Dream Thing

“Yeah.” Now Mick was getting butterflies in his stomach. Goodall was a smart cookie. Maybe the smartest one of them all. What made him worried about their survival?

“This is what I’m thinking,” Missy said. “There’s gotta be some love interest in this TV program for it to work. Right? A little sex and romance?”

The word sex got his attention.

“D’you see what I’m saying?” Missy asked.

“Not exactly,” Chad said. “But I like the direction it’s headed.”

“You and me, Mick. We hook up. We have a torrid love affair. We flirt in front of the others, we have sex where they can see us, we have a few big fights. We’ll be the stars of the miniseries!”

Mick nodded. “Good plan. I’m game.”

Missy smirked. “I know a rare opportunity when I see one and I’m going to make the most of it. I’m not opposed to a little whoring. But I say what goes and what doesn’t go. Got it?”

“Sure. When do we start the show?”

“Keep bowser in your trousers for now. You’ll get your piece at the most dramatic moment and I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

“Cool.”

“Meanwhile, you’ll have to settle for a little public display of affection, just to get the rest of them talking.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed her tongue in this mouth while he tried to keep an eye on the dark and dismal vortex.

Chapter 41

You paid for luxury and that’s what you got aboard the cruise yacht Moorea Explorer. She was 232 feet of sparkling white hull, containing thirty-five richly appointed cabins, all with bay windows and king-size beds. The public areas contained a small fortune in artworks, hot tubs, several small swimming pools, a jungle of lush potted greenery and three restaurants. There were more staff than there were passengers.

One of the key features of the Moorea Explorer was its four circular deck lounges, one at the very apex of the ship, resting above the bridge, and one at sea level. “Don’t get your shoes wet,” the staff joked every night as they welcomed their guests to the Sea Level Viewing Lounge.

Tonight the sommelier was pouring a rare New Zealand Pinot Gris as the perfect accompaniment to the pre-dinner hors d’oeuvres. The chef was displaying an impressive cold platter of antipasti alla noemi—light on the mussels and crab, heavy on the squid. “Today we made a catch of the freshest, plumpest squid and I knew I must make this perfect cold tray for my guests,” the chef was explaining as he wandered among the guests. “Try with a little lemon. It is scrumptious.”

The night was crisp and the island of Hiva Oa hovered a mile off the deck, her evening lights glinting in the vast South Pacific ocean.

All the polite talk was about the disturbance to the north. The papers were calling it the vortex. It seemed unreal that such a grand and big storm could be so close, while their weather was quiet and lovely.

It was agreed among the passengers that they were quite brave for continuing with their cruise so close to the anomaly.

“Why?” asked a matronly, nervous woman in her seventies. “Do you think there is any danger here?”

“Course not,” announced her husband. “You see any sign of them clouds?”

The woman looked anxiously at the sky. The blanket of stars showed her there wasn’t a cloud in the sky for miles.

They were safe.

Splash.

Everyone looked around. For a moment there was no alarm whatsoever. Then a purser walked quickly to the rail next to a table with half-eaten plates of antipasti—but no one sitting there. The porter called out a name, leaning over the brass rail. His legs went up and he went over.

Splash.

“Man overboard,” called the chef. He ran to the rail with the sommelier, snatching at life preservers. They stood at the rail and peered into the waters, trying to figure out where to throw them.

There were flickers of movement, and then the chef and sommelier went in, too, seemingly dragged in by their extended arms.

Guests began to fall to the ground, and only then did they become aware of the slimy, boneless limbs that were coming out of the ocean and snaking under the deck rail, grabbing ankles. The guests were yanked into the rail, but they wouldn’t go through.

The squid hauled themselves aboard, wrapping their tentacles around every limb and torso they could reach. They were monsters. Their tentacles were powerful and weighty, and bore down each person they captured.

The captain watched the attack on the security monitors, amazed and shocked. He unlocked the weapons cabinet and dispatched his first mate to the Sea Level Viewing Lounge with eight armed men. On the monitors, he saw them blast the invading creatures. He saw the things die with great craters in their mantles, but for every squid that collapsed in a pile of mush, another one dragged itself laboriously onto the deck. In minutes, the squid had overcome their attackers.