I look up to the observation deck, where Sabbi and Viv and the rest of them are still bent over the fallen girl, sucking her dry.
(Vampires? my mind asks. Are they vampires?)
“They are past help now,” Tom tells me.
Thank God for his hands on me or I’d think I’d died and gone to hell.
“TOM! LAUREL!”
It’s Jaideep! Jaideep and Vihaan.
“Over here!” Tom yells and he leads Jaideep and Vihaan away from the pool, around the corner to the rear pool deck. It’s abandoned—all the addicts are fighting it out on the other side.
“What happened to you?” Jaideep asks Tom, as Vihaan asks, “What is happening in the pool?”
“Laurel threw some Solu in there. A crowd was whaling on me and she saved me. They … they hanged Zhang and they wanted to hang me, too. Because I was the spokesperson,” Tom says.
“Did you find a phone?” I ask them.
“No, it’s a freaking bloodbath down there,” Vihaan says.
“The first mate got his hands on a gun,” Jaideep adds. His brown face is gaunt and there are dark circles under his eyes.
“Kiniana and the others should be here by now. Have you seen them?” Tom says.
“People are crazy,” Vihaan says. “You would not believe the things we’ve seen.”
“We know!” I say. “Sabbi and her group … They … She…”
“She killed a girl,” Tom says for me. “They drank her blood—to get the Solu.”
“Ah!” Jaideep exclaims, disgusted. “That’s what they’re doing.”
He looks like he might be sick. “There’s a group of them in the dining hall doing the same thing…”
Vihaan grabs me by the arms. “We must abandon ship,” he whispers. His eyes are bloodshot. Terrified.
“But we have to make sure the word got out—” I say.
“They’ll get us next!” Vihaan says.
“We can’t just leave Kiniana and Milo and Anna,” Jaideep protests. “What about the rest of our friends?”
“They’re going to kill us!” Vihaan repeats.
I know how he feels. My brain is shouting at me: LEAVE! LEAVE! LEAVE!
But a cold, heavy dread sits like a brick in my stomach.
“But, Vihaan, if they never radioed for help,” I say. “If nobody knows we’re in trouble and nobody knows how bad Solu is…”
The three men look at me. Tom’s battered face. Vihaan’s flushed with panic. Jaideep’s dread pale brown.
“Then Solu launches at midnight tonight,” I remind them.
Tom wipes a hand over his eyes.
I see him changing his mind about something.
“She’s right,” Tom says. “We have to make sure the message has been sent. Then we can evacuate.”
“To the bridge, then,” Jaideep says.
“To the bridge,” we repeat. It sounds like some weird drinking toast. But we’re not kidding and we’re not drinking. I wish I were drunk.
I wish I were dreaming.
(I wish I were on the beach back in Key West, talking to Tom back when my best friend was overweight and happy in her regular unhappy way.)
But all that wishing doesn’t keep me from hearing the screaming, spitting, splashing from the other side of the deck.
TOM
DAY SIX
WE GO INSIDE THE SHIP and down one flight of stairs to the part of Deck 11 that gives you access to the bridge.
The hallway is disgusting. The carpet’s stained in places and littered with clothing that no longer fits, wadded and walked on. I see someone brought up their leather ticket holder—maybe they wanted to go over the guarantee on the paperwork.
I must make some sound of disbelief because Laurel says, “What?”
“The paperwork!” I say. “Can you imagine the lawsuits from this mess?”
“This is a multibillion-dollar nightmare for the Solu people,” Vihaan declares. “Murders have been committed because of this Solu. People have lost their minds. People have died.”
“Almstead’s bankrupt, as far as I can see,” I agree.
“I think he’s going to prison,” Laurel adds.
“I hope they throw away the key,” Vihaan says. He spits on the ground.
Jaideep presses a button on the telecom touch screen next to the bridge door.
It’s working, which is kind of surprising, considering the rest of the ship is shut down.
Jaideep speaks into the lens of the camera.
“Hello?” he says. “This is Jaideep Coffey, a member of the waitstaff. Requesting a word with the captain—”
Vihaan pushes next to him and edges into the sight of the lens.
