I spent another night looting corpses. It was pretty dismal work, so when the morning bell sounded, I decided to take a breather at the breathiest place I know.
It was almost dawn by the time I made it onto the deck of the ship. The fresh air was gusting hard from the sea – a bracing nor’westerly? – and, as I watched the sun rise, I felt almost normal again for the first time in a long while.
With the red and purple of the morning sun lifting from the ocean, I began to explore the blood-splattered deck, pausing for a cursory investigation of a lifeboat which had fallen from its supports. Alas, there was no way I could use it to make an escape – the last person who tried was still smashed through its shattered hull.
I wasn’t really bothered.
I have a plan now, and I need to stick to it.
Win – that’s all you have to do, Lucy Bear. Win, and then you can get off this stinking pile of bilge water. And if you don’t win, you’re not going to care anyway. It’s comforting to have direction, again. Yes, there’s somewhat more murder involved than I might prefer, but we all have to play the murder cruise we’ve been given, don’t you think?
The sea air gave the illusion of sharpening my senses, but, somehow, amongst the creaks and groans of the ship beginning to warm up to the day, I missed the noise of a door opening. But the laboured breathing and heavy footsteps of my would-be assailant betrayed him. As his shadow grew larger, I was able to easily dodge as he swung a mannequin’s arm at me.
The fat man?!
Seriously, in all this time, since our last run-in at Security, he hadn’t found find something better to kill me with? It’s just wax, is it not? Not an ideal choice. Perhaps he’s grown attached to it? But I shan’t admire a weapon one instinctively wants to shake hands with…
I miss Bat.
This man was in his rather portly 50’s, and I was fairly certain that if I avoided another swing or two, his dicky old plumbing would spare me the effort of adding him to my death toll. His face was already turning into a marvellously red and violet macaroon, as he continued his determined attack.
This felt different to before. I was terrified the first time he attacked me, but this time I just pitied him.
He dropped the mannequin’s arm to try and stop the blood flowing out of the knife wound in his neck and as the life drained out of him, I leaned in and spat out, ‘I know it was you who shit in the bedpan, you dirty bastard!’
I’m truly ashamed I did that – I don’t know where it came from.
Out of respect, I didn’t take his wallet.