The freighter Athena, one mile west of Rhy'Din
18 September
3:05 p.m.
The Athena was silent. She'd never been a rowdy ship, but on a sailing ship there were always people on deck, always something to be taken care of. The empty deck, and its dangerous near miss with the lighthouse, was what tipped the old tugboat captain this was a derelict. Something had happened to these men....but that wasn't unusual. Maybe they were murdered by pirates, devoured by a sea monster, starved, or all swept overboard in a storm.
Empty ships didn't too often happen upon Rhy'Din, but they'd happened before, and Captain Aleksandroff did not let it bother him. He was merely glad he was the first to spot and claim the derelict vessel.
His four-fingered hand grasped the railing and he hoisted himself over, onto the deck of the Athena. His small crew was already hard at work, checking out the ship for survivors and goods. They were all belowdecks, and Aleksandroff strolled to the helm. There was an overturned bucket in his path, a long puddle of water...
...mixed with blood. Tired grey eyes followed several bloody smears past the helm to a break in the railing, recently broken off. The coppery smell wasn't very strong. He couldn't be sure when this had happened, but it was no business of his. Still....he chanced a look over the railing into the water, and was greeted only by choppy little waves.
While he sniffed at the blood, he did notice something smelled funny. Rotten. Like meat left out for days. He wrinkled his nose.
"Captain."
"Uh?" Aleksandroff looked over his shoulder; he couldn't recall the name of the sailor speaking to him.
"There are several tons of tropical fruit, most of it still good, and sugar."
"Survivors?"
The sailor shrugged, as two others emerged from belowdecks.
The captain narrowed his eyes, remembering something....maybe. It might just be old age. "Where's Patterson?"
The sailors looked at each other, each expecting the other to know. Finally one spoke up: "Did he even come along?"
Aleksandroff paused and hesitated to answer. He hated to admit that he couldn't recall. "He's probably back at the dock playing with that goddamned dog....Come on. We've got work to do."
* * *
The West End Docks 18 September 4:30 p.m.
Two sailors remained on the Athena while Aleksandroff tugged it into port — his crew was too small to handle the Athena and sail it in directly. When footsteps came from belowdecks, and the sailors heard the moans, they thought they'd overlooked survivors, victims of some tropical malady, they thought to themselves, when they saw the odd grey mottling of their skin. Their arms reached out, their feet moved slowly, they moaned incoherently, and one of the sailors moved forward.
"It's okay, guys..." Their hands grasped at him. The grip was like iron. "...Whoa. Hey, maybe you shouldn't — "
His last thought was worry about catching whatever it was they had, before one of them let out something akin to a short howl and sank its teeth into his neck. He gurgled and gasped, and sank to his knees as his two attackers tore at him.
The other sailor watched in horror, and when one of the "survivors" looked at him with white eyes, he grabbed a bucket to defend himself with. He let out panicked cries, swinging wide at it but afraid to get near; one swing connected, and sent the bucket soaring off into the water. The creature grabbed him by the arms and opened its mouth wide. He backed against the railing, the creature shuffled forward and bit into his arm, he screamed, the railing broke...
...and both toppled into the water.
Aleksandroff had cut the engine just in time to hear the splash. He hopped off the boat, rushed as fast as his old bones could carry him to the end of the dock so he could see around it, and saw the blue water turned an angry red. Whoever had gone overboard, had already sunk beneath the surface.
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph..." The old captain crossed himself, muttering prayer until something creaked several feet behind him. He looked over his shoulder.
Patterson. But not Patterson. His skin was grey, his eyes were white, and he reached out his arms, stumbling clumsily towards his captain. The dock workers who had already put up the ramp had been followed down by the man, thought he was drunk and sick. One had even been scratched by him, drawing blood, but jerked away and laughed it off. Few had seen the blood on the decks, and those who did chalked it up to whatever reason the ship had become a derelict. They didn't even see several more like Patterson crawling down the ramp from the Athena to the dock.
But Aleksandroff realized very little of this. He shook when Patterson drew near and actually sniffed at him. Then Patterson let out a low moan, lurched forward, and tore and bit.
No one even came to his aids....for the dock workers were already under attack.
