyway. She preferred to have a few drinks instead of dinner and a light snack before she went to bed. The judge ate quietly avoiding eye contact with Bobby. Timmy, the judge's grandson, had long ago given up on having fun with the adults and had turned his attention to reading a book. It was Stephen King's 'From a Buick Eight'. This was supposed to be Stephen King's last book. A funny thought struck Bobby and he turned to Timmy, "Hey, Timmy. I understand that the book your reading is supposed to be Stephen King's last book." The boy looked up at him and nodded and Bobby continued, "I bet the trees of the world are breathing a collective sigh of relief, eh?" The boy looked at Bobby coldly and turned his attention back to the book. Bobby's smile fell off his face and he looked at Gina. Bad move. She was looking right at him. "Yes?" he said cordially.

"More please," was all she said.

Visions of Oliver Twist shot through Bobby's mind but he dismissed them quickly. "Sure, my dear," he said as he longingly looked at his plate which was quickly getting cold. He got up and grumbled softly to himself. He wondered where she was putting it all. Who knows, he thought, maybe she's bulimic and will end up throwing it all up after dinner. Oliver twist wouldn't throw up his meal he thought as he filled another plate for the bottomless pit of a woman.

When he got back to the table the group was talking about the Bermuda Triangle. "Yeah, I've heard that too," said Mark. Bobby noticed that Mark, Gina's husband, barely looked at her while she ate. He must be really sick of her eating habits, he thought.

"What have you heard, Mark?" Bobby said as he handed Gina her plate. She snatched it out of his hand.

"Timmy and I got to talking and he mentioned that he was into the Bermuda Triangle and he mentioned a story about an Air Force fighter squadron that disappeared back in the late 40's."

Bobby looked at Timmy and figured he could make up ground he had lost with the tree joke. Bobby sat down. Took a bite of his meat. It was cold. Grimaced and swallowed it and looked up at Timmy. "You know, we are near the triangle now," he said.

"I thought that was further south," Pat Deats said through a mouthful of food.

"Yes, the Bermuda Triangle as the legend goes is further south but there have been incidents all around the triangle. There have been documented cases of rogue waves sinking pirate ships, strange gas bubbles from the bottom of the ocean capsizing cargo ships, even strange fog banks overtaking ships and sending them off course." He paused and looked at Timmy, "Did you ever hear the story of the Ellen Austin?"

"No," the boy visually perked up at the prospect of hearing a new story about the triangle.

Bobby smiled and began, "In August of 1861, the Ellen Austin was on a voyage from England to Newfoundland, Canada. A bit north of the triangle wouldn't you say?" he asked not expecting an answer.

"Yeah," Pat said. His wife, Julie looked at him and giggled.

Bobby was momentarily thrown but continued, "Well, she was sailing along and her lookout shouted 'Ship ahoy!' The captain rushed to the deck and began to look at the horizon. And there it was, a ship. The other ship showed no sign of life and the captain hoped that the ship was adrift because if it was, he could recover her under international law as salvage and he could sell her. They put together a small boarding party, lowered one of their lifeboats and rowed to the other ship. They called out as they neared the mysterious ship but there was no answer. They tied up against her and boarded the ship.

Everything looked normal at first since both of the ship's lifeboats were still tied to the side of the ship but the ship was eerily quiet. They went down to the crews' cabins and found everything neat and orderly. There was no sign of the crew anywhere. There was absolutely no clue as to where the crew had gone or why. The captain decided that she had been abandoned and claimed her as salvage.

The captain of the Ellen Austin put his second in command in charge of a small crew to sail the ghost ship back to Newfoundland where they would sell the ship.

The two ships sailed side by side heading west. A few hours after dusk, they sailed into a thick bank of white fog. Neither crew could see for more than a few yards in any direction. The crew of the Ellen Austin began to worry but the captain told them to maintain course and they would see each other in the morning.

When the sun rose, the other ship was gone. It was as if it had sailed off the face of the earth. The Ellen Austin began searching the area for the other ship. After a few hours they spotted her on the horizon. It was way off course they sailed to meet her. When they finally neared the lost ship, the crew of the Ellen Austin began to yell for their friends. There was no answer. The captain ordered another boarding party onto the ship. The rowed to her and boarded her. The captain and his boarding party began to look around for their shipmates but they too had vanished. There was no sign of them. It was as if they had never been there. The frightened sailors left the ship and sailed away as quickly as they could. The ghost ship was abandoned once again," Bobby finished and sat quietly. Everyone had stopped eating, even Gina, to listen to his story.

"Do you think there are ghost ships?" Timmy asked him.

"I don't know," Bobby said, "but I do know that there is fog out there."

"Fog is a natural occurrence," Mark said calmly, not looking up from his food.

"Sure, we see it every morning on Charleston Bay," his wife chimed in.

"Yeah, but is all fog, good fog?" Bobby said with a smile in his voice.

"Stop it. You'll frightened the boy," the judge grumbled from across the table.

"Grandpa," Timmy protested, "I'll be just fine. I like this kind of stuff," he said as he shook the Stephen King book at his grandfather. Just then the string of lights around the canopy overhead came on. Everyone including Bobby jumped startled. They all looked at Bobby who began to laugh. They all stared at him waiting to be let in on the joke.

"They're on a timer. It must be getting late," he said between chuckles. Everyone else began to laugh and relax.

42.

The cloud was getting closer. The strong winds that had carried it this far had also stretched, dispersed and weakened the cloud. It looked more like a fog bank than the toxic cloud that had drifted away from the two burning ships. The cloud may have weakened but it still felt the hunger it had discovered when it encountered the unfortunate seagulls.

A lone seagull far from shore, flew eastward to find food. The one legged seagull approached a fog bank and dove down to see the ocean surface. As it entered the fog as uneasy feeling came over the gull. It grew weaker and disoriented. The gull immediately turned sharply away from the fog bank. Having lost a leg to a fishing line, the gull had learned to react to any form of a threat, but the damage was done. The gull regained some of its equilibrium but an overwhelming hunger soon overtook its pea sized brain. The gull's vision began to blur as its eyes became cloudy. The stricken gull dove blindly into the ocean hoping to find food at any cost. It dove again and again in a feverish attempt to feed its maddening appetite.

The cloud had felt a faint presence when the gull entered but the bird hadn't stayed long enough for the cloud to feed on it but on the horizon, a pearl white yacht bobbed in the calm ocean waters. Party lights were on and a small group of people were eating on its aft deck. The cloud sensed life throbbing on the back of that yacht and drifted towards it.

43.

"Dessert?" Gina asked. Everyone stopped eating and looked up at her. Pat and his wife, Julie looked at each other and smiled. They had seen this before. Food addiction. The judge stared at her and Timmy looked up from his book. Bobby couldn't believe it. Did this woman ever stop eating? Bobby turned and looked at Gina's husband, Mark, hoping he would say something but he was the only one who wasn't staring. Mark was using his fork to swirl a piece of steak in béarnaise sauce.

"Wait 'til everyone else is done, dear," Mark said patiently as if he was talking to an ill-mannered child.

Bobby rolled his eyes and noticed a sea gull circling his yacht. Bobby stared at it and somehow felt a twinge of recognition when he looked at it. It couldn't be he thought as he stared at it. Could it be the same gull as the one he saw this morning, but how many one legged seagulls could there be. He smiled as he remembered how he had worried that the gull would crap on his boat. But something didn't look right with the gull. It seemed wobbly as it flew and it began to circle closer and closer to the yacht. The gull appeared to fall the last few feet as it crashed onto the top of the yacht's fly bridge. Bobby glanced at his guess but no one seemed to have noticed. Bobby looked back at the gull, and to his horror, the bird hopped onto its leg and threw up all over the fly bridge's roof. The gull shook the last gooey bits from its beak and flew off. Bobby cursed softly but his attention was drawn elsewhere.

"Oh, look," said Timmy excitedly. Bobby looked to where Timmy was pointing to see what appeared to be a slow moving fog bank approaching the yacht.

In a high pitched voice that reminded everyone of Glenda the Good Witch of the North from the Wizard of Oz, Mark asked Bobby, "Is this a good fog or a bad fog?" and everyone laughed. Everyone except Timmy.

As the fog bank neared, Pat stopped chewing and began to inhale deeply. Bobby noticed Pat inhaling then the inhaling turned to sniffing the air. Bobby began to sniff the air expecting the cool moist smell of a fine mist of fog but instead cringed. The fog that was now engulfing the yacht smelled awful. Others began to notice too and they started to look at each other. Timmy stared hard at Bobby. Bobby grew uncomfortable at the boy's stare and shrugged as if saying that it wasn't his fault.

