Brian Keene - Dead Sea

“Careful,” I warned. “Don’t touch the walls. There’s blood everywhere. Don’t get it on you.”

Tony and Chuck waded around the mess. Something squished beneath Chuck’s boot heel, and he gagged. He examined the bottom of his foot and turned pale.

“Who do you think got him?” Chuck asked.

“Joan or Alicia,” Tony said. “Or maybe both of them.”

I frowned. “How do you know?”

“Look at the scratches on Nick’s face. Those were made by someone with very long fingernails.”

“So that means we may only have to deal with one more zombie; possibly two, if Basil is dead.”

We crept on. At the next hatch was a red emergency phone that dialed directly into the pilothouse. I picked it up and listened to it ring. On the third ring, Chief Maxey picked up.

“Bridge.” he sounded tired and frustrated.

“Chief, this is Lamar. We’ve got a problem.”

“What’s wrong?”

Quickly, I told him what had happened. The chief responded with a string of creative profanity.

“Where are you now?” he asked when he was done cursing. “There should be a stenciled series of numbers next to the hatch. That will give me your exact location.”

I found them and read the numbers off to him.

“Okay,” he said. “Runkle is on his way down. Continue working your way forward. He’ll meet you guys in the middle. I want all of you to check in with me periodically. Use the emergency phones like the one you’re on now. And Lamar?”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful.”

“Will do.”

I hung up and glanced back at Tony and Chuck.

“They okay?” Tony asked.

I nodded. “Runkle’s working his way toward us from the other end of the ship.”

“By himself?” Chuck snorted. “Dude may be kind of a dick, but super-cop’s got balls.”

I opened the next hatch. “Let’s try to find the rest of the zombies before he does. That way, he won’t have to use those balls.”

The ship suddenly jolted beneath our feet. All three of us reached for the bulkhead to balance ourselves. It felt like the chief had increased our speed. When we were sure that the ship wasn’t going to take a big roll and knock us over, we continued on. As we approached Basil’s berthing compartment, we slowed down. The hatch stood open and the light was on inside. Tony and Chuck flattened themselves against the bulkhead. I crept up to the door and jumped through, holding the shotgun at the ready. The compartment was empty. There was no sign of Basil, and no sign of a struggle. The blanket and sheet were rumpled, and the pillow still held the indentation from where he’d slept. His shoes sat on the floor next to the bed.

“No sign of him,” I said, stepping back out into the passageway. “Let’s try the professor’s room.”

We went back through the hatch—Tony in the lead this time. Basil was waiting for us. He must have been in one of the other compartments. He’d probably heard us and had been stymied by the closed hatch. Basil’s corpse was in good shape—no scratches or bite marks. He’d apparently died in his sleep, even as Hamelin’s Revenge coursed through his veins. His mouth was crusted with blood and he clutched a half-eaten heart—probably Nick’s.

“Fuck!”

Tony raised his rifle and tried to get off a shot, but the zombie was too close to him. The rifle became wedged against the bulkhead. Chuck and I were stuck on the other side of the hatch, and with the struggle taking place in the doorway we couldn’t shoot Basil without hitting Tony. Basil’s arm lashed out and he grabbed the rifle barrel. Tony fought to wrench it away but Basil was stronger. He tugged on the weapon and Tony refused to let go. Basil pulled Tony closer. Before he could get away, Basil’s teeth snapped shut on Tony’s nose. Blood squirted out from between Basil’s lips. We heard cartilage crunching, even over Tony’s agonized screams. Tony released the rifle and shoved Basil away. The zombie stumbled backward, taking Tony’s nose, upper lip, and the soft flesh around his eyes with him. Tony’s shrieks became a high-pitched, unending whine. His skin stretched like taffy before finally tearing free. Basil immediately stopped his attack and greedily devoured it, dropping the intestine and using both hands to shove Tony’s ripped face into his slavering mouth.

Tony stumbled backward, his arms pinwheeling. He kicked his rifle and it clattered across the floor to Basil. The zombie ignored it. Chuck grabbed Tony before he could collapse, and dragged him past me. Now that I had a clear shot, I opened fire with the shotgun. Flame belched from the barrel. The blast caught Basil in the face. The shot pellets peppered his skin, but he did not fall. Even at close range, the spray pattern was too broad. Instead of falling, Basil swallowed, Tony’s flesh bulging in his throat as it slid down his dead esophagus. Still hungry and unperturbed by the damage to himself, Basil lurched forward for more. I pumped the shotgun and fired again. This time, I did more damage. Knocked off his feet, Basil flew backward through the hatch.

Chuck screamed. I whipped around and did the same. Chuck was spinning around and slamming himself against the bulkhead in an effort to dislodge Cliff. I wondered where the hell he’d come from. The passageway had been deserted just moments before. Cliff’s corpse must have snuck up behind us. Chuck continued turning. The dead college student clung to his back, his legs wrapped around Chuck’s waist, his arms wrapped around his chest, his teeth clamped down on Chuck’s right ear. Tony lay sprawled at Chuck’s feet, his hands clutching at his ruined face. As Chuck spun around a third time, he tripped over Tony. Both he and Cliff tumbled to the floor.

“Shoot the fucker,” he shouted.

Fingers trembling, I reloaded the shotgun and jacked a shell.

Half of his ear had been bitten off. Blood streamed down his face and all over Cliff and Tony as well. Not that it mattered—both of them were covered in gore already. Cliff sat up and ignored us all, content to gnaw on the severed ear.

“Get down,” I ordered. “Chuck, you’re in the way.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he wailed. “I’ve been bit. Now squeeze the fucking trigger!”

Before I could, something clawed at my shoulder from behind. Screaming, I whipped around. Basil was back on his feet. Incredibly, the second shot hadn’t been enough to put him down for good. The pellets had done a serious amount of damage. The left side of his face looked like it had gone through a cheese grater, but I hadn’t penetrated the skull and destroyed the brain.

His cold, bloody fingers pawed across my chest. Recoiling in alarm, I clubbed him in the jaw with the shotgun’s stock. Then I shoved the barrel into his gaping mouth. He bit down, shattering his teeth.

“Stay the fuck down, Basil, and go find your wife.”

Closing my eyes and turning my face away, I squeezed the trigger. Basil’s head exploded. Wetness splattered against my cheek. Frantic, I wiped my face with my sleeve.

“Lamar,” Chuck called out from behind me, “take care of Tony!”

A second gunshot exploded in the passageway. When I turned around, Cliff was slumped against the wall, blood pumping from a hole in his head. Before I could act, Chuck stuffed the smoking pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger again. His body jerked upright, and the back of his head blew apart. He went limp. What remained of his head caved in like a rotten melon that had been left out in the sun for too long. His legs and feet twitched as if electrified. The crotch of his pants turned dark as his bladder failed. And then Chuck lay still.

I prodded Tony with my foot. He didn’t respond. I couldn’t tell if he was dead or just unconscious. Not that it mattered anyway. Regardless, he was already dead. The poison was pumping through his veins. Soon, he would stand again. I put the shotgun against his forehead and made sure that wouldn’t happen.