Dead Sea

Chapter Ten

Alicia stood at the end of the passageway, leaning against the starboard bulkhead. Her head swayed limply in time to the ship’s rolling. Whoever had killed her—Basil or the professor—had done it brutally. One of her arms was nearly fleshless from the elbow down to her wrist. It looked like the skin had been chewed off. The only things left were tendons and bone. A few ragged scraps dangled from the bones. One side of her face had been stripped, too—not just of its skin, but the eye, ear, lips, and scalp, as well. Her torn shirt was so soaked with blood that it was impossible to tell what its original color had been. Now it was just a deep red. Beneath the shredded cloth were more gaping bite wounds. Her other hand was stained red. It was impossible for me to tell if it was from her blood or someone else’s. She stumbled toward us, leaving a scarlet trail along the bulkhead. Alicia raised her head. Her lipless gums and teeth worked soundlessly. She took a few tentative steps forward, almost tripping over her own feet.

Carol let out a muffled shout. “Lamar? Mitch? Children? Are you there?”

“Mrs. Beck,” Tasha called out, “stay inside your room. There’s another one out here.”

“What’s happening?” Carol yelled.

Mitch drew a bead and gunned Alicia down. The pistol jumped in his hand. She toppled over face-first. Her limp form smacked against the floor like a side of beef. Between the bullet and the impact of the fall, her head split open. All four of us jumped back as her blood splattered across the bulkhead and tiles. One of her broken front teeth skidded toward us.

“Oh my God!” Carol screamed from inside her compartment. It was hard to hear her over the echoes of the blast. “Who got shot? What’s going on? Somebody talk to me.”

I approached her hatch door and rapped on it with my free hand. “It’s okay, Carol. Come on out. The coast is clear.”

She opened the hatch and peeked outside. “Lamar, what is going on?”

“Hamelin’s Revenge jumped species again.”

“What?”

“It spread to the fish. The professor got infected this afternoon, but we didn’t know it. Now he’s loose onboard. Joan and Alicia were both attacked. We believe Basil might be one of them, too.”

“Professor Williams—that nice old man? And J-Joan and Alicia?”

She stepped out into the passageway, took one look at Alicia and Joan’s bodies and then screamed. Her fingers dug into her cheeks. Her eyes were wide and terrified. Her shriek seemed to have no end.

Mitch grunted. “W-we… d-don’t have… time… f-for this.”

His arm was bleeding again. It ran down his sleeve in rivulets and dripped onto the floor. Sweat plastered his hair to his head. His beard was matted with saliva.

“Oh no,” Carol gasped. “Mitch—you’ve been bit, too?”

Mitch nodded. “G-go… b-back inside your… c-compartment… and s-stay… there until… we come back… for you. It’s not safe… out h-here.”

Each word seemed to bring pain with it. His face was bathed in perspiration; the tendons in his neck strained.

“You okay?” I asked him, immediately feeling stupid. Of course he wasn’t okay. He was fucking dying.

“N-no.” Mitch doubled over, clutching his stomach with his wounded arm. “It s-spreads… f-faster than you… think. I can… feel it… inside… Like w-worms… c-crawling though my veins.”

He collapsed, falling across Alicia’s unmoving corpse. The gun slipped from his fingers and clattered across the floor. Both were slick with blood.

“Mitch?”

Tasha started forward, reaching for him. I pulled her back.

“Get inside with Mrs. Beck. Both of you. Right now.”

“But Mitch is—”

“Now!”

The kids jumped at the exclamation. Carol ushered them inside her compartment and shut the hatch. I took a few hesitant steps toward Mitch, carefully avoiding the gore on the tiles. Mitch’s arms and legs twitched, and he groaned.

“Mitch? Hey man, can you hear me.”

He slowly raised his head. His eyes were bloodshot and gummy, and his complexion was eggshell white.

“D-do it,” he whispered, his voice slurred. “Don’t… let me…”

I shook my head. “I can’t. I can’t just shoot you. It’s not in me.”

“P-please,” he hissed. “D-do it… Lamar… T-time to… b-be a… h-hero.”

