A novel by Josh Stacey
Ocean
Spirit
The end of the world
still has happy hour.
The complete voyage · 21 chapters
Read the opening
A novel by Josh Stacey
The end of the world
still has happy hour.
The complete voyage · 21 chapters
Read the opening“Funny, heartfelt, and gloriously overgrown.”
At first, the reports were strange enough to laugh at. Then cities started going dark. Countries disappeared from the map. Communications failed. Ports closed. And somehow, the Ocean Spirit kept sailing.
What began as an ordinary cruise has become something else entirely: a floating town filled with the people who happened to be aboard when the world changed. For John Johnson, a pharmacist who would really like everyone to remember that he is not a doctor, survival mostly means doing the job in front of him and trying not to get volunteered for anything involving a committee.
Around him, the residents of the Ocean Spirit keep doing what people have always done. They argue. They celebrate. They fall in love. They complain about dinner. They worry about tomorrow. And, against all reasonable expectations, they keep going. Because even at the end of the world, somebody still has to plan happy hour.
Chapter One
John Johnson had never planned to live on a cruise ship. Most people hadn’t, which was one of the few things left that most people still had in common.
The ship was called the Ocean Spirit, a name that had once sounded cheerful in the way cruise ship names were required by law or marketing departments to sound cheerful. Before everything changed, it had carried vacationers through warm water while encouraging them to buy drink packages, attend salsa lessons, and form strong opinions about buffet shrimp. It had seven restaurants, four pools, a theater, a casino, a spa, two gift shops, and an entire deck where people used to gather at sunset to take pictures of themselves looking relaxed.
Now it had one functioning pool, no casino, no spa appointments, no gift shops, and several hundred residents who had become very familiar with the phrase “that’s your ration.”
The pool, however, was doing well.
— The story continues aboard —
Twenty-one chapters, complete. The itinerary survived weather, fuel shortages, and the general condition of civilization.
Counts pills, rations antibiotics, and would like to finish one page of his paperback. Approved bubbles under protest. The protest did not make the official record.
Formerly a school principal, a church committee chair, or something more powerful — nobody has confirmed. Owns a clipboard. Has already written the outcome in pen.
Calm in a way that makes people lower their voices without knowing why. Keeps meetings organized, since keeping them brief was never believable.
Has already heard every argument the room is about to have, and did not enjoy them the first time. Negotiates Martha down from ninety minutes to one hour, eventually.
Believes every food can still be rescued by salt, heat, or presentation. Once served rehydrated beans as Rustic Caribbean Cassoulet. The sign helped.
Repairs things that have not asked to be repaired. When asked whether the engine noise is bad, replies that it depends which noise you mean.
Release news, launch updates, and occasional announcements delivered in the same cheerful tone the ship uses for everything, including emergencies.
Karaoke sign-ups close tomorrow. Theme: songs of the eighties.