I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think we're sinking.
When we first set out, everything seemed fine. Here we were, on this huge ship - this famous ocean liner, with years of steady service behind her. Up on the main deck, the food was good, there was music every night, with lots of interesting people and a full schedule. What could go wrong?
Oh, some of it was kind of lame - like those speeches every day by the captain, for instance. He'd come out on the upper deck and smirk down at us in his uniform with all his medals, and give these long speeches. I couldn't understand what he was saying most of the time, to be honest. Then everyone would cheer, and he'd give a thumbs up and go back into the stateroom. Whatever.
But I can't help feeling that there's something's very wrong.
People have started disappearing, for one thing. The head waiter. That crewman with the deep voice who sang at church services on Sundays. That nice elderly woman, Leona, who always ate at my table.
Suddenly they're gone, and no one will tell me where they are. Yesterday I saw Leona's daughter sitting at the other end of the deck. She looked like she was crying. I started to walk over to her, but she hurried away.
Later I heard someone shouting and wailing down in the lower deck. "What's happening? Did someone die?" I asked a crew member. "Well, there's been a bit of a problem, but it's all over now." I could hear cries for help. Someone was shouting, "I can't breathe!" There was tape across the stairs. "You can't go down there, ma'am," he said. "Go back to your cabin." He turned away.
There wasn't a funeral.
The dining room is more empty every day.
The crew keeps changing.
And I know this sounds crazy, but I think we're lost. We were supposed to get to port days ago, but the schedule they post keeps changing. We keep passing the same shoreline - I recognize it - over and over. We're going in circles, I swear.
Another weird thing: yesterday, the flag was flying upside down - that's a distress call, right? When the captain noticed it, he stomped out and ordered it fixed. The crewmen looked worried, and fumbled with the rope. One of them was coughing, and he looked really sick.
But you know what the worst thing is? The captain doesn't seem to be doing anything. Every time I look up at the upper deck I can see him. He's not even standing at the wheel. He's sitting, looking down at his phone, his thumbs moving.
There's something very, very wrong. But what can I do? I'm only a passenger.
Today was the worst. I came up for breakfast, and the dining room was locked. The sign taped on the door read: Everything's fine. Go back to your cabins.
So I went back down, and when I got to the bottom of the stairs, I stopped and stared. The halls were sopping wet and the floor was awash with seawater, slopping back and forth. There were jets of water, too, spurting from the pipes. I dashed up the stairs and grabbed at the sleeve of a passing crewman. "We're sinking! There's water coming in!" I shouted.
He barely glanced at me. "Don't worry, ma'am. Everything's fine."
As we stood there another pipe sprung a leak, spraying us both with water. He shook his head. "It's nothing, really. That sort of thing happens sometimes, on a large boat like this." He smiled and walked away.
On the main deck, I ran up to some passengers standing at the rail, looking out over the water. "The halls below are filling with water! The ship is sinking!" They stared at me blankly. One man awkwardly patted me on the shoulder. "Don't be silly. This boat is perfectly safe. Our captain just said so in his morning message. This is the best ship in the world." Another woman smiled happily. "And isn't he wonderful? He's the greatest captain in history!"
I looked up at the stateroom, where I could just see the silhouette of the captain. He was frowning down at his phone again. There was no one at the wheel.
We were riding low in the water now, and tilting to one side.
Suddenly I saw a crewman cutting loose one of the lifeboats. I ran over, clutching the banister for balance, just as it dropped into the water. "What in God's name are you doing? We need those!"
He turned and greeted me respectfully. "Captain's orders, ma'am. He feels that the presence of lifeboats gives off a negative message. We don't need them, after all."
Standing at the rail, I watched the waves tossing, and gulped down my panic.
Suddenly I heard a voice ring out. "This is ridiculous. Why isn't anyone doing anything?" A woman standing near me was gesturing furiously to a group of listeners. "It's time someone speaks up, right? They nodded, and one shouted, "You said it!"
"We gotta to do something!" someone yelled. Shouts of agreement.
Thank goodness! I hurried over.
"Shouldn't we go up and talk to the captain?" I asked. She snorted with contempt. "We tried that. He's locked the door. Now, here's the plan..."
Well, we're ready. Some of the crew have joined us, and we're heading down below. We're going to see if we can patch some of those leaks, and we're even going down to the engine room, too. Maybe, if we all work together, we can turn this boat around.
You'll come, too, won't you? We need all the help we can get!
News Update: The S.S. Denial, on an extended voyage, had ceased communication with the mainland and seemed to be adrift for some time. Recent communication reveals that a crew of volunteers has taken over, a new course has been plotted and the ship should reach the mainland soon. The captain has refused to leave the stateroom, but an inquiry will be held as to his leadership as soon as the ship lands.
Comments