Brian Keene - Dead Sea

Silence returned to the smoke-filled passageway—or maybe it was just that I’d gone deaf. Half in shock, I stared down at the four corpses. It had all happened so quickly. There’d been no time to think—just act, let impulse and instinct drive. I patted my pockets and took stock of my shotgun shells. I considered taking Tony and Chuck’s weapons, but both were stained with blood and I didn’t want to risk infection. I’d already come too close to exposure when I shot Basil. Making sure the passageway was still clear, I ducked into Basil’s compartment again and searched his footlocker. At the bottom, I found a clean t-shirt with a logo that said, malcasa point is for lovers. Inside a small shaving kit, I found a bar of soap, a bottle of aftershave, and a tube of antibacterial cream. Using a pair of Basil’s socks, I wiped my shotgun clean and disinfected it with the aftershave. Then I poured aftershave over my hands and then scrubbed them with the soap. Next, I wiped them clean on a pair of Basil’s underwear. Satisfied that they were spotless, I scrubbed my face with the aftershave. The alcohol burned, but it was a good pain. I checked my complexion in the mirror, looking for pimples or cuts—anything that would have allowed Hamelin’s Revenge to get inside me. When I saw that I was safe, I breathed a sigh of relief. Then I removed my gory T-shirt, ripping it down the middle and stripping it off rather than pulling it over my head and further risking infection from Basil’s blood. Once it was off, I slipped the clean shirt over my head. It was a little snug around the belly and shoulders, but it would do. Finally, I rubbed my hands and face with the antibacterial cream just for extra protection. I’d seen the effects of Hamelin’s Revenge firsthand. When Turn and Mitch were infected, the disease had spread rapidly. They’d both gotten sick within minutes. I wasn’t feeling sick yet, so I assumed that I was okay.

And then I closed my eyes and prayed to a God I didn’t believe in that I’d stay that way. All my life, I’d been told over and over again that he didn’t care for people like me, that he’d sent an angel to nuke the ancient city of Sodom because of men like myself. But I hoped that if he did exist, God would make an exception this time—if not for me, then for the kids. Tasha and Malik hadn’t done anything to him. They deserved a better world than this.

“Amen,” I said out loud. I could barely hear myself.

I felt no different. There was none of that peace or calm that religious people say comes with prayer. I thought back to the graffiti I’d seen spray painted on the church back in Baltimore: god is dead. Maybe it was true. And if so, then maybe he was just another zombie. His son had come back from the dead, right? Maybe he’d come back hungry.

I opened my eyes, picked up the shotgun, and stepped back out into the slaughterhouse. As I walked through the hatch, two things happened simultaneously—an explosion rocked the ship and somebody shot at me.

At first, I thought the two blasts were actually one big explosion. The first one was muffled, occurring in another part of the ship, but powerful enough to jolt my feet. The Spratling rolled hard to starboard and I slammed against the bulkhead, dropping the shotgun. At the same time, there was a second explosion, this one much closer. Something zipped by my head, whining like a mosquito and plowing into the port bulkhead with a loud smack. It was only then that I realized I’d been shot at.

“Hey,” I shouted, dropping to my knees, “hold your goddamned fire!”

“Lamar?” The voice belonged to Runkle. A second later, he stepped out from around the corner and leaned through the hatch. “Oh, shit.”

“You stupid redneck motherfucker,” I spat, climbing to my feet. My legs were wobbly and I had to steady myself against the bulkhead. Then I realized that it wasn’t my balance at all. The ship was still leaning to starboard.

“I’m sorry, man.” He lowered his pistol and held up his hand in surrender. “1 thought you were a zombie. I heard shots and ran down here. Smelled all the gun smoke in the air and just assumed that—”

“Yeah” I interrupted. “Well you know what they say about assuming, Runkle. Makes an ass out of you and me. You nearly fucking blew my head off. If it hadn’t been for the ship rolling—”

“What was that, anyway? I felt it vibrate in my feet.”

“How the fuck should I know? I was too busy getting shot at, you stupid asshole.”

“Look”—he raised his voice—“I said I was sorry. Now we can stand here and argue about it or we can find out what the hell is going on. Do you want to fight?”

Shaking my head, I retrieved the shotgun. “No. I’m cool for now. You’re right. We need to focus. I’ll take this up with you later.”

“Well then, let’s just hope there is a later. What the hell happened here?”

I quickly filled him in on everything I knew, ending with Chuck’s suicide and me putting Tony out of his misery.

Runkle counted on his fingers. “So that leaves the two of us, the kids, Carol, Tran, Murphy, and Chief Maxey—and there’s been no sign of Professor Williams, correct?”

I nodded. “You see anybody other than the chief?”

“No. The passageways were all deserted. I figured everyone was asleep, until I heard the gunshots.”

The ship leaned farther to the starboard side, jolting us both again. There was a loud, metallic groan from beneath the hull. An alarm blared, and the chief’s voice came over the speakers.

“This is not a drill, this is not a drill. General quarters, general quarters. All hands be advised, we have a hull breach in the aft berthing section. Muster on the flight deck immediately. Again, this is not a drill. Prepare to abandon ship.”

Runkle found an emergency phone and called the bridge. I stood there wondering what the hell was happening while he talked to Chief Maxey. Runkle’s expression went slack. He stopped talking and just listened. He looked worried.

“Okay.” Runkle spoke in a monotone. “I understand. I’ll tell him.”

He hung up the phone and stared at the floor.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “What the hell’s going on? He said to abandon ship?”

“We’ve got a hull breach.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means that we’re taking on water. We’re sinking.”

“Oh, shit…”

“Yeah.” He wiped sweat from his forehead. “Listen, Lamar, that explosion we heard? The chief says that whatever it was, it blew a hole in the side of the ship. It was… well, it was near your berthing area.”

I started running before he was even done speaking.

“Lamar!” he shouted. “Wait a second. You can’t just go running down there.”

“Tasha, Malik, and Carol are down there.”

“The compartment is probably flooded—maybe the whole passageway. And what about the professor? We still have to find him before he kills someone else!”

“You find him,” I yelled. “I’ve got to take care of my own.”

“Lamar! Goddamn it, get back here. This won’t help us.”

Ignoring him, I ran on, feet pounding, shoving through hatches, darting down passageways. I held the shotgun at the ready, just in case the professor or anyone else he’d managed to infect jumped me, but I saw no one. I slid through Nick’s remains, rounded another corner, and saw Carol, Tasha, and Malik running toward me.

“Lamar!” Tasha screamed. “The ship’s flooding!”

“I know, I know.” I leaned the shotgun against the bulkhead and hugged the kids tightly. Then I gave Carol a hug, too. She trembled against me, frightened and hyperventilating.

“Is everyone okay?” I asked, checking them over.