Empire

14 Surf and Turf

"Was that the garbage man I shot?" Patrol Officer Douglas asked, propping his rifle on the bucket seat beside him. P.O. Hamman shrugged and kicked an empty cooler across the floor. Every beer he'd drank had made him more seasick as they patrolled the Harbor coast, but it was better than being sick and sober. Steadying himself on the boat's railing, Hamman stepped into the pilot cabin and slapped the radio. "Damn thing. I know I heard something about a storm earlier."

"So let's go to shore." Douglas rummaged through their dwindling supply of ammunition. "We can camp on the beach for a few nights."

"I'd rather drop anchor and stay out here." Hamman replied. Every rotter they'd picked off was probably on its feet and walking through the city. In better days, they'd been able to radio the positions of downed zombies to burn teams on the shore; now they were alone. "What if we're the only cops left in town?" Hamman mused.

"Then we can run ashore and steal some more beer." Douglas quipped. He stared down the barrel of his sniper rifle, finger brushing the trigger. Another ounce of pressure and he could send his brains out across the water like chum for fish, the living ones anyway. Hamman eased his partner's head out of harm's way. "I need to eat something, man."

"We could cast a couple of lines and see if anything's still biting."

"Fuck fish. Dammit…" Hamman really didn't want to go ashore, even for an hour. He'd fired two dozen rounds into the city in recent weeks. There were rotters waiting for him, his bullets swimming in their soft guts. When he managed to catch a few hours' sleep he always saw their gray faces crowding around him. And he was always helpless to defend himself, or even to run away.

Douglas scanned the city through his rifle scope. "You know, us being stuck out here, with only these guns, we can't kill the rotters."

"I know."

"We could stop there from being more of 'em."

Hamman frowned at Douglas. "Whaddaya mean?"

"I mean, anybody still in the city's gotta be infected. Or will be. Right?"

"I still don't follow."

"Buddy, if WE got rid of 'em, like now, we could go home."

Hamman was chilled to his core. Douglas smiled as if he'd just crapped a kitten out on the deck. "We'd be done, we could call off the patrol and get the hell outta here! Think about it!"

"I ain't shooting civilians." Hamman said slowly. "You need to listen to what's coming out of your mouth. Been drinking seawater again?"

"Irrelevant." Douglas scooted another empty cooler out from under his seat and beckoned to Hamman. "Look what I found." He pried open the lid.

Inside lay a severed fish head, ragged pink tissue trailing from its gaping mouth, a mouth that opened and closed as its eye darted back and forth.

"Douglas…"

"I think it's funny." Looking up at Hamman, Douglas scowled as if offended. "It's a JOKE! C'mon! Holy Christ, we're not at a funeral here. You need to loosen up."

"Loosen up?! You were talking about murdering people!"

"They're already dead, they just don't know it." Douglas picked up the fish head. "They're like this guy here. See? And so are we, except we don't want to stay in this town! It's them that's keeping us here!"

"No." Hamman stepped back into the cabin. "If you want to leave, just leave now. Go. I won't tell anybody. I'll take you in to shore and you can just go. You'll leave that goddamn gun here, but you can go."

"We're partners." Douglas tossed the fish head overboard and wiped his hands on his pants. "I'm not gonna leave you behind."

"It's either that or stay with me and shoot rotters."

Douglas seemed to consider the ultimatum. He sat back and gazed over the ocean, watching clouds gather on the horizon. He saw a dorsal fin skimming the surface of the water and grasped his rifle. "Shark? No, dolphin." He pointed and stood up. "You see it Hamman?"

"Yeah, great."

Douglas took aim at the dorsal. Hamman almost made a move to stop him. Almost. But he saw his partner's eyes glazed over with madness and stayed put.

The rifle bucked in Douglas' hands. A chunk of the fin sailed into the air. "HA! Nailed the fucker." The fin stayed visible, and he followed it with the scope. "Five will get you twenty that he's undead. I'll bet his head is right…about…there…"

Something knocked against the boat, spilling Douglas onto the floor. He swung around and spotted more fins at his back. "It's a school or pod or whatnot of the fuckers! Get your rifle, Hamman!"

Hamman stayed in the cabin, fiddling with the radio. No signal.

Douglas righted himself and aimed for one of the other dolphins. The boat rocked again. "Dammit!"

Standing straight up, he fired through the floor.

"Douglas!!" Hamman left the cabin now, grabbing his partner's wrists, but Douglas fired again and again into the floor. Water spurted over their feet. "What've you done??" Hamman cried.

"I dunno." Douglas stared blankly at the holes he'd made. "Well, why were they bothering us anyhow?"

Hamman spun Douglas to face him and shook him by the shoulders. "They WEREN'T!!"

Douglas pulled himself away from Hamman and sat back in his bucket seat. "Huh."

He put the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

Hamman stood and watched Douglas' brain matter spray into the air and then pepper the waters above the heads of the dolphins. One of them poked its head out to look at Hamman, and he saw that most of its snout and the skin around its eyes were gone. A pinkish stream shot out its blowhole and it descended below the surface.

Hamman started the motor and headed to shore. He never saw the wet hands clambering over the boat's rear, never heard the squishing of footsteps entering the cabin, felt nothing at all until teeth sank into his neck.

Gene stumbled back as the boat ran aground. Hamman's corpse fell atop him, still gushing blood, and Gene opened his mouth to catch it.

He sat on the deck for hours, watching the sun crawl across the sky as he chewed. The weakness in his arm, where he'd earlier been shot, went away.

Then he remembered something. Eating until his stomach could hold no more, he climbed off the boat and headed back to the landfill. He would return once he had his shovel.