“We are not addicts!” Vihaan says. “We just want to make sure that people have been warned about Solu. We are prepared to abandon ship.”
There’s no answer. No sound from the intercom.
No sound at all from behind the heavy gray door. It’s probably solid and thick.
“Let Tom try,” Laurel says. “Maybe they’ll open for him.”
Jaideep shrugs and Vihaan is grumbling as I come up to the front.
“Captain Hammonds, this is Tom Fiorelli. There are a few of us out here who aren’t on Solu and we just—”
The door opens.
And I’m looking into the muzzle of a semiautomatic assault rifle.
“Fiorelli! Come in!” I hear the old man’s voice. “Vince, let him in!”
The guard, Vince, sizes us up. He’s wearing a tank top and fatigues. He’s got a bristle-brush crew cut and a bicep tattoo of an eagle ripping the head off a guy with a turban.
We step past the door and into a narrow hallway. On one side is a room with a brass placard: CAPTAIN’S QUARTERS. The one on the other side says CHIEF SECURITY OFFICER’S QUARTERS.
The one to the captain’s room is open.
We catch a glimpse of a beautifully decorated suite beyond the door—one that’s been trashed.
There’s blood on the carpet and I think I see feet, but Vince pokes me in the back with the muzzle of the gun.
He reaches in, grabs the door, and shuts it.
“Go on,” he growls.
We step forward, onto the bridge.
I take it all in. The floor is cobalt blue, with rubber treads. A series of windows wraps all the way around the deck. Below them is a long, curved panel crowded with dozens of small computer screens and other panels, flashing lights, levers, buttons, all that stuff.
And they’re all working. They’re working!
Almstead stands near a captain’s chair, looking like he’s thrilled to see us.
And behind him, Amos and other armed guards are talking on headsets and checking some of the panels.
“I’m so happy you’re all right, Fiorelli! Aren’t you clever to stay alive!”
“What’s happened?” Vihaan erupts as he and Jaideep enter. His eyes bulge as he takes in the scene, “Where is the captain?”
Vince looks to Almstead, who shakes his head. He pushes Vihaan and Jaideep back, hard.
“Wait!” I say. “They’re our friends.”
Vince checks Almstead’s response again and Almstead shrugs.
Vince says, “Out!” He pushes Jaideep and Vihaan back out to the main hallway.
“Knock again on that door and I’ll splatter your haji guts on the carpet,” he says.
“Laurel!” Jaideep cries out as the door shuts.
Vince smashes the door with his fist. A warning blow.
Laurel’s got a death grip on my hand.
If they try to take her from me … I don’t know what I’ll do.
“Say, what did you two pull over at the pool?” Almstead asks me and Laurel. His expression is polite and interested. Calm as could be. “To make them all do this?”
He gestures behind us and we turn.
The back wall of the bridge is lined with TV screens showing areas all over the ship.
There are two views of the carnage in the po
ol. There must be twenty people floating, dead, in the water. Blood is leaching out of them, making hideous swirls in the water. Two addicts are still duking it out in the shallow end while other addicts are in the pool—drinking the bloody water. The bloody chlorine water.
The screens show widespread carnage across the ship.
In the Celestial Lounge, in the casino, in the hallway outside a suite, there are people clustered around the fallen, drinking their blood.
There’s an inside shot in one of the glass elevators, the glass walls splattered with blood.
There’s a shot of a man in uniform putting a gun to his head.
“Well, what was it?” Almstead repeats.
“We … Laurel, that is, she threw some Solu in the pool and now…”
“How many packets?”
“Ten,” Laurel says weakly.
“All that bloodshed for ten packets!” Almstead marvels. “You know, out of the passengers on the ship, we estimate … what is it, Amos?”
“We estimate at least three hundred dead, sir,” Amos answers without taking his eyes off a small screen.
“We don’t know about the crew, though,” Almstead says. “Far fewer of them were taking Solu. Maybe twenty percent.”
Laurel catches my eye: He is, what, crazy?