Everyone sat quietly as the fog slowly engulfed the whole yacht. Bobby's eyes darted from person to person. They all looked uncomfortable with the situation. The fog definitely smelled odd.

44.

The cloud was overwhelmed with the strength of the life forces on the yacht. It soaked as much energy as its weakened state would allow. It swirled slowly around the yacht and probed around the beings. Part of the cloud was absorbed into the being's skin and lungs as the beings inhaled. The cloud's size shrank slightly but regained strength from the energy it soaked up from the beings.

Timmy happened to look down at his plate while the fog engulfed him and couldn't believe what he was seeing. His filet, which he had found to be too rare to eat, had sat untouched in a pool of blood. As he stared, the piece of meat seemed to shrink as the blood evaporated from the plate. It was as if it was life was being drained from it. In sheer panic he pushed his plate away and it slid across the table and knocked Julie's glass of wine onto her lap. She shrieked and sprang up. Her massive thighs caught the edge of the table and knocked everybody else's glass of wine over. For a minute it was sheer pandemonium. People were yelling, snatching plates away from approaching waves of wine or trying to stand up and bumping into the next person creating more havoc. Arms flew, food flew and wine splashed everyone.

"Stop!" Bobby yelled and everyone froze. They all stood there looking foolish. Julie had a big red satin on her crotch from the wine, Pat had a filet balancing on the top of his fat gut, the judge was standing there holding a fork in one hand and a steak knife in the other, Mark had a shrimp in his hair, Gina looked as if she was about to cry and Timmy looked scared. Bobby cleared his throat to get everyone's attention and smiled, "I don't know about you, but I'm ready for dessert." Mark looked at Pat and began to laugh. Then the judge and Julie began to laugh. Finally Gina began to laugh. Bobby felt himself relax and began to laugh too. Everyone was laughing, everyone but Timmy.

The cloud passed through the ship replenished yet smaller. The wind carried it past the yacht and the air cleared.

"May I be excused?" Timmy asked to no one in particular. He was ignored. They were still laughing. Laughter brought on from too much booze and a silly situation. "May I be excused?" he screamed above the laughter. This time they heard him. The laughter began to slow and finally stopped. The judge nodded to his grandson and Timmy picked his book off the floor, turned and left the aft deck. He opened the sliding glass door to the main cabin area, made his way to the spiral staircase and went downstairs. He entered his cabin and shut the door.

He sat on the edge of his bed and wondered if he really had seen what he thought he had seen. Could it simply have been his Stephen King activated imagination or had the steak really been drained?

He lay on his bed turned on the light on the side table and opened his book. He couldn't read right away, he had to wait a minute for his hands to stop shaking.

PART V.

45.

Julie felt guilty for the calamity and had helped Bobby clean up the mess. They had dessert quietly and after dinner brandy. Cherisse finally joined the group looking as gorgeous as ever. At first she seemed confused by the mess on the aft deck and the stained and disheveled guests but she recovered quickly as smiled. The judge wouldn't look at her but Pat sure did. "Good evening, Mrs. Cole," he had said but the way he had said it had made Bobby mad and Pat's wife, Julie, jealous. The impression had been that what he really had said was: God I'd love to jump your bones. Bobby tried to ignore it, after all, that what the kind of reaction she was trying to get, but it still bothered him. Julie on the other hand did not try to ignore it and she fumed quietly the rest of the night. Mark was jovial as ever and Gina stared at Cherisse like a star struck kid. Bobby was beginning to feel sorry for Gina. The woman was obviously miserable with her looks and look to food for comfort.

The evening finally ended when the judge fell asleep on the lounge chair and his snoring became too loud for normal conversations around him to be heard. Everyone retired to their staterooms for bed.

PART VI

47.

An ear splitting scream woke Bobby out of a sound sleep. Cherisse bolted upright and turned on the light next to their bed. "What the hell was that?" Bobby said as he stepped out of bed. He grabbed a pair of pants off the back of the chair next to their bed and Cherisse threw on a white silk robe over her sleepwear, a pair of white lace panties and a white silk chemise. Bobby darted to the solid oak door of their stateroom and flung it open. They found Pat, Julie, Mark and Gina staring back at them. Bobby jumped back startled, "God, you almost gave me a heart attack."

"Did you hear that scream?" Gina blurted out to Bobby. The woman immediately took notice of Cherisse's outfit and so did the men.

"Yeah," he said as calmly as he could. "Where are the judge and Timmy?"

"Judge?" Cherisse called out.

No answer came. "We'd better take a look," Pat offered.

Bobby passed through the crowd and knocked on the door to the judge's stateroom. "Judge? Are you okay?" There was no answer from inside. Bobby turned around and looked at Cherisse. She shrugged and stared back at him. He turned back at the door and cleared his throat. "Judge!" he said more forcefully. There was no answer. He reached for the brass doorknob and was startled by an unfamiliar sound coming from the other side of the door. It sounded like a whimper. More like a dog's whimper and Bobby knew there were no dogs on board. The sound made the small hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He turned the knob and slowly opened the door.

The first thing that assaulted his senses was the smell of the room. The room reeked of vomit and feces. He flipped on the light switched and fought back the bile that was quickly rising up his throat. Pat and Mark, the taller member of the crowd behind gasped at the sight. Thankfully their backs blocked their wives' view. Bobby turned and looked at them, "Ladies, give us a minute please," and he nodded to the men who followed him into the room.

"Bobby Cole, who do you think you are? You can't tell us 'womenfolk' to stay back while you he-man handle the situation. Let me in" Cherisse protested. She shouldered her way through the men and stepped into the room. Her hand immediately flew to her mouth to stifle a scream. Her once beautifully decorated room, done in fall colors of orange and earth tones looked more like a war-torn battlefield. There was a pool of green vomit by her feet and spatters of blood on the doorframe, the carpet and the walls. She looked to her left and saw the judge. She instantly knew he was dead. The poor man's left arm dangled off the edge of the bed and his eyes were wide open. His gray pajamas were a mess. He had vomited all over his chest and there was a tell-tale wet spot on the tan cotton sheets over his crotch. She approached him carefully and looked down at him. The stench almost knocked her back. The green vomit on the judge's chest and sheets smelled awful. Worse than anything she had ever smelled before. The man's eyes were blood red and there was a trickle of blood dripping from his left ear. She turned and looked for Timmy. He wasn't in his bed and bed looked as if it had also been through hell. The sheets had been pulled off the mattress and the mattress had been knocked off the bed frame. She crossed the room and entered the stateroom's private bathroom. It was too much for her and she screamed. The men rush into the room and piled up behind her. In the once glistening bathroom accented in gold fixtures and orange and red towels sat Timmy. He was sitting in a pool of vomit in the corner of the room. He was whimpering quietly as his head lulled from left to right as if he didn't have the strength to keep it straight.

"Oh, you poor thing," Cherisse finally said as she knelt next to the boy. She carefully examined him. His light blue pajamas were soaked with sweat turning them dark blue. His once carefully groomed blond hair was now a greasy mess and he smelled of urine. His eyes were totally bloodshot and the corner of his eyes were crusty with a yellow puss-like substance. "Bobby, pass me a wet towel," she whispered over her shoulder. Bobby yanked a fluffy orange towel from the gold towel rod and put under the sink faucet. He noticed that there were chunks of bloody meat in the sink. He didn't want to think too much about that and closed his eyes as he turned on the cold water. Once the towel was wet he handed it to Cherisse. She dabbed the boy face and was shocked to feel the boy warmth through the thick towel. She touched his forehead and quickly drew back her hand. "He's burning up," she said with growing concern. She used the towel and tried to clean up the front of his pajamas. "Bobby," she began, "the judge."

"Oh, yeah," Bobby said absentmindedly. He turned and with the help of Pat and Mark cleaned up the judge as best they could. Bobby was amazed at how calm Cherisse had been. How she had controlled her emotions during the initial few minutes. The shock must have been great. Now she seemed in complete control as if dormant motherly instinct had been awaken. He marveled at how she had begun to take care of Timmy. He had liked the newfound emotion and was beginning to regret not having children with her. Maybe after this mess is all over they would try to have children of their own.

"Bobby," Cherisse's voice called out the bathroom, "I'm going to take Timmy into our room and try to make him comfortable."

"Okay," Bobby said. Cherisse picked up the young boy and left the room. The other wives just stood there open mouthed as she walked by with the sick child.

"Cole," Pat whispered, "what happened here?"

"I don't know but we have to report this," he said as he nodded toward the judge's body which was now covered by a leaf-patterned blanket.

"How?" Mark asked.

"Ship to shore radio," Bobby said matter-of-factly. It's required. Every ship has to have one. I'll contact the Coast Guard." He turned and began to walk out. The other two men just stood there not knowing what to do. "Come on," Bobby said to them as if talking to two children.

