Prologue

March 2013

With a loud blast, a ship’s horn lets out a piercing bwaah…bwaah, and the low rumble in the water catches my attention for a brief second. This isn’t the first time my mind has tricked me into thinking I was being rescued, so I sink back into myself. My eyes are almost entirely closed, and my skin feels like it’s peeling off from the cold windburn and the dried saltwater. My body is so weak that I don’t have the strength to lift my head and look around. Moments later, I feel icy cold water splashing on my legs, and the sound of a man yelling in my ear jolts me awake.

“Hello, can you hear me?”

I struggle to open my eyes; the sunlight is blinding. After my eyes adjust, I see a man in a jumpsuit and safety gear leaning over me. I’m shocked by the sight, and my dry throat burns as I gasp. My ears are ringing, and I feel like I’m underwater for a moment.

The man shouts again, “Can you hear me?”

Realizing this isn’t a dream, I croak out, “Are you real?”

The man touches my arm and answers, “Sure am. My name is Brandon. I’m with the US Coast Guard. You’re safe now. We’ve got a helicopter on the way to take you to a hospital.”

I’m still in shock, so I just stare at him blankly. The man grabs my shoulder, and I flinch. He speaks softly, “Everything’s going to be okay. Can you tell me your name?”

I’m still too stunned to speak.

He tries again, “Do you have someone we can call?”

This time, I managed to get the words out.

“No, I don’t have anyone left. They’re all dead.”

One Year Later

March 2014

It’s been a year since the “Parrish Cruise Line Disaster” gripped the world’s attention. The media coverage of the horrific event spread like wildfire, growing so intense that its impact echoed around the world. The story of what happened on board was gruesome, terrifying, and almost unimaginable. The fallout was so severe that millions of people became afraid to take a commercial cruise. The PR nightmare was so devastating that the start-up cruise line couldn’t recover and went bankrupt. Rumors about what happened on the ship circulated everywhere.

I’m currently sitting in a small diner, and I can hear a waitress standing just a few feet away gossiping about the disaster. She glances at me and smiles, and I can’t help but think she has no idea what she is talking about. I’m not one to judge, but if I were, this lady looks like the type of woman who gossips just to stay relevant. She has box-dyed red hair, deep wrinkles, and yellowing teeth, and is wearing an off-white shirt that looks too small for her frame. She reeks of cigarette smoke and is talking so loudly that I’m positive I’m not the only one who can hear every word she says. Standing next to her is my waitress, her facial expression clearly telegraphing that she would rather be anywhere else than listening to this woman blather on. The older waitress obviously doesn’t know how to read body language because she doesn’t stop talking.

“Can you believe what happened on that ship? This is why I’ll never go on a cruise! I can’t imagine what those people went through. How in the world does something like that even happen in this day and age?” she asks.

You’d be hard-pressed to find anyone who hadn’t heard the story. When the story first broke it didn’t matter where you were—at the local coffee shop, grocery store checkout lines, and bank lines—you could overhear someone talking about it. Every magazine and newspaper cover featured a photo of the ship, accompanied by bold, eye-catching headlines. People were obsessed, but who could blame them? Considering the photo that was shared everywhere, it’s only natural that everyone would be talking about it. Hell, even I was blown away at the image.

It was like witnessing the aftermath of a bad car accident on the highway. You want to see what happened, who was hurt, and what the damage was to the car. Some part of you wants to see the blood and broken bones, even if you’ll never admit it to anyone. Out loud, you might say things like “I hope everyone is okay” or “I wonder what happened,” even though, deep down, you secretly want to see the worst possible thing. Naturally, people are curious about strange things, and your inquisitive nature pushes you to learn more. Just like the car accident that gave you an adrenaline rush or a trainwreck making local headlines, the “Parrish Cruise Lines Disaster” had a similar effect, and the entire world stopped to watch.

How could you not be obsessed? There were 2,100 passengers on board, including 700 crew members and 1,400 of their families and friends. This ship was the first to be built for the start-up cruise line. It was to be the flagship of the many vessels planned for the new company. The trip served as a training exercise to ready both the crew and the ship for its maiden voyage.

The itinerary was four days long, with two days at sea and one stop in between. The main purpose of the voyage was to test all departments, from the service elements, to show performance and the dining experience.

The story started when an unknown blogger posted a single crime scene photo online. No one knows how they were able to get the photo; some said the police leaked it, but nothing has been proven. The photo was of the atrium. In the picture, you could see the once beautiful wrap-around glass staircase that reached across three floors, with most of the steps shattered into hundreds of jagged pieces and covered in a thick, almost inky black substance that had dried and cracked in the same way a lake would during a drought.

The wooden railing that once followed along the stairwell had been snapped into pieces, leaving a large gap between the floors. Halfway down, you could see the remaining portion of the broken railing sticking up from the atrium floor like a spike. At the base of the stairs rested a decayed corpse, the jagged wood railing pierced directly through its torso. On the right side of the atrium were two large elevators encased in tarnished gold. Their observation windows were shattered, and the cars were demolished beyond repair, crumpled like crushed cans, as if they’d been hurtled down to the bottom floor.

Above the atrium, a corpse was hanging by a rope from an enormous, lopsided crystal chandelier. Around the neck of the corpse was a white lifebuoy with the word “TRAITOR” written on it in what looked like dried blood.

A pile of bones sat on the floor atop a white sheet, directly under the hanging corpse. The bones appeared disturbingly clean, completely stripped of all muscles and flesh. The way they were left looked like they were discarded after… something happened. Something unspeakable. Something violent, and desperate.

Most of the entrances leading to the atrium had been completely blocked off with furniture. The only way to enter was to jump from the balcony into the shattered glass stairwell or through a single entrance on the fourth floor.

Everything you’ve read in the media was based on that photo. No one truly knows what happened.

No one knows the utter descent into darkness and depravity that happened at sea for nine nightmarish months.

Well, that’s not entirely true. One person knows everything. Every sordid, fucked-up detail. How do I know that?

Because I was there.