“Mr. Almstead, please, what’s happening? Where is the captain?”
“Captain Hammonds and the rest of the crew up here are dead,” Almstead says.
Amos steps up. “Excuse me, sir. Jack says the speedboat’s here. We can move into the final phase whenever you say.”
“Lovely,” Almstead turns to us. “You want something done—hire a mercenary! They can do anything! They could navigate this ship, if need be. But that’s not the plan. No, it’s time for us to make our exit.”
“So the rescue…,” I say. “It’s not happening.”
“Rich said the coast guard was on its way,” Laurel sputters.
“That was, well … that was a lie,” Almstead says.
“What about what you said about pulling Solu off the market? Delaying the launch of the product. All that stuff,” I say.
Almstead nods his head, wincing. “Guilty! But those lies were all part of the plan.”
“What is this plan?” Laurel asks.
“Dear girl, what’s your name?”
“Laurel Willard.”
“Ah, you remind me of a girl I knew when I was young. Frances McMahon. Freckles are so fetching on a young girl.”
I start to talk, but he holds up his hand.
“Phase one—Create bait to lure fat, lazy Americans into a trap. Phase two—Promote the trap. Make it look safe and easy.”
Almstead turns to Vince, “Go get Rich. Bring him out here.”
“Rich was in on it?” Laurel asks, her voice cracking.
“No, no. He had no idea until it was too late. And please, just ’cause you’re pretty doesn’t mean you get to interrupt. Phase three—Spring the trap and enjoy the show! What fun Zhang and I have had, watching our creation take hold. We never thought it would act so quickly. The weight loss was like watching one of those sped-up movies. And the vampirism! That was completely unexpected!”
He gestures to the screens. “Solu works far better than we ever could have hoped.”
“What’s phase four?” I ask.
“Sir, Entertainment Daily is on,” Amos tells Almstead.
“Turn it up. Look, Tom—here you are. This was phase two—you did it!”
He indicates a small screen set into the navigational panel. It’s a live TV feed—Entertainment Daily.
Anchorwoman Kim Wooster sets up the clip: “Unless you’ve been hiding under a rock, you know that the new non-nutritive sweetener, Solu, will be released to the public in just a few hours, at midnight tonight! Solu-mania has been sweeping the country. People are lined up on the streets outside drugstores and many stores have hired extra security—it’s like Black Friday—but all for one product.”
She winks at the camera.
“Those sexy little lavender packets of Solu. All week all eyes have been watching everybody’s favorite child star turned mega-hunk who’s a guest on the Extravagance. Here’s what he had to say earlier today about the Solu Cruise to Lose!”
And then she throws it to me, on the deck of the ship.
“Turn it up!” Almstead commands.
The audio blares louder.
“Hi, I’m Tom Fiorelli coming to you from the deck of the Extravagance. We’ve seen some jaw-dropping, mind-blowing changes on this trip!”
There’s some girl next to me. I guess I remember her. She’s thin and pretty and probably dead by now.
“I’m talking to Julie, here. How’s this cruise been for you, Julie?”
“Oh my God, just amazing. Solu is just … it’s just a phenomenon. I mean, no one ever has to be fat again. Can you believe that?! I can eat all I want and I’m losing weight. I’m seriously losing weight! And eating like a horse! I love it!”
Ugh. I’m dizzy.
I feel this churning fritz come up from my feet. I think I’m going to keel over.
Laurel grabs my arm.
“You son of a bitch,” I spit.
Almstead laughs.
On the screen, I continue my idiotic schpiel. “I’ll tell you this: Everyone on board is incredibly lucky to be here. The parties have been nonstop and the weight loss is really remarkable. Solu works!”
Why did I say that stupid schlock? Why did I take this stupid job in the first place? You can see the boredom in my eyes.
I was bored. I was getting paid. I was peddling mass murder.
“Utterly convincing,” Almstead says, elbowing me in the ribs. “A great job! Eh, Rich? Could Tom have done a better job? I don’t think so.”
We turn and see that Rich has been brought in by the guard.