"Pat?" Julie asked as Pat walked pass his wife. Pat could tell she was scared.

"The judge is dead. Heart attack, I think. We're going to call the Coast Guard," he said. The three men climbed the circular stairs and went to the yacht's wheelhouse.

48.

Timmy could smell her. She smelled fresh and powdery. He could feel her cool chest and arms against his warm body. She put him on the edge of the bed and carefully took off his pajama top. She had wet another towel and was wiping it across his chest. His eyes were hurting him and he began to squint.

"Are you okay?" Cherisse asked him but Timmy didn't hear her. She was kneeling in from of him and her robe had fallen open. He could see her firm round breasts and her flat firm stomach. He saw her full lips move and wondered how they would...taste. He was hungry and was getting hungrier by the minute. His stomach had thrown up everything he had eaten and now he wanted food. It was a hunger like none he had ever experienced before. He wanted food and he wanted it now! He leaned forward and approached Cherisse. Cherisse thought that this was a sick teen's sexual advance and began to smile at the poor misguided boy. His lips touched hers and was about to push him back when she felt his teeth sink into her lower lip.

She shrieked in pain as her flesh began to tear away. She tried to stand up but the boy had grabbed her by the shoulders and was hanging on. They staggered backwards as her blood began to spot the white carpeting. Their bodies slammed against the partially open wooden doors and the door slammed shut. He had ripped her lower lip off her face. She was delirious with fear and pain and began thrashing against the door in an effort to get away from Timmy. Timmy spit out the chunk of flesh that had once been Cherisse's lower lip onto the carpet. He had just noticed her long, beautifully tanned neck. With an animal like growl, he threw himself at her. He sank his teeth into her soft neck and began to tug. She screamed and kicked at him but he wouldn't let go. Her feet dug into the carpet as she kicked frantically. He was tearing chunks out of her neck until finally he bit through her jugular vein. Dark red blood squirted into his mouth and his eyes rolled back in pleasure. Blood was overflowing and dripping down his face onto Cherisse's white silk robe. She was weakening quickly and Timmy knew it would soon be over and he would be able to enjoy his kill.

49.

Cherisse's initial scream startled Gina and Julie who had gone into Timmy's room to get him new pajamas. Cherisse had wanted to clean him up and had asked them to see if they could find clean clothes for the boy. The two women looked at each other and knew it meant trouble. They ran to Cherisse and Bobby's stateroom. They were about the push the door open when it slammed against their outstretched hands. Gina looked at Julie baffled. The screams from inside the stateroom took on a new urgency and Gina and Julie began to get scared. They started banging their fists against the oak door and shouting for Cherisse.

50.

"What the hell was that now?" Mark asked at the first of Cherisse's screams. Bobby dropped the ship to shore's hand held microphone, pushed his way passed Mark and Pat and bolted out of the wheelhouse. The other two men took off after him. In an avalanche of footfalls, the three men descended the spiral staircase and ran down the passage to Bobby's stateroom.

"What's happening," a wide eyed Bobby shouted to the two women banging their hands against the door.

"I don't know. She told us to get clothes for Timmy and when we left the room we heard screaming. We ran here and the door slammed in our faces. We can't get in and they won't answer," Gina blurted in one breath.

Bobby shoved Gina and Julie out of the way and tried to push the door open. "Cherisse!" he screamed in fear. Gina and Julie noticed that the noise on the other side of the door had stopped. Bobby looked down and blood was beginning to ooze out from under the doorframe. "Cherisse!" Bobby screamed again. Mark and Pat saw that Bobby was beginning to panic and jumped to his help. The three men struggled against the door until finally, it slowly open.

The minute the door moved Cherisse's limp body fell over behind the door. Bobby pushed the door harder and stumbled into the room. He slipped on the blood soaked rug and fell face down near the foot of the bed. He looked down at his blood soaked shirt and pants and began to fear the worst. He looked up and saw Timmy sitting cross-legged on the bed, his face, chest arms and legs drenched in dark arterial blood; the once white silk sheets were now red with blood. He was chomping and gnawing on a large piece of meat. "Cherisse?" he called out hoping for an answer. He rolled over and looked behind him. There, she was behind the door. He couldn't see all of her but her legs were protruding from behind the door. He crawled on all four towards her, calling out her name. Pat and Mark stood in the doorway dumbstruck by the scene before them.

"Cherisse?" Bobby whispered as he reached the door. He pushed the door aside and he screamed in anguish. Her dead eyes stared back at him. Her robe and legs were soaked in blood. Part of her face had been torn off, her neck had a gaping hole in its side and a huge chunk had been taken out of her left upper thigh. Bobby's mind snapped. The horror, the lost, and the end of his life with the woman he loved. He thought of Timmy just sitting there. Timmy, the meat, Cherisse. "No!" he screamed as he got up and lunged towards the bed and Timmy.

Not knowing what was behind the door, the two men snapped to action when they saw Bobby dive for Timmy. They rushed into the room and tried to stop Bobby. Bobby reached Timmy first.

He slapped the meat out of Timmy's hand and went for Timmy's throat. One of Bobby's massive hands could easily have wrapped itself around Timmy's thin neck but Bobby wanted to use both hands. He grabbed the boy by the neck as the two men finally reached Bobby. It was a desperate struggle. Timmy hissed at Bobby as Bobby spat curses at the boy and Mark and Pat pulled at Bobby's arms.

Bobby dropped Timmy and the boy attacked back. He bit Pat's hand and jumped on top of Bobby. Like a cowboy riding a mad bull the boy clung to Bobby's back. Timmy was about to sink his teeth into Bobby shoulder when Bobby threw his arm over his shoulder and managed to grab the boy by the hair. He jerked the boy from his back in one swift motion and slammed Timmy to the ground. The boy landed hard and was momentarily stunned. He laid there staring up at Bobby. An evil smile crept on Bobby's face and he dropped onto the boy. This time he wouldn't let go. He knelt over the boy's stomach, dropped his entire six-foot two hundred thirty pound frame on him and slowly, deliberately moved his hands closer and closer towards the boy's throat. Timmy reached and tried to attack Bobby's face as Mark and Pat looked on in horror. Bobby simply slapped away Timmy's animal-like attempts to scratch at his face. Bobby's hands found their mark and he slowly began to squeeze Timmy's throat. The boy eyes widened as fear and desperation set in. He tried to squirm away from under the man but Bobby was too big and heavy. Mark and Pat tried to pull Bobby's arms away but he was too strong and insane with revenge.

Bobby's need for revenge took over him and he kept squeezing and squeezing until the thing beneath him didn't move anymore. The boy's body went limp and his arms flopped to the floor. Bobby kept on squeezing until he heard a snapping sound.

The boy was dead long before Bobby snapped his neck.

Bobby was panting from exertion and he sat back on the rug to catch his breath. Mark and Pat finally let go and collapsed on the rug too. Over their shoulder the three could hear Gina and Julie crying. Bobby Cole realizing what he had just done, covered with his face with blood his soaked hands and began to cry too.

"Bobby. Bobby," Pat began with growing alarm in his voice, "what have you done?"

"Look!" Bobby screamed at the two men as he turned and pointed at Cherisse's corpse. Pat and Mark turned and finally saw Cherisse behind the door.

"Oh my God," Pat whispered. Mark's jaw dropped open and he finally understood what had set Booby off.

"Look at what he did," Bobby mumbled and sobbed again.

Gina and Julie stepped into the room holding onto each other. "What's happening? Have we all gone mad?" Gina asked between tears.

"What are we gonna do now?" Julie asked her husband, hysteria rising in her voice. Both men walked to their wives and hugged them.

"We'll take care of it," Pat said, "The Coast Guard are on their way. Everything will be fine."

"But he killed a boy," Gina cried.

"Self-defense, dear," Pat began, "it'll be alright," he said not too convincingly.

"What about Bobby," Gina asked with growing concern. Pat and Mark looked at each other. They turned from their wives and went over to the grieving man.

"Bobby," Mark said as calmly as possible, "let's go."

"What? Let's go where?" he asked, confused and disoriented.

"Upstairs," Mark continued, "Come on." Mark and Pat coaxed Bobby to his feet and practically had to carry him out of the room.

As they passed their wives Gina looked at her husband, "Mark?" she asked as if asking for instructions.

"Come upstairs," he said calmly. She looked at him confused and she looked at the blood soaked scene. Sensing her dilemma he said, "Just shut the door, babe. Just shut the door."

51.

