Walter Greatshell - Apocalypse blues

The miserable futility of it was just starting to sink in-He's dead-when Cowper came up with Coombs's rifle, forced his way through, and blasted the Xombie's arm off at point-blank range. Coombs dropped free, the quivering limb still on him. Kranuski dashed in and began shooting up the hole. The shocking explosion of noise and sparks and hot shells on their shoulders caused boys to duck away, cursing, while Albemarle and Robles picked up the captain and hustled him clear. But the Xombie wasn't finished. It sprang from its hiding place like a jack-in-the-box, the stump of its arm spurting inky liquid as it lunged for Cowper.

I didn't think; there was no time to. I just jumped forward and hit the thing as hard as I could, surprised at how light the big hammer suddenly felt. My blow fell on the creature's temple and seemed to spin its whole head around, causing it to become disoriented for a second and lose its balance. Before it could recover, there were a dozen hammers clouting it down, a rain of iron that turned bone and sinew to limply wriggling pulp. "Have a club sandwich, asshole," someone snarled, pounding. The sound was the worst-at least the sulfur smell from all the shooting masked the stench of blood. To the boys it was obviously some kind of catharsis: They were avenging their parents, their world, on this creature. I had to turn away.

"Seal that hatch!" Kranuski bellowed for the third time, reloading his rifle, but people hesitated, understandably leery about going near. They were staring at me, and I realized they expected me to do it! Since I was immune, no doubt. I shot Cowper an exasperated look, and he raised his eyebrows as if to say, Yeah, so? and gave me a boost to the opening. "Don't take all day," he said.

I could see way up the narrow shaft, the inside of the sail, and smell seawater. Reaching for the gleaming valve wheel, I began to pull the heavy hatch cover down, only to have it yanked from my hand. What happened next is a blur, but suddenly I was on the floor with the wind knocked out of me, and some kind of brawl was going on.

The kid with the gold tooth was at the center of it, struggling wildly as men and boys hung off his back and grappled with every limb. They weren't having an easy time-he had freakish ways of squirming loose, impossible contortions like a Chinese acrobat. The expression on his gray face was one of pure intensity, not fear. He wanted them bad.

"I can't get a clear shot!" Kranuski was yelling, and the people with hammers were almost as stymied, trying to land blows without braining the guys hanging on for dear life. Also they were tentative, as anyone would be who had to kill someone they knew.

"Come on, Jerry," sobbed the old guy who looked like a carnival strong man, holding the boy from behind. "Ya gotta go with God-we talked about this. Don't fight." Other cries of "Hold him still!" and "I got him!" were fired back and forth as the battle migrated into a corner, where I think they hoped to trap the boy. But just as they turned him loose, the Ex-teen seemed to vanish into thin air. The men were left standing there, hammers aloft, staring in confusion at the place where he had been.

"Shit," someone said.

"Ah, hell," Albemarle said. He was cautiously peering between the thick trunks of black cable that filled the corner. "There's an open penetration from when we pulled out the CIP."

Kranuski probed the narrow gap with his gun muzzle. "How could anything fit through there?"

"Who the hell knows? You saw it as well as I did. We better put a boot on that before others come popping in."

Kranuski jumped back. "And check every inch of this place!" he roared, red-faced.

Albemarle looked at Kranuski, then at the unconscious Coombs. "You better see to your skipper, Mr. Kranuski," he said. Then he pointedly turned and addressed Cowper: "What are your orders, Commander?"

Laying the rifle on a table, Cowper sighed, "You and the boys make sure there aren't gonna be any more surprises, Ed. Everyone else, resume your stations-let's get this boat under control fast."

Kranuski couldn't believe his ears. "What do you think you're doing? You're not giving the orders here," he said threateningly.

Cowper was totally matter-of-fact. "As the only man on board with command experience, I'm acting captain until Mr. Coombs is fit for duty."

"Like hell you are. You're a goddamned traitor who has jeopardized this vessel and compromised its mission, and now you think you're going to make it your private little navy. Well, that's not going to happen. I'm in command here."

"Mr. Kranuski, you haven't been XO long enough for that promotion, but I will need you to continue your duties, starting with a fix on our position. Lulu will look after Mr. Coombs. Mr. Robles, will you man periscope one and scan for traffic?"

"Stay where you are, Mr. Robles," Kranuski ordered.

Robles looked from Kranuski to Coombs and back again. Then he crossed to the periscope and began working. Kranuski cast about furiously and realized not a single person was paying attention to him. He was alone. I was afraid he would kick up a fuss and upset everybody, but something seemed to click in his mind, and he became very calm. Without another word, he went to the other periscope and flipped down the handles.

His grace in defeat was awesome to see-I could have kissed him for taking it so rationally. You can't usually count on people being dignified, and to me there is nothing in the world more important, because isn't dignity the soul of reason? It's what makes us human.

I felt Coombs grasp my ankle, and looked down expecting to see that he had recovered consciousness. I might have been smiling in relief. But Coombs was still passed out, arms motionless at his sides. The arm that clutched my leg like a predatory squid had no body. It seemed to want mine.

Even after I managed to wrest the nasty thing loose, then hammered, stomped, and mashed it into something resembling day-old roadkill, it was a while before I stopped freaking out. People gave me plenty of space.

After everything possible had been done to stabilize the sub and barricade us in, the men discussed what to do next.

"I know there isn't a lot of useful information about this Maenad thing," Cowper said, looking dreadfully tired, "but if we pool what we know, maybe we can think of a way to slow those bastids down. I know we can't suffocate 'em, because that's how they spread the infection, by stopping you from breathing. They give you that kiss of death, and the disease moves in. That's why they all look cyanotic, because Agent X somehow takes the place of oxygen in the bloodstream and uses it like a highway to attack your brain and nervous system. That's the last I heard out of USAMRIID. Anyone else hear that?"

A white-haired man with a walrus mustache said, "I saw on TV that the Centers for Disease Control were treating it with pure oxygen. They said it slowed the disease. That was the only good news I heard before everything went off the air."

Others chipped in, saying they had heard the same thing.

"Well, that's gotta be our first move then," said Cowper, encouraged. "We pump the oh-two content way up and see what happens."

Kranuski was skeptical. "Are you serious? This boat has just been gutted and rebuilt. You wouldn't believe the half-assed repair jobs I've witnessed over the last four weeks-I'd hardly dignify it as a refit. More like something out of Dr. Frankenstein's lab. Enriching the oxygen mixture under these circumstances is asking for it."

"He has a point," said Albemarle. "One spark, and we're toast. We know the smoke barrier's compromised, too, not to mention the X-jobs crawling around in the works. I don't think we can risk a fire. Especially since we don't really know if it'll make any difference. I'm no scientist-what do we really know about this? Enough to stake the boat on it?"