A disease, more than capable of turning into an epidemic, had arrived in Rhy'Din.
The Athena was silent. She'd never been a rowdy ship, but on a sailing ship there were always people on deck, always something to be taken care of. The empty deck, and its dangerous near miss with the lighthouse, was what tipped the old tugboat captain this was a derelict. Something had happened to these men....but that wasn't unusual. Maybe they were murdered by pirates, devoured by a sea monster, starved, or all swept overboard in a storm.
Empty ships didn't too often happen upon Rhy'Din, but they'd happened before, and Captain Aleksandroff did not let it bother him. He was merely glad he was the first to spot and claim the derelict vessel.
His four-fingered hand grasped the railing and he hoisted himself over, onto the deck of the Athena. His small crew was already hard at work, checking out the ship for survivors and goods. They were all belowdecks, and Aleksandroff strolled to the helm. There was an overturned bucket in his path, a long puddle of water...
...mixed with blood. Tired grey eyes followed several bloody smears past the helm to a break in the railing, recently broken off. The coppery smell wasn't very strong. He couldn't be sure when this had happened, but it was no business of his. Still....he chanced a look over the railing into the water, and was greeted only by choppy little waves.
While he sniffed at the blood, he did notice something smelled funny. Rotten. Like meat left out for days. He wrinkled his nose.
"Captain."
"Uh?" Aleksandroff looked over his shoulder; he couldn't recall the name of the sailor speaking to him.
"There are several tons of tropical fruit, most of it still good, and sugar."
"Survivors?"
The sailor shrugged, as two others emerged from belowdecks.
The captain narrowed his eyes, remembering something....maybe. It might just be old age. "Where's Patterson?"
The sailors looked at each other, each expecting the other to know. Finally one spoke up: "Did he even come along?"
Aleksandroff paused and hesitated to answer. He hated to admit that he couldn't recall. "He's probably back at the dock playing with that goddamned dog....Come on. We've got work to do."
* * *
The West End Docks 18 September 4:30 p.m.
Two sailors remained on the Athena while Aleksandroff tugged it into port — his crew was too small to handle the Athena and sail it in directly. When footsteps came from belowdecks, and the sailors heard the moans, they thought they'd overlooked survivors, victims of some tropical malady, they thought to themselves, when they saw the odd grey mottling of their skin. Their arms reached out, their feet moved slowly, they moaned incoherently, and one of the sailors moved forward.
"It's okay, guys..." Their hands grasped at him. The grip was like iron. "...Whoa. Hey, maybe you shouldn't — "
His last thought was worry about catching whatever it was they had, before one of them let out something akin to a short howl and sank its teeth into his neck. He gurgled and gasped, and sank to his knees as his two attackers tore at him.
The other sailor watched in horror, and when one of the "survivors" looked at him with white eyes, he grabbed a bucket to defend himself with. He let out panicked cries, swinging wide at it but afraid to get near; one swing connected, and sent the bucket soaring off into the water. The creature grabbed him by the arms and opened its mouth wide. He backed against the railing, the creature shuffled forward and bit into his arm, he screamed, the railing broke...
...and both toppled into the water.
Aleksandroff had cut the engine just in time to hear the splash. He hopped off the boat, rushed as fast as his old bones could carry him to the end of the dock so he could see around it, and saw the blue water turned an angry red. Whoever had gone overboard, had already sunk beneath the surface.
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph..." The old captain crossed himself, muttering prayer until something creaked several feet behind him. He looked over his shoulder.
Patterson. But not Patterson. His skin was grey, his eyes were white, and he reached out his arms, stumbling clumsily towards his captain. The dock workers who had already put up the ramp had been followed down by the man, thought he was drunk and sick. One had even been scratched by him, drawing blood, but jerked away and laughed it off. Few had seen the blood on the decks, and those who did chalked it up to whatever reason the ship had become a derelict. They didn't even see several more like Patterson crawling down the ramp from the Athena to the dock.
But Aleksandroff realized very little of this. He shook when Patterson drew near and actually sniffed at him. Then Patterson let out a low moan, lurched forward, and tore and bit.
No one even came to his aids....for the dock workers were already under attack.
A disease, more than capable of turning into an epidemic, had arrived in Rhy'Din.