Domain of the Dead (17 page)

Nathan nodded.

“Oh, okay,” Patterson said and ducked back round the door.

“Just a minute,” Nathan said as he followed Patterson through the open hatchway. It had suddenly dawned on him that although he knew the way to the infirmary, it was highly unlikely anyone would be in it at this time of night.

Patterson was already across the hall at an open door. Static and tinny voices emanated from the room.

“Mr. Patterson,” Nathan said, half worried that he should really have said commander.

Patterson raised a hand, which Nathan read as a signal to wait.

“Can you confirm our transmission was received and verified?” Patterson asked.

Nathan peered round to look into the room. It wasn’t much bigger than a broom closet; just enough room for a table and chair. A seaman was sitting facing a panel of dials and screens. He wore a pair of headphones Nathan was more familiar with on DJs than sailors. There was, however, a microphone on a stalk from one of the ears.

The sailor turned round. “Aye, aye, sir,” he said. “The Russian sub
Pskov
has confirmed our twenty four hundred hours sitrep.”

“Thank you, Ensign. I sleep better knowing our sitrep is through.” Patterson turned back to Nathan. “Can I help you? You don’t look too good.”

“No I feel half dead… keep throwing up,” Nathan replied.

Patterson gave a wry smile. “Not found your sea legs yet, eh?”

Nathan nodded.

“Best thing to do is go down one level to Doctor Robertson’s cabin.” Patterson threw a paternal arm around Nathan’s shoulder and started walking him back to the stairwell. “I’m sure she can give you a shot for the nausea.”

“Thanks,” Nathan said. “Which one is it?”

“Turn right out of the stairwell,” Patterson said, gesturing. “It’s the third cabin along. You can’t miss it; her name’s on the door.”

* * *

Doctor Robertson slipped out of the lab. She finished buttoning up her blouse and made her way down the swaying corridor. A loud metal clang in the distance had finally made her decide to head back to her own cabin. The uncomfortable gurney and the twitching cadaver next to her hadn’t been the impetus to make her leave. Those irritations had been relegated by the pounding in her head and the cramps in her stomach. Before creeping out on her lover she had quietly swallowed a couple of anti-nausea tablets. Now on the short trip back to her own bed, she cursed herself for having sex on a full stomach and for drinking too much wine before a storm.

A futile hope came to mind as she totterd down the moving corridor. If only the swaying of the ship and my spinning head would fall into sync then I would feel fine.

As she thought this, she heard her name being called. There was a dull knocking and again her name was gently spoken. She turned the corner to her room and saw Nathan rapping on her door.

“Doctor Robertson, are you in there?” Nathan asked at the door.

“No, I’m not,” she said from behind him.

Nathan spun round to see Doctor Robertson coming towards him. There was a light smattering of perspiration on her forehead and neck and she looked tired and drawn.

“You gave me a fright there,” Nathan admitted. “Commander Patterson said you could help me with my sea sickness.”

“Oh yes, certainly. There’s something for that in the lab. I’ve just come from there.” Doctor Robertson nodded and made an about turn.

Nathan followed her up the corridor. “I’m not used to this,” he said. “I went out on a ferry one day as part of a school trip. Haven’t been on a boat since.”

“You get used to it, I guess,” Doctor Robertson said. “Though saying that, I feel a little nauseous too. Could be dinner disagreeing with us.”

“Speaking of disagreements at dinner, the captain seemed a little tetchy,” Nathan said.

Doctor Robertson gave a lopsided smile. “None of us were picked for our temperaments. David...” She paused when she saw that Nathan hadn’t recognised the name. “Professor Cutler and the Captain don’t get along. David’s work here could save mankind, but the Captain’s first concern is for his crew.”

“I take it that your work is dangerous?”

“Everything is dangerous,” Doctor Robertson admitted. “Especially since the Rising.”

“You worried one of those things could get loose on board?” Nathan asked.

“No, worse than that. The top brass are worried the contagion will mutate and become airborne.” Doctor Robertson placed a hand on the wall to steady herself from her spinning head and the lurching of the ship. “That’s the fear that fuels the animosity between the two of them. It doesn’t help that Professor Cutler is a risk taker and Warden… well, he plays it by the book.” Doctor Robertson shrugged. “Fire and water.”

“More like fire and gasoline,” Nathan corrected.

“Just a moment,” Doctor Robertson said as they reached the door to the laboratory. “I’m not sure if Professor Cutler had finished what he was working on,” she lied, fearful that Nathan might spot the signs of their tryst. “I’ll quickly pop in.”

Doctor Robertson slipped into the lab. It was dark inside and she had automatically went for the light switch. A soft moan emanated from the gurney Professor Cutler lay on. By the tight shaft of light from the door, it looked like he was rousing.

Doctor Robertson moved her finger away from the light switch. He had been dead to the world when she had left him and she didn’t want to wake him unnecessarily. “I’m just getting some Scopolamine, David. Both Nathan and me are feeling a bit queasy,” she whispered apologetically.

Another grumble came from the direction of the gurney.

“I’m going to go back to my cabin to sleep it off,” Doctor Robertson said as she removed the container from where she had left it five minutes ago.

Professor Cutler let out a mournful groan.

“I’m sorry, David. I’m not feeling great. I think I’ll be better of in my own bed.” She stopped for a moment and clasped the white plastic pill tub with both hands. She took half a step forward, about to kiss her lover goodnight when a tight cramp seized her gut. She winced against the discomfort.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” she said before she turned and left the lab.

The door clicked shut, leaving the room in darkness again. In awkward puppet-like movements, Professor Cutler made his clumsy way off the gurney. He slipped, pushing the gurney away from under him and landed heavily on his knees, his left arm flailing out until it found the purchase of the second gurney. His hand grasped around the arm of the tethered zombie. The creature simply lay there motionless. Unlike before, it didn’t try to lash out at the other occupant in the room. It simply lay there unconcerned.

