Walter Greatshell - Apocalypse blues

"Oh, you really auditioning to be my bitch now."

A voice over my shoulder said, "Shut up, Mitch." It was the boy in the chipmunk costume. He was a head taller than the other, but somewhat less menacing: Sesame Street versus Crenshaw. Squeezing between me and the homeboy, he added, "Give it a rest, man. She's been through enough."

"What you say?" Mitch exploded, shoving his furry shoulder. "Huh? You got somethin' to say, you clown? Pussy? Oh, she been through enough, is that it? Fuck you! You wanna do somethin' about it? What you gonna do?" The costumed boy didn't react but just watched the other with tired patience. "That's what I thought," Mitch said at last, spitting at his feet and pushing past us into the crowd.

After a moment the bigger boy said softly, "He lost his whole family, I mean we all have, so you know…"

I nodded in perfect understanding. After a short interlude, I asked, "What's with the chipmunk costume?"

"I'm not a chipmunk. I'm Safety Squirrel."

"Aren't squirrels supposed to have a big fluffy tail?"

"It got caught in the machinery. That's the tragedy of Safety Squirrel."

Gruff sounds of an argument broke out under the tower. Men were shouting, "Throw the son of a bitch overboard!" and a raw voice beseeched, "SPAM, I'm SPAM-ask Coombs!" Making my way forward, I practically tripped over a man sitting on the deck. He was the bald guy-Sandoval-who had jumped across from the Sallie. He looked stunned and was hugging his right knee as if in pain. The other men loomed all around.

"Quiet, Lulu," Cowper said brusquely when I found him. To the injured man, he said, "We've had to fight for what we were promised. A lot of men I've known for years were lost. Since you're the one who made the promises, Jim, you're kind of in a spot."

Gravel-voiced, the other replied, "I didn't have any choice, Fred. Jesus, I'm glad to see you."

"I bet you are. We're all happy as clams to see you, too."

"Now just hold on. It wasn't up to me. When I made that offer to all of you, I didn't think there was anybody left in Washington who would bother about a decommissioned, neutered boat. STRATCOM had her birds in Kings Bay-they weren't interested anymore. I figured she was a big fat windfall for us. Can you blame me? With communications all down, and the crazy talk out of Cutler: We were bombing Canada, or it was the Rapture-crap like that? I never heard back from Group Ten, much less the Nuclear Posture Review, so we decided to reactivate her as SSGN on Coombs's authority. Don't laugh-he was the most senior person we had. We never got any acknowledgment from COMSUBLANT. Then all of a sudden a tender shows up carrying promotions and sealed orders for all the NavSea people-"

"Not to mention SPAM," Albemarle snapped.

"Right, SPAM. Tons of SPAM. I was as disappointed as anybody. Suddenly SPAM took precedence over everything else. In the absence of any other orders, Coombs might have been willing to entertain the thought of an employee sealift, but after that it was his sworn duty to execute this SPAM operation. I lost my vote."

"But you run the company," said Cowper. "You're a civilian contractor, not his subordinate. You're the chairman, for God's sake, the CEO. You could've stood up to him, and Reynolds would've backed you."

"You think so? And be a traitor to his country? Maybe. I didn't see it that way, Fred. It's been my experience that some ex-Navy guys are pretty patriotic."

This was the wrong thing to say. Albemarle jumped in. "We're plenty patriotic, you asshole. This is about saving Americans. I notice you were pretty quick to save your own ass back there."

"That's because I'm Sensitive."

"You weren't too goddamned sensitive to let Bob Martino get blown away."

"No, I'm Sensitive Personnel. I'm SPAM-that's what I've been trying to tell you. That's why I'm here. Otherwise, I would've shipped out with the rest of the board a week ago."

"Whattaya mean, you're SPAM?" Cowper squawked.

"I mean I have been designated essential to the mission-Coombs is required to deliver me at all costs."

"Deliver you where? Why?"

"That I don't know. But it gives you guys a pretty sweet bargaining chip, doesn't it?"

"He's lying," said one of the other men threateningly. "He's just trying to save his friggin' neck."

"Give me a little credit, will you? I wouldn't lie about something that you can verify so easily. Ask Admiral Coombs."

"Admiral Coombs," Cowper scoffed. "That would be fine if he'd talk to us. The maneuvering watch won't answer our hails."

Albemarle said, "He's up there, and we're down here. That's the problem."

"Just because he won't talk doesn't mean he won't listen, Ed." Sandoval pointed to the top of the sail. "How about I let them know I'm here?"

Cowper rubbed his chin, said, "Go ahead."

"Topside watch!" he shouted weakly. "This is for Commander Coombs! Harvey, it's James Sandoval, requesting to come aboard! I made it! Harvey! Admiral Coombs!"

There was no reply. He tried several more times, straining harder with each effort, but the tower appeared to be deserted. Concerned muttering broke out among the bystanders.

"I don't think there's anybody up there," Sandoval said finally, discouraged.

"How can there be nobody up there?" demanded Cowper. "We're in the goddamn channel! Somebody's gotta be piloting this thing!"

Sandoval shrugged helplessly. "I know. I don't understand it."

"Maybe they're piloting by scope," a boy offered.

"And maybe we don't need no cockeyed opinions from the peanut gallery," Albemarle barked. To Cowper, he said, "Look, this bastard's just stalling for time. He'll say anything to keep us off him until Coombs gets things under control. SPAM my ass. For all we know-"

He was cut off by a falling body that slammed him to the deck. Two more followed in quick succession, plunging into the sea.

"Heads up!" Cowper shouted, pinning me flat against the tower. Other men followed suit, keeping the crowd back, but there didn't seem to be any more jumpers, and after a moment everyone rushed in to help Albemarle and the fallen man.

Albemarle was groggy, but the new man was wide-awake. He wore a dark blue jumpsuit with gold dolphins stitched over the left breast pocket. Over the right pocket was his name: COOMBS.

"Xombies," he gasped. "Xombies on board."

"They're spreading down there like weasels, snatching men right and left," the commander babbled. He was a trim, swarthy man with a hawk nose and short, dense hair like Velcro. "So fast, so fast, there's no time to think. They suck the life out of you, you know that? Put their filthy mouth on yours and-" He shuddered violently. "Then you're one of them."

"Easy there, Skipper," said Cowper. "How much of the boat have they got? Where are they?"

"Wardroom-must've started in the wardroom with the injured. Yeah, one of those Marines who cracked his head, had to be." His eyes were glazed, feverish. "I'm on the bridge, and all hell breaks loose-Montoya's screaming in the phone for armed support, the general alarm starts going off-I don't know what the hell's happening. I drop down to Control, and there's nobody there! Kranuski's on the com yelling to secure the forward bulkhead, and all of a sudden Stanaman comes running in from Operations like he can't breathe, blue in the face, and just before he reaches me, Baker and Lee come flying across the console and take him down, wham! I thought they killed him, but he's fighting back like a damn wildcat, and Lee yells, 'Get out, Cap! Up top!' Just as I'm thinking, Xombies! here come Tim Shaye and Cready after me like a couple of damn ghouls, and there's nowhere to go but up. They're right on my ass the whole way-I never climbed so fast in my life." He glanced around in fear. "Where the hell'd they go?"

"Into the drink."