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. 1 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. 1 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.
Chapter Eleven
At first, I thought the two blasts were actually one big explosion. The first one was muffled, occurring in another part of the ship, but powerful enough to jolt my feet. The
Spratling
rolled hard to starboard and I slammed against the bulkhead, dropping the shotgun. At the same time, there was a second explosion, this one much closer. Something zipped by my head, whining like a mosquito and plowing into the port bulkhead with a loud smack. It was only then that I realized I'd been shot at.
"Hey," I shouted, dropping to my knees, "hold your goddamned fire!"
"Lamar?" The voice belonged to Runkle. A second later, he stepped out from around the corner and leaned through the hatch. "Oh, shit."
"You stupid redneck motherfucker," I spat, climbing to my feet. My legs were wobbly and I had to steady myself against the bulkhead. Then I realized that it wasn't my balance at all. The ship was still leaning to starboard.
"I'm sorry, man." He lowered his pistol and held up his hand in surrender. "1 thought you were a zombie. I heard shots and ran down here. Smelled all the gun smoke in the air and just assumed that-"
"Yeah" I interrupted. "Well you know what they say about assuming, Runkle. Makes an ass out of you and me. You nearly fucking blew my head off. If it hadn't been for the ship rolling-"
"What was that, anyway? I felt it vibrate in my feet."
"How the fuck should 1 know? I was too busy getting shot at, you stupid asshole."
"Look"-he raised his voice-"I said 1 was sorry. Now we can stand here and argue about it or we can find out what the hell is going on. Do you want to fight?"
Shaking my head, I retrieved the shotgun. "No. I'm cool for now. You're right. We need to focus. I'll take this up with you later."
"Well then, let's just hope there is a later. What the hell happened here?"
I quickly filled him in on everything I knew, ending with Chuck's suicide and me putting Tony out of his misery.
Runkle counted on his fingers. "So that leaves the two of us, the kids, Carol, Tran, Murphy, and Chief Maxey-and there's been no sign of Professor Williams, correct?"
I nodded. "You see anybody other than the chief?"
"No. The passageways were all deserted. I figured everyone was asleep, until I heard the gunshots."
The ship leaned farther to the starboard side, jolting us both again. There was a loud, metallic groan from beneath the hull. An alarm blared, and the chief's voice came over the speakers.
"This is not a drill, this is not a drill. General quarters, general quarters. All hands be advised, we have a hull breach in the aft berthing section. Muster on the flight deck immediately. Again, this is not a drill. Prepare to abandon ship."
Runkle found an emergency phone and called the bridge. I stood there wondering what the hell was happening while he talked to Chief Maxey. Runkle's expression went slack. He stopped talking and just listened. He looked worried.
"Okay." Runkle spoke in a monotone. "I understand. I'll tell him."
He hung up the phone and stared at the floor.
"What's wrong?" 1 asked. "What the hell's going on? He said to abandon ship?"
"We've got a hull breach."
"What's that mean?"
"It means that we're taking on water. We're sinking."
"Oh, shit…"
"Yeah." He wiped sweat from his forehead. "Listen, Lamar, that explosion we heard? The chief says that whatever it was, it blew a hole in the side of the ship. It was… well, it was near your berthing area."
I started running before he was even done speaking.
"Lamar!" he shouted. "Wait a second. You can't just go running down there."
"Tasha, Malik, and Carol are down there."
"The compartment is probably flooded-maybe the whole passageway. And what about the professor? We still have to find him before he kills someone else!"
"You find him," I yelled. "I've got to take care of my own."
"Lamar! Goddamn it, get back here. This won't help us."
Ignoring him, I ran on, feet pounding, shoving through hatches, darting down passageways. I held the shotgun at the ready, just in case the professor or anyone else he'd managed to infect jumped me, but I saw no one. I slid through Nick's remains, rounded another corner, and saw Carol, Tasha, and Malik running toward me.
"Lamar!" Tasha screamed. "The ship's flooding!"
"I know, I know." I leaned the shotgun against the bulkhead and hugged the kids tightly. Then I gave Carol a hug, too. She trembled against me, frightened and hyperventilating.
"Is everyone okay?" I asked, checking them over.
"We're all right," Malik said. "But we're in deep shit. Them grenades went off."
I sighed. "I thought I told you to stay inside the compartment. Why were you messing with Mitch's grenades? You could have gotten infected or-"
"I wasn't fooling with them," he interrupted. "Honest."
"Well, then what set them off?"
"Tran did it."
"Tran?"
Malik nodded. "Yeah, he was one of them things."
"Lamar," Carol said. "We need to keep moving. The water is coming."
We ran back the way I'd come. I took the lead, heading for the nearest ladder so we could meet the other survivors topside.
"It wasn't our fault," Tasha explained as we fled. "We stayed in the room, just like you told us to. But then we heard someone out in the hall. Mrs. Beck thought it might be you coming back, so she peeked outside. But it wasn't you. It was Tran. He was… all bloody. Some of his fingers were missing."
"I tried to shut the hatch again," Carol said. "But the children insisted on defending us. They ran out into the passageway before I could stop them."
I frowned at the kids. "I told the two of you to listen to Mrs. Beck. You could have been killed."
"On the contrary, Lamar," Carol said. "If anything, it's because of them that we're still alive. If they hadn't run out when they did, I hate to think what would have happened."
"Tran was eating on Mitch," Tasha said, her voice low. "He ignored us. I tried to shoot him, but I couldn't get the rifle to work. Wasn't until later that I remembered the safety was on."