His head fell back again and he closed his eyes. His body twitched a few more times and then he was still.

“Oh, Mitch,” I whispered. I wanted to cry, but couldn’t. “I’m sorry, man. This is so fucked-up.”

Then he began to move again. His legs jittered and his arms jerked. He sat up straight, dead eyes looking right at me. There was no hint of intelligence or recognition—just a naked, all-consuming hunger and need. His mouth opened in a toothy grimace. His arms reached for me, fingers flexing. He moaned.

I shot him. I wasn’t even aware that I’d aimed the shotgun. Didn’t feel my finger on the trigger. I didn’t think about it—it just happened.

The blast echoed down the passageway. My ears rang. My hands went numb for a moment. Even as the spent shell bounced off the bulkhead and gun smoke swirled through the air, I was running down the hall. I headed for the forward section of the ship. My plan was to find the professor first. I owed it to him. Then I’d deal with Basil. I rounded the corner, still unable to hear anything, and almost slammed into Tony and Chuck. All three of us jumped backward, and for a brief second, I thought that Tony was going to shoot me. Then he realized who I was. Chuck shouted out a frightened cry. The former forklift driver was armed with a handgun.

Tony lowered his weapon. “What the fuck is going on, Lamar? We heard shots.”

I had to strain to hear him because of the ringing in my ears.

“We’ve got zombies loose on the ship. Joan and Alicia were both infected. They got Mitch.”

“Why are you shouting?”

“Sorry,” I apologized. “Can’t hear very well. The professor is one of them, too. We’ve got to find him before he gets anybody else. Basil might be infected, too.”

“Zombies,” Chuck said. “How the hell did they get onboard?”

“The fish. It’s spread to the ocean now. The professor caught an infected tuna this afternoon. We didn’t realize it was a zombie then. It looked normal—must have been a fresh kill. It wasn’t rotting yet. He and Basil both had its blood on their hands. The professor got a fishhook stuck in his hand and the blood must have mixed…”

Tony and Chuck stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. Then Tony shouldered his rifle and peeked around the corner, spotting the bodies. He approached them with caution, stared at the damage, and then turned back to me.

“Okay,” he said. “I believe you. Alicia is pretty torn up. The bite marks on her are apparent.”

“I don’t give a fuck if you believe me or not. I’m finding the rest of the fuckers before anybody else gets killed.”

“Then I’m coming with you,” Tony said.

Chuck nodded. “So am I.”

The hinges on Carol’s hatch squealed as it opened. Tasha and Malik poked their heads outside.

“We’ll all go.” Tasha’s tone was defiant.

Behind them, we heard Carol urging them back inside.

“You’re staying here,” I told the kids. “No more bullshit.”

Malik stomped his foot. “But Mitch said—”

I interrupted him. “I don’t care what Mitch said. If we’re family, then you’re going to listen to me when I tell you to do something. Get inside now. Don’t make me tell you again.”

“We should grab Mitch’s gun,” Chuck said, “or at least the grenades.”

I shook my head. “His blood is all over them. Don’t risk getting infected. You got enough ammo?”

“I’m good.”

“Then let’s go.”

Tony, Chuck, and I set off down the passageway. They followed my lead. Somehow, I’d ended up in charge. The professor had been right—my journey was changing me. I hadn’t even been aware of assuming leadership. Just like shooting Mitch. I hadn’t thought about it. I’d just done it. Gone were my fears and my hesitation. I moved with an air of self-assuredness that I’d never possessed. My stride had a grim purpose. The gun felt like an extension of my body. My head was clear. So was my conscience.

We continued working our way forward, staying about five feet apart from each other. I kept the point position, Tony followed me, and Chuck brought up the rear. I clutched the shotgun tightly. My hearing had returned and the ringing in my ears was gone, but there was nothing to hear, anyway. Silence engulfed the ship. The only sound was my heart pounding in my head.

“Did you guys see anyone else?” I asked.

“Chief Maxey and Officer Runkle are on the bridge,” Chuck said. “Or at least they were when I went to bed. They were monitoring the radio, trying to raise any other ships in the vicinity.”

