Walter Greatshell - Apocalypse blues

"Whoa, this shit's been jacked up," said Cole.

Julian nodded. "Somebody beat us to it."

"Totally," said Shawn. "Yo, check it out: Prednisone. Cool." He pocketed it.

Searching smashed drawers, I said, "They were here." I couldn't bring myself to speak the word.

Lemuel piped up from the rear, "Xombies." His voice was soft and high-pitched for such a big guy, and perhaps because he didn't talk much it always caught our attention.

"Yes," I said. "We need to tell Albemarle and the others."

"I think they're gone," said Lemuel at the doorway.

"Then we better go after them," I said.

Julian held up his hands. "Can we just not panic? Seriously."

"Nobody's panicking," I said with annoyance. "But we have to let them know."

"Let them know what? That the clinic's been looted? I mean come on! What the hell difference does it make? It's still a dead ship, and besides, it's twenty below in here-unless those Exoids have antifreeze in their veins, they're rock-solid." He seemed energized by this turn of events. "Environmental survivability threshold, remember?"

"You're right, man," said Hector. "So what should we do?"

I didn't like him directing this question to Julian. "Okay," I said quickly, "so as far as you guys are concerned, we should proceed with the mission? You're cool with that?"

They all looked at each other in the wavering flashlight beams. There were hesitant nods and nervous shrugging, but the gist of it seemed to be a wary willingness to go. Julian said, "Like I give a crap about 'the mission.' Let's just do something."

"Why did you even volunteer to come?" I asked irritably.

"Same as everyone else-to stretch my legs. Why? Why did you come? To get in good with Harv?" Here it was, their suspicion that I was the commander's toady.

I hadn't told anyone I'd found Cowper, or about the drugs he needed. It suddenly occurred to me that we were all waiting for someone to tell us what to do, that every second I dithered a pressure of anxiety and resentment was building against me. Trying not to be bossy and waiting for a clear signal from them was not the polite, respectful, and humble leadership I intended. It was an abdication of responsibility, and they rightfully despised me for confirming their low expectations. Wake up, girlfriend, cried my mother's Oprah-fortified voice in my head.

"Listen," I said, "there's still an hour and twelve minutes. Here's what we're going to do…"

We had maps and information handbooks from the front desk. Using them, we were able to determine that there was another first-aid station on the ship, as well as a twenty-bed infirmary and a chain drugstore.

"I think the pharmacy is our best bet," I said, huddled over the deck plan. "Considering what happened to the first-aid station, I don't think we should go anywhere sick people would've gone." No arguments there. "The pharmacy is in the Galleria-there you go, Shawn-so it shouldn't be too difficult to find. Just a straight shot forward, up the companionway, then cut across the upper promenade to the casino."

"Oooh, casino," Jake said. "Lemuel's all about that."

Lemuel thought he'd missed something. "Huh? All about what?"

"Indians? Gambling? Didn't your tribe want to open a casino?" Sensing his joke had fallen flat, Jake said, "Never mind."

Without warning, Lemuel suddenly slammed Jake up against the bulkhead. "Don't fucking joke like that about my tribe, man," he said softly, as the other boy squirmed in his grip. "I may be my whole tribe now. Last of the fucking Mo hicans, you know? It ain't a fucking joke."

"Sorry," Jake said, shocked.

"Nobody I know ever got rich off a fucking casino-they were the hired help. The real gambling tycoons are the same white guys who own everything else, so don't make jokes about Indians running casinos. I hate that shit."

"All right, I'm sorry."

"Come on, Lemuel," I said. "He didn't know. He screwed up, that's all."

Lemuel released him, not meeting any of our eyes.

"Good," said Julian impatiently. "Let's go before we get hypothermia."

Right away, my plan fizzled. The companionway was choked with a massive trunk of ice.

"Obviously we can't go up that way," Julian said.

"Obviously," said Hector.

"It opens onto exposed deck up there," I said. "I should've realized it would be plugged. Dammit. We'll have to try another way."

"Do, or do not," said Jake in a croaking voice. "There is no try."

"What now?" Cole asked.

"We have no choice but to stick to all interior passages. I was hoping for more light than that, but if the other teams can handle it, so can we." Trying to rub feeling back in my nose, I said, "Okay, we can cut athwartships right here through the second-class staterooms. Then we'll hit third class and turn left on Broadway, which will take us directly to the bottom floor of the Galleria."

Jake tapped my hood. "Teacher, I have to pee."

"Shut up."

We made our way down a passage between administrative offices and recreation rooms, catching a glimpse of Ping-Pong tables in the dark. Side corridors were lined with numbered doors as far as our lights would penetrate, and it was disturbing to see women's shoes littering the floor. There was a fur of hoarfrost on every surface.

"Hey look," Lemuel said. He was shining his plastic penlight on the floor just ahead of us. The ice on the carpet was trampled. Sounding reassured, he said, "Another team must've come this way."

I won't deny the absurd relief I felt looking at those tracks, knowing we weren't alone in this catacomb. But I played it cool, saying, "So they did. Let's keep moving."

"Kilroy was here," said Hector.

We came to an elevator foyer and the companionway we were seeking. The elevators were useless, the companionway blocked. The sight of what it was blocked with made us all gasp and rear up like spooked ponies.

There was a gate across the stairwell, and sprouting through the metal bars was a thicket of grasping blue arms, frozen solid. It was a tree of hands. They were so tightly packed it was difficult to see the bodies to which they were attached, and their combined force had caused the padlocked gate to bulge outward. Hyperventilating, I stepped forward and tapped my flashlight against one frosty hand. It made a ceramic clink.

"Mothuhfuck," said Cole.

"Holy shit," said Jake.

I seized the initiative. "Well, at least this proves we're not in any danger. Come on-there must be another way up." The boys looked at me like I was insane. "Come on," I insisted. They followed, Shawn giggling nervously.

I found an alcove marked, SHIP'S PERSONNEL ONLY. It opened on an uncarpeted utility tunnel full of pipes and wiring, reminiscent of the submarine. The side doors were all locked, and we were afraid to penetrate too deeply because none of this was shown on our deck plan.

Just as we thought we were going to have to backtrack out again and start over, Lemuel called, "Hey guys? I found where the tracks end." He was shining his light up a dark hatch in the ceiling. Steel rungs ran from it down into another hatch below, this one covered with a locked grate. Above, the shaft seemed to go up quite a long way-even with my flashlight I couldn't see the top.

"Oh shit," Cole said. "Where the fuck does that go?"

"Only one way to find out," I said, and started climbing.

Before my initiation by sub, these restricted crawl spaces would have been unthinkable, but there was no stopping me anymore. Experience had shown that my size and my sex were great advantages in such places-I was more limber and agile than the most able seaman, and had learned to plunge into dark holes like a ferret. It had earned me some admirers among the crew. The boys, by comparison, were bumbling oafs.