Outpost

‘They don’t get any smarter,’ said Ghost.

‘You’d think they would rot,’ said Nail. ‘They can’t keep going for ever. Sooner or later, they have to drop dead.’

Nail swigged from a hip flask.

‘So how are you doing?’ asked Ghost.

‘All right.’

‘You must be pretty cut up about Mal.’

‘Fuck him. He was weak.’

‘Any idea why he would want to kill himself?’

‘Right now, every one of us has a dozen reasons to jump over the side.’

‘He was your friend.’

‘Nobody has friends. Not out here.’

Nail proffered his hip flask. Ghost took it and pretended to drink.

‘Fancy a trip below deck?’

‘What for?’ asked Nail.

‘The Neptune Bar. The guys want to hold a wake. We need to liberate a few supplies.’

‘Yeah. Why not?’

Jane used a master key from the purser’s office to let herself into Nail’s cabin. She searched by torchlight. Ghost and Nail were out on deck. She didn’t want Nail to see light at his cabin porthole.

‘What exactly do you hope to find?’ Ghost had asked.

‘I don’t know. Something incriminating. Some kind of contraband.’

Dumbbells. Empty bottles of Scotch. Five years of Hustler.

Jane tried to think like a junkie. Where would she hide her stash? Toilet cistern. Back of the washstand sink. Inside tubular, steel-frame furniture.

She checked beneath the bed with a Maglite pen torch. She tugged at the side panels of the bath. She pulled up carpet.

Nothing.

She headed for the door. She was reluctant to leave. Gut instinct told her there was something hidden in the room, something significant, but she didn’t have time for a thorough search.

The crew took over the Tex Mex Grill. Ponchos hung on the wall, a plastic cactus stood by the door and a picture of Lee Van Cleef hung behind the bar.

Ghost and Nail had rescued three cases of Veuve Clicquot from below deck. They filled buckets with ice chiselled from benches along the promenade, and set the champagne to chill.

‘Have fun, boys,’ said Ghost. His turn on patrol.

Gus put a CD player on the bar. Mal liked U2, so they played ‘Joshua Tree’.

Gus muted the sound for a moment and stood on a chair. He proposed a toast.

‘Mal. Here’s to you, buddy. Via con Dios.’

They all drained their glasses except for Jane. She resolved to stay sober. She sat by a brass radiator. She stooped to pick up a fallen coaster and turned up the thermostat. She popped a fresh bottle and refilled glasses.

Nail took off his fleece. He stood on a table and clapped for silence. Another toast.

‘Goodbye to a good man. Goodbye to our friend.’

Gus found bags of nachos in a back room. He filled bowls.

Jane stood next to Nail at the bar.

‘You took off your bandages.’

‘Guess I’m all better.’

‘I spoke to Nikki on the radio,’ said Jane. ‘She says Hi.’

‘Tell her to eat shit and die.’

‘Did she leave a note?’

‘Bitch stole my knife.’

The room was getting hot. Jane took off her fleece. She wore a black vest.

‘Been working out?’ asked Nail.

Jane pried the cap from a Corona.

‘I took over your gym.’

‘All right. Let’s see what you’ve got.’

They cleared a table. The crew formed a circle. Nail pulled off his shirt. He sat and put his arm out ready to wrestle.

‘Left hand, okay? I don’t want to re-snap my wrist.’

Jane got into position and gripped his massive hand.

Gus counted them down: ‘Three… two… one.’

Nail had a snarling wolf on his bicep. No regimental tattoo on his forearm. No lion on his back.

They wrestled. Nail nearly dislocated Jane’s shoulder. He quickly pulled her arm over, but she kept her hand from touching the table. She fought and swore. She sweated and snarled. She refused to grant victory.

Later that night Jane cracked a fresh bottle of beer and stood at Hyperion’s prow.

She looked towards Rampart. A couple of standby floodlights still burned, even though no one was home.

Jane leaned over a prow railing and shone a flashlight downward. Half-frozen passengers stood far beneath her. She dropped her empty beer bottle. She watched it fall and smash on an infected passenger’s head.

Someone behind her. Nail, with a bottle. He leaned over the railing. He took a swig of champagne and spat spray. He watched the droplets freeze as they fell, and scatter on the shoulders of passengers below like hail.

‘Bored with singing?’ he asked.

‘Karaoke at a wake. Doesn’t seem right.’

‘Mal wouldn’t care.’

‘How are the crew getting on?’ asked Jane, groping for something to say. ‘How is morale? They don’t confide in me much.’

‘Pretty good. There are plenty of distractions aboard. Plenty of ways to waste time. We’re all counting the days until March.’

‘You’re doing all right?’

‘Fine.’

‘Heard you were in the army.’

‘Who told you that?’ asked Nail.

‘I don’t recall. Just something I heard. So how was it?’

‘Hot. Dull.’

‘Why did you leave?’

‘I’m not a follower. I don’t like being told what to do.’

‘Coming to the service tomorrow?’

‘Dead is dead. Nothing we say or do will make a damn bit of difference.’

‘Guilty as hell,’ said Jane, when she got back to Ghost’s room.

‘You’re sure?’