“Did they find any?”

He shook his head.

“So, let’s see.” Tony tilted his head from side to side, cracking his neck. “Carol and the kids are back there, safe. The chief and Runkle are topside. That leaves Nick, Cliff, Murphy, and Tran unaccounted for. Nick and Cliff probably went to sleep. They were watching a movie earlier.”

The ship had a small TV/VCR combo unit that the chief and various security guards had used when the Spratling was tied-up in port. With no broadcast or satellite television signals to pick up, our selections had been limited to repeated viewings of The Wild Geese, Clint Eastwood’s Rile Rider, Tom Skerritt in Bonneville, and Delta Force with Chuck Norris—all on grainy old videotapes. Nick, Cliff, and Turn (when he’d been alive) had been known to argue about who would win in a fight—Chuck Norris or the zombies. My money was on Chuck.

“No telling where Murphy is,” Tony said. “And Tran…”

He trailed off. I knew what he was thinking.

“None of us know shit about him,” I said. “We don’t even know if he’s Korean, Japanese, or Chinese. We just think of him as the Asian guy. That’s pretty fucked-up. He deserves a lot better. I mean, think what it must be like for him. A stranger among strangers, left alive with a bunch of people who don’t speak his language. That sucks.”

Tony grimaced. “Yeah, that’s some life.”

“If he’s even still alive,” Chuck muttered. “Let’s face it, guys. We don’t know how many of us are left—who’s dead and undead.”

The passageway ended at a closed hatch. I opened the hatch and stepped in Nick Kontis.

He’d been shredded. Arms and legs pulled from their sockets, head ripped from the neck, body torn open and his insides scooped out. His clothing was nothing more than rags. His forehead and cheeks had been either slashed or clawed. Long, bloody furrows covered the flesh. Nick’s limbs were partially eaten, gnawed on like turkey drumsticks at Thanksgiving. His blood had been splashed all over the walls, and his guts left a trail down the passageway, as if whoever had been eating them had dropped crumbs every few feet. Despite all of this, Nick was lucky. His attacker had succeeded in smashing his skull open and scooping out the insides. His disembodied head would not be coming back. Nick’s eyes stared up at us.

I raised my foot and examined my sole. The blood hadn’t seeped through. I was okay. No risk of infection—if Nick had even had time to become infected before he was ripped apart. Breathing a heavy sigh of relief, I gingerly picked my way through the slaughter.

“Careful,” I warned. “Don’t touch the walls. There’s blood everywhere. Don’t get it on you.”

Tony and Chuck waded around the mess. Something squished beneath Chuck’s boot heel, and he gagged. He examined the bottom of his foot and turned pale.

“Who do you think got him?” Chuck asked.

“Joan or Alicia,” Tony said. “Or maybe both of them.”

I frowned. “How do you know?”

“Look at the scratches on Nick’s face. Those were made by someone with very long fingernails.”

“So that means we may only have to deal with one more zombie; possibly two, if Basil is dead.”

We crept on. At the next hatch was a red emergency phone that dialed directly into the pilothouse. I picked it up and listened to it ring. On the third ring, Chief Maxey picked up.

“Bridge.” he sounded tired and frustrated.

“Chief, this is Lamar. We’ve got a problem.”

“What’s wrong?”

Quickly, I told him what had happened. The chief responded with a string of creative profanity.

“Where are you now?” he asked when he was done cursing. “There should be a stenciled series of numbers next to the hatch. That will give me your exact location.”

I found them and read the numbers off to him.

“Okay,” he said. “Runkle is on his way down. Continue working your way forward. He’ll meet you guys in the middle. I want all of you to check in with me periodically. Use the emergency phones like the one you’re on now. And Lamar?”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful.”

“Will do.”

I hung up and glanced back at Tony and Chuck.

“They okay?” Tony asked.

I nodded. “Runkle’s working his way toward us from the other end of the ship.”

“By himself?” Chuck snorted. “Dude may be kind of a dick, but super-cop’s got balls.”

