Brian Keene - Dead Sea

“But Mitch is—”

“ Now! ”

The kids jumped at the exclamation. Carol ushered them inside her compartment and shut the hatch. I took a few hesitant steps toward Mitch, carefully avoiding the gore on the tiles. Mitch’s arms and legs twitched, and he groaned.

“Mitch? Hey man, can you hear me.”

He slowly raised his head. His eyes were bloodshot and gummy, and his complexion was eggshell white.

“D-do it,” he whispered, his voice slurred. “Don’t… let me…”

I shook my head. “I can’t. I can’t just shoot you. It’s not in me.”

“P-please,” he hissed. “D-do it… Lamar… T-time to… b-be a… h-hero.”

His head fell back again and he closed his eyes. His body twitched a few more times and then he was still.

“Oh, Mitch,” I whispered. I wanted to cry, but couldn’t. “I’m sorry, man. This is so fucked-up.”

Then he began to move again. His legs jittered and his arms jerked. He sat up straight, dead eyes looking right at me. There was no hint of intelligence or recognition—just a naked, all-consuming hunger and need. His mouth opened in a toothy grimace. His arms reached for me, fingers flexing. He moaned.

I shot him. I wasn’t even aware that I’d aimed the shotgun. Didn’t feel my finger on the trigger. I didn’t think about it—it just happened.

The blast echoed down the passageway. My ears rang. My hands went numb for a moment. Even as the spent shell bounced off the bulkhead and gun smoke swirled through the air, I was running down the hall. I headed for the forward section of the ship. My plan was to find the professor first. I owed it to him. Then I’d deal with Basil. I rounded the corner, still unable to hear anything, and almost slammed into Tony and Chuck. All three of us jumped backward, and for a brief second, I thought that Tony was going to shoot me. Then he realized who I was. Chuck shouted out a frightened cry. The former forklift driver was armed with a handgun.

Tony lowered his weapon. “What the fuck is going on, Lamar? We heard shots.”

I had to strain to hear him because of the ringing in my ears.

“We’ve got zombies loose on the ship. Joan and Alicia were both infected. They got Mitch.”

“Why are you shouting?”

“Sorry,” I apologized. “Can’t hear very well. The professor is one of them, too. We’ve got to find him before he gets anybody else. Basil might be infected, too.”

“Zombies,” Chuck said. “How the hell did they get onboard?”

“The fish. It’s spread to the ocean now. The professor caught an infected tuna this afternoon. We didn’t realize it was a zombie then. It looked normal—must have been a fresh kill. It wasn’t rotting yet. He and Basil both had its blood on their hands. The professor got a fishhook stuck in his hand and the blood must have mixed…”

Tony and Chuck stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. Then Tony shouldered his rifle and peeked around the corner, spotting the bodies. He approached them with caution, stared at the damage, and then turned back to me.

“Okay,” he said. “I believe you. Alicia is pretty torn up. The bite marks on her are apparent.”

“I don’t give a fuck if you believe me or not. I’m finding the rest of the fuckers before anybody else gets killed.”

“Then I’m coming with you,” Tony said.

Chuck nodded. “So am I.”

The hinges on Carol’s hatch squealed as it opened. Tasha and Malik poked their heads outside.

“We’ll all go.” Tasha’s tone was defiant.

Behind them, we heard Carol urging them back inside.

“You’re staying here,” I told the kids. “No more bullshit.”

Malik stomped his foot. “But Mitch said—”

I interrupted him. “I don’t care what Mitch said. If we’re family, then you’re going to listen to me when I tell you to do something. Get inside now. Don’t make me tell you again.”

“We should grab Mitch’s gun,” Chuck said, “or at least the grenades.”

I shook my head. “His blood is all over them. Don’t risk getting infected. You got enough ammo?”

“I’m good.”

“Then let’s go.”

Tony, Chuck, and I set off down the passageway. They followed my lead. Somehow, I’d ended up in charge. The professor had been right—my journey was changing me. I hadn’t even been aware of assuming leadership. Just like shooting Mitch. I hadn’t thought about it. I’d just done it. Gone were my fears and my hesitation. I moved with an air of self-assuredness that I’d never possessed. My stride had a grim purpose. The gun felt like an extension of my body. My head was clear. So was my conscience.

We continued working our way forward, staying about five feet apart from each other. I kept the point position, Tony followed me, and Chuck brought up the rear. I clutched the shotgun tightly. My hearing had returned and the ringing in my ears was gone, but there was nothing to hear, anyway. Silence engulfed the ship. The only sound was my heart pounding in my head.

“Did you guys see anyone else?” I asked.

“Chief Maxey and Officer Runkle are on the bridge,” Chuck said. “Or at least they were when I went to bed. They were monitoring the radio, trying to raise any other ships in the vicinity.”

“Did they find any?”

He shook his head.

“So, let’s see.” Tony tilted his head from side to side, cracking his neck. “Carol and the kids are back there, safe. The chief and Runkle are topside. That leaves Nick, Cliff, Murphy, and Tran unaccounted for. Nick and Cliff probably went to sleep. They were watching a movie earlier.”

The ship had a small TV/VCR combo unit that the chief and various security guards had used when the Spratling was tied-up in port. With no broadcast or satellite television signals to pick up, our selections had been limited to repeated viewings of The Wild Geese, Clint Eastwood’s Rile Rider, Tom Skerritt in Bonneville, and Delta Force with Chuck Norris—all on grainy old videotapes. Nick, Cliff, and Turn (when he’d been alive) had been known to argue about who would win in a fight—Chuck Norris or the zombies. My money was on Chuck.

“No telling where Murphy is,” Tony said. “And Tran…”

He trailed off. I knew what he was thinking.

“None of us know shit about him,” I said. “We don’t even know if he’s Korean, Japanese, or Chinese. We just think of him as the Asian guy. That’s pretty fucked-up. He deserves a lot better. I mean, think what it must be like for him. A stranger among strangers, left alive with a bunch of people who don’t speak his language. That sucks.”

Tony grimaced. “Yeah, that’s some life.”

“If he’s even still alive,” Chuck muttered. “Let’s face it, guys. We don’t know how many of us are left—who’s dead and undead.”

The passageway ended at a closed hatch. I opened the hatch and stepped in Nick Kontis.

He’d been shredded. Arms and legs pulled from their sockets, head ripped from the neck, body torn open and his insides scooped out. His clothing was nothing more than rags. His forehead and cheeks had been either slashed or clawed. Long, bloody furrows covered the flesh. Nick’s limbs were partially eaten, gnawed on like turkey drumsticks at Thanksgiving. His blood had been splashed all over the walls, and his guts left a trail down the passageway, as if whoever had been eating them had dropped crumbs every few feet. Despite all of this, Nick was lucky. His attacker had succeeded in smashing his skull open and scooping out the insides. His disembodied head would not be coming back. Nick’s eyes stared up at us.

I raised my foot and examined my sole. The blood hadn’t seeped through. I was okay. No risk of infection—if Nick had even had time to become infected before he was ripped apart. Breathing a heavy sigh of relief, I gingerly picked my way through the slaughter.