Professor Cutler pulled himself up and shuffled stiffly to the door. He bumped into the closed hatch and stood there motionless, stymied by the barrier in front of him.

Frustrated by the obstacle, he let out a low, asthmatic sigh of breath.

On the gurney behind him, the bound zombie struggled, trying to join in.

* * *

Doctor Robertson popped open the lid of the tub. She dipped in her fingers and pulled out two of the pastel pink tablets. She squeezed the lid back on and handed the container over to Nathan, keeping the ones she had removed in her fist.

“Take one of those with a small amount of water as soon as you get back to your cabin,” she warned. “Just take the one. These are very strong. You shouldn’t need to take any more for at least six hours.” She paused and screwed up her eyes as a cramp took hold of her stomach.

Nathan held out a hand to steady her. “You okay, Doctor?”

She nodded. “This doesn’t feel like sea sickness. I thing we might have food poisoning.”

“Sarah and Jennifer looked fine when I left them.”

“Well, hopefully it’s just us.” Doctor Robertson straightened up and stepped away from Nathan’s supporting hand. “Now, you can only take three of these a day…”

“Three a day, tops,” Nathan acknowledged, nodding.

“If Sarah and Jennifer get sick, let me know straight away. If they do, then chances are we’ve all got food poisoning and the Captain will need to know.”

“Okay.”

“If Sarah does take ill you can give her a pill, but not Jennifer. She’s too young. If she does fall ill, come fetch me.”

“Sure.”

Doctor Robertson had reached her cabin door. “Now this isn’t like before; we can’t just hop down to the local pharmacy and get some more, so if you don’t use them all or if they don’t work, bring the rest back to me.”

Nathan looked down at the precious white plastic tub. “Yeah, sure thing.”

* * *

Again an icy torrent of water found its way into Patterson’s waterproofs. He felt his clothes cling to his body, tugging against his every move. The cold water drew yet more heat away from his skin. This was a part of the Navy he’d never liked. He didn’t like being wet. In Patterson’s experience, if you were wet in the Navy something had gone wrong. Tonight just reaffirmed that belief. He peered over the top of his rain-splashed glasses to get a better look at the broken supports. A barrel had come loose and been tossed into the raised deck of the helicopter landing pad. Three of the four supports on the side it had struck were damaged; one knocked free, the other two smashed. The barrel was lodged under the platform by some of the debris it had carried with it.

Patterson looked up. The ship’s carpenter was pointing the beam of his torch at the damage and behind him stood two equally drenched deck dogs.

Patterson shook his head. “Ah, shit.”

“What do you say, sir? Lash it down and fix it after the storm?” the carpenter said hopefully.

“Sorry, Kelly,” Patterson said as he straightened himself up. “Normally I’d say yes, but with Idris out on a rescue op we’ve got no idea when he’ll be coming back. We might not have the time and he might not have the fuel to wait for us to fix it.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Kelly said reluctantly.

Patterson heard the disappointment in the man’s voice. He knew this wasn’t a choice job, but he knew they couldn’t risk not fixing it. He also knew he would have to chip in. Not that his men weren’t capable, but because he had to be seen to endure the same hardships as those he commanded. “Get what you need from Stores, Kelly. We’ll try to free the barrel.”

Kelly nodded and trudged down the deck, through the spray, towards the hatchway.

Patterson addressed his two helpers: “Okay, we need to get a rope secured to this. One of us under the platform guiding it out, the other two at this side pulling—”

His planning was interrupted by a scream in the direction of the poop deck. Looking round, he saw the door hatch wide open and Kelly slumped in the corridor.

Patterson ran as best he could across the tilting deck. Waves rocked the ship so that the door swung open and shut with each swell, shut obscuring Patterson’s view of the stricken joiner.

The door slammed shut just as he reached it. Grabbing the handle, Patterson heaved it open, bracing himself against the roll of the boat.

“Hold this!” he shouted to the first deck hand to reach him.

Patterson jumped inside.

“Mah’ fuckin’ hand!” Kelly cursed, sitting against a bulkhead with his arms folded in as if to conserve warmth.

“Let me see,” Patterson said calmly.

Kelly unfolded his arms and held out a shaking hand. The tip of his right index finger was missing. Remarkably there was very little blood, just a flap of skin and some raw pulp.

“What happened?”

Kelly nodded towards the door. “Blew shut on me.”

Patterson looked round to see a pink and red blob by the door. It sloshed back and forward with the waves. “You’d better wake Doctor Robertson,” he said. “You okay to make your own way down?”

“Yeah, sure. What about the platform?”

“We’ll handle that. Just you get yourself fixed up.”

* * *

A moan of twisting metal shuddered down the whole length of the ship as she pushed through the storm. Again Doctor Robertson convulsed. The cramps had whipped their way through her whole body like tendrils. Frail gasps of pain withered out of her arid mouth and into the languid silence of her empty cabin. Beads of perspiration bathed her pallid skin. Her frozen joints were torn between shivering muscles and even the shallow pants she took scorched her lungs. A cough clawed its way out of her reluctant chest, wracking her with pain from her diaphragm to her lips. She spluttered out a final breath of red frothy droplets. This time she didn’t take an inhalation. A few drops of pink, foamy saliva crawled their way down her cheek onto the sweat-soiled pillowcase.

A knock came at the door.

Doctor Robertson’s eyes shot open.

“Look, I’m coming in so you’d better be decent,” the anxious voice said.

Doctor Robertson cocked her stiff neck and began to raise herself from the bed.

Again the knocking came at the door. “Look, I’ve lost the top off my finger, lady. I can hear you moving about in there.”