I opened the next hatch. “Let’s try to find the rest of the zombies before he does. That way, he won’t have to use those balls.”

The ship suddenly jolted beneath our feet. All three of us reached for the bulkhead to balance ourselves. It felt like the chief had increased our speed. When we were sure that the ship wasn’t going to take a big roll and knock us over, we continued on. As we approached Basil’s berthing compartment, we slowed down. The hatch stood open and the light was on inside. Tony and Chuck flattened themselves against the bulkhead. I crept up to the door and jumped through, holding the shotgun at the ready. The compartment was empty. There was no sign of Basil, and no sign of a struggle. The blanket and sheet were rumpled, and the pillow still held the indentation from where he’d slept. His shoes sat on the floor next to the bed.

“No sign of him,” I said, stepping back out into the passageway. “Let’s try the professor’s room.”

We went back through the hatch—Tony in the lead this time. Basil was waiting for us. He must have been in one of the other compartments. He’d probably heard us and had been stymied by the closed hatch. Basil’s corpse was in good shape—no scratches or bite marks. He’d apparently died in his sleep, even as Hamelin’s Revenge coursed through his veins. His mouth was crusted with blood and he clutched a half-eaten heart—probably Nick’s.

“Fuck!”

Tony raised his rifle and tried to get off a shot, but the zombie was too close to him. The rifle became wedged against the bulkhead. Chuck and I were stuck on the other side of the hatch, and with the struggle taking place in the doorway we couldn’t shoot Basil without hitting Tony. Basil’s arm lashed out and he grabbed the rifle barrel. Tony fought to wrench it away but Basil was stronger. He tugged on the weapon and Tony refused to let go. Basil pulled Tony closer. Before he could get away, Basil’s teeth snapped shut on Tony’s nose. Blood squirted out from between Basil’s lips. We heard cartilage crunching, even over Tony’s agonized screams. Tony released the rifle and shoved Basil away. The zombie stumbled backward, taking Tony’s nose, upper lip, and the soft flesh around his eyes with him. Tony’s shrieks became a high-pitched, unending whine. His skin stretched like taffy before finally tearing free. Basil immediately stopped his attack and greedily devoured it, dropping the intestine and using both hands to shove Tony’s ripped face into his slavering mouth.

Tony stumbled backward, his arms pinwheeling. He kicked his rifle and it clattered across the floor to Basil. The zombie ignored it. Chuck grabbed Tony before he could collapse, and dragged him past me. Now that I had a clear shot, I opened fire with the shotgun. Flame belched from the barrel. The blast caught Basil in the face. The shot pellets peppered his skin, but he did not fall. Even at close range, the spray pattern was too broad. Instead of falling, Basil swallowed, Tony’s flesh bulging in his throat as it slid down his dead esophagus. Still hungry and unperturbed by the damage to himself, Basil lurched forward for more. I pumped the shotgun and fired again. This time, I did more damage. Knocked off his feet, Basil flew backward through the hatch.

Chuck screamed. I whipped around and did the same. Chuck was spinning around and slamming himself against the bulkhead in an effort to dislodge Cliff. I wondered where the hell he’d come from. The passageway had been deserted just moments before. Cliff’s corpse must have snuck up behind us. Chuck continued turning. The dead college student clung to his back, his legs wrapped around Chuck’s waist, his arms wrapped around his chest, his teeth clamped down on Chuck’s right ear. Tony lay sprawled at Chuck’s feet, his hands clutching at his ruined face. As Chuck spun around a third time, he tripped over Tony. Both he and Cliff tumbled to the floor.

“Shoot the fucker,” he shouted.

Fingers trembling, I reloaded the shotgun and jacked a shell.

Half of his ear had been bitten off. Blood streamed down his face and all over Cliff and Tony as well. Not that it mattered—both of them were covered in gore already. Cliff sat up and ignored us all, content to gnaw on the severed ear.

“Get down,” I ordered. “Chuck, you’re in the way.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he wailed. “I’ve been bit. Now squeeze the fucking trigger!”

