“And who is going to patch you up?”

“I’m an old man, I’m used to working at reduced capacity,” Grau said with a grin. He leaned his crutch against a cabinet, opened a cupboard and pulled out a large plastic box. With a quick rummage inside he produced a sterile patch.

“This will take away the burning sensation and protect the remaining skin. It also contains a mild anaesthetic which will help with the pain,” he said, sticking the self adhesive patch on Lucya’s hand. “It will be good for twelve hours, then it needs to be changed, so come back and see me then.”

“In the gym,” Lucya said smiling.

“Yes, in the gym. I hope you will bring with you good news from your radios.”

“I hope so too Grau, I really do.”

She left quickly, intending to return to the bridge as instructed, but at the stairs she hesitated. Her hand had been dealt with quickly, perhaps she had time to change out of her clothes? They were covered in smelly ash, and had begun to melt in places, no doubt from the heat of the burning lifeboats. She took a snap decision, and headed down towards deck three.

Twelve

THE SOUND HAD come from further down the corridor. A couple of cabins away at the most. Jake’s heart leaped into his mouth. He had heard a gunshot only once before. He was just a child at the time, visiting a store with his father late one night. It was in their home town of Portsmouth, a wealthy area with a low crime rate, and an even lower rate of violent crime. On that particular night the store was having its takings collected by the security company. A pair of masked gunmen had burst through the doors just as the security van driver emerged from the cashier’s office. They didn’t even threaten him in order to take the cash, they just shot him once in the neck. His bullet and stab proof vest and his helmet offered no protection, and he was killed almost instantly. Jake witnessed the whole thing. The gunman had even winked at him through his balaclava on his way out. He’d had to provide a statement to the police. He’d also needed a year of counselling from a specially trained child psychologist.

The sound of the gunshot he had just heard brought the memory flooding back. Sweating, he paced silently along the passage. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. There was no question of trying to locate the source of the sound. Better to get back to the bridge and find Max Mooting, tell him to get down here pronto. He was passing the door to Johnny Hollen’s cabin, and stopped. Was that a groaning sound coming from within? He hesitated. There was nobody else out here in the passage. If someone had been in that cabin with a gun, they were still in there. He turned to walk away, when the cabin door flew open. A tall thick set man with horn rimmed glasses stepped out. In his right hand he held a semi automatic pistol. In his left hand, a whistle.

“Hello Jake,” the man said. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

“Captain Ibsen, we’ve been looking for you. Are you alright? I heard a gun.” Jake said, staring at the gun in his captain’s hand. A hand, he realised with horror, that was being raised into the air. A gun, he saw, that was now pointed directly at him. He tried to speak, managed only one word: “Why?”

The captain took a step towards him. “This is my duty, First Officer. We were supposed to die, like everyone else. We all saw it on the final broadcast, the fate of the world. Death. Now it is up to me to see that fate is met on my ship.”

“You’re going to try and kill everyone on board?”

“Not an easy task, I grant you. But I suspect that if I eliminate the senior crew, the general panic caused will give me a helping hand in terminating more lives.”

Jake tried to back away. “Captain, where is Staff Officer Hollen? What have you done, Captain Ibsen?”

“I told you, I am eliminating the crew. I am going in order of rank, more or less, so you’re next.”

He took a step towards Jake, curled his finger around the trigger. Jake felt his trouser leg become warm and moist. He hung his head, resigned to his fate. Then, slowly, a smile crawled its way across his lips. He raised his head again and looked the captain in the eye. The expression clearly unsettled Ibsen.

“Something amuses you?”

“Three things, actually,” Jake said. “The first thing is, aren’t you being a bit dramatic about all this? I mean, if you are going to kill me, just kill me, right? The second thing, well I’ve just realised that I’m not afraid of dying. I nearly died twice today already. A bloody great asteroid missed me, and then I avoided a molten ash cloud.I must be the luckiest man alive, or I really should be dead already. Either way, if you kill me now, I’ve already won an extra hour or two of life that I should never have had.”

“The third?” Ibsen asked.

“The third?” Jake queried.

“You said three things amused you. What is the third?”

“Oh! Oh yes, the third,” he paused for effect. “The third thing is, you should probably watch your back if you’re going to go around pointing guns at people.”

Ibsen swung round. He completed the move just quickly enough to see Lucya swing a bottle of Dom Pérignon at his head. It connected with crack that rang out through the corridor. Ibsen’s arms dropped to his sides, his grip was lost on the gun which clattered to the floor, along with the whistle. The captain followed, landing with a thud.

“Thanks,” Jake said, wiping his brow with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

“My pleasure,” Lucya said.

“Johnny!” Jake ran into the staff officer’s cabin.

He found his superior, half lying half sitting against the wardrobe. The quarters were bigger than Jake’s, not exactly spacious, but there was enough room to circulate freely. Jake froze, staring at Hollen. Blood soaked the carpet around him, and more continued to trickle from the bullet wound to his chest.

“Shit,” Lucya said from his side. “Is he still alive?”

“I…I don’t know. How do we tell?”

Lucya dropped to her knees, put her fingers against Johnny’s neck, feeling for a pulse.

“Nothing. I can’t feel anything. I think he’s dead Jake.”

She pulled her hand away, stood slowly, backed away from the body. The two of them remained there in stunned silence, not sure what they should say or do.

Finally Lucya spoke.

“We should get Max down here. I’ll go and find him. You need to tie Ibsen up before he comes round. Johnny must have a belt or a tie or something you can use.”

Jake said nothing, he was still staring at his colleague, processing what had happened.

“Jake,” Lucya placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to go and find Max. Tie him up, okay?”

“Yeah. Um, yeah, sure, you’re right. I’ll tie him up.”

Lucya left the cabin and Jake began to search for something he could use to secure the captain.

Johnny appeared to have very few clothes in his cabinet. The first drawer was full of magazines, mostly about self building ecological houses, and green energy generation. The second drawer was full of knick-knacks that he must have picked up from various ports of call. Cheap souvenirs, tat made for tourists. The third drawer held some clothes, and bundles and bundles of letters. Johnny wasn’t married, and had never mentioned a girlfriend, or boyfriend for that matter, so Jake wondered with whom all the correspondence took place. He realised just how little he knew about his immediate superior. They had never really been friends, but they got on well enough, he thought. Yet looking through these possessions was like rifling through the drawers of a complete stranger.