When they reached upstairs, something clicked on in Bobby's posture stiffened. He broke from Mark and Pat's grasp and ran into the main cabin. He tore open a mahogany paneled door which revealed a fully stocked bar. Bobby grabbed the first bottle he saw, it was Absolute Vodka. He tore off the cap and took a deep, long pull from the bottle. Pat was amazed. It looked as if Bobby was sucking down drinking water. Gina looked at Mark, "I sure could use a drink too," she said laughing and crying at the same time. Mark stepped around Bobby and began pouring whiskey into glasses.

Once they all had a stiff drink in their hand, Pat, Julie, Mark and Gina sat in the couches of the main cabin. Bobby just stood with his back against the bar and drank. He seemed to be in shock. It made Mark nervous to watch Bobby. He just stood there taking long pulls from the vodka bottle and staring into nothingness.

"Do you think he'll be all right?" Mark asked Pat.

"I don't know," Pat said quietly, "all I know is that if I were him, I'd be nuts by now."

"I think he did." Mark said softly, nodding his head towards the cabins.

'What should we do now?" Gina asked, still crying.

"Keep an eye on him and let him be," Pat answered, then took a drink from his glass.

"No," Gina began, "I mean, what should we do about what happened downstairs?" she asked again. Julie, who had buried her face in her husband's chest as if hiding from the situation, nodded furiously.

"Listen," Mark said, "I don't know what we should do. All I know is that we got a hold of the Coast Guard and they should be here by morning. In the meantime, I think we should try to stay calm."

Julie's head popped up, "Stay calm! Stay calm! Are you crazy? Do you know what happened down there? Did you see what that boy did to her?" she screamed at him.

"Yes," Mark began, "I saw it too. It was horrible..."

"Horrible!" Julie interrupted; "He ate her!" she sobbed. "Ate her," she whispered as tears flowed down her face. From across the room, Bobby groaned slightly. Mark tried to shush her.

"Keep it down, will you? God knows how he'll react to all this," he said nodding towards Bobby.

"She's right," Gina chimed in also sobbing. "What happened to them?"

Mark looked at her and tried to keep growing anger out of his voice, "I don't know, but we have to keep it together."

"Do you think it was the food?" Pat asked matter-of-factly.

Mark glared at him, "No, I don't think it was the food or we'd all be sick too."

"What about the fog?" Pat pressed on.

"Are you kidding me?" Mark snapped at him. "What, do you believe in that cock and bull story Bobby told us at dinner?"

"I don't know," Pat said pensively, "but it sure didn't smell like fog."

"What was it then?" Mark threw back at it, in a sharp tone.

"It smelled bad, almost like chemicals," Pat offered.

"What? In the middle of the ocean," Mark almost laughed. "You have got to be kidding."

"You never know," Pat said defensively.

"Are you trying to tell me that you think the fog was a mysterious chemical cloud from God knows where?"

"I don't know. I guess so," he stammered.

"Come on," Mark said dismissingly as he waved his hand at him. Mark looked up and saw Bobby stagger from behind the bar. He walked past the group as if they weren't there and walked in the galley area. Mark watched him lean against the counter as he reached for the refrigerator door. Bobby hand missed the handle and he lost his balance. He slumped to the floor and the vodka bottle slipped out of his hand and rolled across the floor. Everyone else turned to see but Bobby had disappeared behind the counter. The bottle banged against the bottom of the cabinets and rolled back against Bobby's hand as the yacht gently rocked with the motion of the ocean's waves.

"Mark?" Pat asked as if looking for an explanation.

"I think Bobby passed out on the galley floor," he answered.

"Do you think he'll be alright?" Gina asked wiping tears from her eyes.

"It might be the best thing for him. If he's lucky, he'll sleep the rest of the night and he'll wake up when the Coast Guard get here."

"Should we move him?" she continued.

"No," he said firmly, "let the poor man sleep," he finished in a quiet voice.

"What should we do now," Julie asked.

Pat looked at her and smiled, "Well, I don't know about the rest of you but this drink is doing the trick and I'm ready to go back to bed."

"Back to bed?" Julie said with an edge of panic in her voice.

Pat laughed, "I think you need another drink."

"Yeah," Mark agreed, "I think we could all use another one but I think Mark is right and we should go back to bed."

Pat got up and served everyone else another drink. After they finished them they all went to bed leaving Bobby snoring on the galley floor.

PART VII

52.

Mark rolled over in bed and reached out for his wife. His hand landed on cool sheets. His eyes fluttered open and he began looking for her. He patted the sheets as if she was hiding in them. His liquored voice croaked out her name, "Gina?" There was no answer. He propped himself up on his right elbow and peered over the edge of the bed. Maybe she had rolled off? Nothing. He looked away from the bed and he finally saw something. There was a sliver of light coming from under the bathroom door. "Gina," he called out a little louder but again there was no response. After a second in the dark there finally was a response from the bathroom, if you want to call it a response. Mark heard it clearly. Gina was vomiting in the bathroom. He sighed in relief. That was nothing new for her she was prone to vomiting at night. Bulimia is what they call it, Mark thought. She ate too much and was now purging her stomach so she wouldn't gain any weight. Mark shook his head sadly and rolled over and tried to get back to sleep.

Gina had never felt so bad in her life. Her stomach ached and her eyes burned. Her arms and legs were quivering from exertion as her body tensed again for another go at the toilet. She vomited again and fought to catch her breath. She panted over the green swirling pool of vomit that filled the toilet. She vomited again and it poured into the toilet bowl and some it splashed back at the walls and her face. She sat back on her heals and wiped her face with her shaking hands. She began to cry. What was going on? Her stomach didn't give her a chance to think much farther than to find the toilet. She vomited again.

Mark couldn't go back to sleep even though he was both physically and emotionally exhausted. Gina's vomiting was beginning to make him sick. He tried not to listen but this was a bad session. He had heard her purge before. It was usually, stick your finger down your throat once or twice and you're done with it, but this sounded differently. She never threw up that much. "Gina? Are you okay?" he asked as he sat up in bed. He waited for her last spasm to end and waited patiently for an answer. Again, nothing. He got out of bed, turned on the lights and went to the bathroom door. He tapped on it gently and again called out to her.

Gina was growing weak. She could hardly keep her head up. She vomited again and this time she didn't have the strength to lean over the toilet and puked all over herself. She opened her eyes and looked to her left and saw her reflection in the full-length mirror. She screamed. The whites of her eyes had turned yellow and her skin tone had turn ash gray. She couldn't understand what was happening to her. She began to hear a noise. She wasn't sure if it came from inside her head or outside of it. It was a banging sound. Her heart pounding? She wasn't sure.

Mark had heard her scream and was pounding on the bathroom door. The oak door wouldn't budge. The door swung out into the bedroom and Gina must have locked it from the inside. He attacked the door handle with all his strength but that didn't work either he just couldn't get any leverage...it was easier to kick a door in that to pull it open. Finally he yelled her name, "Gina!"

Gina was feeling faint and weak. Her stomach began to rumble. She was afraid that she might throw up again but her stomach didn't feel like it was going to throw up, it was something else. She was getting hungry. Gina smiled at the thought. Food, yeah that would hit the spot just about now. Not just a snack but food, mounds of it. She was definitely hungry now. She wanted meat. Make those steaks! Forget cooking them she wanted them now, she'd eat them raw if she had to.

She felt an overwhelming urge to get out of the bathroom. She had to find food. She had to eat now!

53.

Mark was knocked backwards when Gina flung the door open. He crashed into the side table and his flailing arm knocked over the red pedestal lamp that stood in the corner of their room. Gina stepped into the room and her eyes immediately locked onto Mark.

Mark looked up and finally saw Gina. "Are you O..." he didn't finish his sentence, instead he gasped. She had no slippers on, her flannel nightgown was stuck to her skin by sweat and vomit, her skin was gray, her once beautiful blonde hair was now greasy and more than one strand was pasted across her face. Through the strands of hair he could see that she was breathing heavily and he also could see her eyes. Her eyes were...yellow. He shuddered when he realized that she was staring at him and she was beginning to crouch as if about to pounce on him.

"Gin..," he stuttered as he put up his hands defensively.

Gina saw him sitting there. He was down and vulnerable and he was big and full. More importantly, he looked...meaty. She pounced on him. Feed, feed, feed was all she wanted to do.

Mark shrieked involuntarily. Rationally he knew that he was much bigger and stronger than his wife. She was petite and certainly could never hurt him but instinctively he knew she was dangerous. She landed on top of him and began slashing at him with her manicured fingernails. "Stop...Stop," Mark yelled out as her nails dug into his skin. Small rivulets of blood trickled down his arms. At the sight of blood Gina shrieked with joy and her attack intensified.

She had never felt like this before. Her hunger was maddening but she also felt fearless. Nothing could stop her now.