Before I could, something clawed at my shoulder from behind. Screaming, I whipped around. Basil was back on his feet. Incredibly, the second shot hadn’t been enough to put him down for good. The pellets had done a serious amount of damage. The left side of his face looked like it had gone through a cheese grater, but I hadn’t penetrated the skull and destroyed the brain.

His cold, bloody fingers pawed across my chest. Recoiling in alarm, I clubbed him in the jaw with the shotgun’s stock. Then I shoved the barrel into his gaping mouth. He bit down, shattering his teeth.

“Stay the fuck down, Basil, and go find your wife.”

Closing my eyes and turning my face away, I squeezed the trigger. Basil’s head exploded. Wetness splattered against my cheek. Frantic, I wiped my face with my sleeve.

“Lamar,” Chuck called out from behind me, “take care of Tony!”

A second gunshot exploded in the passageway. When I turned around, Cliff was slumped against the wall, blood pumping from a hole in his head. Before I could act, Chuck stuffed the smoking pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger again. His body jerked upright, and the back of his head blew apart. He went limp. What remained of his head caved in like a rotten melon that had been left out in the sun for too long. His legs and feet twitched as if electrified. The crotch of his pants turned dark as his bladder failed. And then Chuck lay still.

I prodded Tony with my foot. He didn’t respond. I couldn’t tell if he was dead or just unconscious. Not that it mattered anyway. Regardless, he was already dead. The poison was pumping through his veins. Soon, he would stand again. I put the shotgun against his forehead and made sure that wouldn’t happen.

Silence returned to the smoke-filled passageway—or maybe it was just that I’d gone deaf. Half in shock, I stared down at the four corpses. It had all happened so quickly. There’d been no time to think—just act, let impulse and instinct drive. I patted my pockets and took stock of my shotgun shells. I considered taking Tony and Chuck’s weapons, but both were stained with blood and I didn’t want to risk infection. I’d already come too close to exposure when I shot Basil. Making sure the passageway was still clear, I ducked into Basil’s compartment again and searched his footlocker. At the bottom, I found a clean t-shirt with a logo that said, malcasa point is for lovers. Inside a small shaving kit, I found a bar of soap, a bottle of aftershave, and a tube of antibacterial cream. Using a pair of Basil’s socks, I wiped my shotgun clean and disinfected it with the aftershave. Then I poured aftershave over my hands and then scrubbed them with the soap. Next, I wiped them clean on a pair of Basil’s underwear. Satisfied that they were spotless, I scrubbed my face with the aftershave. The alcohol burned, but it was a good pain. I checked my complexion in the mirror, looking for pimples or cuts—anything that would have allowed Hamelin’s Revenge to get inside me. When I saw that I was safe, I breathed a sigh of relief. Then I removed my gory T-shirt, ripping it down the middle and stripping it off rather than pulling it over my head and further risking infection from Basil’s blood. Once it was off, I slipped the clean shirt over my head. It was a little snug around the belly and shoulders, but it would do. Finally, I rubbed my hands and face with the antibacterial cream just for extra protection. I’d seen the effects of Hamelin’s Revenge firsthand. When Turn and Mitch were infected, the disease had spread rapidly. They’d both gotten sick within minutes. I wasn’t feeling sick yet, so I assumed that I was okay.

And then I closed my eyes and prayed to a God I didn’t believe in that I’d stay that way. All my life, I’d been told over and over again that he didn’t care for people like me, that he’d sent an angel to nuke the ancient city of Sodom because of men like myself. But I hoped that if he did exist, God would make an exception this time—if not for me, then for the kids. Tasha and Malik hadn’t done anything to him. They deserved a better world than this.

“Amen,” I said out loud. I could barely hear myself.

I felt no different. There was none of that peace or calm that religious people say comes with prayer. I thought back to the graffiti I’d seen spray painted on the church back in Baltimore: god is dead. Maybe it was true. And if so, then maybe he was just another zombie. His son had come back from the dead, right? Maybe he’d come back hungry.

I opened my eyes, picked up the shotgun, and stepped back out into the slaughterhouse. As I walked through the hatch, two things happened simultaneously—an explosion rocked the ship and somebody shot at me.