Rich’s face is ashy, his seersucker suit dirty and rumpled. He’s obviously been crying and he obviously betrayed us.
“How could you?!” I yell. “How could you let me do that?”
“I didn’t know!” Rich wails.
“But you told us rescue was coming,” Laurel says.
“I had to,” Rich says. “I had no choice.”
“How did you not have a choice?” I spit.
“He was going to give it to my mom!” Rich cries. “He had a deliveryman with a lifetime supply, right outside her house! He showed it to me on a phone!”
Jesus Christ.
I remember the guard with Rich when we saw him on the deck. I remember how scared Rich looked.
“Now, now, children. No fighting!” Almstead says.
“What’s phase four?” Laurel asks.
“Thank you! Back to the business at hand! Phase four is we leave. And then on Day Seven, Sunday morning, the ship will blow sky high. That’s right, the engine room is wired to blow at six a.m., right, Amos?”
Amos nods.
“See that man there?” Almstead points to Amos. “He is an irate, bereaved ex-marine who has become more and more obsessed with Pipop. He’s determined to kill me at the hour of my greatest success! And he will. Tomorrow morning the whole ship gets blown to kingdom come. And I will go down with the ship.” Almstead is beaming with pride. He winks. “Not really, of course. In reality I’ll be on my way to an unchartered island. They do exist! And I’ve bought one. Isn’t that brilliant? Rich, isn’t that smart?”
Vince elbows Rich with the butt of his machine gun.
“Very imaginative,” Rich says.
“Amos has been blogging stark, raving mad nonsense in conspiracy theory chat rooms for months now!” Almstead continues. “And next week, as America mourns me, I’ll be on my island, watching the country eat itself alive, watching my board of directors flounder and panic, and I’ll just be laughing myself silly. And Amos will be off somewhere, enjoying his compensation, is that right, Amos?”
“Sir, yes, sir,” Amos answers.
“Well, I can see I’ve shocked you,” Almstead
says to us. “You three look like a bunch of gaping carp.”
He mimics us with his mouth open wide like a fish.
“You planned it all,” Laurel says, her voice quiet.
“Yep,” Almstead says. He leans toward her and spells out. “L … O … L.”
I step forward. I should kill him, now. But Vince has the gun trained at our guts.
“Put them in with the others, Vince,” Almstead says.
Rich jumps, stricken. “No,” he says. “Mr. Almstead. No, please.”
Vince pushes Rich into us, then directs us with his gun toward the door.
“It’s time to wrap it up,” Almstead says with regret. “But I do respect the three of you. You didn’t take the bait, and that’s admirable. And you were instrumental in the success of the launch. I’m sorry it has to end this way.”
“But, why?” Laurel blurts out. “Why do you hate people so much that you’d do something like this?”
“I’m afraid you’ll never know, will you?” Almstead says. “No one will know the truth. And if that’s sad, it can’t be helped. Amos, I’m ready to be away from this ship.”
“Wait! Don’t take us away! We’re still … We’re still…,” Rich stammers.
“You’re still what?” Almstead asks, a dark twinkle in his eye.
“We’re still useful,” Rich says.
“We should do an interview,” I say. I turn to Almstead. “If you don’t tell your side of the story, then no one will know this was a choice you made. They’ll assume it was all just some stupid accident.”
Rich joins in. “It airs posthumously. You put it in a bank vault. Give directions to a lawyer to open it when you actually die. Then the world will know that you created Solu on purpose.”
Almstead is considering it, his eyes glinting as he scratches his jaw.
“You kids are just stalling,” Almstead says. “And, anyhow, I’ll only come off like some grandstanding villain.”
“I think it’s a good idea,” Laurel says. “You should tell your side of the story.”
“Mr. Almstead, please listen,” Rich begs. “People need to know that it came from you. Otherwise they won’t understand about the plan. All that stuff you told me about your shareholders. All that stuff about the Oinkers of the world and how this could be a wake-up call. They need to hear they’re being given a new chance. A chance to start again, because that’s what it is, isn’t it?”