Mark couldn't believe her strength. She had wrapped her legs around his waist and he couldn't get her off of him. He grabbed her by the hair and tried to yank her off him. She screamed and reached for his wrist. She dug her nails into his wrists and didn't pull them out. It was as if she had just set her claws into her pray. Mark screamed but wouldn't let go of her hair either. He struggled to get to his feet and brought his wife up with him. She was snarling at him like some rabid animal as she dangled from waist.

She unlocked her legs from his waist and began kicking at him. Her third kick found its mark. He howled as he dropped to his knees and reached for his groin. Gina stepped back and regrouped. She tossed her greasy hair back off her face and jumped on him again.

The hunger was maddening. The sight of flesh was making her crazy. All she wanted to do was sink her teeth into the soft sweet flesh of the thing fighting her. She had to eat. It was that simple... she had to eat now!

She jumped on Mark again but this time he was ready for her. She had hurt him but he had also played possum. He wanted her to lunge for him. He put out his legs as she flew towards him. His feet caught her neatly in the stomach and for a moment they looked like a couple of acrobats in the brightly colored room except the acrobat at the bottom had other ideas than to perform for the crowd. Mark tucked legs into his chest. Gina caught by surprise tried to swipe at his face but Mark had anticipated that and before her nails could connect with his face he shot his legs outward. Gina was launched across the room backwards. Her legs and arms flayed out as she hit the wall of the bedroom, two feet above the ground. Her head smacked against the wall with an audible crack and Mark watched as Gina slid off the wall and collapsed onto the floor of the bedroom.

He struggled to his feet and hoped she was dead. What had happened to her, he wondered. She was acting like a crazed killer. He had to defend himself. If she had the same sickness as Timmy, he would have to kill her. He walked over to her to check her pulse. Her reached down and put his fingertips under her neck. Damn, he thought, she's still alive.

Her eyes popped open the minute his warm hand was withdrawn from her neck. She rolled towards him and bit him in the ankle. He screamed in pain as his blood filled her mouth. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she was overcome by a feeling of pure and utter bliss. She had never felt so good. This felt right to her and she didn't want it to stop.

Mark collapsed on top of her. He drove his knee into her side and he punched her on the side of the head. She screamed and let go. He staggered back into the corner of the room and his hand landed on the pedestal lamp. The shade had been knocked off and the bulb was broken but it might still work.

Gina scrambled to her feet, slowly and methodically licked the blood off her lips, smiled at Mark and ran at him. Mark brought the lamp up and Gina ran right into it. The bare electrical wire from the lamps broken bulb touched her just below her left collarbone and the current stopped her dead in her tracks. The lights in the room flickered as she was trapped in the lamp's electrical bite. The current made her shake as the voltage ran through her. Finally the lamp released her and she staggered backwards and slammed against the wall again. She sat down at the base of the wall, looked at Mark and passed out as the lights flickered and finally went out.

54.

Pat woke up to see his wife staring back at him. She was sitting, straddling him. Pat was instantly aroused. His wife was overweight and didn't like 'being on top'. She didn't want to 'show her ass to the world' as she used to put it. Pat smiled foolishly up at her. She didn't smile back.

His smile began to fade as he began to notice her appearance. Her nightgown, a pink teddy which looked ridiculous on her but she insisted on wearing, was soaked with sweat and there seemed to be vomit on her chest. She smelled awful and her skin was gray. His smile disappeared completely, as did his erection, when he finally saw her eyes. They were yellow.

"Hello," he said nervously and pushed her off of him. Julie taken by surprise rolled off the bed and crashed onto the floor.

She had felt sick earlier and had vomited continuously for one hour until she finally had to get something to eat. When she too had left the bathroom she saw her husband sleeping in bed but of course by then she didn't see her husband, she only saw a mountain of meat there for the taking. She had mounted the meat pile and was about to dig in when it woke up. Now she was on the floor and her meal was getting away. That wouldn't do.

Pat rolled out of bed, on the other side, and straightened himself. He tugged his white sleeveless T-shirt over his belly to cover his white cotton briefs. "What the hell is wrong with you?" He looked across the bed and saw his wife getting off the floor. She turned to looked at him and hissed. Pat though that was funny and he laughed...once. He didn't have time for a second laugh because his wife, two hundred and ten pounds of her was flying across the bed and coming right for him.

He was no lightweight himself. He was often being compared to a giant kewpie doll but seeing his wife fly towards him was almost too much for his mind to handle. He gasped but recovered quickly, and ducked. She sailed over him and crashed into the wall behind him, shattering the vanity table and chair.

Pat looked and saw that she had landed on her head with her feet resting against the wall and that her pink teddy's ruffled skirt had slid over her belly and was covering her face. He decided that this would be a good time to leave the room.

He bolted for the door but felt a cold hand grasp his ankle. He began to shake his leg as if trying to dislodge a horny Pekinese who was humping his leg. It didn't work, she wasn't letting go. "Julie, knock it off," he yelled but she wasn't listening. He pivoted and stepped on her wrist. She screamed and let go. He recovered quickly and ran out the door as the lights went out.

55.

Darkness. He stood there immobilized by fear. He held the lamp in front of him but the electric lamp had lost its bite. He didn't know what to do. Mark could only hear himself panting. He tried to listen with all his senses but it was useless. His brain began to play tricks on him and he began to hear this he couldn't be hearing. He heard ringing in his ears and the slow thump, thump, thump of his own heart's beat. He could only stay still and pray that Gina was still out cold.

The ringing he heard was the yacht's emergency system alarm. If the system wasn't reset within 3 minutes, the emergency generator would kick in. Mark stood there in the dark not knowing what to do when finally the lights magically came back on and he was staring at Gina who was leaning against the wall staring at him.

Mark cleared his throat nervously and this time Mark was a little more cautious as he approached her. He held the now electrified pedestal lamp ahead of him like a spear and slowly approached his wife. He held the pedestal lamp in front of her and she didn't move. Mark felt secure for a moment and sighed.

Just as quickly as he had felt it, his sense of security vanished. It was a standoff. He couldn't just stand like this all night. Eventually she would move and then what?

She moved even before he had time to finish his thought. He reacted the only way he could, by thrusting the lamp's electrically charged end at her. She dodged it and Mark felt a tug at the other end of the lamp. He had just pulled out the plug. The lamp was dead again. He grinned foolishly at Gina and dropped the lamp. He turned and ran. She snarled at him and jumped on his exposed back.

The rodeo was on. He would spin left, she would lean with him. He would spin right and she would also lean with him. He couldn't shake her. He threw himself against the wall crushing her with his massive bulk and she still hung on. He was beginning to panic when he realized he was beginning to grow weak. She was like a lioness that hangs onto the back of a wounded antelope until it collapses from exhaustion. His tee shirt and cotton briefs were now torn and blood splattered. She had a firm grip on his shoulders and he was beginning to weaken.

She tilted her head back to gain momentum, and then drove her head and teeth into his exposed neck. She bit down with all her strength and began to tug. Mark howled in pain and began thrashing around the room in an attempt to shake her off. They bounced off the walls, the desk and the dresser, shattering mirrors and picture frames. Mark gave it all he had but it wasn't enough. Out of breath and out of energy, he collapsed to his knees.

Sensing that her prey was weakening, Gina tugged harder at his neck. A chunk of flesh was torn from the base of his neck and with that Mark finally collapsed to the ground. Gina sat back on her prey and closed her eyes in ecstasy as she enjoyed her meal of fresh, warm, blood soaked meat.

56.

Pat couldn't believe what was happening to him. His wife had gone mad and was trying to kill him. What had he done? He couldn't think of anything. Sure he had lusted after Cherisse, but so had everyone else. He knew she was mad at him about that but this was a little ridiculous. She must be insane or sick. Had she been poisoned by the toxic cloud or was it just simply hysteria brought on by a bad meal? Either way she was after him and he was scared. He'd either have to kill her to stop her or get leave. He figured he would try to get the hell off the yacht.

He turned ran blindly in the dark passageway. He reached the end of the passageway and ran into the door to Bobby and Cherisse's stateroom.

"Damn," he cursed loudly, "Wrong way!" just then, the lights came back on and the dark passageway was now bathed in warm light. Relieved he sighed and turned to run the other way but there was a massive form at the other end of the passageway blocking his way out. It could only be Julie. "Julie?" he asked, kind of throwing it out there to see what would happen to it. The dark shape at the other end of the passage grunted. Not the response he was hoping for.

Then the dark shape growled and charged towards him. "Oh boy," Pat mumbled momentarily taken by surprise. Pat didn't know what to do. The he decided there was only one way out and that was through her. He took a deep breath and charged up the passageway too.

