“That’s it?” Jake looked surprised. “You’re not going to try and calm the passengers down, tell them what’s happening?”

“What is happening, Jake? Do you know? Because I have no frigging idea. This morning I was winning at Monopoly. Half an hour ago the world was ending. Then we get sandblasted or something, and now…” he stared outside. “Now I don’t know what happens next. So what do you suggest I say to the passengers?”

Jake didn’t have an answer.

Six

FLYNN BAKEMAN STEPPED outside into the Palm Plaza. The park was located in the centre of the ship, a vast open space planted with trees and lush vegetation. Balconied cabins towered above on each side. Shops and restaurants opened out onto the plaza over two levels. Normally the place was buzzing, packed with people walking through, or sunbathing on the patches of grass, or spilling out from the cafes, drinking brightly coloured cocktails while enjoying live music being played under the palm trees. For this arctic cruise, huge gas heaters had been installed too. The cruise company were apparently oblivious to the irony of burning thousands of extra tons of fossil fuels so that passengers could enjoy outdoor activities in the warm whilst on a trip to see ice caps that were melting because of global warming.

Today though, the park was, like the rest of the ship, grey and burnt out. The palm trees were smouldering, the rest of the plants and flowers lost under a thin layer of grey ash. Some of the shop windows had blown in, and many of the balconies had shattered, scattering shards of glass throughout the former greenery.

To Flynn, the grey, desolate scene before him mirrored the despair he felt within. He was alive. He had, against all the odds, somehow survived. Judgement day had come, and his life had been spared. He couldn’t understand. He had always been a faithful servant of the Lord. He prayed every day. He was a true soldier of the faith. And yet, when the end came, he had not been taken.

He walked to the middle of the plaza, and looked up at the grey, ashen sky.

“Why?” he cried at the top of his voice. “Why have you done this to me? What must I do to make this right?” His words sounded weak and pathetic in the vastness of the open space. He sank to his knees, and with balled fists, began ponding the floor, roaring incomprehensibly. Clouds of dust puffed into the air with every impact. When he had exhausted himself, he remained on the ground, curled over, his head on his knees.

And then, he smiled.

God had spoken to him. He knew now why his wife had won this cruise holiday in a radio phone in competition. He understood why he had been taken away from his home, and certain death. More importantly, he knew exactly what he was supposed to do now.

Seven

LUCYA WAS TORN. She had managed to lower five burning lifeboats to sea, but there were three more to go, and another eight on the other side of the ship. She was drained of energy, her burnt hand was in agony, and now the Staff Captain had called all senior crew to the bridge. As chief radio officer, responsible for communications and navigation, she certainly counted as senior crew, but Lucya decided the lifeboats were more important. Emergency flares in one of those she had already released, had exploded as it drifted away from the Spirit of Arcadia. They had turned the already raging fire into a true inferno. If the same thing happened to a lifeboat still on board, they would have a serious problem on their hands.

She put her jacket around the release handle of the next boat, and heaved with all her might. It refused to budge. She gave a scream, took a few steps back, then gave it a kick with the heel of her sturdy black boot. Nothing. Taking a closer look it became obvious why; the steel cable wrapped around the drum of the winch had started to fuse to itself with the heat of the fire.

“Young lady, maybe this would help?” a voice from behind her called.

She looked around and found a tall thin gentleman smiling at her. He was much older than her, in his seventies, she thought. Thinning white hair, and dressed casually. Passenger, not crew. He held out a pair of heavy duty bolt cutters, and raised an eyebrow.

“We really should get a move on. I believe the flares in some of these could go off with quite a bang.”

He spoke with a refined accent, London or thereabouts. Lucya had worked on ships long enough and met enough people to have become quite good at placing accents. She gave a half smile, grabbed the bolt cutters, and in one smooth movement, snipped through the cable that connected the lifeboat to the winch. The bows of the small craft fell away, but with the stern cable still attached it couldn’t entirely free itself, and swung dangerously close to the hull of the cruiser.

“I did say ‘we’,” the man said. He walked to where the second cable fed down through a shackle before connecting to the winch, and with a second pair of bolt cutters, set it free, sending it crashing into the ocean below. The man wandered off casually in the direction of the next boat.

“Wait, who are you anyway?” Lucya shouted after him. She sprinted to catch up.

“Tom Sanderson,” the man said without looking at her.

“What are you doing walking around this ship with bolt cutters, Tom Sanderson?”

“I’m cutting free burning lifeboats, before they endanger the ship and those people on board who have survived events up to this point.” He still didn’t look at her, instead, he positioned his bolt cutters on the cable of the next lifeboat. “Shall we try and better co-ordinate on this one?”

Lucya placed her own cutters on the second cable.

“After three,” Tom said. “1…2….3”.

The two of them snipped at the same moment, sending the burning lifeboat smashing into the dark and icy water. Tom had already set off towards the next one without waiting to watch the descent.

“What I meant,” Lucya was out of breath from all the physical exertion, “is where where did you get them?”

“If that’s what you meant then that’s what you should have asked, don’t you think?”

Lucya stopped in her tracks.

“Listen,” she said. I’m a senior officer and I need to get back to the bridge. Think you can manage the rest on your own?” She handed her bolt cutters to Tom. He couldn’t help but notice the state of her hand as he took hold of them.

“You want to get that looked at,” he said, then turned and set off towards the next burning lifeboat.

Eight

JAKE WAS GETTING worried, there was still no sign of Lucya. Chief Engineer Martin Oakley had made his way to the bridge. Hotel Director Silvia Brook, responsible for passenger facilities, was also present. The only other crew member who had turned up so far was head of security Max Mooting. There was no sign of Captain Ibsen.

“Looks like this is the best we can hope for,” Hollen said. “We should probably get started.”

As he spoke, the bridge door opened slowly. Jake felt a surge of hope, but it wasn’t Lucya who entered, it was Grau Lister, the chief medical officer.

“Grau, what happened?” Hollen asked.

Lister limped in, aided by a crutch. His left leg dragged uselessly behind him.

“Ash,” he said. “Hot ash. Burned right through the muscle. I was lucky, I think it also took out the nerves, I can’t feel a thing.”