Walter Greatshell - Apocalypse blues

"What's the plan?" Cowper asked a bit shortly.

"The captain and Mr. Kranuski are standing by forward to brief you."

"Any more guns?" Albemarle asked.

Robles shrugged apologetically. "For reasons of safety, the captain is reserving firearms for active-duty personnel only," he said. "Not that they're any better than your weapons. Personally I'd like a chain saw. All right? Watch your heads."

Following Robles, we crossed the room and passed through a heavy watertight door, which opened onto a sight so unexpected that my stomach lurched:

We were at least four stories up in a yawning tunnel that resembled a multitiered prison cellblock… or King Tut's tomb. It ran forward from us a hundred feet or more, piled high with plastic-wrapped cargo of every shape and size-boxes, barrels, cases, crates-under a vaulted ceiling inset with two rows of numbered white domes. Cables looped everywhere like jungle vines, giving the place an apocalyptic, overgrown look. They swayed with the movement of the boat.

Hearing my gasp, some of the boys smirked in the way of jaded old-timers, but Cowper nodded, whistling appreciatively at the view. "We used to call this Sherwood Forest, but without the missile silos it looks more like Shipping and Receiving. You guys have been busy little beavers." Pointing down at the heaped freight, he asked, "What's all this crap? SPAM?"

"SPAM," Albemarle said, shaking his head.

"I see. That would make things a bit tight." He sighed.

Robles led us along a steel-grated walkway to the far end, where we could see Captain Coombs and Mr. Kranuski waiting for us, armed to the teeth, beside another watertight door. As we came up, they stared at me as though they couldn't believe their eyes.

"What the hell's going on?" Coombs demanded. "What's this little girl doing here?"

"Get her outta here," Kranuski told Robles darkly.

"Hold on!" Cowper said, holding him off. "Before you do anything, you ought to know this kid may be immune to Agent X. She has a genetic problem-Lulu, what's it called?"

"Chromosomal amenorrhea," I said.

"Right, and she's been surviving on her own since this thing started-almost a whole month with those bastids. You know how I found her? She knocked on my door! I'm barricaded down there for three and a half weeks, an' she just knocks. I'm telling you, Harvey, she might have an advantage none of us has, not to mention the possibility of a cure."

I couldn't wait to see how this would fly. Years with Mum had taught me to keep my composure in the face of rampant BS, but even she would've never attempted such a flimsy tale. Then it occurred to me that Cowper might really believe it.

Kranuski scoffed, barely listening, but Coombs said, "Wait. Are you saying they won't touch her?"

"No. I'm saying she and I came through what you saw up there, and I don't think it's because of our sterling character. If you ask me, she oughta be SPAM."

"Captain-" Kranuski began.

Coombs looked hard at me, asked, "What do you think?"

"I don't know, sir," I said honestly.

"Tough nut, are you?"

"Well… I don't know."

"What happened to your other shoe?" Before I could reply, he said to Cowper, "Bring her, what the hell; there's no time. Just keep her out of the way-we're not here to babysit. Christ Almighty!" He shook his head in giddy disbelief. "Okay, here's what's happening: You boys are going to do a Roto Rooter straight for the control center, with the rest of us bringing up the rear. Follow Mr. Robles. If anything blue gets in your way, you beat it down and move on. Don't stop to finish the job! Each guy in line will have his turn, but speed is more important than anything-keep moving, no matter what. Once we're all in command and control, we need to seal it off good. Then we'll go from there. Ready?"

We could never be ready, but they weren't waiting for a reply. Kranuski unsealed the door and pulled it open. "Go," he hissed. "Go, go, go!"

Holding his pistol with both hands, Robles ducked through. Coombs and Kranuski covered him from the door with rifles; but the way was clear, and boys began to follow at a brisk walk, hammers upraised. Any moment I expected to hear trouble, something to interrupt this madness, but before I knew it, Cowper was moving, and I with him. Kranuski and the captain went last, securing the door behind us.

We were in a pastel green corridor, its ceiling a baroque mass of ducts and wiring. A metal stair descended somewhere, and vented aluminum doors branched off to either side. Some of the doors were open, and inside I could see empty chairs facing banks of electronics. The last two rooms, however, were cozy adjoining cabins with beds, TVs, and a tiny shared bathroom. Small plaques on their doors read, CO-H. COOMBS and XO-R. KRANUSKI.

We went up a flight of stairs, and the passageway opened out into a large compartment that I recognized at once from its glamorous central feature: a periscope. No, two periscopes. I didn't remember seeing that in movies. When I entered the room, our people were already jumping into action at various consoles and donning headsets to contact other parts of the sub. Robles was standing by the raised platform in the middle, issuing orders, while Albemarle and the boys checked various side compartments and closed off the area. Feeling supremely useless, I stood by Cowper as he took readings off gauges and called them out to Coombs. In that roomful of busy, shouting people, I think I actually forgot for a second that the Xombies existed. Until I saw one.

It took me a second to comprehend what I was seeing, another to react. I don't know if I was the first one to spot it, but I certainly felt alone as I watched that purple-faced thing hang upside down from an opening in the ceiling. With its hair sticking down and its wild-eyed grin, it looked almost childlike, in a florid, demonic way. It was so darn happy to find us.

One of the boys had just crossed beneath the hole. He was a tall kid, with a gold front tooth, and he had to stoop to avoid banging his head. He never saw the thing or made a peep before it had him around the neck. Then he was gone. The bang of his hammer hitting the deck alerted everyone, and a few people made involuntary sounds of surprise.

"Look out!" I screamed, too late.

"God damn it!" shouted Albemarle. "Get 'im!"

"No!" Kranuski ordered, kneeling for better aim. "Secure the hatch!"

Cowper yelled, "McGill! Where's McGill?"

"It took him up the sail!" Kranuski barked impatiently.

"Not him, damn it! George McGill! Big, bearded guy! He was right there!"

It was true-suddenly we were short a man. Two people gone.

Kranuski screamed, "Find out where it came from! Get that hatch!"

Cowper had already found out-an access panel had been removed from the floor of a small cubby, the opening concealed by a stanchion and bundles of cable. Seating the metal cover with a loud clang, he shouted, "Got it!" Coombs, meanwhile, was closest to the overhead hatch, bounding up the ladder to reach for it. As he did so, everybody watched in frozen horror as a pair of blue-sleeved arms unfolded from the hole and snatched him off his feet. But Albemarle was right there, grabbing his legs before they could disappear. For an instant it appeared that the big man might be drawn up as well, then Robles had him, and together they wrenched Coombs down, fighting the thing for him.

"Hey!" Albemarle grunted. "Hey! Hey!"

Then boys were piling on. Coombs made a gargling noise, and I could hear his joints popping from the strain. The only visible part of the Ex-man was its arm, which had Coombs in a headlock, but the captain's own raised arm was also entangled in its grip, taking some of the pressure off his neck. He still didn't look good. There was no way to beat at the creature without pulverizing Coombs in the process, and two boys together couldn't loosen that constricting arm. There was just no leverage-it was like ten guys fighting to change a lightbulb.