The collision between the massive pair literally rocked the boat.

Pat ended up on top of Julie. He looked at her and she wasn't looking back. Her eyes were shut. Must be unconscious, he thought, and scrambled over her and up the passage. He turned left and began going up the spiral staircase that lead to the upper main cabin.

Julie woke up when Pat accidentally kicked her in the head as he crawled over her. She rolled over just in time to see her meal scrambling up the spiral staircase. She jumped to her feet and dashed down the hall.

She reached for his right ankle just as his left foot was reaching the last step. She pulled with all her might and Pat fell hard. She tugged at him and he began to slide down the stairs. He reached for the handrail and grabbed it with all his strength.

Julie felt her prey stop. She pulled again but it wouldn't budge. She decided to climb on it.

Pat felt her staring to climb on his leg and he began kicking furiously. His first kick knocked her off of him and his second kick caught her square in under the chin and she staggered backwards falling down into the passage. Pat scramble to his feet and tried to climb the stairs again.

Julie shook the blow off and got to her feet. She screamed in anger as she rushed for the stairs and Pat retreating feet

Pat felt her hand brush the back of his leg as he reached the top of the stairs. He staggered forward and slammed against the counter of the galley. He glanced down to see that Bobby was still there and still snoring.

Julie raced up the stairs and didn't even slow down when she reached the top of the stairs. She bolted forward and slammed into Pat. She reached for his throat and they struggled.

Pat had the wind knocked out of him by Julie's weight and was slow to recover. He tried to fight back but she was stronger than he had anticipated. He grabbed her wrist and tried to break her grasp on his throat. He tried to pull her arms apart but couldn't. He began to see small flashes of light in front of his eyes and realized that he would pass out soon if he didn't get her off him. He kicked again but this time his first kick was all he needed. His right foot connected with her left kneecap and he leg collapsed beneath her weight. She dropped to the floor and Pat staggered away, gasping for air.

Julie howled in pain as she rolled around on the floor. She grabbed her damaged knee and cried and screamed incoherently at Pat.

Pat was regaining his strength with each breath and he began to look around the cabin for a weapon. He figured his best bet would be the galley which held all the kitchen utensils, including some nasty butcher's knife, but that would mean having to go around or over Julie. He decided to look some more. He finally decided on a heavy marble ashtray that was on the glass topped table in the main cabin. He reached for it and felt it weight. He like its mass. This could do some nice damage, he though. He turned and went back for Julie but she wasn't there.

57.

As soon as her prey had turned around to look for whatever it was looking for, Julie decided to hide and let the prey come to her. She quietly crawled to an adjacent storage closet located next to the galley. She struggled to get to her feet and quietly waited.

Pat was totally confused now. One minute she was writhing in pain, rolling around the floor in her pink teddy screaming at him and the next minute she was gone. He knew she couldn't have gone far. Did she slip down the stairs to buy some time or was she hiding someplace close by? He figured it would probably have been easier for her to slide down the stairs than to try so stand up. Satisfied with his logic he cautiously approached the stairs and looked down. Nothing. She...

He didn't have time to finish his though because he was hit broadside by what felt like a bulldozer. The marble ashtray was the first thing to go as his hands flew up with the impact. The ashtray flew across the room and smashed into the liquor cabinet. Next her momentum drove him over a white leather couch and onto the floor. He shook his head clear and his eyes focused on Julie as she hopped on one leg towards him. He scrambled to his feet and got up just as she reached him. She grabbed him more for support than anything else. Pat smiled. He had hurt her badly and she was holding onto him for support. He looked at her and she glared back at him her yellow eyes filled with hate and determination. He calmly reached back and then drove his fist into her stomach. She gasped as the air was knocked out of her. He threw both of his arms up and broke her grasp on his tee shirt. She stumbled backwards and landed, sitting in the couch.

Pat walked over to the sliding glass door that separate the main cabin from the aft deck and opened the doors. He walked out onto the aft deck and began searching for another weapon. Next to the glass doors he found the rescue kit. He opened it and took out the red flare gun. He unlocked it, snapped it open, inserted a cartridge and slammed it shut.

Julie staggered through the open glass doors and lunged for Pat. She began to choke him and this time she wasn't letting go.

Pat panicked and dropped the flare gun. He began to struggle with Julie all over again. They looked like two drunken flamingo dancers who hold each other by the shoulders as they struggled on the aft deck.

Julie tightened her grip and grit her teeth as she began to choke the life out of her prey.

Pat was getting weaker and he knew it. He had to do something and he had to do it fast. He began kicking again. His kicks were intended for one place and one place only. Julie's injured knee. He hit it with his first kick.

Julie shrieked in pain and staggered backwards. She stumbled and reached out for support. Her hands grabbed the counter on the left side of the aft deck. The counter contained the defective Jen-Air grill and Julie's hand knocked the gas burner's knob off the control panel. An audible hiss and the distinctive smell of propane gas began to fill Julie's nostrils.

Once he had broken Julie's grasp, Pat reached down and grabbed the flare gun. He raised it up as Julie staggered against the grill. He aimed carefully and pulled the trigger.

A streak of sparks and fire erupted from the end of the flare gun and shot across the small aft deck and engulfed Julie. She became a human torch for a split second then her flames ignited the gas escaping from the grill.

The ensuing explosion blew a hole in the side of the yacht, sent Pat flying backwards through a section of the sliding glass doors and blew Julie's burning body fifty feet into the air and out into the cold unforgiving ocean.

The explosion created a hole about six feet in diameter and slightly below the water line. Seawater rushed into the gaping hole. The yacht began to list to the right, as the engine room was flooded. The electric generator short-circuited sending the yacht into renewed darkness. The watertight door to the engine compartment held and the yacht stabilized with the bow slightly out of the water. The yacht was dead in the water.

59.

The shock wave of the explosion picked Bobby off the galley floor and sent him flying. He slammed against the stainless steel refrigerator door and fell to the floor. He groaned in pain and shock. He tried to get to his feet but got as far as balancing on his hands and knees. He wavered momentarily as the yacht tilted backwards and toppled over. He lay on the floor groaning and holding his head. His ears were still ringing from the blast, not to mention the headache from the vodka. The lights went out and he lay there for a minute until he regained his senses. The first thing her felt was the cool tile floor against his face. Then he smelled the smoke coming from the aft deck. Then he heard someone groan.

He attempted to get up and failed again. He decided to crawl to the edge of the galley and peeked around the bottom of the counter hoping to see something in the darkness. He knew that the landing leading to the top of the spiral staircase was in front of him and the main cabin was to his right.

He looked right and saw, with what little light the moon could provide, that his cabin was destroyed. The furniture near him was upside-down having been blown back by the explosion's shockwave. Cushion littered the floor and some had charred edges. The lamps had their lampshades blown off and the bulbs had shattered. The sliding glass door was smashed. There were only jagged edges left to the once double plated insulated glass. Bobby looked down to where his gold trimmed glass topped coffee table had been and he gasped.

Pat was barely alive. He had smashed through the sliding glass doors and landed on top of the glass top table. The tabletop had shattered under his weight and he had come to rest inside the table. His arms and legs were dangling outside of the table's frame. He looked as if he had been put through a meat grinder. The front half of his body was charred black from the explosion. His tee shirt, or what was left of it, dangled from his shoulders. The back half of his body looked like chopped hamburger. The back of his head, back and buttocks had been shredded by broken glass. Large slivers of the sliding glass door were stuck in his back. He groaned softly.

Bobby tried to get up and run to Pat but stopped when he heard someone coming up the staircase. It was the noise that alerted him that something wasn't right. It wasn't the noise of foots hitting the steps that stopped him it was the other noise. It sounded like a child slurping on soup or someone or something devouring some very juicy fruit. It just didn't seem right. Bobby crawled in deeper into the galley and waited.

He recognized top of Gina's head by her blond hair as she came into view but only the top of her head was blond. As her full head came into view, Bobby recoiled in disgust. Her face was red. It was soaked in blood like that of a Hyena that feeds on the innards of a dead animal. The blood also covered her neck and chest. As she continued to climb the steps and come fully into view Bobby could see her arms and finally her hands. Her arms were also blood-soaked to the elbows by rivulets of blood that had come from what she was holding in her hands. It was a large chunk of very bloody meat. As Gina topped the stairs she put the meat up to her face and licked it.

Bobby couldn't believe his eyes. What was going on? Has everyone gone nuts? Gina looked like a wild animal. She looked crazed with feeding. She looked like...Timmy. Bobby thought about that for a minute and came to a grizzly realization. If she had gone mad like Timmy and she was feeding. What was she feeding on? He gagged. Cherisse?

