Brian Keene: Dead Sea

Ignoring the rotting beast’s smell, I snapped the rifle up and fired a shot. It was like shooting spit-balls at a dinosaur. The whale slammed against the dock, and the entire platform shook. I emptied the magazine into it. Beside me, the shotgun roared as Malik did the same. I don’t know if our rounds had any effect. The zombie sank again beneath the waves, taking Chief Maxey with it. The lifeboat drifted away on the tide. The air trapped beneath the hull kept it from sinking. There was no way for us to retrieve it. The lifeboat was already out of our reach.

Carol fell to her knees and sobbed quietly. Tasha and Malik just stared in disbelief. I knew how they felt. It had all happened so quickly. It just didn’t seem real somehow. I mean, a zombie fucking whale? If circumstances had been different, I could have almost laughed. You go through life believing only in what you can see. What science can prove. Things like ghosts and monsters are the stuff of fantasy. But then, one morning, you wake up and the dead are out in the streets hunting down the living. Your world comes crashing down when that happens. But even when you get used to the idea that the dead can walk, a zombie whale still seemed incredible. In a way, I think it shook our world view all over again.

The lifeboat drifted farther away. I watched it go, wondering where it would end up and if there’d be anybody left to find it.

“Why him?” Carol sobbed. “Why Wade? He was such a nice man. So gentle. He saved us all. Why did it have to take him?”

I put my hand on her shoulder. “I don’t know, Carol. I don’t know.”

We’d lost yet another member of our group. And now we were stranded. If there were zombies aboard the drilling platform, we’d have no means of escape—except for the weapons we held in our hands.

“We’ll grieve for the chief later,” I said. “Grieve for them all. But right now, let’s check our ammunition and then make sure this place is safe.”

Malik shuffled over to me as I dug through a bag and found more bullets.

“If there’s dead folks onboard, how we gonna get away?”

I reloaded my magazine and refused to look up at him.

“We’ll find a way,” I said softly, fingering the rounds. “We’ll find a way…”

The floor on the jack-up was about twenty feet off the ocean’s surface, but there were levels under the rig as well. We stowed the supplies on the dock, intending to come back for them once we’d determined that the drilling platform was safe. A metal sign affixed to one of the girders said PROPERTY OF BLACK LODGE OIL & GAS—A DIVISION OF THE GLOBE CORPORATION-AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. I hadn’t heard of Black Lodge, but Globe Corp. was massive. One of those big international corporations that seemed to be everywhere. They had their hands in everything before society collapsed: electronics, defense systems, financing, energy sources, telecommunications. They’d been one of the big darlings on Wall Street. Their shares traded for hundreds of dollars. Now those shares were worthless.

We approached the elevator. I took a deep breath and pressed the arrow button. There was still power. We heard the whine of an electric motor and squeaking cables as the car came down to us. The doors clanked open and we stepped inside. The elevator slowly rose. I tightly gripped the rifle and tried to reassure the rest of them with a smile. My fatigue was gone, replaced with nervous energy.

We explored the jack-up level by level, sticking together as a group. Tasha and Carol were cautious, but Malik was excited. He wanted to run off on his own, and I had to keep hauling him back, warning him over and over not to do it again. We talked in whispers and communicated with hand signals. The silence was eerie. Everywhere we went, the birds watched us warily. We found a skeletal arm on one level, and a disembodied head lying between two drums of oil. The head barely moved, ravaged as it was by the birds. It had no eyes with which to see us. Its lipless mouth moved soundlessly. The zombie’s tongue was missing, too. I kicked it over the side and watched it sink. Then I wiped my shoe off with some greasy shop rags that had been stuffed into one of the barrel’s openings. Finally, we climbed back into the elevator and took it to the top level.

The elevator doors opened and a dead man was there to greet us.

Carol shrieked. The dead man was dressed in dirty, faded dungarees and a red flannel shirt. A bright yellow hard hat covered his head. Time and the elements had not been kind. The zombie was in an advanced state of decomposition. His flesh and the clothes had melded together. His face was a gleaming skull, stripped clean of all flesh. A few ragged pieces of skin and matted hair hung down from underneath the hard hat. With no eyes left in the sockets, I saw right away that the zombie hunted by sound, just like the corpses back at the rescue station. It had been attracted to us by the sounds of the elevator. Carol’s scream had confirmed our location. It reached for us, bones sticking through the split skin of its fingers. Malik raised his shotgun, but I knocked it aside.

“No,” I said. “He’s too close. The backsplash will hit us.”

The zombie lurched into the elevator and we shrank away, hugging the walls. The doors slid shut again, bumped against the corpse, and then opened. The zombie turned toward them in confusion, grasping blindly. I took advantage of the distraction, pushing it out of the elevator with the butt of my rifle. It stumbled back out onto the platform, arms pinwheeling. Before the doors could close again, I darted forward and clubbed it over the head, hoping to knock it down long enough to shoot it. The zombie collapsed to the deck and the hard hat came off its head, spilling soupy liquid. Two grayish-pink lumps—its brains—splashed into the puddle a second later. Gasping, I turned away. Apparently, it had decomposed so badly that the hard hat was the only thing still holding its brains intact. When they splashed out over the deck, the zombie ceased moving. I struggled to keep from throwing up.

Malik fanned his nose. “Oh man, that stinks!”

I nodded. “That’s the worst one yet. After all the things we’ve seen…”

I shuddered, unable to finish. Sour bile rose in my throat.

“Let’s hope that it’s the last one,” Carol said. “That would be fine with me.”

And it was the last. The rest of the jack-up was deserted. Once we’d finished exploring it, Carol and the kids got settled while I brought our supplies up from the dock. Basically, the jack-up was a giant barge. One end held the actual drilling apparatus. At the other end was a three-story building. On top of the building were a heliport and several big antennas. They even had a satellite television dish and a Sirius satellite radio unit, though I doubted there were any signals still being broadcast. Inside the building were the crew’s quarters, a galley, a gym complete with free weights and an exercise bike, a laundry room with three washers and dryers, several restrooms and shower stalls, and finally, a crew’s lounge with couches, a television and DVD player, and—much to Malik’s delight—an XBox videogame system, a foosball table, and a slate-bottom pool table. On the top floor, there were also several offices. Placards over the doors said things like company man and pusher. I wondered what those were. Where I’d lived, company men and pushers had been very different things.

There were also half a dozen storage rooms. One of the supply rooms held janitorial and maintenance supplies. Another held medical supplies and other things we desperately needed, like toiletries and vitamins. But we breathed a sigh of relief when we opened the door to the last storage room. It was filled with food—boxes of dry and canned goods stacked all the way to the ceiling. The chief had said that a jack-up’s crew usually numbered between fifteen to twenty people. I figured there was enough food here to last them a month. Since it was just the four of us, it would last us much longer, which was important since we could no longer rely on the sea for food. Not with Hamelin’s Revenge infecting the fish.