Brian Keene - Dead Sea

I had four bullets left-one for each of us, if it came to that.

Mitch darted down an alley between a travel agency and a Whole Foods grocery store.

“This way,” he called.

“No,” I insisted. “We have to head for the harbor. That way takes us back into the ghetto.”

“Hope you’re right.” He paused. “I’ll lay down some cover fire.”

Mitch changed course and followed us, now bringing up our rear. His heavy biker boots pounded the pavement, his footfalls punctuated with pistol fire as he chose targets over his shoulder. It was like pouring a glass of water into the ocean. The creatures continued their slow-moving charge.

They don’t get tired, I thought. We’re staying ahead of them, but they’re like the goddamned Energizer Bunny. They keep going and going and going. But we don’t. Sooner or later, we ain’t gonna be able to run any more. And then they’ll catch up…

Malik and Tasha pulled ahead of me. I stared at the backs of their heads and shifted my grip on the rifle. Could I do it? If it came down to it, could I shoot them, shoot Mitch, and shoot myself? I didn’t know. And then it didn’t matter.

Because we found salvation.

We rounded the corner. The National Aquarium was on our left and the Hard Rock Cafe and Barnes and Noble store were behind us. In front of us, tied up along the waterfront, was the USCGC Spratling. I’d expected that, of course, but what I hadn’t counted on was that the ship was apparently operational. Seemed that way from where we stood. The lights were on, the engines thrummed, and there were people onboard it—living people, not zombies. They moved too fast to be dead, and some of them carried guns. Several of them were casting off the big ropes that kept the ship tied to the cement pier. Heavy chains clanked as the anchor slowly rose out of the dark water. One man leaned over the railing and shouldered his rifle, bringing down a corpse on the steps of the Barnes and Noble.

“Holy crap,” Mitch panted. “We’re saved…”

He’d pretty much summed it up.

We stood there sweating and gasping for breath, momentarily forgetting about the zombies and the inferno behind us. Tasha began to cry. I put my arm around her, and then realized that I was crying, too.

“They’re casting off,” Mitch shouted. “Come on!”

We stumbled after him, with the dead right on our heels and the flames consuming everything in their path. The stench of decay grew stronger, which meant the zombies were closing the gap.

Mitch waved his arms, pistol still clutched in one hand. “Hey! Over here. Hey, onboard!”

If they saw us, the crew gave no indication of it. Maybe from that distance, they thought we were just four more zombies. Two more of the big ropes were hauled onto the deck, and the anchor completed its ascent with a thunderous clang. The engines roared louder and the water at the rear of the boat began to churn.

“Motherfuckers!” Mitch hollered. “Wait for us! Over here. Wait!”

A steel gangplank connected the ship to the concrete walkway. My stomach sank as I watched them begin to raise it.

“They’re leaving,” Tasha whimpered. “They’re leaving without us. Why don’t they wait?”

I stopped running, raised my rifle into the air and fired off all four rounds.

That got the crew’s attention.

Immediately, all hands on deck turned in our direction. We still weren’t close enough to make out their expressions, but I can guess what they were. Because when I turned around to see how close our pursuers were, I screamed. Before Hamelin’s Revenge, Baltimore had a population of just over 700,000 people. Now, with the exception of the people on the ship, it looked like all of them were dead—and coming for us. I don’t know if it was the fires or just the sounds of us fleeing, but the zombies’ numbers had grown during the chase. Every mobile corpse in the area seemed to now be converging on our location. Not just humans, either. There were animals in the mix, too. Lots of dogs and rats. Another creature stepped out of the throng. A tiger. A dead fucking tiger. Probably escaped from the Baltimore Zoo, and was now prowling around the city.

“Fuck me running,” I whispered. Then I turned and chased after the others. “Mitch, I’m gonna need more ammo again.”

“Yeah,” Malik echoed. “And I’m gonna need another grenade.”

Another human zombie emerged from behind a trash barrel, cutting us off from the ship. It wore the bloodied remains of a blue work shirt. Something moved beneath the fabric, almost as if he were pregnant. The creature took another step and the shirt parted. Where his stomach had once been, there was now a hollow cavity, empty—except for the dead rat squirming inside it. Mitch fired one shot into the abdomen, pulverizing the rat. Then he drilled another round into the zombie’s head.

“Drop down, now!” The command came from the Spratling, the speaker’s stern and impatient voice magnified through either a bullhorn or public address system. Whoever he was, the guy was in no mood to mess around. We did as he said and dropped to the ground, flat against the concrete pier. A volley of shots rang out as the ship’s crew opened fire. The entire harbor echoed with gunshots. Bullets slammed into the cement and blew out the windows of the nearby buildings as the shooters found their range. Behind us, we heard wet meat slap against concrete as the dead fell.

When the volley ended, the voice boomed, “Get up and run. Quickly. We can’t wait for you.”

Each of us found our second wind, and we sped toward the ship. I spared one quick glance over my shoulder. The next wave of creatures was clambering over the ones on the ground, but it was slowing them down. Although the human zombies had trouble getting around their fallen comrades, the animals were quicker. The dead rats scampered over their bodies and swarmed after us. The tiger charged forward, faster than the others.

We reached the pier’s edge and dashed up the gangplank. Steel banged beneath our feet. As we crossed the threshold, Mitch saluted a pudgy older man in a coast guard uniform. The man had a pistol holstered on his hip.

Mitch grinned. “Permission to come aboard, sir?”

“Permission granted. Now get the hell out of the way.”

I recognized the man’s voice as the one who’d given us the warning. I stuck out my hand. “Thanks for saving us. My name is—”

“Mister, I suggest you find a safe place for yourself and these kids and stay there. There’ll be plenty of time for introductions later, if we survive this.

And if we don’t, then I don’t need to know your name anyway.”

He brushed past me and began shouting orders.

Malik and Tasha glanced around the ship in amazement. People ran all over the decks, some of them armed and shooting at the zombies, others helping get the ship underway. I noticed that except for the man who’d spoken to us, none of them wore uniforms, but instead were dressed in civilian clothes. Many of them seemed unsure what to do, and kept shouting questions.

“This isn’t a crew,” I whispered to Mitch. “They’re just like us—survivors.”

“Maybe they’re all reservists,” he said.

“No. They’re confused. And look at the hair lengths on some of them. That ain’t military regulation.”

“Well, get the kids to a safe spot. I’m gonna see if I can help. Find out what’s going on and who exactly our saviors are.”

“Be careful.”

“You too.”

I guided the kids over to a wall—what sailors call a bulkhead. There was another walkway above us and it provided a sort of roof over our heads. We leaned up against the steel bulkhead and watched as the people around us prepared to cast off. There were two ropes left and a swarm of undead rats climbed up them. Mitch and another man leaned out over the railing, shooting the rats off the ropes one by one. One of them reached the top and scurried over the railing. A third person stepped forward and pushed it back into the water with a mop. Before the rest of the creatures could reach the deck, the ropes were loosened and dropped into the black, dirty water. The rats fell with them.