Gina took a bite out of the meat and chewed slowly while looking around. She looked straight at Bobby and blinked. She stopped chewing and lowered the meat from her face. She took a step towards him and froze.

Bobby heard it too. Pat was groaning louder and it had caught Gina's attention. "Help me," Pat moaned.

Gina turned and saw Pat. She leaned forward as if to take a better look and smiled. The blood...the blood. Gina saw food on a gold trimmed platter. She looked at the meat in her hands and back up at Pat. She finally made a decision and slammed the meat to the ground.

The chunk of meat landed two feet in front of Bobby's face. He could feel the blood drain from his face and prayed that he wouldn't faint.

Gina approached Pat sidestepping the overturned furniture. She stopped next to him and looked down at him.

Pat sensed her and tried to look at her but couldn't. With all of his remaining strength, he raised his right arm and tried to reach out to her. "Help me," he croaked.

Gina saw them and was instantly mesmerized. Thin red fleshy things coming towards her. They were at the end of the thing's arm. They wiggled slightly and straightened as if trying to reach her mouth. She lowered her face to meet them. She sniffed them and smiled. Blood. She closed her eyes and bit two of them off.

Bobby instinctively covered his ears when Pat shrieked in pain. Bobby closed his eyes in terror but it just wasn't him. He felt ashamed to be behaving this way. Cowering on the galley floor. Cherisse would have expected more from him. Cherisse! The meat. Bobby open his eyes wide as rage took hold of him.

He got to his knees. Grabbed the counter and hoisted himself to his feet. He stood there wobbly for a second and looked over at Gina and Pat. She was chewing contentedly as Pat's screams weakened. Bobby knew that he had to do something and do it fast or Pat was going to die.

Bobby reached for the butcher knives. The explosion had knocked out of their butcher's block and they had spilled all over the galley's counter top. He reached for the biggest longest one he could find. It was an eight-inch carving knife with a black handle. He felt it in his hand and it felt perfect.

He walked around the edge of the counter and side stepped furniture to get to Gina. She seemed oblivious of his approach.

Gina had found it...IT! The one food. The one thing that made her feel whole and totally at piece. She relished the food. Oops, a bone. She spit it out to her left and saw Bobby standing there.

A bone from Pat's finger hit Bobby in the leg. He didn't take his eyes of Gina. "That's no way to behave on my yacht, bitch!" With that he drove the carving knife up and under Gina's chin. The heavy knife sliced through her tongue, the roof of her mouth, pass her brain and finally stopped with the bloody point sticking out the top of her head

Gina's eyes shot open in surprise. She tried to reach up and scratch at Bobby's face.

Bobby smiled, twisted the knife and she went limp. Bobby held her up by the knife handle for a minute. He carefully examined her and when he was sure she was dead, he let her drop to the floor.

Bobby looked down at Pat. Blood was pouring from the wounds in his back and his heart was still pumping blood where fingers had once been. Blood squirted from his knuckles. "Pat?" Bobby whispered. Pat didn't answer. The pulsating blood from his knuckles slowed and finally stopped. "Oh Pat," Bobby said sadly.

Bobby reached down and closed the dead man's eyelids.

PART VII

60.

Bobby decided to see if there were any other survivors onboard. He left the main cabin and went down the spiral staircase to the staterooms. He checked Pat and Julie's room but he already knew what he would find there. Nothing. He next tried Timmy and the judge's room and saw the judge's body where they had left it. He didn't want to check his own stateroom. Cherisse was in there. He turned and tried Mark and Gina's room.

There was a pool of blood seeping into the passageway from under the door. Bobby turned the knob and pushed the door. It didn't move. He put his shoulder into it and after some struggling the door opened. A man's arm and hand was visible through the open door way. Bobby pushed harder and finally was able to squeeze through the doorway.

The room was a mess. The moonlight coming through the porthole in the stateroom gave the trashed room an eerie feel. Bobby stepped around the trash on the floor and turned to see Mark. He was lying flat on his face and had been on his right side, leaning against the door, when Bobby opened the door. Mark had been the source of the blood under the door. He laid in it.

Bobby knelt next to Mark and with some effort, turned Mark onto his back. Mark groaned. Bobby was so startled that he fell back onto his buttock. "Mark?" Bobby ventured. Another groan. "Mark," Bobby said as he crawled to Mark's aid.

Mark had several wounds on him and had lost a lot of blood but still managed to hang on. There was a bite taken out of his shoulder and his leg was bleeding from was appeared to be a four inch gash in his thigh. Bobby reached behind him and pulled the sheets off the bed. He plunged a wadded corner of one sheet into Mark's thigh wound and wound the rest of the sheet around his leg to stop the blood flow. He propped Mark up against the wall to attend to his shoulder wound. Next he ripped the other sheet in two and wrapped one apart of it around Mark's chest and over his shoulder. He carefully took Mark's left arm and put it in a sling to relieve the pressure against his injured shoulder. Mark groaned in pain but Bobby figured that Mark would live.

Bobby sat back and sighed.

"Gina," Mark whispered weakly.

"Dead," Bobby said coldly.

"The others," Mark asked.

"Same. Dead too," Bobby replied. They sat in silence as the enormity of what he had just said sunk in.

"Pain," Mark said feebly.

"Oh," Bobby said almost surprised. Of course the poor man was in pain. Bobby got up and rushed to the bathroom.

He almost got sick when he saw the condition of the bathroom. To Bobby, there seemed to be vomit everywhere. With his outstretched right arm, his fingertips could barely reach the medicine cabinet over the sink. He pulled the mirror back and the contents spilled out into the sink. He grabbed a bottle of Aspirin and went back to Mark.

"Take these," Bobby ordered as he put two aspirins in front of Mark's face.

Mark looked at him and grabbed the bottle out of Bobby's other hand. He flipped off the lid and poured the aspirin bottle into his mouth.

"Okay. That'll work too," Bobby said as Mark chewed the aspirin.

Mark began to choke on the dry aspirin and Bobby ran for a glass of water.

Bobby was reaching for a glass when he heard Mark vomit. Good, Bobby thought, at least Mark won't die from an overdose of aspirin. Bobby grabbed a towel off the towel rack and headed back to Mark.

Bobby cringed when he saw that Mark had vomited all over himself. It was the same sickly green vomit that Bobby had seen on Timmy's pajamas. "Mark," Bobby began, "are you okay?"

Mark stared back at him.

Bobby noticed that Mark's eyes were beginning to change. They seemed to glaze over as if he was changing. Bobby felt as if he was watching the metamorphosis of a man into something else. Something he didn't want to deal with. He grabbed Mark by the shoulders, "Mark...Mark...snap out of it," Bobby yelled.

Mark just stared back as his eyes slowly turned from white to pale yellow to, finally, deep yellow.

"Mark?" Bobby whispered as he let him go.

Mark blinked once and smiled.

Bobby knew this wasn't to be good and scampered backwards away from Mark.

Mark tried to get up and give chase but his injuries prevented it. Instead he flopped onto his stomach and began to crawl towards Bobby but that didn't work either. With injuries to his leg and shoulder, Mark could only manage a half crawl half slither as he pursued Bobby.

Bobby couldn't believe it was happening all over again. Still scampering backwards he tried to outrun Mark but ran out of room when the back of his head hit the door to the passageway. He reached up and began feeling around for the knob. Got it! He turned it and pulled but the door didn't open because he was leaning against it. He rolled to his knees and got up. He grabbed the door and opened it. He was about to step out when he felt Mark's hand wrap around his ankle. Bobby turned around and kicked Mark in the face. "Back off, mutant," Bobby spat at Mark. Mark let go and Bobby ran into the passageway.

61.

What to do? What to do? Bobby was lost. He stood in the passageway immobilized by indecision. Sure he seemed like the most confident bombastic entrepreneur in public but privately he wasn't so sure of himself. Cherisse had helped a lot and he found himself ever more confident with her, but now she was gone. What to do? What to do? The ship was dead in the water. That meant no radio. No power to steer. No power to move forward for that matter. He might try to get off the boat but the explosion had destroyed the dinghy that hung off the aft deck. He might try the inflatable raft but that was in the bow compartment, which was only accessible from his and Cherisse's stateroom, and he couldn't bear to go through that again.

He heard groaning from behind him and turned to see that Mark had managed to stand up and was lurching towards him. Bobby almost screamed in shock but took a swing at Mark instead. The punch landed squarely on Mark's nose and it broke on contact.

Mark was momentarily stunned and just stood there blinking at Bobby. Blood began to run from Mark's nostrils and run down his lip. Mark licked at his lips and tasted the blood. His yellow eyes opened wide in both surprise and pleasure. He glared at Bobby and lurched at him with a new sense of urgency. A new sense of purpose. Blood.

