Jamie Freveletti - Running Dark

Emma walked into a tiny waiting area with comfortable couches and a desk. Behind that was a hallway. A woman sat at the desk, writing on a small pad. She had chestnut hair that ended at a high widow’s-peak forehead and was pulled back into a severe ponytail. Her skin was so pale that Emma could see the blue veins underneath. She wore a white coat and a name tag that read ANN MILLER. She finished writing, ripped off the paper, and handed it and a small pill bottle to the female passenger sitting in front of her.

“Take one every four hours on a full stomach.” The woman, who looked to be about sixty, gripped the bottle so tightly that Emma could see the knuckles on her hands whiten. She opened the bottle, took out a pill, and swallowed it right there. The move screamed desperation, and it stunned Emma with its intensity.

“Don’t you want some water?” Cindy sounded as shocked as Emma felt.

The woman colored. “No.” She mumbled the word, her head down, before bolting out the door. Ms. Miller frowned as she watched the woman leave. Two large creases appeared on her forehead, as if the skin were papery thin.

“Are you the chemist who boarded the ship?” she asked Emma.

“Yes.” Emma offered her hand to shake. “I’m Emma Caldridge. Is that line normal?”

Ms. Miller looked surprised. “Good heavens, no. These people are just begging for medications. They all want tranquilizers—I’m going to run out very soon—and most want sleeping pills as well.”

“They’re scared,” Cindy said.

Ms. Miller frowned. “So am I, but I can’t just dispense tranquilizers willy-nilly. I’m turning away anyone who has no history of needing them. But I must say, some of the reactions I’m getting are scaring me.”

“Scaring you? Why?”

She swallowed. “They’re insisting. Some are threatening violence if they don’t get what they want. Their behavior is strange, to say the least.”

Shouts of “Come on!” and “Where is she?” echoed from the hallway.

“They’re getting restless,” Cindy said.

“I’d better get back to work.” A look of exhaustion spread across Ms. Miller’s face.

Emma put a hand on the woman’s arm. “Ask each of them if they recall being stuck with a pen or feeling a jab at any time prior to their symptoms. Ask them if they recall feeling a rush from inside.”

Ms. Miller frowned. “You think they’ve been drugged?”

“I know they’ve been drugged. I would just like to know who’s doing it. Ask them all who was near them at the time of the stick. I’ll be on the bridge if you get any answers.”

Emma continued wending her way to the bridge, with Cindy and Marina accompanying her. They made it to Deck Three without incident and were fifty feet from the stairs that rose to the exit to the pool deck when a group of people poured into the narrow space behind them. All three women turned to look. They were face-to-face with a crowd of men, all led by one with a beer bottle in his hand and anger in his eyes. His face was flushed and his color high. Emma watched him labor for breath. Behind him the others jostled one another to get a look at what blocked their passage. All the men had wild looks on their faces. Two had facial tics. Emma watched as the muscles under their skin twitched in a regular rhythm.

“Where the hell you going?” the man with the beer bottle said.

Emma aimed for a soothing tone. “We’re just headed to the bridge.”

The man’s face flushed brighter. “Get out of our way. That’s where we’re going. We’re going to handle this situation for the captain. We’re done sitting here waiting for those pirates to come back and kill us. We’re gonna act.”

Emma hesitated. The last thing she needed was a confrontation. The lead man noted her pause.

“I said, get out of the way.” He moved closer, and the entire group shuffled along with him.

“Emma, let’s keep going up.” Cindy was behind her, tapping her on the shoulder. Emma could hear the strain in the woman’s voice. She didn’t want to alarm Cindy, but she wasn’t moving. This crowd was not going to the bridge—not past her, at least. She stood her ground as she spoke to the women behind her.

“Go tell Wainwright what’s going on here.”

The men moved closer.

Cindy’s hand clutched Emma’s shoulder. “Not without you.”

“Yes, without me.”

“Marina, go. I’m staying here.”

The men moved closer. Emma could smell the beer from the bottle. The lead man’s breathing hitched even more. She wished she could calculate how long it had been since he’d been stuck. If recent, he wasn’t going to come to his senses anytime soon.

“Just shove her out of the way!” a man yelled from the back of the mob. He spoke with an English accent.

Before Emma could react, the lead man did just that. He put his hands on her shoulders—the one holding the bottle was fisted—and he pushed. Emma staggered backward. She grabbed at a railing set along the wall. If not for that, she would have fallen. She regained her balance and continued to face the men but took one step back. She needed to stay upright. If she went down, she was sure they’d trample right over her in their rush to the bridge. The lead man moved closer. This time he took a final swig off the beer bottle and then raised it high.

“I don’t want to hurt you, lady, but you need to get the hell out of my way,” he said.

Before Emma could respond, a whizzing sound came from the back of the crowd. A man yelped. She heard something hit the carpeted deck with a thud. The entire group turned around to look at the new disturbance. Emma took advantage of the moment to move up the stairs, backward, keeping her face to the crowd. Cindy stayed right behind her, moving in unison with her. From this position Emma had the added advantage of being above the men’s heads and could see past them.

Sumner and Block stood at the far end of the hall. Emma made out the shape of a square device in Sumner’s hand that looked like a gun with a boxy muzzle. His face held its usual determined look as he calmly went about reloading the weapon. Block looked far less calm. In fact, he looked furious. His color was as high as that of the men around him, but Emma thought it might be induced from pure rage rather than a drug.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, pushing a woman?” Block’s voice pulsed with anger. Emma heard Cindy gasp. The men began to step toward him but stopped when Sumner held up the stun gun.

“Anyone comes closer and he gets to go lights-out courtesy of fifteen thousand volts.”

The men stopped. Sumner flicked a questioning look at Emma. She nodded to let him know she was unhurt. A man from the center of the group yelled in a language that sounded like Russian.

“Sprechen Sie Deutsch?” Sumner said. The Russian shifted into German without missing a beat.

“ Ja, drecksack! Get out of our way. We’re going to the captain.”

“You’ve all been drugged,” Emma said.

The crowd fell silent and turned back to Emma.

“What do you mean, drugged?” The beer-bottle holder spit out the question.

“Just what I said. Someone on the ship is drugging the passengers. I want you all to think—did you feel any type of stick or sting followed by a surge that might have been a chemical entering your system?”

A man in the center of the crowd spoke up. “I did. A guy fell against me. I felt the sting and the rush right after. I didn’t think anything of it.”

“What did he look like?” Emma asked.

The man, a younger passenger with ginger-colored hair and a large-framed body, hesitated. “He was a ship employee. He wore a white uniform. But I don’t know which one.”