Bobby staggered back and swung at Mark again. This time Mark caught Bobby's fist with his hand. Mark looked at Bobby and grinned. "Oh, Oh," said Bobby and smiled back.

Before Mark had time to do anything else, Bobby jerked his leg up and put his knee squarely into Mark's groin. Mark dropped Bobby's fist and doubled over in pain. "Well, that still works," Bobby said as he stepped around Mark.

Bobby made his way back up the spiral staircase to the main cabin of the yacht. He had just stepped onto the top step when he heard a noise. He strained to hear. Then he heard for sure. It was a ship's horn.

Bobby turned right and headed for the yacht's steering house. He climbed the stairs and parted the curtains over the ship's console. They were the same curtains from which he had spied on the judge and Cherisse. He sighed with regret. That seemed like a lifetime ago now. A sliver of sunlight stabbed his eyes. He instinctively closed the curtains. He hadn't realized that the sun had come up. It was morning and there might be rescuers outside. He opened the curtains again but this time he was prepared for the glare of sunlight and squinted. He looked right and left but didn't see anything. The horn. He heard it again. He reached to the left of the ship's bright stainless steel wheel and pushed the button on the wood console for the yacht's own horn. Its flat baritone blast was the sweetest thing Bobby thought he ever heard.

The other ship blasted its horn twice in rapid succession indicating they had heard him. Bobby laughed quietly and sat in the captain's chair. The other ship would be here soon. It was almost over.

A heavy hand slapped Bobby off his captain's chair. He landed hard on the floor. He looked up and saw Mark. Mark looked awfully mad and was about to lower himself onto Bobby.

Bobby sprang to his feet faster than even he thought possible and reached for the curtains. He looked at Mark who had also been surprised by Bobby speed. Mark seemed momentarily confused and just stood there. Bobby glared at Mark. "Take that," Bobby said smugly as he pulled the curtains wide-open and exposed Mark to the morning light.

Mark's hands shot up to protect his eyes from the glare but nothing else happened. Bobby who had expected vampire-like effects on Mark said, "Crap, I guess that doesn't work." Mark lowered his hands finally and charged Bobby.

Bobby neatly sidestepped Mark's charge. Mark's head slammed into the yacht's console and he collapsed. Bobby smiled down at Mark and ran out of the wheelhouse.

He passed the galley and walked through the wrecked living room. He shoved aside an overturned chair and stepped over a broken lamp. He walked passed Pat's body and stopped. He looked down and frowned. Something was wrong. Things didn't look the same. He stared at him for a minute and then he realized what was different. There was green vomit on Pat's chest.

Pat's eyes opened and he hissed at Bobby.

"Whoa!" Bobby stepped back as Pat's hand reached for him. Bobby looked down at the hand and smiled. No fingers to grab him. Bobby stepped forward and kicked Pat in the head with all his strength. Pat's head snapped back and he lay still.

Bobby walked through the shattered glass door and squinted at the morning sunlight as he stepped out onto the aft deck. The green awning that had once provided shade over the dining area had been blown to bits with only blackened fragments of green material left flapping from the bent metal frame. The side of the yacht had been blown out and the deck was charred. Bobby stepped cautiously to the end of the deck and rested one hand on the rail as he used his other hand to shield his eyes.

He scoured the area for the ship that had sounded the horn. He looked to the left and saw nothing. He looked to the right and there, on the horizon he saw it. The sleek white ship with a broad orange stripe across its bow. It was a US Coast Guard cutter and it was heading his way.

As the cutter approached Bobby went through a slew of emotions. First he was relieved to see the cutter and the impending rescue made him happy. Then he felt guilty for surviving and finally he felt the pain of the loss of his wife and guests.

The Cutter's horn sounded as it neared the crippled Roamer. Bobby looked up and began to shout and waive at the navy ship.

Bobby heard it at the last second...just before the impact. He heard the lumbering footfall of Mark's feet as he came up to Bobby. Mark's massive body hit Bobby like a freight train and the two men were carried over the edge of the yacht and tumbled into the sea.

The two men struggled against each other as they sank deeper and deeper. Bobby was panicking realizing that the thing Mark had become had no fear of drowning or even dying. It was driven by only one thing, the need to feed.

Bobby was clawing at Mark eyes in an attempt to break away from Mark's grasp. Bobby kicked frantically trying to stop the two men's decent. Bobby finally jabbed his thumb into Mark's right eye and Mark let go.

Bobby kicked and flapped his arm frantically as he tried to reach the surface for a breath of air. He was scared and starved for air. It took all of his strength to fight his body's urge to open his mouth and take a life sustaining breath. Bobby could see the surface above him and the huge hull of the roamer and the Coast Guard cutter.

He broke through the surface and gasped for air coughing and gagging on seawater. He felt dizzy and lightheaded and didn't know which way to turn. Something splashed near him and he reached out for it. His hand grabbed a soft orange ring and Bobby finally realized that it was a rescue ring from the Coast Guard cutter. He hung onto to it with all the strength he had left. He felt a tug on the ring then another. They were pulling him closer. They would pull him out of the water and he relaxed.

He looked up at the cutter and could see about six sailors looking down at him. They called out to him as he neared the ship. "Ahoy," said one sailor and Bobby raised his hand in response.

Bobby felt something pull at his left foot. Then he clearly felt a hand grab his left leg and another hand grab his belt. Mark was climbing up his body! "Help!" Bobby shouted to the sailors.

Mark battered and bleeding face broke the surface and Bobby clearly heard the sailors gasp in surprise. Mark took in a deep breath and turned on Bobby.

"Help me," Bobby shouted once more. He knew he didn't have the strength to fight again. "Help me! It's trying to kill me!"

Mark slapped at the water as he tried to swim. He reached out for Bobby and grabbed his arm. Mark tilted his head back and opened his mouth, preparing to strike.

Bobby heard a gun being cocked and screamed, "Shoot it! For Christ sake! Kill it!"

The noise of the gunshot was deafening. Mark's head exploded into a spray of blood, bones and brains.

Bobby stared open-mouthed as he watched the headless body release its grip on him and slide into the sea.

"Are you okay?" a voice asked from above him.

"What..." Bobby mumbled weakly as he watched Mark's body sink beneath him.

"Sir, are you okay?" a young sailor asked.

"Yeah," Bobby said as he looked up at the sailors looking down at him. In the middle of the group, Bobby saw a young black officer holding a 9mm pistol, smoke drifting up from its muzzle.

62.

Bobby was standing on the deck of the Coast Guard cutter Javelin surrounded by a crowd of curious sailors. "Give the man some room boys," an authoritative voice said. The crowd parted and the young black officer walked up to Bobby. "I'm Ensign Kramer. Welcome aboard."

"Uh..." Bobby grunted.

"Get this man a blanket, Derrick," the ensign shouted over his shoulder and a sailor ran off. "Sir," the Ensign began quietly, "Is there anyone else onboard?"

Bobby nodded, "Yeah, but they're dead." The sailors around Bobby quietly stepped back, not knowing what they were dealing with.

The Ensign asked more urgently, "What happened?"

Bobby took a deep breath and began. When he began talking about the cloud, the Ensign and the sailors leaned in to listen.

"A cloud or strange fog?" the Ensign questioned.

"Yeah, it was the weirdest thing," Bobby continued, "it passed over the ship and hours later, everyone got sick."

"Everyone?" the Ensign asked.

"Well, everyone but me," Bobby corrected.

"What happened to the others?"

"It was as if they were possessed. They began to attack each other. The sick ones feeding on the healthy ones,"

"Feeding?" the Ensign asked as if unsure he had heard correctly.

"Yeah," Bobby sighed as he remembered Cherisse. "They killed my wife and one of them almost got me when you showed up."

"Excuse me Ensign," a young sailor interrupted, "didn't we go through some fog earlier."

"Yeah, Davis," the Ensign replied firmly, "but I'm sure it was just ordinary fog." Everyone seemed to relax at that point and the young sailor that had been sent for the blanket rejoined the group.

"Here you go, sir," the sailor said as he handed the gray wool blanket to Bobby. "Hey, Ensign," the sailor began, "did you know that sick bay is full of guys throwing up?"

Bobby and the Ensign stared at each other. Just then a metal door flew open and slammed against the side of the ship as a sailor fell through the doorway. He landed hard and tried to scramble away on his hands and knees as if running for his life. Another sailor, wearing a hospital gown covered with stains, ran out of the door and jumped on the fallen sailor. They struggled and as everyone watched in horror, the sailor on top lowered his head and bit the fallen sailor.

Bobby looked at the Ensign and then at the Ensign's gun, "You got more of those because you're going to need them."

To be continued...
